Ink to Page, Letters to Screen; Finding My Voice Within
I am now UTTERLY convinced that there are yet many more ways to express and manifest our thoughts and emotions than we have the obvious capacity for. It has been almost two months now since I asked the creator, with the innocence of a child, to show me my place in This mess. Yes, This mess. This is my new term to describe the world i see. Who else do i ask, if not Him who created this beautifully, fantastically, screwed up place, we call Earth, inhabited by the exceedingly more fantastically screwed up species, collectively known as humanity, about my place.
Its been two months since the moon covered the sun, two months since I was moved to ask to be shown my place. This time-span, 63 days in total, has been a life-altering journey fraught with questions, laughter, blood curdling anger, joy, answers, and deep soul stirring emotions that still seek a novel outlet of expression.
At times, I have felt that at any given moment, my blood was literally going to start gushing right through my skin pores, as it tried in vain to seek an exit. To find a means with which it could finally express its intense, unstoppable nature. A conduit to freedom from the constriction imposed by tiny vessels and a heart which pumps seemingly without thought or consequence.
I haven’t dared to write. In all honesty I have been afraid of the language that would spew forth. Today I know that had I written in those 63 days, I would have written in "tongues". My spirit would finally have done the unthinkable, raised up from its deep inner shelter and permeated my flesh so as to be released through my finger -tips. It would have broken earth and spirit world rules and manifested itself in physical form. At least so I have thought on more than one occasion.
So instead I have been writing on the pages of my heart. That soft, mushy place, that still has a child-like conviction, an unwavering, unquestioning belief in the good of every living thing. Yes, even "evil-incarnate" at one point was good and if he really wanted to, he could be good again, right, Daddy God? It is in this place I laid, as a true living sacrifice, my anger and the many other untamable emotions I have felt taking over me. Day by day, minute by minute, second by second, I have found myself using the revolving doors, that lead in and out of my heart space, with a regularity that bespoke of the intensity of my experience. In this my holy of holies, this place where even my sins, my failures, and my screw ups, can not defile, I have come daily and sometime more, as a child, to seek refuge, joy and laughter. Here I am comforted and assured that there is beauty in the fantastically crazy mess that I see. It is here that I am told to go to my beginnings, to sit by the ocean and remember and in this to be remembered. By time, sun, ocean and all that exists in between.
No doubt about it, as i sit and reflect, I have spent the last few months in my heart. It’s been therapy of the cheapest but most effective kind! Lol! Within this period of sunsets and sunrise which has seen me not stray far from my hearts place, I have still managed to make little steps. Steps to try to see with my Heart eyes, and hear with my Heart ears. Two steps forward nine steps backwards. And that, in my world is progress of the sublime kind.
As if to defeat the very purpose of my “journey by steps”, I keep colliding into the very pain I want away from. Not pain bore of my own flesh (that I have known since I could know) but the pain of all else. Remember Se-lah? If I were to paint a picture of the world my Heart eyes now sees, it would look something like this.
Each creature deeply cocooned by a thick, almost fuzzy, fog of Love. Aww.. How warm, right? Well, within that fog, there exists, a seemingly, impenetrable wall of pain, that serves to trap said creature within its confines. And I see this repeated on many levels; the level of one, of twos and threes, of communities, heck all the way up to the level of the human collective and beyond!
Now, at first glance, It all sees pretty futile I know, but on closer examination, you are privy to the barely perceptible elements of the fog, you know, kind of like the atoms that make up the fog. Now these filopodia-like extensions (biology-speak for slim outgrowths) are actively involved in trying to penetrate the equally microscopic holes in the cement that holds the wall together. Can you see it?? Well, if you can, now you also see, what my Heart eyes see. And its this acitve process of Love, as it seeks to penetrate the pain and rescue its beloved, that gives me cause for much hope and much Joy. Because in this picture, Love also comes not just from without but from within.
And now onto my Heart ears, well sorry to tell you but all they hear is nothing! There is so much sound that all i really hear is nothing! Instead of coherent expression, its almost as if someone put it all on mute and then promptly lost the remote. So I can tell that the voices exist by virtue of the moving lips, but the privilege of hearing distinctly is not for me to enjoy. Is this for a reason? Another question I lay at my hearts door. Voices, Voices Voices, I wish I could hear the individual voices. A cacophony of sounds now no doubt, but in time, with the right conduit, distinct clear voices will enamate. Of this I am assured.
Now with all this ongoing on the inside, I have managed to remain very much in motion on the outside. Spirit in my heart, but flesh very much present in "The Mess". Moving, working, typing, interviewing, talking, conceptualizing, networking, barely sleeping. Time as man knows it, is not in my favor, of this I have always known, and taken a strange sense of comfort in. Thus my frenzied motion to accomplish a mission conceptualized before I was given breathe might seem to some unrelentless, but to me necessary. It is from all of this, as cryptic as it may sound, that "Voices of the Voiceless International" finally came into existence.
And today the first of June 2006, 63 days later from when i looked up trustingly and asked to be shown my place in "This fantastically beautiful mess", I finally hear clear the Voice that always serves to stop me in my tracks, and sit. Sit and Be Still. Sit and in time allow for it all to leave the confines of my human be-ing and transmit it the best way that this human knows how.
Ink to Page, Letters to Screen
Take from it what you may, but this is my journey.
This is my story.
www.voicesofthevoiceless.org
--------------------
....to live in these times without striving to change them is like watching, with serenity, the oncoming truck in your path..
-George Monbiot.
Its been two months since the moon covered the sun, two months since I was moved to ask to be shown my place. This time-span, 63 days in total, has been a life-altering journey fraught with questions, laughter, blood curdling anger, joy, answers, and deep soul stirring emotions that still seek a novel outlet of expression.
At times, I have felt that at any given moment, my blood was literally going to start gushing right through my skin pores, as it tried in vain to seek an exit. To find a means with which it could finally express its intense, unstoppable nature. A conduit to freedom from the constriction imposed by tiny vessels and a heart which pumps seemingly without thought or consequence.
I haven’t dared to write. In all honesty I have been afraid of the language that would spew forth. Today I know that had I written in those 63 days, I would have written in "tongues". My spirit would finally have done the unthinkable, raised up from its deep inner shelter and permeated my flesh so as to be released through my finger -tips. It would have broken earth and spirit world rules and manifested itself in physical form. At least so I have thought on more than one occasion.
So instead I have been writing on the pages of my heart. That soft, mushy place, that still has a child-like conviction, an unwavering, unquestioning belief in the good of every living thing. Yes, even "evil-incarnate" at one point was good and if he really wanted to, he could be good again, right, Daddy God? It is in this place I laid, as a true living sacrifice, my anger and the many other untamable emotions I have felt taking over me. Day by day, minute by minute, second by second, I have found myself using the revolving doors, that lead in and out of my heart space, with a regularity that bespoke of the intensity of my experience. In this my holy of holies, this place where even my sins, my failures, and my screw ups, can not defile, I have come daily and sometime more, as a child, to seek refuge, joy and laughter. Here I am comforted and assured that there is beauty in the fantastically crazy mess that I see. It is here that I am told to go to my beginnings, to sit by the ocean and remember and in this to be remembered. By time, sun, ocean and all that exists in between.
No doubt about it, as i sit and reflect, I have spent the last few months in my heart. It’s been therapy of the cheapest but most effective kind! Lol! Within this period of sunsets and sunrise which has seen me not stray far from my hearts place, I have still managed to make little steps. Steps to try to see with my Heart eyes, and hear with my Heart ears. Two steps forward nine steps backwards. And that, in my world is progress of the sublime kind.
As if to defeat the very purpose of my “journey by steps”, I keep colliding into the very pain I want away from. Not pain bore of my own flesh (that I have known since I could know) but the pain of all else. Remember Se-lah? If I were to paint a picture of the world my Heart eyes now sees, it would look something like this.
Each creature deeply cocooned by a thick, almost fuzzy, fog of Love. Aww.. How warm, right? Well, within that fog, there exists, a seemingly, impenetrable wall of pain, that serves to trap said creature within its confines. And I see this repeated on many levels; the level of one, of twos and threes, of communities, heck all the way up to the level of the human collective and beyond!
Now, at first glance, It all sees pretty futile I know, but on closer examination, you are privy to the barely perceptible elements of the fog, you know, kind of like the atoms that make up the fog. Now these filopodia-like extensions (biology-speak for slim outgrowths) are actively involved in trying to penetrate the equally microscopic holes in the cement that holds the wall together. Can you see it?? Well, if you can, now you also see, what my Heart eyes see. And its this acitve process of Love, as it seeks to penetrate the pain and rescue its beloved, that gives me cause for much hope and much Joy. Because in this picture, Love also comes not just from without but from within.
And now onto my Heart ears, well sorry to tell you but all they hear is nothing! There is so much sound that all i really hear is nothing! Instead of coherent expression, its almost as if someone put it all on mute and then promptly lost the remote. So I can tell that the voices exist by virtue of the moving lips, but the privilege of hearing distinctly is not for me to enjoy. Is this for a reason? Another question I lay at my hearts door. Voices, Voices Voices, I wish I could hear the individual voices. A cacophony of sounds now no doubt, but in time, with the right conduit, distinct clear voices will enamate. Of this I am assured.
Now with all this ongoing on the inside, I have managed to remain very much in motion on the outside. Spirit in my heart, but flesh very much present in "The Mess". Moving, working, typing, interviewing, talking, conceptualizing, networking, barely sleeping. Time as man knows it, is not in my favor, of this I have always known, and taken a strange sense of comfort in. Thus my frenzied motion to accomplish a mission conceptualized before I was given breathe might seem to some unrelentless, but to me necessary. It is from all of this, as cryptic as it may sound, that "Voices of the Voiceless International" finally came into existence.
And today the first of June 2006, 63 days later from when i looked up trustingly and asked to be shown my place in "This fantastically beautiful mess", I finally hear clear the Voice that always serves to stop me in my tracks, and sit. Sit and Be Still. Sit and in time allow for it all to leave the confines of my human be-ing and transmit it the best way that this human knows how.
Ink to Page, Letters to Screen
Take from it what you may, but this is my journey.
This is my story.
www.voicesofthevoiceless.org
--------------------
....to live in these times without striving to change them is like watching, with serenity, the oncoming truck in your path..
-George Monbiot.