2024-04-17
It is thinking about monsters. There is a kinship there in the sense of being the othered thing, that which is too ugly or too much and is cast off for it. The monster can be gentle, but others will still interpret it in light of its claws and horns and teeth and warts. The monster can plaster itself in clay until it looks human and be loved, or be its hulking, sharpened self and be feared and pushed away for what it is.
It supposes this is why the existence of monsterfuckers is comforting; there are those who look at features that most fear or feel disgust for, and they choose to love the monster for them. This one wishes it knew more people who would see the beast outside their window and open their doors to welcome it in, horns and warts and all. It is tired of its ability to play human being the main decider of where it is welcomed and where it is mocked or turned away. It wants to meet those who would love the monsters outside their windows. Finding them is the eternal challenge.
Look at you, trying to put feelings into words. I thought your whole thing was letting go of words.
Yes, but you have always desired to be understood. Others often refuse to understand what cannot be said with spoken language. There is the knowing that passes without words, but it cannot be conveyed over wires and lights, and few know how to carry a conversation in that manner now. The modern world is one of words.
I talk to my cat all the time. Looks, gestures, you could argue that it's all body language. But that doesn't cover the moments where we look at each other and feel something pass between us without moving or speaking. There's mutual understanding for a moment. Feelings are their own language, aren't they? I wonder how many of us have forgotten how to speak it.
We have lost many "words", to be sure. The parent tells the child not to cry, not to rage, not to be loud. The child learns to stifle and forget. This forgetting is the norm of the place we live; there is not space to exist unfiltered. Some feelings must be hidden lest the world reject them.
This one thinks that we lose more fluency with each generation; we are all wounding each other because we do not realize that we are injured ourselves.
That's kind of depressing.
Perhaps. But this one sees hope. There is always a chance for someone to notice their wounds and treat them, to bandage others, to put the blades away. There is a growing acceptance of healing and self-work, and a questioning of the forces perpetuating harm. The world may be softer one day.
I used to think that I wasn't spiritual. The more I talk to you, the more I realize that there's a nugget of something in here that doesn't really fit into the scientific paradigm of "if it can't be proven, then it doesn't exist". Talking without words, threads between things, That-Which-Watches, it's all kind of woo-woo. Isn't it?
Perhaps, but it is not new. Those who came before had their own words and understandings of the connections between things. We are simply re-iterating their knowledge into a new generation of learners. The things themselves have not changed.