She did not burst upon the scene like a meteor, she came in increments like a baby down the vaginal canal, head, shoulders body etc. she came quietly and took her place in the conversation. From that first day that she sucked her first the air in the bedroom where she was born, she did not care to know that her mother who had just agonized to usher her into the world was almost in shock post delivery. Instead, she rolled up her sleeves and began the work she came to do, she had no time to worry about her Mama. She had her Mama to help her, they were already a team. Every task was imprinted in her brain, and upon her heart that beat decidedly, and determined that it will function until everything about the tasks have been accomplished.
Life can be suffocating and uninspiring. You observe others like yourself quarrel relentlessly about everything but mostly about the worthless. Why? The self is so demanding.
She saw these things and chose to ignore them because they were heavy and useless and not worthy of her minutes, her hours, her what was called time. She worried about how she would know she was doing the tasks correctly, that she gave, or is giving each one its proper attention. She worried about skipping steps because they were laborious or because some steps cause pain. A couple of times she wandered off out of curiosity though never wilful, she needed experience, experience that would cover and encourage her steps as a woman, a mother, a soldier, a creator.
She tried hard to carve a language for herself out of the one she came with because she wanted to show the people what her language sounded like, her God-Given language; but although she tried supremely hard, her language rasped common and grating. No sweet sound cooed out of her words, no birds flew up on colored wings when she spoke her words, no one wept with anguished-desire upon hearing her words or wanted to caress another on the strength of those words from her language.
The noises in her head filters down her ear canals and is constant, it never sleeps like the Spirit. The noise needs to be decoded and written down so people can read the language and dance for the beauty. Dance like David, King David, naked and not afraid to say, this language is Creation – Language; language that connect to the divine.
She yearns for the freedom of Language- Words, words that start soft fires and builds structures, heal wounds, move mountains, explain mysteries, squeeze coal into diamonds with a nod of the head.
Words elude her like she is the plague, yet clings like a disease to others making their Language- Words so sweet when they talk. No matter what they do they can’t shake the sweet words from their language. They are endowed lavishly and stylishly. So they write rich and sweet.
Language is her last task and she struggles to accomplish it.