We’ve left words in their prison to languish and die. We’ve separated them from their origins and their gods. How is this? On the one hand we treat them as objects, devoid of living content. We deny them any connection to the things they describe, instead of seeing that they are the very life and soul of those things. The objects are real, the words are merely tools or appendages. And, in truth, words are tortured by this loss of heart. Then, on the other hand, we ourselves have lost contact with the world where words have their divine archetypes. In other words, we have no idea any more of the holy fire in which words and their ‘things’ were first created.
As a poet I feel this strongly – the soulless coinage of language. As a philosopher I lament the loss of the pure, divine world of origins, which unified our concepts and the words we used to fulfil them. And as a human spirit I swear to find those gods again, even if they dwell on the highest mountain peak.
In poetry I see the gods lit through, with excellence in sound and truth and tone. Should our words be slaves of earthly thrones, or tuck their wings in tightly out of fear? At a time when human beings are rising up for freedom, should we cheat our minds of that region where truth and words have their origin, where they can never be subject to manipulation and control? Freedom is more than the shifting off of shackles. The next set of debased concepts will merely come along to put them on again. To aspire to the world where words and thoughts have their archetypes is to unfetter the human spirit. ‘Everything under the sun is for love, and words exist to wake us to this fact – life gives us the hand and words the glove, a match that only nature can enact.’
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Landar
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