Happy February, dear reader! The month of love! Try as I might to rise above petty dislikes, I continue to chafe at February's construction, with its confounded middle "r" and awkward pairing of vowel sounds mushing about my mouth as if I don't know what I'm trying to say. Oh, English...I think we could have done better.
I don't know if others share this particular quirk, but language has such a strange effect on me. It taps into some dream-like, peripheral world wherein words don't sit as black characters on a white page correlating to fixed meanings, but rather float through my head as colors, shapes, and sounds, even something nearly tangible, and sometimes as elusive phantoms of such chimerical beauty there actually ceases to be words to capture them. I don't know how to explain it, but sometimes I sit in muted frustration, knowing words exist that would express what I'm trying to say, yet realizing I don't know what they are. It's like wandering through a fog and being exquisitely aware of their presence, yet not being able to grasp or see them clearly.
Sometimes I do see them clearly. I do catch a glimpse of how to say something, but more often I feel limited...not just by my command of language but also perhaps by the extent of my thoughts. Who can say? I just know language is both sublime and, at times, the cause of my madness.
I came across an interesting passage from the Book of Mormon the other day, wherein a man named Moroni (who was writing the record) worried his words would seem weak to the people who would one day read them because, for whatever reason, he recognized God had not made him "mighty in writing like unto the brother of Jared, for thou madest him that the things which he wrote were mighty even as thou art, unto the overpowering of man to read them. Thou hast also made our words powerful and great, even that we cannot write them; wherefore, when we write we behold our weakness, and stumble because of the placing of our words..."
It's a beautiful passage of scripture that goes on to talk about the innate weaknesses we all have, which are sometimes given for the purpose of humbling us, with the added hope we will turn to God for help so He can strengthen those areas within us. I find hope in the thought of weak things being made strong.
But it also stirred me, in particular, to think of writing and the awareness a writer has of the power or frailty of his words. That is, at times, a painful awareness. I'm certain a greater, more sublime language exists, a way of expression that reaches beyond typical phrases to a more pure and discerning means of communion. I'm not sure it's made possible through a fancier bundle of words, per se, but perhaps through a deeper understanding of how to express oneself, a deeper understanding of how to...understand.
I don't know...and I'm a little off topic here with half-finished thoughts that usually only echo within the corridors of my mind.
What I really meant to say, until the spelling of February derailed me, is this is the month of love! And while I believe love should be the guiding force in everything we do, I find an added delight in the magic and possibility of a day devoted to celebrating its expression~to admiration, friendship, romance, ardor, kindness, warmth, tenderness, compassion, and the highest of all, charity.
Love, especially the giving of love: I have always trusted in it, and always will.