I’ve been thinking a lot about words, lately. The beauty of words. The magic of words. The power of words.
Words can paint pictures. They can teach us things. They can transport us. They can alter our mood. They can (re)define our worldview, our conscience, our self.
I was checking out a friend’s facebook page the other day and came across their favorite quotes section. I read one that really spoke to me. It was so striking I read it a few times. What insight! What brilliance! What illumination! This was definitely wall-worthy! The author wasn’t credited (tsk, tsk!) and I just had to find out who wrote this little gem, so I googled the quote.
That changed everything. In a split second, those words stopped glittering. It was as if the lights went out and the words melted off the wall. Noooooo!
This little episode put me face-to-face with something I’m sure I’ve been faced with before, but have just never reflected on: Why does it make a difference to me WHO words come from? Are words alone not powerful enough to transcend even the greatness (or lack of greatness in my estimation, as the case may be) of the person who spoke/wrote them? Can (or should) words be separated from the one who has spoken them? If someone else had said those exact words, even someone I’d never heard of before, would they still be glittering little wall-worthy gems?
Basically: Are words powerful/meaningful/significant to us (or not) because of WHO put them together, or simply because that’s the nature of words?
The broader implications are huge, either way you look at it.