What species of different?

It’s not really that we want others to think differently. That’s not at all what we want. We want others to think in our particular variety of different so they’ll be different from what they were but the same as ourselves.

The whole premise is a collection of voices that speak out against the larger, louder collective voice. Smaller voices speaking out against the voices speaking out are unwelcome by both. That’s not the different we’re looking for.

My voice affects others. Your voice affects me. We are affective. But to what degree? In what direction?

Is my voice “come hither” to you? Are you shrill and grating to me? Did you hear what I said? Was I listening? Talking is not speaking when singing is off key. It’s all just noise then. No one wants to hear it.

My little voice comes charging through, A drop that makes big ripples. Being a wake isn’t a being  dropped. Being the surf isn’t being a float. Still, there is an integrity in the tension. There is a wave beneath the drain. Many drops ripple when a single wave moves in circles. This is the reason the pond grows. This is the expansion of the surface. This is where we go to break the tension.

My voice can carry across the water. Many voices can get drown out by the wind. It is the air and liquid that decide the conditions for transmission. Information will only go so far. The waves go further. Singing is favored by the wind. Speaking stops the air by pushing out. Talking forgets to breath. We suffocate our voices in case the small drop might move us. We lean into the surface as if it were solid. As if it could bear our weight. As if we could float in the ripples these tidings bring.

A stone can cause a similar ripple but sinks to the bottom and drowns. Now it is host to the foods fish suck off the bottom. Drops become the waves. Lost to the motions they’ve caused. Seeds can sail on wind and sea and are gentle enough to not ripple. They may make it ashore.

These voices we collect and assume will sing in tune are speechless when they hear what you have to say. The quiet that sat listening. The politeness mistaken for agreement. Oh, I forgot to say, my different is different from yours. My bubble is a drop that floats. I’m not responsible for a wave caused by my falling. Gravity never suited me well.

I don’t think we’re supposed to be a smooth surface. When the wind blows, our voices yell back at us. We can’t understand what they’re saying.  But we still keep talking. Different species of different sounding the same.