In the following epigram, one of four epigrams under the title “Four Poems after Callimachus” by Stephanie Burtt, I discover the presence of a cautionary self-reflection with anyone who deigns to write…even in the humble milieu of the blogosphere.
(Epigrams, 60)
Lucky Orestes.
If you know his story,
you probably think that saying so makes me a jerk.
Fair enough. But I’ve been losing my mind
in my own way this week: Orestes lost his,
but at least he didn’t insist
on asking his loyal companion to read and critique
his own book-length original fictional work.
That’s why he kept Pylades as his friend.
True friendship can exist.
As for me,
I need to learn how not to speak,
when not to hit send.
I am “full of words”; yes, even too full of them, like Elihu in the book of Job who noted, “My belly is full of words, like a taut wineskin, about to burst.” And that is ok; all of us have our “belly” full of something and I’m glad my stubborn willfulness is sublimated into verbiage as opposed to less benign “stuff”. But I’m certainly learning how to “not hit send” more often and the same discretion is being exercised in my daily life. It makes me remember a bromide from a pastor in my youth, three filters through which should pass anything we might say—-1) Is it true?; 2)Is it kind?; 3) Is it necessary? Number three is really challenging, putting about anything we do or say into question. I recall the tune from the ‘60’s, “Silence is Golden” by the Tremeloes. My meditation experience of the past ten years gives rise to these thoughts about silence. This practice continues to remind me of the chattering of the monkey mind and how that much of this chattering can take the form of “noble” thoughts. It often is still “chattering.” W. H. Auden noted, “We are afraid of pain, but more afraid of silence.”
literary lew 