The Word of the World
Photography by Davide Santillo.
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"?