As long as today is already a day I’ve found myself digging around in my word pantry after days of having my left verbal brain’s back turned on my right very busy OTHER kind of brain (I think the back turning is quite mutual, actually) – I might as well write another post today so that I will be able to back my way out of that pantry for some time to come — mostly wordless – then without feeling much guilt at all – or much fear about whether or not my word abilities will return on that ephemeral some-other-day.

Truth is, even though I can at times dash around the word world while wielding syllables and sounds as if I am a native – I am so NOT a native.  I can’t say ‘intermingled’ – hummm – I will say enmeshed?  No, not the correct word…..  Intertwined as in intimately and irrevocably interconnected with?  Inextricably bound up with the horrendous abuses my psychotic Mother invented for me with her supreme bizarre talents were the thousands of hours of isolation in corners and in beds – etc. – that she also expertly placed me in the middle of — meaning — most of my childhood I was alone in a world where words held no place and therefore no meaning whatsoever to me.

In my native land I had no native tongue.

Silent, as a facebook friend so kindly and recently pointed out to me contains the same letters as does the world listen.

Meaning – what, exactly?

Circumstantial evidence, I assert!!

And yet – in this book that I found and doubt I will ever read —

Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking

And yet – there are some who still stand and wave in dignitary fashion the value of words (never mind America will no longer bother to teach children how to write them in cursive – parents, another task is headed your way – should you be of those who care).


Humans have long long long – extended LONG – had so many other far more ancient ways to be in the world – to communicate – to express – to get things done — than talk to self and others using words!


I am therefore not so odd in that extended periods without words or language – even in conscious thought – are so comforting and comfortable to me.  I simply am in some ways perhaps of the ‘ancient ways’ far more so than are most other people.

I have always found it interesting that researchers who study the effects of abuse on young ones, be they rats or primates, understand that it is what is known as the ‘grooming behaviors’ of the species that suffers most greatly in the aftermath of having a very troubled beginning.

Be it licking one another, be it picking of nits, it is as some other researchers most highly suspect the need to expand this language of intimacy and social comfort expressed in grooming behavior to a bigger and bigger group (essentially, also, so that gossiping could be better perfected) that led to the development beginning about 140,00 years ago (not very long ago, indeed!) of humanity’s ability to find and to use verbal language.  (See some post links at the end of this diatribe in words against words that speak about the development of the FOXP2 gene we use for language)


Children raised as I was do not develop an ordinary ‘social brain’ – we do not develop a relationship with words that is quite like the one designed to facilitate the licking and grooming sort of social linking-up and staying connected together that more regular people are so used to they cannot imagine life without it.

So be it.

Nowadays an extended foray into wordsville tires me out – be it words exchanged with other humans or words exchanged between the hemispheres of my brain so that verbal thoughts appear like hand puppet shadows on a faintly lit wall.  Words.  They are demanding little gnat-like apparitions of experience by which true experience can become shrunken into pea-size heads stuck upon razor sharp pinpoints – begging to be set free again so that peace can again be restored — in a world listening to silence.





early childhood adverse experiences

*Chapter 2 Learning


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