A Voice Is a Vortex
A voice is a vortex — a whirlpool of sounds twisting in on themselves, lashing and whipping and pulling like the wind. You can get lost for hours, days, months, years, lifetimes and never find your way. A voice is a river, its waters ever-changing, always flowing, always growing, a never-ending force taking you places you never knew you wanted to go.
A voice is a silent scream of a thousand thoughts given meaning when dispatched through the mouth. It is the sound of chaos and order all at once. It is the sound of the hurricane and the tender quiet after. A voice is a vortex.
The vortex spins, emits a noise, makes something turn that draws toward it, sucks things in. A voice is a vortex noticed by the ears, held by the body, marked by life, heard by the hearer.
Prayer is a vortex that takes what already is and transmutes it to something else. It is a beacon, a tiny lustrous light in the night, a reminder of the wonder, the joy, the banality, and the truth of existence. It is a sound that is silence, that is a sound that is silence. It is a voice.
A voice is a vortex of what you see when you look at someone from the surface, but not from the center. A voice tells us who we already are and who we can become.
In the beginning, there was a vortex, boundless, eternal: everything and nothing. The vortex is a kind of current flowing through time — the essence of creation, weaving the surrounding space into a new type of world. The word itself is a vortex.
A voice is a vortex gushing everywhere in an unstoppable surge of signals, going nowhere with an apathetic audience: saying not conveying. A voice is a vortex when it escapes — a projectile disengaged from the head.
A voice is a vortex, unlike potato pancakes. It is full of life, a gateway through which we grow, a device of influence that we wield as we please. It is a mirror of ourselves, a dumb little string, a circle of chaos, a black hole of emotion, a slow churning cauldron, a bleeding womb, a fire burning, a salve for an aching soul.
A voice is a vortex, even when no one is listening. It’s an unseen force whose goal is to attract attention, a portal for popularity. A voice is a vortex luring you in and making you believe you are the center of the cosmos, hearkening to the origin of time.
What is a voice when not assigned to a human body? If a computer has speech, the machine has transcended the mortal. Its voice has become a vortex.
A voice is a vortex juxtaposed with supernatural silence — when a previously soundless being inhales one long breath and exhales a burst of information. It is a mystery, a spiritual experience.
A voice is a vortex celebrating the joy of gumbo pot pie. It rings out in the air, in the ether, in the great soup of the universe. At once, it is a wave and a particle, a ripple, and a hole; it is here and is there and nowhere at all. It rises, it rises, and it falls into the darkness, into the void that is unfathomable meaning.
Your voice is a vortex. How will you brandish it?
