When words are mere pericarps

This in a previously unimaginable place. And writing makes its embracing somewhat inadequate.

Today, and for the last couple of months, I find myself recognizing new layers to the concepts of beauty, love, friendship, the mortal (animal) and the god-thought.

They all touch me whenever unspoken. And that is the troublesome moment in itself. The words I have used for decades, because I learned them and their context, do not contain a fraction of their spelling. And the more I use them these days, the more troublesome they appear to me as the true thing or idea I might try to relay.

Goddess, for example.

It conveys limitlessly magnified existence, and yet, I verbalize it when my eyes, my senses, and my thoughts take me to a certain place of magnificence, which is no longer greatness if beyond recognition. I see the goddess in the wonder I grasp as wonder, yet knowing merely of the realm within a wonder which is recognized by me. Wonders are within my imagination of the unimaginable. And by calling out a wonder, a beauty, a god, a paradise, an omni-existence, I am reducing an imagination to the ability of my carnal and immaterial senses,

The more I search in books for definitions, the more my vision and my will for envisioning perceive a fragile pericarp, and it is only the pericarp that I am able to name, without truly knowing if in it I am already seeing that for which I know no word.

Definitions of love are lists of decadent banalities. To me, unspoken, it is much more. Open any printed scholastic compilation, and read what men of letters proclaim to be reference and true under love. Ask your closest one to define your professed friendship; ask the beholder to objectify the beholden so that any subjectivity is overridden when speaking of beauty; ask the worshiper to prove in no uncertain praise, the unequivocal presence of the worshiped. Lover, friend, beholder, and believer, all are words using words which man can spell but not fill.

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