If we had a keen vision of all that is ordinary in human life, it would be like hearing the grass grow or the squirrel's heart beat, and we should die of that roar which is the other side of silence.
There is mostly silence between he and I now. If we walk or eat or engage in sex, there seems to be almost nothing to say.
I'll not do battle with his raging, and he won't be done with it, and so there are no words.
I am finding the silences to be interesting. Suddenly, again, I've found the place inside of myself where I can think and ponder and simply be. I can do for him if that makes sense, but the center of my world has opened up making room for other possibilities. The great irony is that, even as he finds his life terribly diminished, mine seems to be more open and more full than in all these intervening years. If I belong only to me, then the world seems full of squirrel heart beats and the slow creak of growing grass.