I cannot push words past the lump in my throat!
My wife Karen is awaiting our morning “good-bye.” She has readied herself for her post-latte walk. I’ve packed the books in the backpack, desperately hiding the tears wetting my eyes.
I can avoid it no longer, for now we stand face to face. Still I cannot force the “good-bye” past my swollen throat. Then it dawns on Karen that something is happening to her sappy husband, and she smiles her smile of understanding.
“I’d defy anyone to read this book without crying,” I finally blurt out.
The book in question is Unsaid by author Neil Abramson. It is one of the “uncorrected proofs” introduced by publisher “Hatchet Book Group” at the Northwest Booksellers Association Trade. A small rectangle on the soon-to-be-released title page gives warning that I cannot quote the book lest the quote fall victim to some eagle-eyed editor.
So I quote not!
As I begin my walk, my schedule and goals are stripped away by emotions of the moment. So I stroll in still silence and become open to the unsaid!
And through the noisy silence of leaf-filled gutters and fall breeze whispering through yellowed leaves, the Universe sings its the heart-speak language, speech heard by those with ears to hear and eyes to see.
Wandering thoughts contemplate the use of “Universe” as a replacement for “God.” And I reflect! “God” or “Universe?” Why favor one over the other?
Meanings flow! Emotions arise! History forever threatens to repeat! And the jumbled lies of the just-completed election threaten loss of serenity! Past discussions and philosophical arguments swirl in the whispering silence!
Yet Universe speaks again, and Peace continues to shape my stroll down the quiet street.
And Universe proclaims answers to the no-one and all who ask! It is an answer echoed by an industrious wood pecker perched high atop a thick-trunked tree. Winged silent spokesman hammers: “’Universe cannot be owned! ‘Universe’ cannot be owned!”
“Universe” touches my soul, relaying its soul-speak wisdom, an intimate caress in its magnificently-impersonal elegance.
And it dawns! That three-letter string “G-o-d,” so long the “keep-away” toy of those who greedily seek to own the un-ownable, which they guard with swords, and guns, and bombs so as to exploit “the least of these” for their own wealth!
And Universe speaks: “’G-o-d,’ the instrument used to blind followers into death-justifying convictions that greed and selfishness are moral values.
Universe weeping, “The blood of my silent spokespersons drips from the alter of ‘Me and Mine.’”