Silence between us (by this I mean anyone) is often filled with things we do not say.
It can be what we cannot say, what we will not say, or what we should not say.
Other times it just filled with distracting thoughts that bear no relevance, other than the weight it lends to the silence.
I am to some an open book. My face does not hide my emotions. I do not filter well.
And yet I am also a extremely private.
Every Sunday morning I read Postsecret’s latest posting before I get out of bed – I always have. I have never sent a secret in, nor have I ever commented on one – but I love to read them. I have always believed that a secret shared is a secret defused. It removes its stronghold, its power over us. But then secrets also must be treated with care. To whom do you confess? And to what end? Shared with the wrong person and the consequences can be heavy.
And so, many of us remain silent. With all that is inside us, for better or for worse.
I wonder if the Catholics have had it right all along with their practice of confession?