Words

       A word that in itself describes our entire basis of communication.

       A word that describes itself and all others like it. A word that describes love, hate, survival, death, and everything in between.

A simple sound. A movement of the lips and pressing of the tongue, said differently across the world, but meaning the same thing: everything.

       Without words, the world would not be the same. People would be separate. People would not agree, collaborate or befriend. People would not communicate because they would not know.

Sure, there is sign language, absolutely things can be interpreted without being said. But in truth, words have been the saving grace of human contact, allowing the personal touch of one’s voice combining with another.
       Perhaps words have been the greatest invention by man, allowing him to speak with another of equal intelligence, forming a being between them of twice the knowledge. Within that being, all of the answers are held as each human being holds precisely half of all knowledge within their mind. With this full knowledge, we can accomplish many things for our people. We can learn to survive as a family, as a community, as a nation. With a collaboration of words we may discover the far reaches of reality and inhabit the edges of the world as our single-minded people grow in population, expanding our knowledge and spreading what we’ve mastered to those less fortunate and previously unable to gain the power of speech. With our growing family, we may move on to other worlds, building spaceships and military weaponry on the basis of rivalry. Rivalry due to communication, or lack thereof. While words have gotten us further than any have imagined, we must consider the toll it has taken on us. The deaths, the disasters, the misinterpretations.

"Bathroom Words" Noah Calvani

       Perhaps words have been the greatest failure mankind has ever fallen into, never able to free ourselves of another's thoughts and ideas. Without words, we are uninfluenced by those around us, unclouded by the worry and success of our neighbor. Uninterested in judgment and hatred from our enemy. No words can describe how unbelievably happy we would be in our simplicity. In our blindness. Some say ignorance is bliss, and it very well may be, but then again, those are just words. Words used to describe a world that we do not live in. A world that we have chosen not to understand.

       With a lack of communication, we are purely us. We are each individual, and with that, we hold half of all knowledge, more than enough for one human to contently survive.

We do not need all of the answers. We do not need to be together. We were born as an individual and we will die as so. But if we have chosen to live as one people. To survive as a family unit, and die in each other’s arms, we require a special bond. A secure language. A way of communication. A simple sound. A movement of the lips and pressing of the tongue, said differently across the world, but meaning the same thing: everything.

Words.

Abstraction

The house stands in the center of a field.

The building is painted yellow, chipping and peeling in places, revealing the black tar that coats the wood paneling. The entrance, always ajar, sits wide and gaping, its door completely removed. No hinges of the past remain; no door-frame is left resembling the once closed passageway.

Peering within this open space, a kitchen sits tidy and clean, unused but awaiting occupancy. A pink topped table stands alone in the center of the kitchen, uncluttered by dishware or chairs. A small brown box sits atop the table, perfectly placed. Two strings emerge from tiny holes in the box. The wire is thin but strong, tightly wound and taught with unknown weight at the other end.

The first wire stretches straight as an arrow, exiting the doorway and traveling into the golden tall grass which so clutters the field as hair inhabits a head. At the end of the wire, a dog sits, tied at its neck, ceasing its ability to progress further into the field, further into the world. It stares outward with dim eyes, focused on the far expanses of reality, back turned to the house from whence it inevitably came.

The second wire is loose, snaking out of the doorway on the ground and slithering through the grass. The end of the wire meets the center of a tree. It seems to enter the tall, leafy beast and end within its trunk. The string is lost in the fibrous flesh of a citizen from the forest.

Time stands still within this scene. Nothing changes, nothing progresses. The dog is happy in its quest for boundary. The tree is proud to be connected with civilization. The doorway is anxious and always open, awaiting new company.

The house stands in the center of the field.

Nature

Nature is strange. Nature is beautiful. Nature is complex.

I don’t mean wildlife and outdoors, I mean our nature. Our nature as human beings. Our instinct.

From the dawn of man, instinct has been the driving force behind everything. Instinct has led us through trial and error, positive and negative, hatred and love. Instinct has not always put is on the right path, but it has been there for us fall back on in all situations. As civilization has changed and culture has been altered by others, our mindsets and ideologies have morphed and adapted, pushing us further from our natural instincts and beliefs. Often we second guess ourselves, think on matters longer than we should, and sit back without interjecting for the sake of others or the sake of reputation.

This is not natural. This is not right. This is what we should strive to be against. Our minds are powerful and intelligent, existing on many planes and realities, while our bodies are a vessel, carrying that which is inconceivable.

That which is our mind.

To turn against ourselves is…well, a disgrace and deceit of that with which you are closest.

That which is your mind.

Even if those decisions you made, those actions you took, and those thoughts you filled every page of every blank journal with turn out to be untrue or wrong, at least you can truly tell yourself, you trust yourself and no one can stand between you and you.

When this happens in concession and you find incorrectness in every instinct you hold, perhaps it is time to consider yourself and make a change deep down. A change far beyond clothing, a change far beyond scent. It may very well be a change in yourself wherein a new you, a true you, appears.

Running

The takeoff is perhaps the most physically and mentally challenging action you will put yourself through in the entirety of your run. Those first steps where your legs realize what you are initiating and second guess themselves, stumbling for a moment before tensing up and supporting the rest of your body, becoming a truly useful extension of you.

As muscles tighten, your lungs fill with air, easy at first as the influx of wind from the front fills them twofold, but later becoming strenuous as they cry out for slow, drawn out inhales and exhales. The rest of your body can’t handle what your lungs want, instead they need oxygen now, they need it immediately, they need to be free… quick!

Breathe in.

The further you travel, the slower time passes. You lower your head in frustration. Why wasn’t I doing this yesterday? Why can’t I be finished? I should stop soon… Each and every thought slows you down until you are jogging at a walking pace. Cars pass, people sitting comfortably within, AC at just the right temperature. Sweat seeps from your head, drenching your hood and dripping down each strand of hair into your eyes.

Blink.

Suddenly, your speed increases. You still feel tired but you are less exhausted. Legs are numb with repetition. Breathing is no longer an issue, it is just a matter of concentration. A matter of being and living. What is this new feeling? Have I slowed down? Am I in good shape now? Can I have a piece of cake?

Not yet.

You have now reached your maximum. You have pushed through the negative and burst into the reality. The world is now slowing as you speed up. Everything is a blur except you. You and your goal. You can go on. You can run another hundred feet. Two hundred. Three hundred. Four…

It’s not worth it to stop now. You might as well go on forever. This is where you become strong. This is where you actually grow. This is where you are free.

When you are finished, you slow your pace. Your legs realize what you are initiating and second guess themselves, stumbling for a moment before tensing up and supporting the rest of your body. You are finished now. You have done well, and you will do well again.

Emotions from The Great Depression

                   (A piece which secured my position in the National English Honors Society.)

“Why?” the man spoke, his voice squeaky and cracking with confused emotion. He dropped his head down, cupping dirty hands over tired eyes. The fingernails were long, uncut and stained black from hard work. The palms were calloused. Bumps rising from the fingers base like mountains on a prairie of white cotton. As the man pulled his hands downward, his eyes were revealed, bloodshot and wet with the salt water of mourning. The pupils were blue however, deeply contrasting the bright red which so surrounded. A spot of purity in a sea of sadness. As his hands drug down, the skin was pulled, cracking and folding from years of beating sun on a face creased with the sober expression of thoughtlessness. The bottom lip curled downward, revealing rotted gums, still holding yellowed teeth, as a snake clenches its prey. His eyebrows furrowed as the man squinted to find emotion in his partners face. None could be discovered. His brow relaxed, eyes giving up on a search for what could not be found. Reaching up, the man ran his fingers through his hair, slicking it back with the sweat and oils of an unkempt laborer. A laborer who could not afford the luxuries of soap and tooth powder. A laborer who spent his hard earned dollar on bread, daily. By nightfall the bread would be gone, consumed, leaving no evidence of work that day but the worn man himself. At dawn, the man was up again, commuting to work for yet another dollar, yet another loaf of bread, yet another sleepless night.

This methodical routine has been man’s way of gathering hope.

Money equals opportunity.

Money equals satisfaction.

Money equals comfort.

Money equals happiness.

Money equals need. The need for more.

The need for more opportunity.

The need for more satisfaction.

The need for more comfort.

The need for more happiness.

In this we find, hope cannot always be found. Hope must be brought back to us. Hope must be returned if we are greedy enough to lose it.