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 ne
This blog by Linda Brailean was created to express her feelings, facts and fiction with written and visual expressions. She hopes to ignite inspiration. Through words and art, she expresses thoughts, feelings and experiences through the many chapters of her life. From the eyes of a child, parent, grandparent, widow; through transitions; to exploring and expressing as she embraces new chapters. Experience made her who she is today. She continues to learn who that is.