Friday, May 5, 2017

“The Secret Language of the Wounded”

“The Secret Language of the Wounded”
by A. Noble

"Those who have been deeply wounded recognize each other. They speak a secret language of tears that no one sees. They are known to have extraordinary visions, they rise to impossible heights, and then fall down like stones. Some call them mad, when, for a few brief hours or days, they transcend their pain, connect with demons or divinities, invent new lives for themselves, dream dreams like the old men who spend whole days watching the boats come and go in Greek fishing villages, telling tales of life on the high seas, imagining future voyages. 

The deeply wounded recognize each other at a great distance, and offer safe harbor. They can no longer play the world’s games of make-believe. They want out. They beg for forks, spoons, knives, broken pottery, so they can dig their way out of the gulag. They will dig underground thousands of yards for their freedom. They are known for living on the edge of consciousness, and for fearlessly jumping into the void, even if they know it is a thousand foot drop to the raging river below, and that few survive the fall. If this is the only way down and out, they will leap every time, danger be damned.

They do this even in their pain, and die some little death each day, often in small actions, in order to live this dangerous life. They have no fear, because they have nothing to lose, and danger becomes a way of connecting with the God that comforts them, forgives everything, holds them and dries their tears, the shadow of a great rock in a weary land.

Last night, I dreamed I was flying. It was so easy. I was able to see my whole life. It was like being in a movie about a dream about being in a movie of flying, flying. I think a time does come when we just leave the past behind, all of it. I pray for this. I think we can come out of the fire without even the smell of smoke, like pure gold. I think we can wake up from our dreams of suffering. Can you hear these words now, even though I am speaking them in the secret language of the deeply wounded, the language that we both know so well, have spoken for years? Can you hear me?

This is what I mean. We the wounded have a secret language, stories we tell, rituals we keep, fences we build, ways we have of keeping the world away from our hearts and minds. For example, often during the day, I light incense, or perhaps burn some white sage, cedar or pinon leaves. I do not know why I do this, but it calms me, makes a connection. I am in transition now, but I do not yet see from where to where, but things are moving. In the rushing river, I am swimming past the bleached skeletons of those who did not make it, I am heading down to the sea, the sea, the sea. Perhaps there is a ship that will carry me home.

Here is the truth: I want my life back. It is as simple as that. There, I said it. When did I give myself away? When did I accept the idea that I have to live like this? No matter. It seems that I have woken up, that I want better, that I want me for myself. My life now is nothing more than a search for freedom and sanctuary, silence and peace. I am weary of the ways and voices of the world. All I want is to speak our secret language. All I want now is freedom, resurrection and wholeness. I know you understand."

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