Le temo al silencio porque me conduce a mí misma, un ser al que no siempre quiero enfrentarme. Exige que lo escuche. Y escucharlo me lleva a un lugar inesperado. El silencio me deja sola en un lugar de afectos. No necesariamente un lugar cómodo.
La diosa romana del silencio, Angerona, se llevaba un dedo a los labios en una postura que expresaba dolor y paz al mismo tiempo. Mi madre se conocía a sí misma y mantuvo su silencio como algo propio. Era suyo solamente. No tenía que escribir al respecto.
Yo sí.
Terry Tempest Williams, Cuando las mujeres fueron pájaros. 54 variaciones de la voz (XIX). Traducción de Isabel Zapata.
“This is my living faith, an active faith, a faith of verbs: to question, explore, experiment, experience, walk, run, dance, play, eat, love, learn, dare, taste, touch, smell, listen, speak, write, read, draw, provoke, emote, scream, sin, repent, cry, kneel, pray, bow, rise, stand, look, laugh, cajole, create, confront, confound, walk back, walk forward, circle, hide, and seek.”
― Terry Tempest Williams, Leap
Image: Babil & Bijou — circa 1900 from a Poster for ' Babil and Bijou Or the Lost Regalia. A Grand Fairy Spectacular Opera' performed at Covent Garden, London.
The eyes of the future are looking back at us,
and they are praying
that we might see beyond our own time.
They are kneeling with hands clasped
that we might act with restraint,
that we might leave room for the life
that is destined to come.
To protect what is wild is to protect what is gentle.
Perhaps the wildness we fear
is the pause between our own heart beats,
the silent space that says we live only by grace
wildness, wilderness lives by this same grace,
wild mercy is in our hands.
Let this be our prayer, reimagined.
Bir zamanlar,kadınlar kuş iken,şafak vakti şarkı söylemenin ve akşam karanlığında şarkı söylemenin dünyayı neşeyle iyileştirmek anlamına geldiğine dair basit bir anlayış vardı. Kuşlar hâlâ bizim unuttuğumuz şeyi, dünyanın kutlanmak için yaratıldığını hatırlıyor.
One woman told a group of us that after she ran away, her uncle found her walking on the highway and brought her home to live with their family. She refused to go to school. For one year, every day, she sat in the corner of a particular coffee shop and listened to conversations. She listened to people talking about the books they had read, the art they had seen, their concern for the health of the seas and the environment. She saw how people listened to one another and paid attention to their questions. After a year, she decided she wanted a life of the mind that could lead her to these kinds of intimate conversations and found her way to Shasta Community College. Before she left, the barista said to her, “I have watched you for a year, you are not the girl who walked in 360 days ago.” She said it was the first time anyone had ever seen her, let alone acknowledged her growth.
Terry Tempest Williams, Erosion: Essays of Undoing
“For far too long we have been seduced into walking a path that did not lead us to ourselves. For far too long we have said yes when we wanted to say no. And for far too long we have said no when we desperately wanted to say yes. . . . When we don't listen to our intuition, we abandon our souls. And we abandon our souls because we are afraid if we don't, others will abandon us.” ―Terry Tempest Williams
It is the dirt of our lives—the depressions, the losses, the inequities, the failing grades in trigonometry, the e-mails sent in fear or hate or haste, the ways in which we encounter people different from us—that shape us, polish us to a heady sheen, make us in fact more beautiful, more elemental, more artful and lasting.
Terry Tempest Williams, When Women Were Birds: Fifty-four Variations on Voice
«¿Cómo está tu sombra, tu venerable sombra?». Este era un saludo común entre los amigos de Japón, un reconocimiento de que lo que rechazamos es tan importante como lo que aceptamos.
Camino con mi sombra detrás de mí, a veces delante de mí y a menudo a mi lado. Es mi compañera caprichosa: visible, luego oculta, amorfa. Una sombra no se crea en la oscuridad. Nace de la luz. Podemos ser ciegos ante ella o cegarnos por ella. Nuestra sombra nos pide ver lo que no queremos ver. Si nos negamos a enfrentarla, se proyectará en alguien más. De modo que no tenemos otra opción que involucrarnos.
Terry Tempest Williams, Cuando las mujeres fueron pájaros. 54 variaciones de la voz (LI). Traducción de Isabel Zapata.
"Once upon a time, when women were birds, there was a simple understanding that to sing at dawn and to sing at dusk was to heal the world through joy. the birds still remember what we have forgotten, that the world is meant to be celebrated."
The world is holy. We are holy. All life is holy. Daily prayers are delivered on the lips of breaking waves, the whisperings of grasses, the shimmering of leaves.