Delegate of The Sun

Sometimes the thing you want to say
Is something you also don’t want to say.
An emotional rock
And a dark hard place.

And right now
In the whirld
Is a time/place when/where many of us
Find ourselves searching for the thing to say.
And finding those things
Wonder about amplifying the energy.
And wonder if any silence makes us complicit.
And how much noise counts as not being silent.
Does the thing you said last week still count this week?
Did you say enough?
Was anyone listening?
Did it make a difference?

We know, most of us having learned the hard way
That sometimes saying more
Doesn't help.
Sometimes it makes things worse.
Don’t make it worse.
That’s a first do no harm level instruction
For everyone who isn’t a doctor.
Though at this point, with our insurance situation, we’re all kind of doctors.
We’re all first responders.

There’s a phrase from program: restraint of pen and tongue.
I really struggled with this one for years.
I’m a talker, a writer - by trade.
How was I supposed to know when to say.
When not to.
So I started experimenting.
We’re all scientists too.
Sometimes I thought, I can say it later.
And curiously sometimes later
I felt no need to say it at all.

I noticed I was developing patience.
Restraint of pen and tongue was sometimes restraint of action.
Not right now.
We’ll see.
These phrases started to shape my life.
Less is always being revealed.

But right now - with this big picture - it’s a lot-ness
It can feel we’re hurtling toward a cliff
And not saying turn the wheel to the driver.
That’s not a great time for restraint.

When things are troubling - unclear
I try to think in metaphors.
And the metaphor that keeps coming up for me is laundry.
Stains.
Ruin.
The permanent soiling.
And yet.
Bleach. And even more pointedly
Sunlight.

And when it comes to the thing that’s the worst of all —
The thing you sit at breakfast and…
The thing you say, did you see, about…
In half sentences.
Without having to scream or explain or explode.
(And maybe you didn't see it today.
Because every day isn’t a day you have it in you.)
All those things.
They were there before we saw them.

So how do we become the sunlight?
How do we shine so brightly that the stain evaporates?

Sometimes by saying.
Sometimes by not saying.
Sometimes by whispers and yells.
Protest signs.
Letters and calls.
Sometimes by words of comfort to those
On whom the stain has landed on their most cherished dress.
Sometimes we say without saying.
And sometimes we don’t say to save ourself.
Sometimes the sun takes a night off.
Or so it seems from anywhere.
And everywhere.

So while we rest and say the other things
The work things and love things
The tech things
And completely off topic things.
Sometimes you still wonder about logistics
And the kinds of things that occupy a mind
When it’s not overwhelmed by
A bigger idea of being occupied.

My policy.
Try not to be noise.
Try not to make it worse.
Say something.
But not just because everyone else is saying it.
Amplify the light.
Somehow look for the fine line between urgency and panic.
Apply to be a delegate of the sun
As often as possible.
Accept that assignment.
Give myself permission to be quiet sometimes.
Don’t be quiet in a way the feels like I’m giving the world the cold shoulder.
Look for ways my own particular voice
Is the most helpful.
Rejoice when others find ways that their own particular voices
Are most useful.

I’ve learned this the hard way.
First at home where some of my hardest truths
Were unwelcome.
So I took to writing and, in some cases, writing letters directly to my mom.
A few years before she died she said cheerfully:
I threw away all those awful letters you wrote to me.
And by then I had learned not to say
So I kept to myself how much having those letters to read
Would have meant to me.

And my loves
If you have read this far
I urge you to house your voice in your work.
Your stories and poems.
Your podcasts and paintings.
I urge you to share your nooks and crannies.
It won’t feel like it did last year.
Because now is now.

And every day feels like the tide is drowning out all the other words.
But sometimes the ocean hears you.
Or a tree hears you.
Sometimes it’s the sky.
Sometimes it’s everyone in the timeline.
And some days
It’s just you.
Hearing yourself think.
But how beautiful.
The sun
Seeing its own shine.

From far away the sun looks steady and singular.
But up close
It’s a wild dance of flares and flames.
Explosions of joy, anger and enthusiasm.
Both things are true.
Sometimes it’s best to say it.
Sometimes it’s best not to.

Infinitely Yours,
xx B

And if you’re navigating your own next project — or your own next sentence — you can learn more about working with me here.