Language, as in hunting the trails of verbiage,
are the footprints left by the hunter
in the know of the winter
who experience, still looking for the oneness.
Language is the road-kill of the moment
along the highway of streaming consciousness.
Language is the trench coat of a flasher,
hoping to bare soul by getting you to look
at the verbal wardrobe exposed and on display.
If we all spoke on the in-breath rather than the out,
would we have an entirely different language account
to be heard?
Language is really just the sediment as an outcrop
from the cognition of the mind,
an exhaust from recognition and frame.
Does freedom of speech
actually depend upon a language to be authentic
or is it really a clarity of being
and essentially a state of consciousness
to actually say or sound what is on your mind
and of your heart?
If I had a nickel for every word I spoke
would I be more talkative?
Would language work if there were no time in the method?
How could I say what is already present by being
and not be historical or redundant
or a talking head reporter?
And finally if there is a oneness
does language at all provide,
promote, or prove to be of any worth?
So how can I say what is in my timeless heart
when language is always staging me
in a time-wise post-moment way?