In our family “the trunk” is a metaphor for the unspoken. Be it a wrongdoing, an embarrassment, a taboo, or a secret, it’s best to “just put it in the trunk” where it’s hidden, safe and sound; to be forgotten, never to be spoken of again.
In my mind’s eye, the trunk is old, like a large steamer trunk that my grandparents would have brought over from the old country. Held in a cold, stone chamber, this worn wooden box, wearing marks from a long, hard voyage’ sits in the center on the cold, wet floor. Its rusty metal clasps hold the lid hiding its contents. Inside, it’s dark, damp, deep. An ominous vibe oozing from cracks and crevices. Secrets quietly humming, anxiously waiting to be released.
The protectors guarding the trunk vary, depending on when one enters the chamber. Dressed in long dark hooded robes, the elders have inherited the duty to guard the trunk and all it contains. Should those approaching speak to the guards, they would be urged to leave, to never look back as the past is best left where it lay.
Those entering the chamber with their burden, head hung low, dragging their bare feet across the cold stone floor must face the guards. With wisdom, compassion, understanding, and little judgement, the heavy lid is lifted just enough to slip the burden inside, and ensuring those inside do not escape. Although the unspoken is left behind, the bearer carries the weight of guilt, of shame, pushing it deep inside their soul, taking it to their grave.
Noone could ever guess the number of contents inside the old trunk. Some so deep, hidden for generations, lost to time. At the changing of the guard, knowledge of some contents may be shared with the new as the old step away. But more often, what’s known of the contents is taken with them to their grave, absorbed into the earth.
There are many secrets carefully laid deep inside, with the intent to stay within its walls for eternity. Those are protected by the guards with fortitude. No matter what one came armed with, they would be turned away with warning to never question again.
On occasion, if approached with the right information; a physical clue, a flicker of a memory sharp enough to carry details; or overheard whisperings as a child; the seeker may be permitted a mere, yet distant, glimpse of one of its contents. A hypothetical scenario, a flimsy clue to follow, or if extremely lucky, a confirmation. Enough to satisfy the need to know, and maybe, but not always, just enough to stop any further inquiries.
Not all secrets are intended to be kept in the trunk indefinitely. The protectors ensuring the trunk is a safe place until ready to be released. When the occasion arises, the heavy lid is opened ever so slightly for the unspoken to be carefully removed from its resting place. The weight of it lifted as it meets the light, allowing it to take shape, fly with the breeze, sharing its message, then dissipate into the atmosphere.
Through the years, the decades, the generations, the use of the trunk has gradually changed. As culture, as society, as mindsets have changed, the need for it has lessened. Judgement, ostracism, disdain, progressively replaced by understanding, acceptance, compassion. Another choice emerged, to “kiss it, bless it, and let it go.” A difficult choice to make at first, but eases with time. The weight of the burden lifted into the light instead of a heavy heart. The protectors stand guard of the trunk, as the trunk will always remain. Although they mourn for those who hadn’t such opportunity; they quietly cheer on the new generations, pleased to see that what was once unspoken, can be.
