They anchor us to the ocean floor and we are safe.
Our words are wings.
We can soar when we wear them
We can see down below and look far beyond with a smile
Our words are freedom.
They let us dream without eyes and feel without hands
They are the medicine that heals our wounds
These words creep through each stroke of our pen and tap of the keyboard,
There magic happens, God happens; words happen.
Words are like you; like me
They struggle to find meaning, to know what being alive really means.
They can be cowardly and courageous, manipulative and true, beautiful yet repulsive. The paradox of words is much like the paradox of me and you.
Our words are like rain; they pitter-patter on our hearts as we hear their rhythms.
Listen… Can you hear the rain? Do you move to its ballet?
Our silence has become too loud. We can no longer afford it. We must hear our dance, see our voice, and taste our expressions.
Together. Together. Together we must
Move. Write. Speak. Feel. Live