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2. Silence
- LANGAA RPCIG
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5 2 Silence or some years I have been a great desert of silence, green silence, screaming silence, painful silence; building extensions into my own heart, making many divisions (departments, ministries and organisations) of silence. I had been logging silence like a seed into the embryo of silence in every of those divisions of my heart. My heart had been galloping with me, filling itself up with silence. No one was astriding it. Read this book, perhaps you will figure out how the plot will unfold, or fold back into itself? Perhaps this silence in my heart will put present’s fear of the past, and of the future, out of my heart. I still have this unwavering idea that it’s up to me, not to anyone else, for me to free myself from this harsh and demanding bandage of silence. This silence simply has to oblige me. Of course, silence has been very calculating, in buying me into submissiveness, into quietness, too. Now the words inside my heart are cursing themselves without even saying a single thought. So, this goes on and on for some long minutes. I have happened upon this silence. This is the silence: the silence of inner landscapes. It is eternal silence. How much can I be able to let you see? I start to measure silence for you. Frame it well inside the walls of my heart. No mouth opens in my heart, no window opens, nothing inside my heart is removed, and nothing is added inside me. Everything is the voice of silence; my silences are many silenced words. The silence in my heart is like pins and needles. I am a silent being. I am not becoming. The inside of my heart is now the most silent place in my whole being. Only I can decide to share it with you. There is now no speech flowing through these divisions in my heart, but only murmurs of un-speech. The murmurs are so soft and seem to take me inside my heart by hand. Yet, they do not silence the borders of these divisions, of silence, in my heart. These are the F 6 borders that have separated me from myself. I am not here. I am not there. I am entrapped within these multiple borders of silences. Whilst the silence is crowding upon me, crowds and crowds of silence, the language of silence becomes the language commanding me to pour out my soul, until I gather some sound in my heart. So that the silence inside my heart started commanding me, speak, speak, speak… This speaking is a major ceremony among the living, but there are still gaps inside my heart that even these sweetened words couldn’t bridge, the empty gaps that could have filled up my mind. They are many, many silences, in these gaps; the silence as of the thunderclaps. They are a few other sounds in this universe that threatens silence like thunderclaps. Using these scented snippets that have already escaped from me; a voice has come to me: it is a voice capable of the greatest tenderness and wander from a hard suffered unsparing awareness of displacement and loss and; to live in the danger again. This voice here, like the silence, is a major ceremony among the living, too, the silence in the voice is part of talking and to talk is to risk. What? The silence of an unknown prisoner, abandoned to humiliations, is enough to open me up to some kind of a talk. I hope I won’t forget the silence whilst talking and to transmit to it so that I can manage to resound to my story. I find something irresistible and begin to crawl towards it. I find my tongue in writing these words, these feelings, in the shades of grey; in writing of the tell-tale scars and lines, in the telling of the silences of my life. I am sorry and regretful that this is all that is coming out of me, at this moment. There are no barriers anymore in me but the silence that I have always carried with me, all of my life. It thrusts everything aside. It’s not so much shadows that I now hold. My mouth, void of teeth, is a gapping crater. The alleyways are dark, wooden doors opening and closing with this telling. It seems I have been making paths inside me just as they have been paths outside...