I've fallen in love with a language.
Some officers with Waco's Crime Scene Investigation Unit meet at Common Grounds before work for a cup of coffee and a discussion about the day ahead. Being an expert eavesdropper, I listen. I began listening a few weeks ago. Normally I sit and read or write with music in my ears, but a few weeks ago I found myself taking the earphones out to listen to the chatter of early morning in a place that sees most of it's action at night. From behind me the officers began speaking, and I was mesmerized. What they said, I can't tell you. I don't remember, and most of the words I don't know anyway. But when a lady, who seemed to be a supervisor, began to talk shop, I felt a melody in the language that took me to another place. I closed my eyes and marveled at these words that meant something, that seemed to drive future action, devoid of the bells and whistles.
Last night at work a couple of young guys, friends presumably, began to talk history, trying their hardest to impress each other and, based on the volume of their talking, everyone else. I heard something about outside forces slamming into history, and then someone mentioned something about God. They got in an argument, but a civil one. Later one of them was perusing a table of Religion books and announced, to no one in particular, for his friends were somewhere else, that he's sick of books on gnosticism. His friends returned, the conversation resumed, and I remembered how I much I used to love talking like this, back before I started paying my own bills.
I've discovered in the dissonance between these two examples of discourse, that words can be profound or they can be consequential.
I'm striving for the latter.