When we first get behind the wheel, the herks and jerks of the car give us whiplash. This is the story of how I lost my voice, as one gets slapped when she says the wrong thing or drives the nail of truth into the house that contains the world. So we practice with excitement and ignore the warning signs around us, until we crash. We are wrong about our freedom to speak when there are those who envy and sabotage against us. To them we deserve the crash and must die.
But most injuries heal and we practice meekly to steer the car with our foot, ready to break on every downhill and we ignore the airy descent that used to make us fly down those hills until the freedom lifts our chest and we are lifted. Our speech is bruised and lessons have been learned, so we heal and move on, yelling like old times. But every now and then it rains and our bones remember when they broke…
The highway is cramped and an old fear returns, so we curse the freeway, which offers too much freedom. The caged bird loves to escape the cage and fly free in the house. But to be truly free, out in the world of hawks and eagles, is not contentment, but too much freedom and my speech is that of one who is deaf, causing me to fumble. But experience is the best teacher right? Sooner or later we will adapt to the 3 car pile-ups, the bumper to bumper traffic (numb) or the freedom will be ours (coming out on top)-better than any hill and we’ll have many roads to many homes to keep us strong and found. We laugh because we get our voices back and cannot crash easily anymore. The herks and jerks and multiple bruises are run-over with memories of tailgating after concerts and road trips to the past. Someone gentle teaches me not to hit but pour the truth into the tubes to keep the car running smooth. But when I miss my speech is not slapped but corrected since I am much too grown and strong for anything less. With that, I rev the engine of the truck and burn the diesel that fuels my voice.
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