The whisper whisperer lives inside of each of us.
That inner voice that only you, as yourself, hear clearly.
So quietly pronounced but elucidated coherently.
Addressing the subject at hand almost as a kibitzer
or an enhancement of the backstory that has carry,
although not obviously known to be so,
the stir of the subtle from almost the unconscious,
or the incoherent ramblings that come to be said
as the inner whisper, to be heard by you, the whisperer.
To seek clarity, past the hurl, to decode the language used,
to find the emotional feel that makes for the connections,
to benefit from the internally spontaneous dynamic.
We all have it, have both, the whisper and the whisperer
but usually do not witness that deeply,
what is so privately said to ourselves from within.
To elaborate that story to others would be both difficult
and also too revealing as to the irrational format
ponderously wandering around inside of each of us.
So private yet so poignantly alive to the moment
that by rational concerns, makes little sense or none.
What self is that that would say those things
and be so unavailable to anyone else but oneself alone?
That we should all become adroit as the whisper whisperer
unto ourselves, as inner revelation, as evolutionary means.
Where to self-love from, able to embrace such needs?
How primal, how direct, how thorough, from self-love.
The whisper whisperer, life is richly available,
secretly, out of silence, in that way . . .