Some of us, a very few of us, are what the omnipresent "they" refer to as gifted. Whether an accident of nature, primed DNA waiting for an itchy trigger finger, a red flare in the frontal lobe, or a bestowal from an unknowable other, some of us are touched, some are the fire-bearers. It doesn't matter what you call it or where you think it comes from, when you brush up against it you see it for what it is, and if you're at all like me, you still carry a hope that some of it will cling to you as it passes.
Do the gifted know themselves to be so? This is a foolish question. Whatever it is that inhabits them, whatever they embody, doesn't have patience for questions. It knows that beauty is worthy of expression, and it also knows that going beyond beauty, putting beauty on the rack to see how much it can take, is a far better use of time. A supernal voice, scraping itself against the infernal, and in the tracks and grooves left behind by that abrasion a bit of shining debris, the glitter of grit, the imprint of an edge.
Imagine being possessed of a voice like that, and pressing yourself up against the ecstatic. How far would you take it? And having gone there, what would you see?
The Way Young Lovers Do--Jeff Buckley
Do the gifted know themselves to be so? This is a foolish question. Whatever it is that inhabits them, whatever they embody, doesn't have patience for questions. It knows that beauty is worthy of expression, and it also knows that going beyond beauty, putting beauty on the rack to see how much it can take, is a far better use of time. A supernal voice, scraping itself against the infernal, and in the tracks and grooves left behind by that abrasion a bit of shining debris, the glitter of grit, the imprint of an edge.
Imagine being possessed of a voice like that, and pressing yourself up against the ecstatic. How far would you take it? And having gone there, what would you see?
The Way Young Lovers Do--Jeff Buckley
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