tmbt: keep trying words
Words. They are not themselves. They are their context. They are their reference. They are their pockets of grace within everything that surrounds them that they are not. They are the sugar and the bitters. They are the way, the paving stones that mark the path through the garden. The garden? It is the vivid sanctuary of subtext. It is the offering of everything. The paving stones take you to which flowers or thistles to pick.
We try as hard as we can to lay down the right words, the right reference to our hearts and bodies, to time and space. We lay down words, we lay down tracks. We are not masters. We are learners. We just keep trying to lay the right words at each others’ feet. And we keep trying to read the words laid correctly – to read them correctly, to follow the thread to your heart as you mean to spin it.
We try. And we fail. And we succeed. And we fail. And we just keep trying. And it is no big deal. Until it is. And it is enough to know without the words, until it isn’t. And that is no big deal. But sometimes, it is the biggest deal there is. Words unsaid for too long can break us like bricks landing across our backs. The absence gives rise to presence. I don’t know the answers. I don’t even really know the words. I just keep spitting them out because the most beautiful part of it all is the trying and the trying and the never stop trying.
I wish I could be more specific about what I mean, but the words escape me even in their plentitude. I’ll keep trying. This beauty is in the trying.