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.