I speak weekly before an audience who choose to rely upon what little gravitas I have to navigate the intricacies of life as lived together with them. I always ponder the unrelenting responsibility to pastor my congregation with words that are somehow prone to abuse or lift the souls of despondency. The hardest task is to discern where the people are when I open my mouth. More often, I am but a myopic microphone providing loose pegs that float without anchored context.
I was listening hard for Jokoy during the Golden Globes 2024 event, and amidst the challenging atmosphere, I saw myself … sighing with ulcer-like spasms on what he must have felt when the blow torch of free speech lit up the night with divisive rhetoric.
Words are not mere alphabets. They have the power to kill or give life.
I find myself a “Jokoy” at times.
Either I choose death over my stumbling craft or I regroup and start anew to trust this simple yet wild tool of seeking to tell you that I do really care but weak enough to fumble and look like a fool and hope for a day that I look more like a sincere human being who has truly spoken from his heart.
