The Wordless Epic

This is the earth of me. Not what I evolve into, it's what I was born as. The primal. The first.

We walked into the gallery at about 11:00pm. I listen to the Words people say. I hear "innovative" and "brie".

My friend is heading towards the bartender. "Red?"

"Please." I let my vision fall to the cheese and grapes. I focus on the conversations around me. I pick Words and phrases, and file them away. West 8th... Champagne... His best work... cab ride... beautiful...

I take the wine.

I excuse myself so I can meet the pieces alone. I walk through the art slowly.
Twice.
I find myself coming back to one. When I'm ready, I give myself over to it.

I listen to it's conversation. It speaks volumes, with out even one Word. Nothing of Earth will ever be so mesmerizing to me, as stories told without Words.

A woman takes a stand beside me. She looks at the art, and says, "It's amazing, what he's become."

"Become, my ass." I sip the wine. I can't take my eyes off it. This is who he is. Not who he becomes. This is the most base innate guttural animal natural part of him. He didn't become this. He regressed this. He returned to this. Inside of himself, deeper and farther than most people can go.

How. How can he find this way. How can he say so much without Words?

"Are you OK?" The woman is looking at me, not the art. I can't return the effort. I can't take my eyes from this just yet.

Yeah, I'm fine. I'm in church right now.

She makes a huffing sound. I finish the thought out loud. "You worship your way, I'll worship mine."

The world goes away.
And I see what he's showing me, I see his god. Maybe not my god, but I see. What he believes, what he wants you to feel. I see the image, and I peel back the layers.
It's another level. I know the plane.
It scares me, how quiet. So much is being said, in such quiet. In no Words...
No Words...
Telling his story...

And then, I see how painful and isolated he was at this moment. The story unfolds like one solitary instant that revolves around and around on top of itself. I see him Wordless, hands on canvas... I can see how he loves god. I see that feeling save him. I see him give his throat and his all. I see him give this Wordless story its reverie.

And that's when it transcends.

It leaves the earth. And it becomes the earth of him instead.
The whole world becomes as personal as god has.
He came out the other side.
That's when I see it.
I can actually see it.

I see god loving him back.



I remember something the editor said to me. And I look at the art silently speaking,
On and on...


And this is what genius sounds like.
.