Things Unseen: Slam Poetry | Theo Wilson | TEDxMileHigh

Translator: Peter van de Ven
Reviewer: Denise RQ “People will never know
how far a little kindness can go,” Rachel Joy Scott. On the day that Hitler
would have turned 110, two gunmen ignited Columbine High School like birthday candles
to his sadistic legacy. Rachel Scott was
the first flame extinguished. Her first breath was sun-charged Colorado oxygen
just 55 days after mine was. Her last, a choking exhale
facing at the Rockies, but Rachel’s diaries
will one day dwarf that horizon. People ask me,
“What’s in that air in Colorado?” and I’d tell them, “Shoot off a gun
in a room full of propane gas, by the time you see
the flame, it’s too late.” Thus, the resulting inferno
at the heart of this nation post-Columbine revealed the chemical properties of hate. See, it can be in the air, all around you,
until an incident ignites it, but instead of alive,
some victims just end up too late, and God is always on time, they say. Some would argue, “Yeah,
just two steps behind the buckshot.” Sarcasm, stumbling from
the rightful barrel of a skeptic’s mouth, the hand of tragedy
stroking their ego, they ask, “How can you have faith in the invisible?” As if we don’t rely
on things unseen every day. Show me the color of your Wi-Fi signal, the radio wave that dance songs
through your flesh, leaving no exit wound. The repulsive charge
in your skin’s electrons is the reason why you’ve never
actually touched anything in your life. So find me a liar more persistent
than your five physical senses, that’s only five wavelengths broadcasted
on the ocean of possible. With different organs
your whole universe would change. A bee’s eyes would turn your garden
into an infrared orchestra, the way a bat’s sonar turns the night
into an aerial buffet, and I have seen 50-ton jets
held aloft by nothing, and thus, everyone-
on-board’s prayers that day. I would argue,
and so would Rachel’s family, that nothing is more real
than that which can’t be seen, and you never believe it
until it hits you. My old sensei said,
“Not every champion looks like Mike Tyson. Sometimes, that skinny blond freckled kid
will put you on your back.” Yeah, you see his muscle,
but not his timing, not his conditioning,
or the suffering that made them necessary. And science says, the human brain
is command center of the body; cut it open,
the commander you will not find. So either you are not real
or reality must be redefined, because magicians’ve been
fooling doctors since Houdini, pulling smart guides cards of a joke
because on their face like he’s led you. So how is laboratory science
the measurement of matter, when nothing that matters can be measured? There are no stats for the kids
who opt out of suicide. If you don’t shoot up the school,
you don’t make breaking news. Speak a kind word,
and you may not see him un-beat his wife, but you still gotta believe
that it matters, because it does. Every smile, every flower,
every butterfly wing, every bullet unchambered, every breath
and baby sings weighs something, and there is no way around it. And we waste all this life
on the things that go wrong, when too much goes right
for you to count it. Rachel wrote, “Things untold, things unseen,
one day these things will come to me.” Why at her death, make her diary immortal? The torch of her words,
burning open our closed minds, forcing apart lids to an eye
that we didn’t know that we had, to a bandwidth of brilliance
we were blind to. Tune in, and the miraculous
can not help but find you, and you’d never believe it
until it hits you. Time to swan dive
in a technicolor infinity, close your eyes
and submerge into the real. Thank you. (Applause)

5 thoughts on “Things Unseen: Slam Poetry | Theo Wilson | TEDxMileHigh

  1. How does he STAY FINE and GIVE LIFE at the same time!!!👏👏👏👏👏👏

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