Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Building a Windmill
Sometimes I'll come and sit at the computer with so little to write about so much.
Kind of like going to a funeral and having nothing to say. It's a sad thing, to be sure, but who wants to say that and sound like that? You can stand there and see all that there is to see, you know the feeling, you see the emotion. But there's nothing in language that can match the emotion. Sometimes people are taken too soon and there's nothing worthy to be said. Language is brought low, useless. Better to just stand, observe, let honor be understood through incorruptible visuals.
And for some reason -- perhaps because that's all that makes sense -- the simple act of standing is enough. As if, taken as a whole, each person was like an individual blade in a windmill, everyone forming a single message, saying the same thing, without speaking at all.
Kind of like going to a funeral and having nothing to say. It's a sad thing, to be sure, but who wants to say that and sound like that? You can stand there and see all that there is to see, you know the feeling, you see the emotion. But there's nothing in language that can match the emotion. Sometimes people are taken too soon and there's nothing worthy to be said. Language is brought low, useless. Better to just stand, observe, let honor be understood through incorruptible visuals.
And for some reason -- perhaps because that's all that makes sense -- the simple act of standing is enough. As if, taken as a whole, each person was like an individual blade in a windmill, everyone forming a single message, saying the same thing, without speaking at all.
