For
the sake of language, words seem protected from extinction. Speaking them alive
is to their natural preservation in process. What we have as the understanding
of them seems to be by the ruffage resulting from usage and the redeeming
benefits of retentive minds. We are symbiotic in that regard. We are ingesting
meaning, thursty for the nuances and the spices as they are emotionally
released, palpable in any vocalization; yulps, gripes, compliments, diatribes,
songfests, hymns, directions, storyable accounts, yes, just say it and imbedded
deep within that content all these other things are searched for. It’s probably
recycling at its finest. Even the unsaid has its monumental moments of language in the closet of
the unspoken. Before I have words, what is my think? I am on my motorcycle of
the mind, sensing the world before me without words. Is this closer to the
truth of being? Yes, I have speak but as a fallback position for being in the
moment. I have a mind-garage full of spoken. At one time it was all worth
something to me. Now I want to have a garage sale/give-away of it. I’d like to
think of it as an ‘estate sale’ but I can’t say heirloons and top of the line
or priceless about spokens at my ‘already-said’ garage sale. Speak, spake,
spoken, so what’s your best offer? . . .
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