The fierce voice that argues. Eloquently laid out thoughts crystalizing hard and unswerving. Experience laid out incontrovertible. An argument between two giants, prizefighters offering up a spectacle of dialectic, and between their verbal punches, a diamond of pure truth is created.
The quiet voice, almost silent, that doubts itself, water running out of cupped hands: drink from it now and it’s gone back to ground. Evidence shifting, hiding like a rabbit that knows from birth what it is to be hunted. Nothing is certain, nothing is safe, except the dark place, which no one has discovered. Not yet.
Which voice wins? Which voice is correct? Which voice needs our attention and listening? Which voice will lead us to success? Which voice are we called to be faithful to?
What does it mean to win? Is accuracy a kind of voice? Do we follow our instincts in who we pay attention to, and how are those instincts formed? How do we define success? What does it mean to be faithful, and how is that different from being loyal?
What then must we do?
All my education trained me to be rationa and confident. In fact, I suppose I was also harsh. In any case, it seemed mightily important to find my voice. And then, most unexpectedly, that voice dissolved and there didn't seem to be as much to say. I find it increasingly difficult to be present in debate. I used to love to seize others' words and deconstruct them, refashion them, and lob them back. Not so much now. Now I want to hear where the words come from.
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