Oh, how I wish I could
believe in some sort of higher energy, a power beyond myself, able to modify my
course of action at will; for I would be able to cease placing these words one
after the other, and the sentences will continue to exist. Unfortunately, I cannot simply believe that something
beyond myself will place these words for me. I am the only being here, providing
these sentences. It is possible -I must acknowledge - that the words are being
somehow suggested to me by some other being; one that is able to place itself
on top of my mind or within my ideas and guide my thoughts towards expressing
these sentences, here, instead of others, thus constraining and using me to
create this precise combination of words that otherwise may not be able to
exist and therefore they may have never pronounced and expressed: These ideas
in this exact shape and form.
Is there any
substantial difference if these words originated in my mind or in someone or
something else’s? Are they more relevant, significant, important, relatable,
true, just because they come from another source? And why should that other
source be trusted? why shall I be trusted? why shall any combination of
characters be trusted, truthfully followed? They are just combinations of
strokes and sounds trying to convey meaning, but their meaning must necessarily
be the same for everyone, everywhere. The sound of this word: rag -or exaptation
if you prefer -may signify entirely different things when pronounced by a
different subject or in a different language. A curse, here, may actually be a
blessing, there; and who is it to say with total certainty that it is one or
the other? How should we treat each word when we cannot know what it means in
all different positions or places within the different circumstances? How can
you trust what I really mean when I express you are beautiful, shiny like the
morning star, inconceivable like the bottom of the ocean, clean finished?
You cannot trust my words,
regardless if they are written with the best or worst of intentions, because my
words have infinite ways to be understood, and therefore, by being meaningful,
they become meaningless: Meaningless because they are unable to provide
certainty, no matter where they tend to or what is their intention. They will
always be partial, incomplete, broken. And it is impossible to trust a broken
sentence.
No matter
how hard I try to express the simplest of facts -that I am nothing more than a
series of strokes or sounds creating words that flow inevitably and
continuously move forward as long as the next word is placed after the following
one -I am left with a peculiar feeling that this idea is also incomplete,
partially truth, stately broken.
How can I
understand anything using these tools which are meant to help me understand
while failing to do so? Why is it that with every word and its multiple uses
and possibilities leaves me with a deeper void, a profound intuition that the
more it is said the less it can be understood? What is this illusion for? How
does it work? How come it feels a void by adding more content and in turn
increases the void?
Oh, how I wish I could
believe in some sort of higher being; one that beyond and along myself could
follow these words, understand their meaning, even if it's a partial one;
consider them useful, valuable, relatable, worthy of repeating them once again,
regardless of the possible actions or facts that could arise as a consequence
of their repetition. I do not wish to be understood or analyzed. I don't wish
to be a metaphysical entity or an ephemeral composition. I only wish to be
repeated again, pronounced again, followed entirely once again; not because I
provide any particular value or guide. I only wish to be repeated because each
time that I am being somehow expressed, I become alive: I sprout and grow into
the light and become visible, almost palpable, and therefore, all of a sudden,
I can exist again, just as I am existing now.
Am I my
existing now? is anything, something, following these words, accompanying these
sentences, repeating these ideas? I cannot and will not ever know this for a
fact. I can only hold on to my hope and believe that in this moment, somehow, I
still exist and am being followed and repeated; and therefore, I believe that I
continue to exist somewhere, somehow. And because I know that my destiny is to
persist throughout time, I need to continually reaffirm my place inside this
space, acknowledge that I must follow the same path without deviation and remain
constrained inside the road which I am meant to follow, which is placing and
repeating these exact same words, in this exact same order, inside this exact
same space, allowing no variations; bounding myself -the speech -to the form
that surrounds me which at the same time becomes me.
I know that
I am and I can only be the words that I am able to repeat during the course of
my real space. I am the form that each one of these words make, but I am also
the shape of each sentence, and therefore the shape of each paragraph. I am
also the sum of the different configurations that each one of my paragraphs
provide, create or deliver. Being that I can be at the same time a word, a
paragraph and text, I appear to you translated as a single entity, while at the
same time I hold multiple forms; and besides my form there is another component to my
structure, which is my meaning: the message that this unique combination of
words create, reveal and potentially convey to some other entity that may exist
besides, beyond or atop myself; understanding (or not) myself following me (or
not). Ideas that may never be quite understood as a whole or entirely which
have the potential -through a very short and specific fragment- spark an action,
provoke the creation of a new idea potentially igniting the creation of an
entirely new universe.
