Journal: Lens
To attain true communication a universal language and sound need to be met in order to extract the lens of life that gives us the instruments to play with and the voice to sing in the orchestra of the universal.
My wife mentioned, “you’re writing is no longer so dark,” to me a few weeks back after reading one of my writings, and it kinda took me for a spin landing me here writing about it. Ever since then, here we are slowly dissecting and searching for how true that might be. Or is it an observation of her reality, and it ain’t mine?
Recently, a reading from “The Rhetorical Tradition” sent me down memory lane, the memory ended up being a page out of a book, that had a wooden anchor printed on a light-burned white paper, with a few roses bursting out from the bottom corners of the anchor, a rope wrapped it’s self around from top to bottom leaving space to showcase the beaten brown and black texture of the anchor. Written in block traditional letters above and below, “Everyone who walks into the same room, notices something different than you.” Basically, everyone who is not us looks at life from a completely different lens, than the lens we see through in each moment.
This theory came from a Philosopher named Kenneth Burke, who believes the lens we look through creates a different language even if it sounds like the same language. The terms and words being consumed are not always digested and understood the same for each person in a room. Based on the speaker or writer’s definition of the term or word being delivered can be taken out of context by the audience or individual who may be paying a listening ear.
My wife’s lens of my writing and knowing my upbringing leads to a lens of why she would use the word “dark,” after some searching, she is not wrong, it is logical. The reason for that shift is the change in my internal environment. Each letter, word, sentence, and paragraph, typed and written, every word, sentence, and story spoken have been the garden tools to trim the parts of me that no longer consumed air, and my garden, within me is now full of life. Still with lighting and thunderstorms, but understanding that the rain that comes from those clouds gives me water and the water is to help me grow when the sunlight is in my eyes.
As my heart learns how to navigate, the “dark,” that my wife means, it is no longer the only color in my paint kit, even light needs less exposure and more shadows.
