I remember playing with Neurolinguistic Programming, NLP, some years ago. And being taught that we all have a preference for the world and ourselves in it.
For some it is visual – those who see things in/out of place, see themselves/others dressed right or wrong. For others it is logic – a list of items, a sequence of things in or out of place, seeing connections – one after the other. And for others it is touch – a sensory right or wrong, an intuitive non-logical non-visual “it feels right” or wrong. Whichever preference they each have a comfort/discomfort/clarity/confusion we all “just know”.
Yet we express all three “preferences” in words.
Because it is how we default-communicate. Except the language of one is not the language of another – the words of one are not the words of another. Yet we all default-speak the same language, and default-expect others to get it. Except. We. Don’t. Not. All. The. Time.
Is it just me or is that a really freaky way to live?
Well … an odd thing happened this morning … something beautifully odd. In a way all of you might experience all of the time. It’s just that for me … this morning was a wonderful first.
I was doing “normal stuff” as normal – I was reading some (lovely) comments below yesterday’s blog: “Those last four words”: https://justmebeingcurious.com/2014/10/28/those-last-four-words/
Two comments in particular triggered this blog: Julie Harris: http://isingbecauseimfree.wordpress.com/ and Lilka Raphael: http://bisforblessed.com/ (sorry boys – Mark Myers: http://portsong.wordpress.com/ and Tom Caton: http://realchange4u.wordpress.com/ – it was the girls wot done it this time)
When (without any conscious thought on my part) their comments – their individual words – morphed into artist’s oils! Great big tubes. Lines of thick painty oil. All over. And then mixed and spread and moved and came to life. And a picture formed. A huge canvas. Julie had mentioned “pointed fingers”. Lilka had mentioned “anger … dispersed”. And then … John 1:1-2 joined this picture party: The Word. Wow! And I just sat and let it happen in front of me.
And this oily colourful canvas?
A world of pointed fingers. Surrounded by pointing fingers. Fingers like guns. Firing bullets. Bullets of words. Anger. Frustration. Mistrust. We fire back. A pointed finger for defence. More bullets. More words. A warzone fuelled by words. Yet not. Normal life and living we call it. Daily life. Each in their bunker, their trench, their huddle of safety. Heads down. Hunkered down. Finding a few pointing their fingers the other way. Welcoming. Including. Yet always the fear. Fear of the pointing finger. Being turned. On me. Those bullets. Being turned on me. No trust. No loyalty. No real safety. Nothing permanent. Everything temporary. An alliance here this week. An alliance there next. Friendly fire here. Carnage there. A world of pointed fingers. All live firing. Normal life. Normal living. It’s what we do. All unaware.
And then The Word. The Word. THE. WORD. Never pointed. Never firing. Dispersing all that fear. Dispersing all that anger. A permanent place. A permanent state of safety. Calm and quiet. The Word like an artist’s oils. Lovingly spread, formed, mixing, becoming, easy on the eye, easy on the touch, easy connections. My place. My state. My serenity. Personal. Safe. Mine. I share it. You taste it. Yours. You share it. They taste it. Ours. A meadow. A pasture. A place of peace. A permanency. Forever. Safe.
And we so want others to see this, to know this, to feel this!
And then we rise up and use our words to share. My words. Except the pointed fingers rise again. The words begin wounding. So we huddle. We hunker. We make alliances for our own survival. Knowing that the fingers will point. Even. Here. Why why why why why why why here???? Why even here. Why does everything become hard and pointy. Why does this love and word hurt? Why. Normal living. Why. Daily life. Why?
And as He always does.
He whispered The Word:
“The. Word. Does. Not. Point.”