Mole
Permabanned
- Joined
- Mar 20, 2008
- Messages
- 20,284
Most of us speak in the voice of our parents, our teachers, our rabbi, our priest, our mullah, a celebrity, or our peer group. In this way we know we won't be rejected, we know we will belong, and we speak with all the pride of an obedient child.
Our parents are proud of us, our peer group accepts us, and our lover loves us. Yet some of us itch to speak in our own voice, even before we know what our own voice sounds like. And we instinctively know we risk rejection with every word.
In starting to speak with our own voice, we cut our heart on the high seas, with the dolphin in our bow wave, and the albatross flying in the sky beside us.
As the waves get bigger and turn into rollers, rolling around the globe, we wonder why we didn't stay at home, warming ourselves in front of the fire.
Out of sight of land, not knowing where we are, with sails full set, we fly across the bottom of the world, all the way to Hobart Town.
Who will believe us? Who will believe in the marsupial world, where my summer is your winter, where the trees keep their leaves and shed their bark in spring. Better to say nothing, to know nothing, rather than risk everything by telling the truth, and having them laugh at me.
Or do we freshly mint our own voice?
Our parents are proud of us, our peer group accepts us, and our lover loves us. Yet some of us itch to speak in our own voice, even before we know what our own voice sounds like. And we instinctively know we risk rejection with every word.
In starting to speak with our own voice, we cut our heart on the high seas, with the dolphin in our bow wave, and the albatross flying in the sky beside us.
As the waves get bigger and turn into rollers, rolling around the globe, we wonder why we didn't stay at home, warming ourselves in front of the fire.
Out of sight of land, not knowing where we are, with sails full set, we fly across the bottom of the world, all the way to Hobart Town.
Who will believe us? Who will believe in the marsupial world, where my summer is your winter, where the trees keep their leaves and shed their bark in spring. Better to say nothing, to know nothing, rather than risk everything by telling the truth, and having them laugh at me.
Or do we freshly mint our own voice?
