the language
I learnt a new language on my trip. And it isn't Spanish.
It is a language with no words and if ever it has a voice it is in singing only. I so feared the life that no words can capture, as I am sure frequent readers of my blog can remember me battling with earlier. And as that life came to me, silently, not abrubtly but throughout long, walking days, it turned out to be the only life completely true. Words of ours will always lack.
My new language, which of course is as little only mine as is the wind or the stars, has a childish magic to it, and is as impossible to comprehend as latin would be if it suddenly lost its grammar. I can just reach out my hand and touch this new language and every time get surprised at what I find...
It prays with its hands. I reach out my hand and touch a loved one and suddenly my hands turn in to prayer. My skin itself turns into love, something deeper than me, beyond my control. It is so very natural, so very earthly, not at all supernatural or scary, yet more spiritual than anything else. It is as if this new language lives in my hands, and in my voice when I don't speak, and in my arms, and most of all in my chest, as if it spreads like silent words with no meaning out of my chest to the person I am embracing. I cannot explain it with words of course, but I am trying because I am so sure there must be others who speak this language, and I am sure they all have known it for a long time, because I am feeling like a child discovering what the world always has known and I am seeing for the first time.
I thought men and women sought out eachothers bodies mostly for the reason of sex and multiplying and satisfying a hunger for nurture and care, but not for the mere reason of speaking a secret language no one can understand with words. I didn't know that beyond the sexual and the romantic exists a touch that has so obvious boundaries that they are no boundaries at all, a touch thats only goal and mission and reason for existing is love. And no prayer could exist without it.
Sometimes I wonder if that touch isn't what prayer really is. Because when I am far away, and I pray, I still feel my hands place themselves around the heart of whom I love and am praying for, and the language is all around, communicating, speaking wordlessly, and I feel no distance at all, just the aching longing distance of space, and really, I'm not sure that actually is an existing distance when it comes to love...
It is a language with no words and if ever it has a voice it is in singing only. I so feared the life that no words can capture, as I am sure frequent readers of my blog can remember me battling with earlier. And as that life came to me, silently, not abrubtly but throughout long, walking days, it turned out to be the only life completely true. Words of ours will always lack.
My new language, which of course is as little only mine as is the wind or the stars, has a childish magic to it, and is as impossible to comprehend as latin would be if it suddenly lost its grammar. I can just reach out my hand and touch this new language and every time get surprised at what I find...
It prays with its hands. I reach out my hand and touch a loved one and suddenly my hands turn in to prayer. My skin itself turns into love, something deeper than me, beyond my control. It is so very natural, so very earthly, not at all supernatural or scary, yet more spiritual than anything else. It is as if this new language lives in my hands, and in my voice when I don't speak, and in my arms, and most of all in my chest, as if it spreads like silent words with no meaning out of my chest to the person I am embracing. I cannot explain it with words of course, but I am trying because I am so sure there must be others who speak this language, and I am sure they all have known it for a long time, because I am feeling like a child discovering what the world always has known and I am seeing for the first time.
I thought men and women sought out eachothers bodies mostly for the reason of sex and multiplying and satisfying a hunger for nurture and care, but not for the mere reason of speaking a secret language no one can understand with words. I didn't know that beyond the sexual and the romantic exists a touch that has so obvious boundaries that they are no boundaries at all, a touch thats only goal and mission and reason for existing is love. And no prayer could exist without it.
Sometimes I wonder if that touch isn't what prayer really is. Because when I am far away, and I pray, I still feel my hands place themselves around the heart of whom I love and am praying for, and the language is all around, communicating, speaking wordlessly, and I feel no distance at all, just the aching longing distance of space, and really, I'm not sure that actually is an existing distance when it comes to love...
posted by wild rose pilgrim at 1:46 PM
2 Comments:
I think you chose the perfect words to describe this experience. Hmm, too much to say. Read your email.
Erikka, sometimes the fact that you are just 20 years old just seems completely improbable. 20 going on infinity? Your wisdom is ageless and your writing so eloquent... sigh... (insert proud bigsister smile here...)
I think the language you are exploring is the one that exists between souls, outside time and space. I can't describe it as well as you can, but I love to read your analysis.
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