In sinking, it loses but half its life.

Steven follows but one rule. One rule that expands upon itself almost indefinitely.

If you cannot dance, you hug.
If you cannot hug, you keep meaning to and trying to express what you mean by that hug.
If you cannot hug, you gamble with a glance holding the truth of what you feel.
If you cannot find a way to get any meaning across, you codify a series of gestures meant to indicate warmth or amiability.
You just keep trying. The feelings are out there. They are just being denied at this time. They will return shortly.

The list of things held as fear in the hearts of us who strive to live is absurdly long. The mere posting of it piques fear of the fear. But how to deal with it straight away? And how to know that the dealing of it has been accomplished?

There are a lot of folks out there. A lot of folks. A ramble off into thought. There are people who are not welcome. There are people who are not liked. There is no one universally admired. Not continuously. Perhaps one day someone will be. There are people who are ignored and who ignore. There are people who squelch their own feelings, and those who revel in them.

There are all types, all sizes, all distinctions, all essences of grace and lack thereof. There are new words. There are old sounds. There are comforting melodies. What is there not?

Is there the opposite sound of a buzz saw? What sound would a shotgun make if it had to pick an alternative voice with an opposite meaning? Will cats ever expose their true intentions?

Will the number of ways we can walk ever truly be capped? Will people begin rough housing in public, causing scenes and dancing in the streets? Will people ever mention that which they mean the most? On what level will we be meeting today? Will candles ever stop being lit?

Will all who have come and gone ever stop coming and going? Will the space of the sky ever truly make itself accessible to us? Can we lift our hearts and our minds to expose what we fear and thus be shaken, but never upended? Are there things we should know, rituals we should perform, experiments we should execute? Should we take to singing in the streets? Should we truly do what others do not?

Will we ever remember how we felt in this moment and the last? Will the gears of power that are turned by the silent and invisible fellows ever be revealed? Will we truly think our own thoughts and know they are ours alone? Will alone ever shake off our harsh criticisms of it?

Will someone please, please, please sink the spout of dread far into the ocean so that its intentions never mix with ours. Of the multitudinous ways to live, wow, there are many.

And the hurt. And the separation. All the things that we can name will pass away forever. And all we've read, all we've learned, all we've thought, all we've striven for will turn to something else. And what will that be? I do not know, but here, today, it fills my mind.

There is no more need for language. Can we now see beyond it?