For the sake of language, words seem protected from extinction. Speaking them alive is to their natural preservation in process. What we have as the understanding of them seems to be by the ruffage resulting from usage and the redeeming benefits of retentive minds. We are symbiotic in that regard. We are ingesting meaning, thursty for the nuances and the spices as they are emotionally released, palpable in any vocalization; yulps, gripes, compliments, diatribes, songfests, hymns, directions, storyable accounts, yes, just say it and imbedded deep within that content all these other things are searched for. It’s probably recycling at its finest. Even the unsaid has its monumental moments of language in the closet of the unspoken. Before I have words, what is my think? I am on my motorcycle of the mind, sensing the world before me without words. Is this closer to the truth of being? Yes, I have speak but as a fallback position for being in the moment. I have a mind-garage full of spoken. At one time it was all worth something to me. Now I want to have a garage sale/give-away of it. I’d like to think of it as an ‘estate sale’ but I can’t say heirloons and top of the line or priceless about spokens at my ‘already-said’ garage sale. Speak, spake, spoken, so what’s your best offer? . . .