“If you reveal your secrets to the wind,
you should not blame the wind for
revealing them to the trees.”
― Kahlil Gibran, The Wanderer
The secrets of my past often tempt me to reveal them.
I keep these skeletons safely locked away in a metaphorical closet where a morality court could never find them or judge them.
I can sometimes fool myself into thinking they are buried in the past. But they are always lurking in the darkness, a thought away from resurrecting.
The morality court in the closet may never issue a guilty verdict against me, but my conscience is a harsher judge. And it will not absolve me until I confess my sins in the court of eternal justice.
I don’t want to confess them. But I must confess them.
These secrets are also my greatest source of inspiration, further complicating the quandary.
My conscience issues her verdict.
Write about them. Hide them in plain sight.
Write until every fiber of their truth has been exposed so that those who suffer from the skeletons in their own closets find peace knowing they are not alone.
Write honestly and passionately, fearlessly, trusting that the revelation will heal whatever it destroys.
But write compassionately, clothing the truth in metaphor to protect the innocent victims who don’t even know they played a part in the screenplay.
And never stop writing.
Joy washes over me … the joy of a sinner absolved of her sins in the confessional of life.
It’s a life sentence I welcome with an open heart.
Revelation Need Not Be Literal
We all have skeletons in our closets. We all have secrets we don’t dare reveal. The armchair analysts among us will try to convince us that releasing our secrets into the open will free us from the shackles that bind us to them.
But some secrets are so precious, so intimate, that sharing them outright would dilute the memories they left behind and the promise they hold for the future.
Think before you reveal your skeletons to the wind.
Sacred secrets are too big to lose in the trees.
Trading Barbs With Barb 