Musing over Two 20 oz Coffees

Language is art, but some people paint a better picture with their words than others. What makes the difference? If vocabulary and grammar made the difference, it would be like saying the excellence of acrylic and brush makes the artist; but art has not excelled the ancients despite improvements in its medium, canvas, brush, oils, and so forth. It remains as always that the juxtaposition of color and lines, shades and perspective that define a masterpiece, ironically, whether one is talking about art on canvas, or the power of words.

Language is color with various shades of meaning. As letters form words, words combine into phrases, phrases form into lines, lines into paragraphs, paragraphs into pages, pages into chapters, chapters into a story, all revealing the author’s vision. So, we see that whether we use canvas, color and brush, or stream ink from pen to paper, our imagination is mirrored and communicated equally well.

Whatever we see, feel, hear, all that is so real to us is shaped through our language. These experiences when thoughtfully arranged and contextualized, makes our story everyone’s, our lessons, our depression, our loneliness, anger, hurt, mistreatment, all emotions from elation to grief, a shared experience because in some form or other we are all the same.

If we look at the difference between ourselves and others, if we see a difference, it must be that one is more open than the other, honest, revealing, and capable of reflecting themselves, or willing to do so, less image minded, WYSIWYG emboldened, than the other who is afraid, inflated, deflated, flat, or too confused to identify with the fact that fundamentally we are all the same.

Life is a dance that we are all trying to keep step with although often we make missteps, perhaps tumble and fall, or stand tall on top of the world. Many people love to dance and dance well, others dance because they dance well, some don’t dance because they can’t dance, and some dance to their own tune, full of joy, mindless of the music playing. These unburdened souls lift all of us because they know life is a dance and the music is always playing.

Dance is an expression, an art, a necessity. Do we listen to the sounds all around us? Do we listen to the silence too? What do we hear when all is silent, what do we feel, what images appear? Silence is the music of life, why are we afraid to listen? Sound we can keep step with, but silence is frightening. Is it too honest, does silence reveal too much, does it penetrate beneath the surface, laying bare all we would rather set aside? If such is not the case we should fear; but if it is the case, let it be and let us rejoice in our good company, for fundamentally, we are all the same.

The special so and so in all of us, the one we wish to show off reflects everyone else because we are all the same, we wake up every day, sleep every night, eat and wear clothes in-between, and die as surely as we were born. So, aside from temporal distinctions are we all not like monkeys swinging from branches of the same tree?

It is easy to see that the root of it all we know not, busy as we are swinging from branch to branch? And would it not be a great wonder if a mighty storm were to appear and blow down our great tree exposing her roots for all to see? But only for a moment would we pause before the root too we seize and swing and play as before because it is our habit to use what we can, and why? Should we wonder why?

What is it to be still, be silent, and not swing from branch to branch? Why not be a victim of peace and let it devour us? Why do we blink when we are silent and still, but move about like Zombies eyes wide open? Are we living in a world gone mad? Are we drinking from the same well because everyone else does? Why don’t we seek another well? Is it because no one else does? We are all the same!

There is nothing to gain in life as good as leaving something behind. Anger, greed, hate we will take with us, so if anything is left behind, what will it be? An apology?