Language on the Flipside

         The process is dainty, painful and sprinkled with joys and sorrows. It sounds awfully a lot like a marriage, doesn't it? You seek compatibility, equality, but you’re stricken at times when you realize that the ideal of direct equivalence quickly vanishes under the sword of relatively irreconcilable differences. But it’s not differences that bring two languages together, but the sense that in the process of trying to make head or tail of something, the other language will provide a similar echo. Not a faithful reproduction, but a similar one. You’re content when that almost miraculous metamorphosis takes place, as if under the spell of some cunning magician. I’m not sure if everybody found the right inner magician, but the search doesn't offer a stop sign to the seeker. I've learned that the need for that natural equivalence is perhaps a never ending quest, just like you’ll have to keep on walking if you chose to be a walker. 

          I've also learned that the most strenuous process is the bringing together of two lines that just don’t make the cut even though common sense says that they would. But to the acquainted eye, that fine discrepancy emerges and separates. And when the eye conquers the discrepancy and light shines onto the harmonious match, you find again that the journey starts all over again. Sisyphus wakes up to another day only to find out that the stone will need to find its roll again up the hill. And the more you roll it on one side, the flipside is deemed to abandonment and a micro-desert of knowledge slowly crawls onto it. It slowly grows until the memory of the road slips into oblivion. Oblivion sneaks upon the other side of the stone while bringing to an unpolished state what once knew every winding of the road, every fine piece of gravel in the road. But what could the stone say? Its language is silence and the squeaking sound produced when the stone pays its respects to the ground it calls home.