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Saturday, November 15, 2014

A Lost Language

(This is an older post from 2014 on my other blog. I've moved it here in order to clean up my mori blog, and make it entirely mori-centric.)

I know many words. Years of reading have filled my head with words both large and small. Impressive and regular. Everyday applicable and some so obscure I've never found a chance to try them with my own mouth.

Some are beautiful. Seeming almost ethereal when uttered; commanding respect just by being present. Others are harsh, and grind your ears as they fly. But all have meaning, and purpose.

I've always wished that it was acceptable to speak as if I had stepped off the page of a selection of older English literature. To spin words like a spell; each one with its own bit of magic to cast. But people find it strange when you use unfamiliar words, haughty even. To the point where even seemingly regular words, such as mighty, or slumber, or merry, or luminous, are considered strange when pronounced out of the context of a story.

So we bury these words away, leave them to rot in old books and dictionaries, that never leave our shelves. Or we read them, and we learn them, but we pretend we don't know them. Like a friend we are embarrassed of, we ignore their presence. Afraid of others reactions should we choose these words over the more "acceptable" ones that will inevitably take their places. And when an occasion arises where it might be acceptable to use one of these words, our brains freeze, and we end up conversing in the words we've used a thousand times, and missing the chance to revive a word long overdue to be used.

And while our culture goes through a period of self discovery and living life to the fullest, we let our language die; lost in the deep abyss of time, and long inherited ignorance. 

I wish we had the courage to use words as they were meant to be used.

I wish I had the courage.