Tonight, was my second to last writing class. I’m sure it seems silly to bring this up now, but it’s the only time we have, so I hope you understand. I only created this space for these thoughts days ago, though honestly it feels like it could be a year ago. Time this week… has felt so strange.
I am going to share with you what I wrote for a writing prompt tonight. I spent 30 minutes writing and it felt like five. In fact, everyone in the class had this experience, it was very interesting.
The prompt is: Language Dreaming Itself.
Language Dreaming Itself
But a signpost
But a direction in which we walk toward
But a dream in which we dream of speaking
The closed eyes against the bright summer sun as it crests over the horizon
Tell me what sweet taste like
Tell me why sour makes your face scrunch together
Tell me how your breath feels in your lungs – how it fills you up to empty – how it falls from you so easy – how you never forget to breathe
Language is only talking
The only thing that is talking
There is thinking without language
There is being without sound
Tell me the language of your thoughts – the moment of awe and silence – tell me of the connection you feel there as easy as breath – when you let the language dream itself awake – before you fall back asleep into words and meaning
But as a guide
But as androids dreaming
Laughter in all its forms is language too
Hugs and kisses
The silence that fills you when you look at someone you love
Architecture – where it stands, when it was built, the name above the door
There is nothing that is not language
Because language is meaning – the compass in which you rely
Who are you?
Ask yourself over and over again until the words are meaningless
Who are you?
Who are you?
Who are you?
Who are you?
Who are you?
Who are you?
Who are you?
Who are you?
Who are you?
Who are you?
Who are you?
What do you find in the spaces?
What do you find in the pause?
Point yourself in the direction of something
The words are only a guide
A doorway
A lock and key
Let them return to silence – the place where all things return
Let them come from silence – the place where all things come
Let it speak
It’s screaming for you to hear
But not that way
Never that way
Oh, blessed one,
When will you learn?
You are language dreaming itself awake.
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