I have always given them so much attention - so much importance. Don't say what you don't mean, don't shout, don't curse, and remember, you can't take it back once it's said!
This is what we do all the time. We humans talk so much and listen so little - always desperate for someone else to finish their nonsense so that we can start with our own.
For a while I've been tired. Tired of trying to keep my head above water in what seemed to me to be an ocean of gushing and gurgling irrelevant noise, spewed out endlessly, confusingly and ultimately pointlessly. I was tired of shouting at walls.
Words create the ultimate brick wall. They come between us and each other. We can't hear the truth of others behind the stony structure of thousands of tiny fragments of sound . They block out true communication as surely as a blackout blind blocks the sun.
Whatever do you mean? How else would we communicate one with another - without speaking - without words?
When we mean what we say, words can work. Words can explain our pain, our personal experience and our love, but often as not they don't. . I might say something that sounds like one thing, but all the subtle silent signals I give out speak otherwise, and you will be left with a question in your mind. Really?
Words are tricky.
Words don't really matter, what matters is how the words are spoken. We say things we do not mean all the time, and in doing so lose a little of ourselves. We lose our authenticity, our truth and our energy.
But truth takes courage. Not bravery. This is courage that comes from vulnerability.
How many of us have the courage to lay ourselves open and show who we really are? Are my words my own, or are they the product of my conditioning, entrainment, and social background? Am I speaking the words of my Mother, my Father and my Teachers? Are they the words of others who have frightened or intimidated me? Are they the words of someone I admire and wish to emulate? Is any of this me?
I have been painting. There are no words in my paintings. I let emotion rise in my chest, I let it flow and twist and writhe and rest, and the paintings tell my story.