I used to post poems on Xanga that I wrote in my High School & early college years. They were always very dramatic & cheesy, but I enjoyed writing them. I always posted them because I figured, best case scenario, readers might actually enjoy them or, worst case scenario, readers could enjoy poking some fun at me, which I’ve always tried to encourage. It seems like the last few years though, I just got really busy & stopped having time to write. For some reason, last week I just wanted to write again. I’d had a theme bouncing around in my head for a little while, & so I took the opportunity of an afternoon off of work & wrote this. It is kind of long for a blog, but since when have I ever been constrained by length restrictions on posts? If you do take the time to read it, please let me know what you think. You might like it, or you might enjoy the opportunity for ridicule. Let it be known that, either way, I’m for it.
Listen
Listen children, listen & I will speak to you a mystery. It is a mystery of many things, several things that are parts & pieces of a single understanding. From the cluttered chaos of creation emerges a voice. One voice.
Listen children, listen… You can’t hear it? Oh, but you can! You can if only you will. It is a voice that can’t be heard until it is. It will not be, that is to say, it won’t exist until it is heard. How can it be heard unless it is spoken? It cannot be spoken ‘till it is known, & it can’t be known without first being captured. If you are quick & clever enough, you just might catch it.
Listen children, listen! The voice is shouting now, begging to be pursued, captured, possessed, understood, believed, lived, breathed, & finally to be spoken. It is longing to be whispered softly & sweetly from feeble but fascinated mouths & minds. Minds that are faintly flickering flashes of brilliance, & mouths that are sending splinters of the sacred that will sink deeply into the skin of we who are silhouettes.
Listen children, listen & that voice will speak to you a mystery. You need to hear it. I need you to hear it. We need you to hear it. We need you to chase after it, grasp it, wrestle it to the ground, straddle it &, eye to eye, tell it who you are. You must demand it to submit to you. This will be no easy task, but you must persevere. Fight with it until you are exhausted & you fear your strength will run dry & then fight some more. Because with the last blow you land, victory will surely be won. That voice will become yours & will belong to you alone. It will be frightening, but you will then understand that which you did not know before.
Listen children, listen. That voice has been yours all along. With you it was conceived & born. As you grew & changed, that voice, your voice, slowly but certainly slipped from your mouth. It no longer wished to remain on your tongue & under your control, so it fled from you. Since that time it has wandered free, undisciplined, unfettered, unruly, & untamed. Under those conditions that voice grew & changed while you did the same. But unlike you, that voice had no one to teach it. It had no guardian to shield it from the dangers & snares that lurked in the darkness. In such a state it had no choice but to become feral, rough, & wild. You see, civility, polish, & control are a luxury afforded only to those who are safe & protected.
Listen children, listen to be sure this was no fault of yours. You were too small, too young, & too unlearned to see. In the frailty & weakness of your childhood your voice escaped from your lungs & has not yet returned. It has forgotten, just as you have, its rightful home & the place where it was first given life. But now the time for reunion has finally come. This year, this month, this day, this hour, this minute, this second, this voice will reconnect with this mouth, your mouth. You must now search & find the place where your voice has sought refuge from this world & grown unchecked & unrefined. Only then can you begin the tenuous work of rejuvenation that must now be done. It must be done so that you can share that voice with a world that is in pieces. We need you to hear it. Disjointed & quivering we linger, waiting & searching for the voices that we too once had before they sailed away. We have long been shadows seeking solid forms.
Listen children, listen as we are praying for the deliverance that can come only when you have uncovered your voice & overtaken the fortress where it once laid dormant & robbed we shadows of its unwavering light. That voice, your voice will for us become a beacon offering hope amid our search for the strongholds that conceal the voices that have evaded us for so long. Hearing your voice will give truth to those who search, rest for those who tire, & strength to those who weaken.
Listen children, listen & you will hear in your ears a mystery. It is the mystery of many things, many voices. Several voices that have been searched out, reclaimed, & refined by those who were simple silhouettes & shadows. These are those that were waiting, without a voice, until you spoke. It is your voice that now gives them strength to speak out with the voices they have found, & it is your voice that joins with the voices of all creation. Your voice will rise with the voices of all people. You must sing the words to which only you can breathe life & give melody. The song would not be without the voice from your lips, but the song is. It is! The many voices from many places all melting & flowing one into the other before blazing forth as one sacred song. A song of beauty & truth. It is a pure song & a lovely song.
Listen children, listen…