There are times when I feel so much, I could almost make up my own language. Because nothing in English can describe what I feel. With an overwhelming sense of torture can beauty–real beauty–penetrate my mind to press tears at the backs of my eyes and make my ears ring and it’s like OH OH OH I can’t stand it and I have to look away. Or dance.
How can one be surrounded with such stuff and survive? And yet I’ll follow it to the ends of the earth; craving it, desiring to be close to it no matter the cost.
In that moment that I am there, before the beauty, in the music, I am most alive… and grieving that it will die. And I with it.
Such is beauty. There are no words.