The cleanest practical movement is: do not translate the other person’s words into “wrong conventional belief.” Translate them into the immediate human concern the belief is trying to express.
Story: The Translator at the Dinner Table
Verse 1
You said your manager hates you
and wants to see you fall
I heard a tale of separate selves
and causes through it all
I nearly said, “That’s only thought.
You cannot know his mind.”
Then saw the fear beneath the words
of being left behind
So I did not teach the universe
or pull your story through
I asked you what had happened
and what it meant to you
your shoulders dropped a little
the room became less tight
two languages sat at the table
on an ordinary night
Chorus
Two languages, one table
the personal and vast
one speaks of names and choices
one has no future or past
I do not need to change your words
or make you see my view
I only need to listen
for what is living through
Two languages, one table
yet neither stands apart
the story in the speaking
and the trembling in the heart
Verse 2
My father blamed the television
and cursed a distant name
he said the man was evil
and had chosen every shame
I felt the urge to tell him
no author could be found
then asked what he was frightened of
beneath the angry sound
“The children,” he said softly.
“The world they’ll have to face.”
The politics stayed different
but fear revealed its place
the anger had been guarding
a love it couldn’t say
and nothing needed winning
at the ending of the day
Chorus
Two languages, one table
the personal and vast
one speaks of names and choices
one has no future or past
I do not need to change your words
or make you see my view
I only need to listen
for what is living through
Two languages, one table
yet neither stands apart
the story in the speaking
and the trembling in the heart
Verse 3
My mother said, “You’re always strong.
You’ve been that way for years.”
The sentence built a character
from memories and fears
I could have said, “There is no one
who stays the same through time.”
Instead I said, “It’s good sometimes
not being strong or fine.”
She reached across the distance
and rested there with me
the role had not been argued with
yet loosened quietly
the ordinary language
was neither false nor true
it served the little opening
that life was moving through
Bridge
Do not tell the grieving
there was nobody who died
do not tell the wounded
there is no one hurt inside
do not use the wordless
like a blade against the skin
truth becomes another armour
when superiority walks in
Translate, do not conquer
invite, but do not pull
ask what happened plainly
when the story becomes full
a boundary may be kindness
a silence may be clear
a sentence may be ordinary
and still come fully near
Verse 4
I thought that I was truthful
only when I named the view
that selves were never separate
and thoughts could not be true
but every word is partial
every phrase a temporary sign
“Sunrise” serves the morning
though the sun does not incline
So “I decided,” “You hurt me,”
“I love you,” “Meet at three”
can carry human coordination
without proving there’s a me
the map need not be perfect
to help us cross the ground
and language need not hold the whole
to offer useful sound
Chorus
Two languages, one table
the personal and vast
one speaks of names and choices
one has no future or past
I do not need to change your words
or make you see my view
I only need to listen
for what is living through
Two languages, one table
yet neither stands apart
the story in the speaking
and the trembling in the heart
Verse 5
You asked, “Do you believe then
that nobody has control?”
I felt the teacher gathering
to give the final whole
instead I asked, “This morning,
did you choose your hunger’s call?”
You laughed and said, “That’s different.”
We spoke of football after all
No door was blown wide open
no final truth was won
no one crossed from sleep to light
before the meal was done
but curiosity had flickered
then vanished into play
and life had met life lightly
without forcing it to stay
Final Chorus
Two languages, one table
one life in every tongue
one speaks through old conclusions
one through questions just begun
I need not call you sleeping
to protect what has been seen
your conventional explanations
also rise within this scene
Two languages, one table
but never truly two
the listening and the speaking
are experiencing too
Final Verse
So tell me of your sorrow
tell me who you think is wrong
tell me what you’re frightened of
and where you don’t belong
I may not share the meaning
you place upon the day
but I can meet the feeling
without taking it away
And sometimes I’ll disagree here
sometimes I’ll close the door
sometimes love will sound like “No”
and nothing soft or more
sometimes there will only be
a hand, a chair, and tea
No awakened one translating
for a person separate from me
Outro
A name is spoken.
A story grows.
A body tightens.
A question slows.
No inner kingdom.
No outer view.
No world of them
apart from you.
Two languages—
one table—
one listening
moving through.
