They say you’ve got to dig deep, claw your way through the soft tissue of your psyche until you hit bedrock. It’s not just about the heart-stuff, the easy emotions. No, they want you to mine that wild, ineffable rage lurking in your solar plexus. Most days it’s a sleeping beast, but poke it hard enough and it’ll blind you with its fury.
You could hide behind big words, cloak yourself in allegories. Or play it safe, building castles of facile poetry on foundations of sand. But here’s the kicker: they’ll tell you it’s all garbage. Everything born outside the womb of vulnerability is destined for the linguistic landfill. Want to escape this word-dump? You’ve got to tap into that chest-fire, that core of molten emotion.
Break. Beat. Breathe. Pause.
What savage syllables are you suffocating under that concrete veneer of yours? What ancient incantations have you forgotten or ignored? In your scrambled, mock-Herculean attempts to forge diamonds from your core self, what essential truths have you crushed?
Yet, the siren song of words still calls. You pan the streams of consciousness, hoping for that golden phrase to glint in life’s seam. It’s linguistic alchemy – turning scribbles into gold, creating reality from thin air. The enchantment is undeniable, not some malevolent spell, but a compulsion to unearth power from the ore of your mind.
But here’s a thought: must all powerful words be born of churn and struggle? Why are we so hellbent on feeding from this trough of turmoil? Surely there are words that simply float, gossamer-light on the breeze of existence. Words that wrap you in a ketamine haze, infusing your senses with healing rather than hurt.
And in this longing for peace, for perfection, for dreamlike purpose, we stumble into the valley of non-words as words. The shadows of silence become our most eloquent speech. Nothing transforms into everything.
Suddenly, it’s not just theory anymore. It’s not some half-baked concept barely clothed in language. It’s visceral, real, a storm reignited in your core. All the while, words ebb and flow like tides of reality. Images dazzle and shatter, reconstructing our world with each blink. Phrases prance like show ponies one moment, stumble like drunks the next.
And through it all, the river of thought flows in its ever-changing circle. Each word, each phrase, each pause between breaths – they’re all shaping our reality, forging the world anew with every utterance.
This is the power of language. It’s not just description; it’s creation. Every word you speak, every thought you articulate, it’s all building the scaffolding of your reality. The rage in your solar plexus, the peace in your mind, the wonder in your heart – they all find form through language, becoming tangible, becoming real.
So next time you speak, write, or even think in words, remember: you’re not just describing your reality. You’re creating it, one syllable at a time. Now that’s a power worth wondering about.