Awesome. A word that aids in the attempt to capture a moment in time that leaves us in awe, breathless, raw emotion tearing through our chests as our mind tries to grip and come to terms with what is being observed through our five senses. Writng is awesome, but not just any form. Imagery. The ability to paint a picture using only the combiation of letters, syntax, and grammar. Hearing sounds that are not present, getting the whiff of a scent that stems from memory, imagining the softness, the roughness of a surface described, seeing the image that is only typed, tasting what can only be chronicled as fine wine; leaving nothing left to the imagination, yet everything up to the imagination to create a world that is written down the same to every pair of eyes that read it, while being envisioned in a completely different light that illuminates, divergent in each individuals mind. Our words spoken or written on a page make up the fabric of what we see, for we cannot just plug our brain into the TV to portray what we perceive. We must spit it out somehow, the syllables tumbling audaciously over a confident tongue to tenaciously grip the ears of perspectives similar, different, or indifferent to our own first loves.
Imagery bridges the gap between the inside of our skull and the outside world that is constantly being filtered in. We retell our experiences, setting the scene with terms and tones that have the potential to set these fresh eyes back in the moment they did not have the privelege to observe. Images painted on the inside of ours ears and scrawled across blinking eyes, reach down and tug at our bleeding hearts. They tear through our skeleton, surpassing veins, muscles, and blood to reach our core where some scenes can cause us to come undone. Words wrapped in the form of an image thrust emotions like serrated knives into our soft unprotected flesh, piercing our consciousness like a cold water wake up call. Our words formulated into images enhance, magnify, and electrify better than any camera that snaps a single shot of a still moment.
Picture this. Clear sweat glistens on her dark skin in the dry heat caused by the sinking sun. Her tainted dark brown eyes shut as she gives into what she has deemed worthy of calling a safe place. Her small dirty fingers, used for things she keeps her little voice silent for, curl up in the softness of the grey shirt that she rests her corn rowed head against. The light skinned foreigner brought to this barren land labeled Haiti looks down through blue eyes that have been opened to this little girl, who up until a month ago was unseen, without a name, a story, or an age to give her an identity. In the capable arms of a now familiar stranger, one restavek finally used that small frail voice to utter a sound of beautiful laughter before she let the backs of her eyelids become a welcomed reality instead of a fearful cautious retreat. Can you see it? Awesome.