“So, today, when you speak, life comes out of you. The rivers of living water come out of you in words—words of life.”
But what happened that time, when you had such a dry mouth and you could not possibly utter another word? You were mediating.
In trying to communicate I try hard and I try too hard and in the face of the impossibility to communicate with plants I open my mouth but I can’t speak, I can only absorb and thus I devour them in the primordial instinct of the single cell organism. Most of the life continues by digestion rather than mating. I wonder if they also felt that they love them so much that they want to eat them, to absorb, to become one another. Does eating and thus perpetuating life mean killing? I wonder if God used the same mouth to eat and to speak. There is no such thing as death, really, there is only the transformation. Cloud becoming water becoming plant becoming human becoming. Only the mediating substance remains, that endures your capacity to digest knowledge.
The words cannot be spoken when the mouth is dry because speaking, like plants, depend on humid weather conditions.
In looking for words to tell a story, a life story, it seems a bit strange to describe forms of life using a dead language. As Donna Haraway says, it matters what language we use to describe another language. The embodied language that is plants, is always metamorphosing, growing and adapting to the environmental condition. They would require language that is alive. Language that comes into its fullest on the tip of our tongues. Using this new vocabulary, the wor(l)ds would be palatable and comprehensible via cellular hermeneutics, translating the chemistry of non-verbal conversations. Never trying to transcend the physical, this language would always be embodied and you would still need to use your mouth. This would require scientific thought which starts with observation and continues with practice, and it would particularly require a large measure of art, thus making this endeavour akin to poetry. Where is that poetic justice, Kendrick?
What was it the beginning of, that was the word? Let me bite into the rotten fruit of the forbidden knowledge. I want to get the germ, I want to be infected by the world, welcoming it inside me, while the weight of language holds up the veil of scientific knowledge; words set in stone. And I seem to almost grasp the meaning of this, as I chew it over just for a moment, I can feel it at the back of my tongue, where only bitterness resides.
Oh, I remember. That time I ate Ranunculus lingua, just for fun, and it caused excessive salivation for days. Thank god it is biennial plant and this could repeat again only after two years.