To People Pulled From Bogs, Dethawed From Glaciers, The Sides Of Mountains, Extracted From Old Battlefields, Landslides And The Like (first letter)

Dear Folks,
Perhaps your lives were once focused on communicating effectively too. For a good part of mine, I’d made a number of efforts (as an artist, educator, employee, citizen, friend, son, husband, father, etc) to be understood.  It’s as if I’d been trained to train myself  (to be a better presenter of myself). I’d worked on hundreds, if not thousands, of scenarios, always with something at stake in terms of my everyday circumstances, individually and in groups. I documented rehearsals, massaged talking points, managed body language, and provided myself with what I’d assumed to be all the best practices and strategies for success.  I fueled myself with meticulous research and relentless observation in the field.
Now some of you might argue that this kind of preparation was useful at one time, perhaps even in your own lives when you were living them. You got some feedback about your style and mannerisms. Maybe you found out you were doing something distracting on a regular basis, something that got in the way of what you wanted to get across.
For those of us who’ve dealt with the division of labour, who’ve been institutionalized, subjugated, well, we know the drill. We’ve ended up feeling less “authentic” than ever, with piles of “correct” postures and publicly performed loyalties, points of reference, gestures, attitudes, devotions, speech effects to practice and affirmations to accumulate.  Don’t tilt your head! Remain calm.  Stand up straight!  Stay competitive.  Don’t pace too much! Listen.  Walk more! Be proactive.  Speak up.  Reserve judgement. Make eye contact with more people!  Be decisive. Make eye contact with a few people! Maintain critical distance.  Gesture bigger! Remember to laugh.  Gesture smaller!
I consciously dropped the ball a few years ago and decided to roll with it.  Now I was almost like one of you, as if suddenly released from stasis.  I realized something, or at least I thought I did, something commonly unaddressed (perhaps, at times, intentionally).  I’m not sure if any of you are aware of it now.  I mean, how can you be without consciousness?  It’s an unnerving irony, cautiously revealed to the living by the dead (and the immensity of time).  In the end (whatever that’s been or will be for each of us) no form of preparation or training will convey our being.  The only communicability left will survive in what has physically remained.  It will be still, silent and in need of painstaking reconstruction. There will never be consensus or a definitive version.  Each of us returns to an unknowable singularity  — a provocation of totality from beyond.
Wouldn’t you think so if you could?