Rhythms of Starry Text

May 2012

The beginning, birthed in the ending, went unnoticed by the reader of stars. An unfamiliar text lit the darkened sky and the distraction of hope kept the reader’s eye on a shimmering, startling new script. Luminous shapes quivered in space; rewriting time.

This was a language new and strange and even a little bit frightening. Who weaves text like that? Who speaks in syllables aching with unknown meaning? Shapes sprayed possibilities for understanding across galaxies long unexplored by readers and hearers alike. Meaning made in the movement gave substance to starry text.

The reader discarded natural reserve to step into the unfolding story of the new narrative. The grief would arrive later in the memory of beloved ancient language, dusty and motionless. There would be poignant remembering of dialogue, heavy with the weight of translation from thought idea to articulated form. But for now, the reader accepted an ending.

A sigh escaped lips moist with the wonder of the freshness of danced text. It was unencumbered by skin: free to move or even hold still. Once discovered, realized and read, light scattered bubbles of laughter like an echo of the goose flesh on the reader’s skin. Curling phrases invited understanding: welcoming a new character birthed in the story of making.

The reader of stars blinked; aware of subtle changes. The last of the endings dissolved in lingual comprehension and the reader noticed a new rhythm of a new heart beat within.