Word has power.
To take away, or make.
Like love!
The nameless manifested it, yet we dared name it.
Context lost!
Love! Here it is! Found!
Struck off its branch; an apple ripe for its first bite.
Yet, what we hold in our hand, is no longer that which grew on the tree.
No longer that which God knew.
Become now, a mystery to all.
Only we don't see it!
Blissfully ignorant to the facsimile made.
We turn it over, feel it in the palm – apple, apple, apple, we say – understood, catalogued, yet failure to see, that the fruit is now limited.
Blinded in understanding, the mystery is lost to the sweetness of the taste of apple.
Become sweetness and crunch, it can no longer grow beyond our comprehension.
Woe to you! Better that you had left it as presented! As offered!
How bold, how presumptuous! To declare the name of another’s offspring?
When meeting for the first time, is the finger pointed and one stranger declared by the other as to who he is?
Would it not, that we had waited for the stranger to reveal their own name! Would we not know him better then?
If we have named everything, and nothing named by itself, or its creator, how can it be, that we can claim knowledge of it?
A universe of mysteries transformed, lost, in becoming known.
God!
We have named him too, but ask, has he named himself?
He did not name his creations, created in his image. We named them!
That which another meticulously dreamt up, purposely fashioned, placed, yet, belovedly, limitlessly, left unnamed.
We named.
An artist's craftsmanship mistaken for indifference, an oversight, an omission, or at best the gift of freewill.
Such is the faith we place in the institution of naming and and being named.
Of claiming.
Listen! Take care if you would behold the truth!
Unname that which you have labelled!
Renounce your titles!
Seek no longer its name, rather, seek its entirety, its fluidity, the context of your first experience with it.
And for heaven's sake, ask yourself, what is apple?
Or better yet, what is Love?
By Jaymee Bennett
Very nice.
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