It could be said that We, you and I, the One of Us – isn’t it interesting how We navigate in language? – We speak, communicate, or We can say commune on a level deeper than language. In a sense, We can say that language of itself is “all talk.”
Deeper than language – the Source of Language -- We can perhaps call it pre-language. We can say that the Source of Language is Being, and Being is powerful in and of itself. The Power of Being may arise as a vibration, and so it can be said that vibration is the precursor of speech. Speech is a fill-in. Speech is written between the lines.
In the world itself, much is unspoken and understood very well. All that a sigh can convey, posture, a look into someone’s eyes, somehow feelings conveyed before words and before thought, beyond continents, perhaps even beyond understanding. Not everything has to be put into words, yet a word is meant to be a caress across the airwaves.
Ah, it could be said that We speak silently in Golden Light. I am tempted to say in powerful lightning bolts yet silent and without drama. There is no gasping.
What is known for sure is that there is something called communication which includes understanding, yet which is beyond figuring out.
How connected to breath is spoken communication.
Of course, all understanding connects to Soul -- to and from Souls. Soul to Soul – far beyond intellect. Intellect can be considered a mere hierarchy.
Beloveds, all communication arises from a hush of stillness. Of course, rather than say people communicate, We can say that communication is from one mountain top to another.
It can be as if words are communicated from your fingertips as well. Certainly communication also includes communication from yourself to yourself and back and forth with or without agreement.
Communication may be heard. This is like a door that slams, or like a creaky door that needs oiling. There is a speaker or a conveyer, that which is conveyed, and a listener who receives the message or may not.
With what tenderness communication is to be given and with what gentleness it is to be received. A speaker and listener give themselves to the extent they are able.
Babies babble. Something is conveyed although the message cannot exactly be pointed to. In a sense, adults also babble. Nevertheless, a hand is reaching out to touch another.
My Cry is: “Hear Me, hear Me.”
In a real sense, a babbler also says: “Hear me. Please notice that I am here, asking to be heard, to be seen, to be recognized, waiting for a nod from you that says: ‘Oh, I know. I know you are here, and I make room for you in my heart.’”
Is it so hard reach out to another Soul and to touch another’s heart as if your life depends on it. It does. Yes, says the heart to simpleness of understanding. There is no science to it.
Godwriting is not a science nor can it be. An artist does not paint by numbers. His vision is invisible and undeniable. It pours out. One color is chosen here and not another. The artist does not know beforehand for a fact what he is going to paint and what it will look like. There is a “gotta” to art from within the artist that comes from somewhere. Godwriting is an art. There is no goal but itself.
I do not prepare what I am going to say to you, and, yet, I say it. I speak al fresco, so to speak. Extemporaneously -- and yet all is known. Godwriting comes from a well in which you dip an unseen dipper and drink.
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