Sunday, April 29, 2012

A LANGUAGE IS LANDSCAPE: PART 3. THE ETYMOLOGY OF PERCEPTION


The idea that standards of language can provide a safe and viable way for every individual to share their own story accurately is a myth. It is the same variety of myth that claims one can be “colour blind” in a society with an infinite history and definite present of racial discrimination… One where some colours of skin are perceived to be “of colour” and where individuals who are then subject to definition as their skin colour still have to live every aspect of their lives in the context of institutionalized racism. The intention of these words may be to increase connection between individuals, but what they are actually saying is, “I do not see the effects of things that do not have a direct negative impact on me.” The repercussion of this unwillingness to see is a perpetuation of the belief that you can be a good ally from the insides of a box. It is the eventual resurfacing of all the anger and resentment that already exist towards anyone sitting outside of the box because they can’t/”won’t” read what has been so carefully written for their benefit on the walls facing in.

The flipside of this unwillingness to see out is an unwillingness to engage in. It is less blatantly damaging, yet equally short-sighted. It is a demonstration of the exhaustion that comes from being consistently othered and it is not unwarranted, but it is also not any place from which to continue or even to try to begin. There is a landscape to any journey and also to the language that we choose to describe that journey, but whether or not we choose to persist in sharing the authentic story of our experiences as individuals depends in large part on the etymology of our perceptions; on what it is that our bodies have come to believe about speaking.

We learn the words that we are to use and the way that we are to use them –including how loud, how often, and with how much conviction, in the same way that we do or do not learn from all of our primary relationships that we are worthy and deserving of love. We are taught to remember rules and recite facts and in so doing, we can forget how to speak. To remember the timbre of our own voices may first require an internal translation from a) what has been transmitted and absorbed, to b) the truth that is felt without words. To then reconnect outside of oneself in a way that spoken language can both translate and approximate in the context of personal experience requires persistence. This does not mean that exhaustion is to be ignored in the service of social action. Quite to the contrary, this is a persistence that has more to do with choosing to be in your life for the extended version. It is a way of continuing to acknowledge and honour a life lived of experiences and the multitude of reasons why a particular body may not always believe that it is either safe or possible to speak.

My body remembers how deeply it is possible to know “tired” and simultaneously, it remains true that my body is also my brain; is also an artist, a writer,
a poet-teacher-learner.

So, while the etymology of my perceptions say that the standards of language do not often provide words that mean much in regards to the places that I reside; to the in-be-tween, they also remind me that it is not the standards of anything at all that have helped keep me alive and connected thus far in my life. The things that have meant the most in the long run for the authenticity of communication have been integrity, creativity, and love. It is now the process part of creating a truly authentic vernacular with these materials at the core that must receive the best of my attention and energy as opposed to a product-oriented definition or defense.

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