I remember making throat stims as a little girl. These vibrations eased the sensory pain I was feeling in my body but I was quickly told in no uncertain terms that these noises were not acceptable so I stopped to avoid any further approbation.
In contrast I quickly learned the importance our western world puts on thought and it's ability to be expressed to other people in the form of language. I realized my own mind had an insatiable capacity to absorb and assimiliate information, to find patterns and communcate them in discernable form. From there it was easy to get lost in the labrynth of my mind and ignore my body. And society rewarded me for it. I got good grades, my teachers liked me and then I developed an expertise that society further rewarded with a paycheck.
Long after forgetting my urge to throat stim a therapist told me "Thoughts preceed feelings.You can't have a feeling unless you have thought about something first." I could understand this no more than I can understand why someone would idolize the Kardashians. So in spite of her attempt to convince me otherwise, I remained certain that it WAS possible to feel something on a primal level without the need to put it into thoughts or form a judgment first. And eventually coming full circle I realized the gutteral vibrations I had exchanged for societal approval as a little girl were the language my body intuitively needed to hear- primordial thought in motion. While society deemed them unacceptable, these wordless sounds had a more profound effect on my being than all the books I have read in a lifetime.
These days I spend a lot of time conteplating the elusive distinctions between thought, language and emotion. When I do contemplate this or anything for that matter, I begin by "feeling" or sensing something undefinable. It radiates from the core of my body outwards like a soft vibration. Sometimes images flash into my mind. But sometimes the vibration transmutes into a melody begging to be hummed or a texture like velvet or the bark of an aspen tree. If something is disturbing it tastes like lye and has a color- chartreuse to be precise. If something is mysterious (the most gratifying sensation of all) it sits quietly in my chest cavity, the embodiment of past, present and future all wrapped into one beautiful, magical and indescribable silence.
Words come later. For words (as wonderful and seductive as they can be) and thoughts (bless you Camus) in and of themselves are mere reductionist abstractions, Plato's shadows against the wall of a ca