The language of the world is, the silence right before lunch in a correctional facility where there is no prejudice, except for the hopefulness of the gift of flavour that imbibes the imagination that cannot be sentenced nor timed. Where a platter of rice, bread, vegetables and friendship, is shared with the sacrament of open palms and thorns are grafted out of the hands that were once bloody.
It is in the tranquility and repose of prayer, when hands that are folded golden in conversation with the cause beyond thought.
It is the silence in the maternity ward right before the arrival of new life.
It is the lullaby that soothes a child when a mother rocks her child to sleep.
It is in the anticipation of a father's embrace when school ends, and the sight of his comfort exhilarates joy.
It is in the aphrodisiacal scent of roses, cookies, cupcakes, edibles and pastries baked fresh from the oven made by someone beloved.
It is in the embrace of contentment and security, when a man and woman is snuggling together in the heat of the night.
It is the strides of an animal's paws when it runs across the sanctuary of its freedom.
It is in the dynamism of flight when a falcon rises to meet the Sun with the grace
of a zephyr, meeting the tempest of a storm.
The language of the world is, in the constellation of the stars when their orbit rendezvous with the dance of Gaia.