Saturday I met the gentlest woman I have encountered in some time. She is an artist working out of the Placer Arts Center where the Gold Country Writers were holding their Spring Book Affair. I met her during the course of the afternoon and noticed she made a point of stopping by every table and meeting most, if not all, the authors at the event. Later I asked her if she would show me what she did, to which she agreed. We spent more than an hour discussing her paintings, as well as her life. Her vulnerability and courage allowing a stranger such an intimate glimpse into her private life was stunning.
When we parted she wanted me to have something of hers. She gave me a postcard that had been made from one of her original paintings. It was entitled "Listen." If you've been following this blog, you know that on April 12th I posted "Listen..." The serendipitous aspects of the exchange weren't lost on me. Imagine then, this morning, when I stumbled upon some word play I haven't seen before (though you might have). The letters that make up listen, are also the letters that make up silent. To see that they each contain the other amazed me. That the context of the April 12th post and the intricacy between the two words, along with Saturdays implications (of which I've mentioned only one) seemed to beg disclosure.
So the dilemma was, do I share my experience? After much internal debate I decided I would be the "silent, singing silhouette" referenced April 8th in "Sacred Feminine." That the paradox of the April 12th post being highlighted by Life, and the words actual definitions, could exist independently. That it was another example of what I constantly allude to at this web-site; God's subtle and nuanced way of interacting with us. I found it was something I just couldn't remain silent about.