You have a voice. Not like a literal speech-box voice (you’ve most likely got that too, though) but a metaphysical conduit for the embargo of your wisdom – a la ‘gift’ – for the world. You might call this an avatar. A unique figurine, beyond the physical manifestations of the masks we wear, or the minds that rest behind them. Something else, entirely, the space, shall we say, in which the mind and body arise.
We don’t however, always find our voice and speak from it. In fact, we rarely do.
I’m coming to think the sole shared proponent of those that we hoist into the altar of celebrity and world-wide esteem, is that each of these figurines found their voice and speak to the world in it in an ever-refreshing stream of originality. They are an outer emblem for what we all internally lack – our true voice, and the confidence to speak to the world with it – and this is why we, as a society, are so obsessed by them.
What is it about Kendrick Lamar that distinguishes him from other rappers? What about Martin Luther? He wasn’t the first black man who dreamed of emancipation.
I believe that we are given a set of gifts innately from birth. That this seed was given to us by our ancestors and from that inheritance we are here to become the most artistic versions of ourselves.
In truth I don’t know a lot about how to find or express this voice – and the purpose of this post isn’t as a tell-all-pirate-map to success, fortune and enlightenment. I’m 24. I can only just get my own stuff in order. More pertinent is to acknowledge its very existence and to shine a spotlight of attention on the inauthenticity with which we operate in our day-to-day lives.
We’re either faking being rich, or imitating someone who does poor better than us. Envying thy neighbor’s oxen, or working to emulate their performance.
Where do we find room for ourselves? Lost atwixt our fixation on the glow of originality in others, we leave our own power by the wayside.
Could it be that we are never ever going to be the best copy-cat in the world? That doing it like they did it won’t work for us? That our only chance of not having wasted the seed passed down to us by our fathers gone is to find what it is about us that is beautiful, original, and radiant and work to calcify this on the walls of our interior like we plaster others onto the walls of our living spaces? That to reduce ourselves to our most potent form and precipitate this quality is our very best chance of the success we dream of? Perhaps this is the only precondition to success in this world and that, once complete, we need not search any further as we would have already attained everything we lusted for in the very act.
If so, wouldn’t all the chatter about finding yourself within be ironically correct? And everything we’ve done up till now be equally fruitless?
We really are completely mad. But it’s so damn perfect. Only through our death may we be reborn. So let us die gracefully unto each moment. Unto the ongoing search deeper inside ourselves, and the ongoing cutting away of all that is not necessary until all that remains is you. Nourish that seed, plant it in the fertile soil of discipline, self-esteem and love. From it will grow a mighty tree, and still you might remain for the rest of your days while all that you need comes to you.