The Word of the World
Was there ever a time, centuries ago, perhaps millennia, when there was but one word, one utterance to convey all that was, and all that was possible? And if there was, who spoke that word? And if there was, was the word "I", or was it maybe "You"? And how long did it take before the word became "God"? What beats in our hearts, or in hearts of animals, insects? Is it the wonder of looking into the night sky and seeing before us the vast history of what has played out before our time, before our grandfather's time, and what will play out long after our passing and the passing of our own grandchildren? Is it the love one feels for a child, a child who has done nothing to deserve this emotion other than to be helpless and in need? Or is it the instinctual yearning we develop to continue our line, a yearning which has become so confused with matters of self and status? And are these all different things, different yearnings, or is it possible that they are in fact all part of the one word, as a finger is part of a hand, as a hand is part of a body, and as a body is part of both "I", and of "You"?
- D
What was the first song, and who could have sung it, and to whom? There must have been a time before the first song . . .but what could have inspired that first song? What was the day like before the first song? Did it rain, and if it did . . .why was the first song not written about the rain? Perhaps a life well lived was the first song, but it was a song to be experienced and not heard. I cannot imagine a time before music, before song . . .a time before time. Perhaps the first song was hidden, trapped inside the human heart, aching for expression but delivering only tears. Song is how we come to know ourselves, and to share love, and to remember that which is worth remembering. Yes, a song is how we come to know the world. It is true that the first songs were not written with vibrating strings, passioned breath, and handheld percussion. No, the first songs were uttered as expressions of elation and grief, and the first songs were expressions of faith, and hope for a better life. The first songs were about worship and gratitude, and we must never forget such humble beginnings as we sing the new songs of love and hate, want and need, and songs of death. But sometimes I fear that the song may be over, and that the songs we sing now are only songs about the songs, insipid howling of insects and wanton love, useless expressions of beautiful noise. If such is the case, perhaps I shall write a song about that.
- K