Going Quiet (I’ll see you when I see you)

It’s been a crazy year in the Haines house, and as some of you may know, we’re in for another round of medical testing for Titus, which may or may not yield any new answers. Things feel heavier again, and that’s okay. I’m not trying to dampen anyone’s spirits here. We’re grateful for the possibilities.

In light of the heavy, I’m coming to grips with the fact that perhaps my coping mechanisms are all out of whack. Perhaps I’ve turned to addiction, to ego, to material, or to any other distraction in an effort to avoid the mysteries of this awkward human experience. Isn’t that the crux of being alive?

In that vein, I’ve been wrestling with this space of online writing. I’m trying to sort it out. Why am I here? Why do I keep typing away? So much has been said, so much of it good by so many good people. Do I need to keep pecking?

Who knows. But here’s what I do know--it’s time to be quiet, to try and stretch beyond the limitations of the finite known and into something else. What? Maybe Rumi’s quietness?


Inside this new love, die.
Your way begins on the other side.
Become the sky.
Take an ax to the prison wall.
Walk out like someone suddenly born into color.
Do it now.
You’re covered with thick cloud.
Slide out the side. Die,
and be quiet. Quietness is the surest sign
that you’ve died.
Your old life was a frantic running
from silence.

I’m going to disappear for a while. Why? Maybe I’m trying to be reborn into color. I’m leaving this space, Facebook, Twitter and the like for a bit. Perhaps a month. Perhaps longer. I’m getting rid of the pressure to churn out creative grammar, of story construction, of thought deconstruction.  I’m hoping to burn down some things, and maybe recover some others.

Recovery is also an awkward process. I reckon if I’m going to try to recover, I might as well recenter on the right thing.

And yes, I’ll keep writing my psalms, but I’ll be jotting them in a notebook with a pencil. I’ll be writing other things, too. Journal entries. Letters, maybe.

Anyway, enough of all of this. For now, let me just leave you with this: I’ll miss those of you who hang around these parts, but I’ll see you when I see you.

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  • http://www.dearabbyleigh.com/ Abby Hollingsworth

    right there with you, friend.

  • pastordt

    I get it – but I’m sorry, too. Praying for
    You all.

  • tonia

    There’s bravery here. Praying the God of Moses will meet you in the desert, ignite your heart like a burning bush. You are all in my prayers.

  • http://rachelfranklinwrites.com/about Rachel Franklin

    Seth, I understand the quest of the quiet – there it comes in quandaries –
    and the sound pressure of the loud pressed against it. Surely, fight for
    the still to stay because this is the finder. From one who has physical
    illness, yes, maybe with a clearer name, but years of less clear
    answers to “better”, compassion and understanding pours out for you all.
    It can be a lonely road. Thank heavens we’re never robbed of Love. Continued prayers.

  • thelifeartist

    I’ve got your number. And so does Austin. We’ll let you have your necessary quiet….for the most part. ;)

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