Quiet

Chrysalis heart and tender skin...

So writes Delia. The quiet around her is so complete, I'm afraid even to envy it.

I have been afraid of quiet for sometime now. It brings back old bruises. I make a lot of noise about my blessings but the bruises...they only come to be when I am alone.
I am looking forward to visiting my ashram again. Sitting on old, stone steps and letting my face grow wet with tears. There is always someone, some situation for which I must be brave. And so, my falterings must always be internal. It can be no other way, for there is no one, no one who I would go to with this hidden darkness. I pride myself on surviving the toughest, the most wrenching pain unaided, and it is this belief that has got me through. I face the world dry-eyed and proud, whether by dint of a smile, or the clenching of teeth. And every false smile, every setting of my jaw will catch up with me when there is quiet.
I need it. But I also need not to be alone with it. But that aloneness is of my choosing...