That Which Cannot Be Spoken
As I write this, Notre Dame burns in Paris. I walked by it a couple of days ago when I was visiting my sister who lives outside the city. I had thought it would always be there, a timeless monument, and I didn’t enter it. At the core of my regret is our casual acceptance of all that is beautiful and priceless – monuments such as these that lie symbolically within each one of us –the untouchable, inexplicable part of our human experience and psyche. That mystic core at the center of our inner and outer landscape.
For me, along with this also lies the almost equal and casual acceptance of human indignities, like the children in cages separated from their families, a “lesson” to future migrants who want to risk it all in the hopes of a better life. As I write this, Notre Dame still burns, and my children are home from school. I hear their voices, and I am grateful for them and I think of all those families separated by our government policies.
I am grateful for all of you, readers, advisors, artists, writers, activists who by your support and work give a voice to that which in essence cannot actually be spoken.
A special mention to the forces behind Speak—Sven Birkerts, Katya Guseva, Smita Sahay, and Lydia Valentine. This issue of Speak would not have been possible without you.
Thank you for reading and welcome to Issue 3 of Speak.