I love poetic writers. I’m not speaking of writers of poetry.
Have you ever come across such artist’s of words?
I’m reading a book by John O’Donohue, called, Anam Cara. He offers a prime example of a tongue painting exquistic prose when he says,
“…the uttering of the word reveals how each of us relentlessly creates. Everyone is an artist. Each person brings sound out of silence and coaxes the invisible to become visible.”
“Through the opening of the mouth, we bring out sounds from the mountain beneath the soul. These sounds are words. The world is full of words. There are so many talking all the time, loudly, quietly, in rooms, on streets, on television, on the radio, in the paper, in books. The noise of words keeps what we call the world there for us. We take each other’s sounds and make predictions, benedictions, and blasphemies. Each day, our tribe of language holds what we call the world together…in your thoughts, the silent universe seeks echo.”
These words made me consider the many palates which speak to me and what comes from my own tongue. I wondered if my words painted bliss or bite, caress or twilight shadows. I wanted my words to sing like O’Donohue’s. Well, not exactly, of course. Each soul has their own language. But I could see that the key is in translating such internal songs and helping them find escape, that other’s might hear them.
Down deep within is that voice, yet it is so popular to spit and scowl, gossip and judge. Those words do not come from the core of a person, the heart of the soul singer. Well, maybe from a broken heart.
Who can translate that special voice that even speaks to the one who is sharing the tune?
Have you ever dove into such song of yourself?