It Has All Been Written Before
But a thousand more attempts drilling down to one word
Just as the author before* — prompting the others* to explore — in the beginning was the word, having been interpreted, used — misused for selfishness or self-control of one’s usage of an unwritten word.
The power of words can truly make or break another — lifting them to Mounts of Shasta or crushing future dreams purposefully living in heart-centered realities. Checked at the door — muted lips no longer sinking ships, listening to sounds of creative voices screaming from seventeen thousand feet, allowing self* — I am no longer living under the stronghold of fear-ridden truths.
Ink envy of another* — empty canvas I’ve become, no longer writing these words on the flesh of my understanding — removed by laser-like attention of a physician’s hand. Dreaming solitude amidst the bombings of neighboring communities — holding firmly to peace invigorating heartfelt transmutation every second allowed — entering a void of all existence.
Entering the winds of change — no longer worried by familial exchange — breathing out with Dragon’s* burning breath — clearing the battlefields of opposing forces’ dreams of conquering another. Following the Moskva, down to Gorky Park — letting go of our difference, holding hands like brother and sister — the winds of change transgressing follicular inner beauty with hair blowing free.
Looking deep into the reflecting waters flowing — crossing the Canvas’ global figurine — witnessing an all-encompassing feeling of paradoxical palimpsest written and rewritten so that symphonic healing courses through our veins — self and collective as mother’s rivers dominating landfills overflowing shadowy screams.
We have arrived — no longer audible are the words but felt by those close encounters with every step in our days — peace restored, dreams fulfilled and carried out like the literal transcription upon the flesh of another. Empty is the Canvas — skin unfolding the winds of change, ever faster than a thousand thoughts pulling at our attentive ears.
No bugles sounding our arrival — answering the call of being present — we just are.
~ Ani Po
Inspired by the *Author Before, Melissa Coffey invites us to dive into the influences of words. The *others, Scrittura family, et el. are left to interpret this prompt. *Ink envy of Another, J.D. Harms leaves me in awe with his response, witnessing my empty canvas left for personal interpretation — no longer taming the *Dragons of shadowy desires, but embracing and allowing them to speak in a transmuted breath.
As it has been written before, attempting a rewrite in a different language, vibrational understanding for the readers to experience on a personal level — referring to *self, first-person singular — embodying the greater whole of humanity — at least that is my dream for understanding, knowing I too, fall short of truly grasping the meaning of it all.
Blank as the skin, empty page before, loop pedal activated with Winds of Change. Inspired by the lyrics repeating, on noise-canceling headphones, a remake of a popular hairband from my youth. I am drawn into the void to interpret self and the collective others as it was all written before — but was I listening to the deeper meaning of it all?
While writing, I recall a Korean poem, author unknown, Just One Word.
Just One Word
Just one uncaring word can spark a fight.
Just one cruel word can shatter a life.
Just one harsh word can sow misunderstanding.
Just one disrespectful word can douse the fervor of love.
Just one kind word can smooth a rocky path.
Just one joyful word can cheer a gloomy day.
Just the right word can lighten an uneasy heart.
Just one affectionate word can show the beauty of the world.
I picked this photo, reflecting on why I started writing.
Thank you to Scrittura and the whole family, as I share my words.
Original prompt:
Awe-inspired reply:
