Water on Light

Words have little value in the kingdom of essential things. They're just decorations on the feelings too deep for us to put into syllables.

Pico Iyer (Autumn Light)

This morning I saw shards of light, invisible until the stream of water from the hose caught them as highlights against the dappled shadow under the wild olive tree. Like dust motes floating in a shaft of morning sun, something present but hidden was revealed.

I'm thinking about this as I reflect on Iyer's thoughts. I love words; they've been an anchor and a compass for as long as I can remember. And although there are times when words feel inadequate, meaningless even, I turn to them again and again - to sustain and to help me navigate the complexities of life. Like a map, words help me mark out and orient myself in the territories of grief, loss, pain and confusion, as much as in those of joy, hope and delight. Like sails that embody and give shape to the wind, words help me see where I'm going.

It is true that some feelings are too deep, some places too difficult to adequately chart with the language we have. The sails rip and tear. Sometimes words can only suggest a landscape too scarred or unfamiliar to outline. Yet I find that in the attempt, clarity emerges. Places that feel constricted ease, and those that felt vast and overwhelming become smaller. There are moments when words are just a decoration, when silence is the only appropriate response. Sometimes the words born out of that silence are the most beautiful and helpful of all.

P.S. You can find a short poem at my latest Cloudlight post, a gentle invitation to settle into stillness for a moment or two.