The Language of Things

 

The language of things:

it's the language of things, words spoken to give a sense of understanding, defining existence into manageable landmarks for easy navigation. I speak of things to give them a certain reality in my imagination, a flower gains an entire story with a single word. Yet I also think of what is lost, of how a story comes to define the limits to what a flower truly holds. My life now is about seeing things in two ways and both have a shared truth within my view. 

This is the language of seeing - finding space in equal value to the things it holds, of how it lends itself to give description to the curve of every object it encounters. There is no easy way to talk of the value of emptiness, and perhaps words themselves are the best measure, how they emerge from silence in a seamless way and only give meaning through pause, allowing silence once more to hold true. There is never really any parting of the two, my words here are not separate from the page, and once told aloud they still retain silence as their source. 

The language of things owes its meaning to a silence that allows. 

To speak again of the flower - I see it too in a shared capacity of space giving form, each petal given its distinction by the emptiness found between them. A flower is emptiness bloomed. Language mostly fails in the stories it tells, a fiction of truth it seems. I have no wish to deny any aspect of the world, to imagine that I live in a realm where silence rules, and form is an illusion. Even as I find this so on deeper understanding - I live in a mostly solid world of things. Language reflects this. But it's not the whole story, and the world is not made completely solid. What I see can't always words to fit description, I write in the langue of things after all. Yet always, always, it's emptiness that allows their meaning. That's the whole story. 

~

Peace, Eric