Name the word, for the word has a name.
Listen to it breathe. Let it lie lightly in the mind and liquid
on the tongue. Bear its essence forth, its personality and its intention
- conceived briefly, discarded readily, pronounced forcefully.
How does it sit with you? The spread of its silhouette suspended
within a silent interval. How does it move you? An attitude framed by
the gesture of a hand. Is its pitch sharp or flat, its texture course or fine?
Allow meaning and resonance, intonation and feeling to merge unencumbered.
The syntax of the imprisoned soul, emancipated by a river of sound. Mould
the shape of your aboutness, around and within, beyond and in spite of...
And hear consciousness dance.
‘Then love knew it was called love.’
- Pablo Neruda
‘Any language is a supreme achievement of a uniquely human collective genius, as divine and endless a mystery as a living organism.’
- Steven Pinker, The Language Instinct: How the Mind Creates Language