There is only one word, split into infinity.
(In the beginning was the word.)
All writing then is sacred, powerful, infinite. Also, we must remember that words are not real. They have only the meaning we give to them. In other words: If we imagine ourselves to be invisible, words cannot penetrate us.
If we imagine the universe is a word, what word would it be? How do we know what any one word means? What about their infinite combinations? Who tells us? How do we decide?
We are having trouble talking to computers. Who can be surprised by this, when we cannot even talk to each other. When we cannot talk to ourselves.
A painter paints a painting, puts up his brushes and covers the canvas. But the painting is not complete until the viewer looks upon it with understanding eyes. Likewise, a sentence, a story, a poem is not complete even though the writer would cease to edit it and put it into print. Not until the reader reads it. Not until the reader makes her own sense of it. Not until the page links them, weaves a seamless connective coil between the two, is the piece finished.
If I utter a word, what does it mean? If I utter a word and you do not hear it, what is the point? If I utter a word and you do not understand it, have I said anything? If I say that sheet is white, and you think I said, bad cheetah, right, have the words served us in anyway? Other than to show the frailty of our efforts.
Our DNA operates without our commands. But that does not mean it is unaffected by our thoughts and words. Sometimes we do things like driving ourselves to the store without really being focused on the task. But this is not necessarily a good thing. Words, too, often operate without our really being conscious of them. Usually countless times a day.
It is time to resurrect the word. To find out its meaning. And to complete the sentence.
You are invited to join me. Together, we can complete the circle.