Symbols uttered from the mouths of beasts, in sound and form. A transformation of inner space to outer sky – to flesh.
What are these words.
Delicate ribbons of noise spilling from my tongue, kissing deeply all that they touch – imprinting their shape and velocity on the ever-welcoming universe, as if etched onto the very bones that shape the growth of this rising ocean of noise.
But what are these words.
How clearly do we really see them. How much can we rely on them. These ribbons that flow from my mouth and spread through the wind – through my hand, and this pen. Ribbons of ink that flow across this page in these magnificent shapes. Symbols…symbols of what they were before they were words.
What were these words before they were words.
So many transformations and translations – yet the source remains contained within the solitary confines of the inner space. That place that cannot be bridged, cannot be defined or properly described – the infinite sea of the human “soul”, as dark and mysterious as the universe itself.
To ask now what this source is, would be no less than asking what God is. Perhaps that is the answer. Before these words were ever words, they were God.