Language is the dead shell-like remnant of its precursors which we have never seen, and thus can only barely recognize. These were, approximately, animated evocations and invocations, performed with ecstatic frenzy and primordial passion. Unperformed ‘performances’ of song, gesture, and energy … explosive, unthinkable theatrics that sprang full blown from their immanence in the between of being and nature.

They were capable of bringing the Sun to Earth. Or a person to a star. Or a soul into a forest, or a whole population of animals -at once-. They could locate knowledge, or heal the injured.

I know for I have experienced this. I have been taken in the exquisite grasp of the inconceivable and made to dance like a burning avatar at the edge of time, meaning, and possibility. I know where language came from, and what it is because I have been its precursors.

The sources of language are nothing like what we have become with them.

Let me say this: we have no fucking idea. The timid rituals and regurgitations of our imaginings of a past where humans were alive within their minds, lives and cultures are not even the shadows of those experiences. There was -no fashion-. These were not -performances-. There was no premeditation. This was not something you did by the numbers. It was something that ripped itself out of you, and in the process, gave you both death and wings.

And you carry all of this locked tightly within the shell of your modern relationships with language and knowledge. Just as we all do. We are, secretly, the living vessels of conservation of these abilities.

But our cultures have so divided us from our natures that we are become the avatars of poison, instead of passion. We ape machines instead of singing the sky, and flying within the earth. Or worse still, we join fashionable cults whose real focus is more about sex, power, or grandstanding than it is about discovery… recovery or transcendence.

I will find those who can remember. And we shall walk together in a way without names. And we shall bring forth what was long hidden and thought destroyed. Not to reestablish the past, which would be regression, but to actively participate in an awakening of the potential for a future where our tools are no longer our masters, and our souls know the capacities of expression, experience, and passionate intimacy with [all that is] that are the birthrights of our human form.

And if I cannot find them, I will call them. Indeed, we shall call each other. The old way. Without machines.