The first thing that came to mind is religion. My mind speaks to me again I suppose, and I apologize for the unwritten days that I spent thinking I could think through everything on my own. Perhaps now I understand that it is to have been given language… for it also means that without language, we should take to only having sensations… raw fear and energy that is unplayable, not containable into words.
For words have given the mind a lullaby, and somehow in its usage finds some sort of solace… solace in words, but I cannot think that this is the only way that I should be able to spend my time? That over the course of my whole life this is all I can think to place on the paper besides me? Besides… who would take to wanting to see these words? For they are quite meaningless, but then maybe that’s my burden… to take these honest thoughts and somehow condense it into form, into a shape that is then meaningful… is that it?
And to each of us our own purposes, to each of us own our own identities: our Self and kindred being who cries out at night to be heard and awakened in the dawning hours. Oh, but the horror! The pity and sense of un-fulfillment that this voice will never be heard, never be given to form, given to rise up and beaten to death before it was ever given a chance to breath.
Do I breath?