Unheard
I spend a lot of times not being heard these days. Although that isn’t completely accurate- the incidents of my words spilling out to the vastness of space beyond my children’s attention, priorities and awareness are fleeting, of course. But hanging there, as they are, in space, divorced from me but unanchored in the sea of suspension that is the beyond my children’s hearing and acting; they become potent in a way that is not healthy. They begin to fester and rot and before I know it, as is the way with the silent and omnipresent microbial forces that coat everything in our world, infection sets deep. And thus those unheard words return to me. They have become heavy in their failure to be witnessed. They come running back to me, tear stained, red eyed, snotty all over, and demand my intention. “They didn’t listen!” They wail. “They don’t care!”. (This, of course, the voice of my wounded, wailing inner self combines in cacophany with my actual children’s own wailin...