Three weeks ago, I began this blog to chronicle my thoughts on talking vs. taking some sort of a break. While I haven't stopped talking, I am thinking more before I speak, sometimes even listening to others without any thought of what I might say next. These are strange, new feelings for me.

Every time I open this blog, I think of all the stress and trouble in my life, perpetuated by my own mouth. How much time do I spend explaining something I've said previously? How much of what I say to those close to me is even helpful or worthwhile? Not much, I've concluded.

Vow of silence?

I'm so sick of talking. Each day, the words I've spoken ring as loudly in my mental halls of shame, as loudly as the riotous cacophony of every word I've ever heard, recycled continuously into a deafening roar that overpowers my thoughts. Continual conversation complicates.

Nowhere do I see the problem of unhealthy conversation than when I tell people I might like to stop talking for a time. "Someone already did that." "How can you live like that?"  Why cast my pearls before swine anymore?   If I follow them, I'll never know if it would have worked. Perhaps, telling others and receiving their discouragement should serve as further proof that following my own intuition would be the best course.

What would it be like to be quiet? What would it be like to have a quiet mind? I want to have the courage to try what I want to try, in spite of the voices of others telling me not to.  Something feels right about this idea to me.  Could I just talk less?

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to break out of the pattern of our lives in such a way? Come back and check this blog, and I'll continue to update you on my experience.

All the Words!!!

Sitting at the table, I cannot recover the words I just spoke to her a few minutes ago. In my mind, I am feeling the sense I felt before, wanting to express the same sentiment, but here, in the remembering, I find myself perched above a boiling, transparent sea of words, but not words, objects, intangible imaginations existing just outside of my verbal expertise, just perceptible in a few of an infinite set of overlapping possible conscious experiences in my head.

Words are powerful. They shape our understanding and expression of our entire life. Understanding seems almost completely contained in the world of words. What we read, write, think, and speak guides our experience of thought, feeling, and action.

 "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God,and the Word was God." John 1:1

Words are the invention of humans. My mental world is not made up of words.  The world of words holds sway over and a large share of responsibility for whatever pits of Hell lie within my soul.  My thoughts are moving, three-dimensional graphs of a psychedelic nature. Ah, but we are forced to learn the words of our world. We are taught from birth what words to use, what meaning to give to our mental experience, our feelings, our rights, our limitations, and our value.  We are taught which words we must say and which we may not, making us all into liars by default, from the start. As we age, there are "right" words and "wrong" words for every situation. What if what we feel is best expressed through a different set of words than the ones we've been taught are appropriate?

I'd like to find out.

They say it's crazy to talk to yourself, but in a world full of people, why would I be allowed to talk to anyone else but myself?  That seems wrong.  If I could only talk to one person, I would want it to be me. This blog is my sounding board for recurring thoughts of giving up talking to other people entirely. Yeah, I'm considering it, at least for a time.