Until recently I didn't realize that my true voice was that of those I put into written form. Some find theirs in movement through dance or imagery in paint and photos. Some find theirs through actions just as rewarding, and endeavors that claim the highest honors. Arts and crafts etc... The list goes on and on and is as individual as each one of us. Today I am honored, and humbled again to understand that blessing just a little bit more.
All of those voices, in all forms and abilities, in all degrees and many times failing, they communicate. I am blessed beyond my own comprehension in my ability to communicate, either through written words or spoken, vocal or visual. I seem to have a little knack at it all, whether learned or gifted I have no idea. I just think that it is my opinionated inner beast bending the bars on my ego at times. At others making sure the bars will just hold?...
My friends little sister came to town for a visit. Relocating from another state in the fall and making arrangements this summer. Single mother with two kids, works 12 hour shifts, low end government job. Her youngest child has special needs. He wears a helmet at all times, has motor function difficulties but can walk. He is also what they call a communication disorder.
I. A communication disorder is an impairment in the ability to receive, send, process, and comprehend concepts or verbal, nonverbal and graphic symbol systems. A communication disorder may be evident in the processes of hearing, language, and/or speech. A communication disorder may range in severity from mild to profound. It may be developmental or acquired. Individuals may demonstrate one or any combination of communication disorders. A communication disorder may result in a primary disability or it may be secondary to other disabilities.
http://www.asha.org/policy/RP1993-00208/
In the words of his Uncle, he has not said a word in his twelve years on this Earth. The sounds he emits are death curdling screams that are a mix of terror and elation. Not all of the time mind you, but those times are often enough. Now that didn't even cross my mind when I said hello to him and waved. Didn't cross my mind when I spoke with my wife later on that evening about the Mom a bit and ideas to help. Somewhere in my prayers and meditations this morning it came to me. It came to me like a soul crushing lesson, the empathy train was barreling out of control, the humility hammer hitting home. You selfish son of a bitch, you have all of this, all of this creativity and communication abilities, you are blessed beyond your own comprehension. There are those that are searching for just one word, picture, one note of music.
As a person that did not really start to understand his own voice until recently. With the knowledge that the journey has just begun in that subject. I find a deep empathy when I think of those unable to speak, to write, to create. In my creating stages I sometimes ask myself that age old question about which super power would you want. Inevitably it always winds down to that of healing, cure people, I thought what a great idea. I am a male so of course in the end I still want to fix things... I do not speak well at times and am often misunderstood. My gifted nature throwing off social filters at times and interrupting all to often, those five thousand words I just thought of in that last second done sprung a leak. I don't sing perfectly anymore, old habits have done the damage. In my mind fixing that means removing it altogether, stop speaking, stop singing, stop writing... Stop communicating.
I am a selfish son of a bitch, not any denouncement on my saintly Mother, but only myself. I get to do this, I get to have the benefit of others knowing what I feel, what I want, what I don't. I am blessed to have the rewards of giving and receiving, the Thank You's and You're Welcome's, the I Love You's and the release of the ever lurking Fucks! I used to think this was the time for my healing, my righting of a godly wrong. That empathy train brought a lesson with it, add stupid to that selfish SOB business. Just like the examples I see all too often, I want to destroy something I know nothing of, or am just too damn ignorant to get it. Without ever uttering a single word, this twelve year old kid just wrote all of this and more, just said a freaking lifetime of thought, simply by being, simply by being. I think we may have to look at the definition of communication again, myself, I got volumes.
There are so many that cannot communicate in this world. It's causes from physical and mental conditions to social and political causes as well. In every picture of a starving third world child to every developmentally challenged person a volume of thought and a barreling train of empathy. I am blessed and humbled by this ability of ours, both physically and politically, that ability to communicate. Within it we create the fabric of this world through our words and art, our speeches and song, our pictures and our sculpture. Some say that I have a gift of being able to maybe bridge that point between feelings and the real world maybe a bit better or different than some. I don't know about that but I don't mind telling you how I feel. When I was thinking about communications and this twelve year old boy. When painting and writing and creating the fabric of our world these silent folks are owed a great deal of debt in my eyes. As much as we can write and paint and sing and sculpt, the lessons they communicate to us are the ones that are mostly felt. In that they are some of the best communicators I know of. Because silently it comes from the heart, if you listen...
All of those voices, in all forms and abilities, in all degrees and many times failing, they communicate. I am blessed beyond my own comprehension in my ability to communicate, either through written words or spoken, vocal or visual. I seem to have a little knack at it all, whether learned or gifted I have no idea. I just think that it is my opinionated inner beast bending the bars on my ego at times. At others making sure the bars will just hold?...
My friends little sister came to town for a visit. Relocating from another state in the fall and making arrangements this summer. Single mother with two kids, works 12 hour shifts, low end government job. Her youngest child has special needs. He wears a helmet at all times, has motor function difficulties but can walk. He is also what they call a communication disorder.
I. A communication disorder is an impairment in the ability to receive, send, process, and comprehend concepts or verbal, nonverbal and graphic symbol systems. A communication disorder may be evident in the processes of hearing, language, and/or speech. A communication disorder may range in severity from mild to profound. It may be developmental or acquired. Individuals may demonstrate one or any combination of communication disorders. A communication disorder may result in a primary disability or it may be secondary to other disabilities.
http://www.asha.org/policy/RP1993-00208/
In the words of his Uncle, he has not said a word in his twelve years on this Earth. The sounds he emits are death curdling screams that are a mix of terror and elation. Not all of the time mind you, but those times are often enough. Now that didn't even cross my mind when I said hello to him and waved. Didn't cross my mind when I spoke with my wife later on that evening about the Mom a bit and ideas to help. Somewhere in my prayers and meditations this morning it came to me. It came to me like a soul crushing lesson, the empathy train was barreling out of control, the humility hammer hitting home. You selfish son of a bitch, you have all of this, all of this creativity and communication abilities, you are blessed beyond your own comprehension. There are those that are searching for just one word, picture, one note of music.
As a person that did not really start to understand his own voice until recently. With the knowledge that the journey has just begun in that subject. I find a deep empathy when I think of those unable to speak, to write, to create. In my creating stages I sometimes ask myself that age old question about which super power would you want. Inevitably it always winds down to that of healing, cure people, I thought what a great idea. I am a male so of course in the end I still want to fix things... I do not speak well at times and am often misunderstood. My gifted nature throwing off social filters at times and interrupting all to often, those five thousand words I just thought of in that last second done sprung a leak. I don't sing perfectly anymore, old habits have done the damage. In my mind fixing that means removing it altogether, stop speaking, stop singing, stop writing... Stop communicating.
I am a selfish son of a bitch, not any denouncement on my saintly Mother, but only myself. I get to do this, I get to have the benefit of others knowing what I feel, what I want, what I don't. I am blessed to have the rewards of giving and receiving, the Thank You's and You're Welcome's, the I Love You's and the release of the ever lurking Fucks! I used to think this was the time for my healing, my righting of a godly wrong. That empathy train brought a lesson with it, add stupid to that selfish SOB business. Just like the examples I see all too often, I want to destroy something I know nothing of, or am just too damn ignorant to get it. Without ever uttering a single word, this twelve year old kid just wrote all of this and more, just said a freaking lifetime of thought, simply by being, simply by being. I think we may have to look at the definition of communication again, myself, I got volumes.
There are so many that cannot communicate in this world. It's causes from physical and mental conditions to social and political causes as well. In every picture of a starving third world child to every developmentally challenged person a volume of thought and a barreling train of empathy. I am blessed and humbled by this ability of ours, both physically and politically, that ability to communicate. Within it we create the fabric of this world through our words and art, our speeches and song, our pictures and our sculpture. Some say that I have a gift of being able to maybe bridge that point between feelings and the real world maybe a bit better or different than some. I don't know about that but I don't mind telling you how I feel. When I was thinking about communications and this twelve year old boy. When painting and writing and creating the fabric of our world these silent folks are owed a great deal of debt in my eyes. As much as we can write and paint and sing and sculpt, the lessons they communicate to us are the ones that are mostly felt. In that they are some of the best communicators I know of. Because silently it comes from the heart, if you listen...
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