No speak, no slave
I think a great many people talk, at length, and great speed, to avoid being misunderstood. And more and more I am just not bothered by the concept. We all want to be understood, we all want to be known, even if it is just for a moment, just by that one special person. But I am tired of explaining myself. I don’t mind clarifying, but with each day and with growing conviction, I lack the drive to explain. If I’m talking, it’s because I have something to say. And if you get it, if you understand, then wonderful. If not, so be it. It means nothing at all in and of itself. I suppose I am just losing the delusion that talking round and round in circles until you’ve twisted your words to fit into someone else’s perspective has any point at all.
But such is the nature of people, always wanting to label, to categorize everything and shelve it exactly in its rightful place; as if by calling it something specific, they can more easily digest the material. People feel this incessant need to define. But there is nothing in this world that is simply this, or that. Things are what they are with no need for anything external, certainly with no need for our justifications. Language is an amazing gift of mind but a terrible torment of soul. I often wonder how much of our lives are determined, or rather, our paths in life, by seemingly insignificant perceptions or impressions. The impressions we leave on people, the perceptions we gather from them. The quick way we look something over and put it in its true, cerebral place, moving on to the next item for consumption, never bothering to pull back that first layer of superficial nonsense to find out what lies underneath.
So I find myself, from time to time, being flip to continue walking that fine line of being there without being in it. And I’m not sure that that makes any sense at all, to anyone other than me, but then it’s fairly self serving, so I don’t suppose it needs to make any sense at all.
