Words

Now and then I try to put down some words and I’m left with silence, wordlessness. Other times, in metamorphic release, I break through to externalize and crystallize. We all have our moments (some more often than others) when the hard shell cracks and breaks off cleanly and effortlessly. Sometimes we shed baroque emotional obesity to shoot thin finely-honed arrows, or in suicidal anguish we flash crystalline jewels through winter trees, or we spin spidery webs of words to laugh at the world and ourselves (while our pain is sealed in the vaulted privacy of death) or with a bawdy joy in vegetarian sex we pluck various juicy fruits (some covered with sarcastic dew) from our harvest trees. And all these words - known and unknown, read, unread, and unwritten - touch on truth somewhere, often unaware, and poke a small hole in the dark shroud which the unconscious covers us with to protect us from pain. And so, slowly and inevitably, words bring us to the light of our own beings.