While writing my post about Haworth, I pulled up
the journal I kept for class when I studied in Manchester a couple of summers
ago. I found this from July 17, 2010:
…The only
time we can see reality for what it is, is when we witness it and don't label
it. Standing at the edge of the ocean and inhaling its largeness, enjoying the
touch of a lover's hand, seeing the smile of a child. As soon as we try to
express it, however, the moment diminishes. "The ocean is expansive.” “His
touch is tender.” “She had innocent eyes." Words diminish the experience
and never fully encompass the moment. Silence is the only language that
expresses truth. As Annandine says in the book [Under the Net], "It is in
silence that the human spirit touches the divine." And yet, language is necessary, for Tamarus
says, "But life has to be lived, and to be lived it has to be understood.
This process is called civilization." Man must be able to express his
divine moments to other men, so language, however apart from the real
experience, is needed for communication and community. Instead of humans
constantly seeking a truth that doesn't exist, they merely struggle on how to
relate their truths to others in order to form kinship. It reminds me of one of
my favorite quotes by T.S. Eliot: "It's strange that words are so
inadequate. Yet, like the asthmatic struggling for breath, so the lover must
struggle for words."
And really, that sums up this entire blog. I’m
struggling for words, because my experiences with the divine are beyond words
or explanation. And yet, I have to find words so that I might understand. I
write, and I read other people’s writings, and I find kinship in everyone
trying to put their stories into words.
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