tshering
11-25-2013, 07:46 AM
There he is, that little boy, trying to make sense of the world through the greatest gift he has ever received – language. It is even more precious for him than life itself for language gives his singular world multiplicity.
Everyday he passes the light of reality through the prism of language and watches it come out in a thousand different glorious ways. He knows there is no substitute for the language Nature speaks but he longs to be her most accurate interpreter. He walks through the earth as if always a stranger and pities those who see the present only as the past. Sometimes he feels like stopping and shouting out loudly in the middle of the road, “Helloooooooo! Why can’t you all look at how beautifully the sunlight dances on the surface of the water today, or how majestically the carefree street dog poses. Did you notice the flock of seagulls that just flew above our heads?”
The boy wants to go up to the children on the street and hold their hands and take them to faraway beautiful places, like Peter Pan, showing them the freshness of the green leaves covering the moist grass, the way the snail pushes silently ahead without any hurry, and the tiny delicate voices of the forest birds that would break as easily as twigs; he doesn’t because he’s scared of children these days. Even they want all the plastic things.
All he wants is to put his perception of the world in a little bottle and sell it like perfume, for the price of appreciation.
Everyday he passes the light of reality through the prism of language and watches it come out in a thousand different glorious ways. He knows there is no substitute for the language Nature speaks but he longs to be her most accurate interpreter. He walks through the earth as if always a stranger and pities those who see the present only as the past. Sometimes he feels like stopping and shouting out loudly in the middle of the road, “Helloooooooo! Why can’t you all look at how beautifully the sunlight dances on the surface of the water today, or how majestically the carefree street dog poses. Did you notice the flock of seagulls that just flew above our heads?”
The boy wants to go up to the children on the street and hold their hands and take them to faraway beautiful places, like Peter Pan, showing them the freshness of the green leaves covering the moist grass, the way the snail pushes silently ahead without any hurry, and the tiny delicate voices of the forest birds that would break as easily as twigs; he doesn’t because he’s scared of children these days. Even they want all the plastic things.
All he wants is to put his perception of the world in a little bottle and sell it like perfume, for the price of appreciation.