The Volume Coming From You
Messages received after reading Toni Morrison's "The Nobel Lecture in Literature" (December 7th, 1993)
“We die. That may be the meaning of life. But we do language. That may be the measure of our lives.”
Even before recorded history entered civilization’s vision to interlock stories, preserve lessons, and pass sentimental values to children, language has undergone invention, pillage, extinction, and reinvention. The power of language is something sacred that can build and expand. But use it in the wrong way and it can be destructive and cruel. The power of tongue and action can be weapons of water. It has the ability to reshape and orchestrate. It can carry you or it can drown you. It can drain you dry. But it also has the ability to replenish you. Do not depend nor define language by characterizations produced by sewage of untruths. Dangerously, unfortunately, sorrowfully, and dare I say unforgivable - people depend on this hyper-infectious sewage of fabrications – bitterly cold swamps of rotten scraps spewed and spread by cowardly pests. The stench is devilishly repulsive but relentless. And this sewage has the potential to flood, pollute, and force-feed the innocent. Watch out. Keep your nose on alert. Far too many lost causes have fallen victim to the lies because they think this penetrable smell is sweet like a bakery.
Language does not require words. Think about the raising eyebrows whenever your partner hears a baffling sentence. Think about that gasp whenever you were in shock, or that heavy sigh exited from your breath onto your plate of unwanted things to do. Think about that shared glance with your classmate whenever your teacher said something crazy but the rest of the class didn’t pick up on it. Think about the handclaps and fingersnaps which can be interpreted into several options depending on the circumstances. Think about that time you sucked your teeth whenever you automatically reacted to something you didn’t approve of. Think about the warm smile or the head nod you give to your acquaintances or complete strangers whenever you walk past each other. Think about that little bounce you do with your shoulders when you’re unsure about a particular answer.
Think about that irresistible urge to move to the patterns of drums, flutes, tambourines, bass, horns, keys, scratches and crossfades. Think about the fascinating portraits built through snapshots, brush strokes, and focus lenses—freezing time so we can time travel by spectacle. Think about the garden thanking you by bearing fresh flowers, fruits and vegetables for gifts.
Other examples include the following:
Commanders whistling to get their squad in line or screaming right before the squad is ready for battle. Family members hi-fiving and hugging to express communion or separation. Churchgoers stretching their hands to the heavens or closing them to give thanks to the most High for escaping turmoil—or they ask for strength in the midst of turmoil.
Non-verbal language says so much to humanity. They remind us to remember explanations that don’t need to be explained.
Two ultimate forms of language without words are crying and laughter. Crying is the first thing most of us know how to do once we arrive here on this planet, and something all of us everywhere on this planet — regardless of background— comprehends fairly well. While plenty of us have become experts of this vintage practice, several of us struggle to engage into the powerful level of surrender. Crying is a deeply magical experience with messages in between the rivers from our eyes, with an incredible affirmation for connection. Language is connection. Crying and laughter tighten up those connections like a passenger’s seat belt in a sports car. We get a similar result from laughter— the chiming sound of agreement, a contagious sound of ease, and a universal sound to soothe the rough edges of constant grief.
When it comes to storytelling and conversing, crying and laughter is a priceless value. A common priceless value. So common that perhaps we forget how mysterious and surreal these actions within us really are, and where these emotions derive from. Where do you think they come from, and why do we contain these distinct truths?
Language is not solely based on words but rather coordinates with the space between the words. The space between the letters. The space between the syllables. The space between space is also a language.
Especially silence.
Silence is such a dense language. A pregnant language before this thing we call “noise” or some may call “frequency” is given to the oblivion. But silence is a hell of a loud sound. Silence is not only heard, but definitely seen and undoubtedly felt. It’s the frets for the guitar strings providing for the strum. It’s the millisecond transition from note to note to note to note. It’s the breeze beneath our feet before the ground vocalizes to our toes, “we meet again.” It’s the pause before the kiss. Sometimes it’s just the pause. No play. No rewind. Just still. Untouched. The so-called unspoken… speaks. Don’t you understand how rattling muteness can be?
Silence looms and lingers in every atmosphere. When stars and planets explode in outer space, the *BOOM* sound is non-existent, because sound waves require air. There is no air in outer space. Outer space is super quiet, with a colossal amount of chaotic activity beyond the imagination. We are surrounded by the so-called noise. But that so-called noise is surrounded by silence.
Yet, we have the beautiful gift to make tiny characters - from letters to symbols - collide into beautiful sounds.
Us speakers, readers, writers and listeners were literally built by structures of languages. Some of us have been built by fragments and composed a new language underneath the fragments. Our teeth have been carefully brushed, flossed, and rinsed under environments with delicate nurturing, and chipped by harsh authority. Dialects were expressed, confronted and followed with disciplinary repetition. Transactional methods of communication were accomplished congruently and obliquely. This cycle of practice has perished lives, saved lives, and gave us lives.
We were assembled by the math of words whether we have awareness of this construction or not. You take the time to listen, receive and dwell in this home of the language around you. Now it’s your turn to pick up the tools. Do not diminish your development to your carpentry. Trust your own characterizations, and utilize your way of speaking to reach and acquire your honest rhythm within the community.
Words have the ability to be the medicine to the ear and shift temperatures of the heart. Whether eloquently clear or cluttered with confusion, definitively bold or timid with a stutter, your words are not excluded from this ability. You are a part of this beautiful sound, not separate from it. You are not above nor below it. You belong with it. So wear it. Dress up. Be curiously guided, and let the curious language guide you as you float on this voyage of questions and answers.
Language is the continuous flashlight that walks you through the fog of memories. At the end of her 2023 brilliant essay, All My Language (inspired by Morrison’s speech as well), Mariah Maddox writes that language “…is our instrument.”
Allow your words and your nonverbal dialogue to swiftly foxtrot around the clock. Your voice is an instrument. And so is your name. You were called here to say something. Cultivate your music accordingly. People are listening. We’ll contribute to your song.
“Language alone protects us from the scariness of things with no names. Language alone is meditation.”
“The Nobel Lecture in Literature” appears in The Source of Self-Regard: Selected Essays, Speeches, and Meditations (2019). The first quote shows up on page 106. The second quote shows up on page 108. The speech is also available to read via the internet.
Originally published in Ricky Denham’s Words. Reprinted with permission from the author.
