Voices in The Body
Feb 12, 2025
Suddenly, the world goes silent. I'm standing still, in the middle of the street. The capillary waves of sound just become part of me, and I feel an intense awareness of my living self. I haven’t spoken yet, but the words juggle in my head. I am frozen still, but I can already feel myself moving. The first few words come out: “I am…” It's the courtesy of recognizing what I already do vs. what will happen. I can feel my tongue at the top of my mouth, like it's about to say something… “I am a fervent storyteller—who believes that within one’s past, lies a story, transforming through the eye of time.” — Jose Cruz
My eyes are suddenly alive. Arms, legs– everything. I can feel the little stomps on the floor as I rock back and forth. It's a self-mechanism to keep myself oscillated and deliver the flow of ideas. It's a relief of an unknown burden. I couldn’t have possibly known if I was being judged or complemented. It was the abundance of talking, reflecting who I am. I felt fear for myself, like a tiny boy who wanted to run away. But it was the “illusion of aliveness” that made me stay. I wanted to feel what I felt before: the braveness in knowing that I could stand straight, look into millions of eyes, and survive.
The body and mind are always fighting, seeing who can control my voice. It's unexpected moments that I never realize when I am in full control. I talk endlessly while my eyes seem to tear up, but it's actually the sparkle of dreaming to feel confident. My footing is just behind the invisible line where everyone can see me, and my hands are reflexive by combining imaginary images with language. It's the sum of parts that produce resonance to listen to what I have to say. My public voice is imperfect, but it's always synched to the water bubble of my body.
I turn and I am not staring into a full audience anymore, but into a realm of possibility and childlike wonder. And, as my voice dims, I realize that the power was not in my words but within my courage to speak to them. My body dances on its own when the lingering voice needs it most. It's the voice of the spirit, which gives passion to the body and makes me a true survivor.