Language is a jungle

Oh yes, language is a jungle forest of overgrown ferns and flowered mysteries that in these dark places of knowing unknowing nurtures just such unseen beasts and delicate orchids as these that worry our world; each and all fall upon us as living wonders and enduring fears that live through us as much as we through them. That which provides us such freedom to grow and communicate simultaneously constricts us under those shifting high canopies of elusive grammatical and semantic metamorphosis, cognitive orthodoxy and uncertain meaning that only ever dissimulate the continuity and closure we reflexively and psychologically, existentially seek.

We fancy ourselves as each being critically important to this writhing mass of meaning and misinterpretation and in perennial error believe that we own these patterns of information. The truth is, we are merely the soil and the riverbeds upon which and through this jungle flourishes and in all our intuitions of this being a controlled or controllable world that might provide us with some crucial self-validation or purpose, this is a living thing that inhabits and exploits us just as much, if not more so, than we ever inhabit it.

Listen carefully: there are ideologies prowling in the darkness…

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