I am a no stone left unturned kind of person by nature. I do not prefer to leave well enough alone. I am insatiably curious. And if it weren’t for a streak of shyness and some manners, I would be rather irritating in my desire to talk things out all of the time in exhaustive detail.
That said, when mulling over the large (and perhaps unsolvable), there inevitably comes a point in which my words, rather than illuminating new landscapes, begin to orbit frustration, sculpting the dejected path of a penned jaguar.
Time to let the verbal approach quietly rest, then, yes. But the issue at hand, whatever it may be, will continue to leap out in inconvenient moments if I stop grappling with it altogether.
This is when I invite my persnickety problem to make a guest appearance in my garden during my nightly meditation circle.
I keep whatever is bothering me in the wings for a time while I settle my mind, open my heart, and work to connect the simple fact of me sitting there to the unfathomable depths of earth and sky, time and space, truth and mystery.
Once I’ve made a fair attempt at the above, sometimes I find my original concern has grown so small as to be no longer worth my time. Other times I explode with sudden insight, the kind that eats problems like mine for breakfast, leaving a trail of worry-bones in its wake. If that doesn’t happen, I may try to reach a more complete description of what is truly going on, or perhaps let my wild imagination take it on an adventure. And occasionally, for a really, really tough one, I just sit. I just sit there and hold it awhile, not trying to put it down, not trying to engage it, just feeling it deeply, with every ounce of my being, uncomfortable though that may be.
[NaBloPoMo’s question for today was, “Do you find it more helpful to talk things out or to let things quietly rest?” So I guess I’m going with, “yes.”]