For Words, Worth's inaugural post, it seems fitting to incorporate the impact even casual conversation can have on a new day's course.
"How's your morning going?" the barista asked pleasantly.
"Great, so far! We'll see once I get to the office," I answered.
"Positive!" he joked. "Is that the energy you want to be sending out into the universe?"
We laughed, but he brings up an excellent point. Words, thoughts verbalized, shape the flavor of our everyday; the way we experience our lives. Even when used carelessly, an offhanded remark, they have a cumulative effect. Like little fenced-in corners, they encourage either the boundlessness of spirit or the confines of fear in our minds. And T.S. Eliot sums it up with characteristic perfection...
"For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?"
- The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
"How's your morning going?" the barista asked pleasantly.
"Great, so far! We'll see once I get to the office," I answered.
"Positive!" he joked. "Is that the energy you want to be sending out into the universe?"
We laughed, but he brings up an excellent point. Words, thoughts verbalized, shape the flavor of our everyday; the way we experience our lives. Even when used carelessly, an offhanded remark, they have a cumulative effect. Like little fenced-in corners, they encourage either the boundlessness of spirit or the confines of fear in our minds. And T.S. Eliot sums it up with characteristic perfection...
"For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?"
- The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
No comments:
Post a Comment