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Speak Deeply
For the longest time in my own mind my greatest crime was that I have told lies at the memorial of a twenty-two year old suicide. Lucky for me, I talk in my sleep and my voice is quite deep so the bass in my tone bounced my words off of the moon. In that echo I heard my own voice forgiving me with the knowledge that what I said made her mourning mother laugh and grin.
That said, I never want to have to do that again. So take the time to lift your voices with mine, my friends.
When you speak, try to speak deeply. Whenever you can, speak openly and freely; speak so deeply that you can heal the wounds caused by silence. It's not an exact science, but it is a good rule of thumb to always try to speak deeply, like you're mining for gold with your tongue.
Speak so deeply that you risk breaking the amps, that you shatter the glass in the lamps which light up the pain, that you rattle the chains and the clamps which keep people in place, which stop them from saying "please help me" while looking into another's face.
Speak so deeply that you set off echoes in someone's head and that in the place of 'I hate myself' they hear the words 'You matter' instead.
If those echoes ever scatter, turn your larynx into a jackhammer; use your seismic voice to tear down mountains and reveal the sun. Make them see that even in darkness that they are loved.
Let's use our lungs to create a gale so that, when the rest of the world has failed, we can catch people mid-air and land them back on the right side of the safety-rail, away from the precipice.
Next time someone stares into the abyss, I want them to be able to miss their own pain and sense of hopelessness because they will be too distracted by this, the voice of our deep-voiced choir. Let them be gratefully surprised when our song blows out the match struck to light the funeral pyre, only to leave a more joyful light.
Stand guard with me throughout the night; be ready for the fight against aggressive demon-flight. Join your voice to mine as we roar this life-affirming battle-cry, defiant against the parts of ourselves that whisper we might lose this war.
Speak deeply, boom your bass-voiced bellow, shout at that spectre wielding the scythe and wearing the black habit:
"This is MY life, and you can't have it!"
For the longest time in my own mind my greatest crime was that I have told lies at the memorial of a twenty-two year old suicide. Lucky for me, I talk in my sleep and my voice is quite deep so the bass in my tone bounced my words off of the moon. In that echo I heard my own voice forgiving me with the knowledge that what I said made her mourning mother laugh and grin.
That said, I never want to have to do that again. So take the time to lift your voices with mine, my friends.
When you speak, try to speak deeply. Whenever you can, speak openly and freely; speak so deeply that you can heal the wounds caused by silence. It's not an exact science, but it is a good rule of thumb to always try to speak deeply, like you're mining for gold with your tongue.
Speak so deeply that you risk breaking the amps, that you shatter the glass in the lamps which light up the pain, that you rattle the chains and the clamps which keep people in place, which stop them from saying "please help me" while looking into another's face.
Speak so deeply that you set off echoes in someone's head and that in the place of 'I hate myself' they hear the words 'You matter' instead.
If those echoes ever scatter, turn your larynx into a jackhammer; use your seismic voice to tear down mountains and reveal the sun. Make them see that even in darkness that they are loved.
Let's use our lungs to create a gale so that, when the rest of the world has failed, we can catch people mid-air and land them back on the right side of the safety-rail, away from the precipice.
Next time someone stares into the abyss, I want them to be able to miss their own pain and sense of hopelessness because they will be too distracted by this, the voice of our deep-voiced choir. Let them be gratefully surprised when our song blows out the match struck to light the funeral pyre, only to leave a more joyful light.
Stand guard with me throughout the night; be ready for the fight against aggressive demon-flight. Join your voice to mine as we roar this life-affirming battle-cry, defiant against the parts of ourselves that whisper we might lose this war.
Speak deeply, boom your bass-voiced bellow, shout at that spectre wielding the scythe and wearing the black habit:
"This is MY life, and you can't have it!"
One hopes you're well,
yours,
ADWoodward
