The Gaia tongue is an alien construct which you seemingly only get when you conceive as if that was the gift no one ever has gone through. Aren’t the best ideas born out of mind and the ability to empathize with the others? So many mothers give birth only to look away or seek desperately the way to connect with their wanted child, but to no avail. Years pass until you understand what it means and you finally arrive there only to look back and see the mistakes you have made along the way, the missing mother tongue you had forgotten to acquire. It is not the question of instinct, it is the connecting factor that binds the worlds out of the blue, out of the suddenness. You know what I mean.
In the beginning there was just the instinct. Then there was a need. Then we finally arrived at the pain stage. Then the realization of the dream and its destruction or de-con-structu-ring by removing the foundation bricks. No tall order in any case. Once you reach the barren land under the structure what is there to do? Move on to deconstruct other dreams? The only reality that you know gets stripped away in a sandstorm of biting bitterness. The mother tongue remains ever as elusive but you could learn it anew, without an umbilical cord. Or you could attach elsewhere, that cord. Walking the grainy patterned earth with a cord unattached leaves you more than fragile and frugal, it renders you a new child of the 4 riders as you condense the maltreatment into your newly gained powers of rage. Pragmatism tells you there is no more but the apocalyptic rage that can hit the whole town with its mighty powers, sending off the warning to those ahead. The abandoned shall rise and shall bring their own punishment as in those days when the old order was still keeping us in those mighty clutches. The lost of the mother tongue is the moment our being dissolves adn we create a new one from scratch.
The emergence of the new population based on the new language takes some time, but the language development forms easily, replacing the older and lost forms of communication that lasted while there was the time for them. Since you are a child of the lost time, the cord being your only signpost, you seek replacements in the chaos. You seek meaning in the chaos, never stopping one bit away from your starting point. You may age but you shall seek. And if you manage to re-evaluate what you have gained you may say you have gained nothing but lost everything. How come that happened? How come no one stopped you from that loss and prevented you the way they should? Perhaps that is the question for other times, but for now, the cord is gone. The new language of art, writing on the wall with your own blood, has begun.