“The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them -- words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. But it's more than that, isn't it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you've said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That's the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller but for want of an understanding ear.” Stephen King, first paragraph of "The Body," novella published in
Different Seasons and basis for the movie
Stand By Me.
I worry that I've missed revelations like that from others. Or maybe at times I've heard, or at least have tried to, but have failed to convey that well enough. It's painful to be on the other end, trying to word feelings of that depth but not being heard or more often keeping them inside out of fear of little or no reaction. And sometimes it's that the people who might be willing to listen are not the same as the one or those you wish would care. That problem reminds me of one of the most depressing movies I've ever seen--
The Rules of the Game, the 1939 French film directed by Jean Renoir. I first saw it on Christmas night at an arthouse theater in Kansas City's Westport. Characters were shifting their romantic interests and they often failed to match. A would be interested in B, who was interested in C but not A. D would be interested in A, who was not interested in D. Something like that. I haven't seen this in a while. [
Roger Ebert's review of The Rules of the Game.]
Below are some pictures I took last summer of the interior of the
USS Constellation located in Baltimore. For most of the time, I was the only one on the deck. Feelings similar to what I've described above overcame me when I was where the ballast is stored in the hold. One of my thoughts was the realization that sometimes returns to me of experiencing things alone, similar to a painful moment that I don't want to describe online. Part of that feeling was realizing that I might be a willing listener that the speaker wasn't so interested in opening up to. Another was of going through life like this, seeing sights but no one with whom to share experiences. The most common time for me to feel that, though, is in everyday settings.
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| Captain's quarters |
