This Terrible Love, a journal of nonduality

Sometimes I wonder if any new words will pop up in the apparent Miranda thingie candy apple brain. (Note the punctuation—not the “Miranda thingie’s” candy apple brain, as there is no Miranda who has one). It often feels like the song, "What do we do when there are no more words/we just sit in the park and sing with the birds." But writing is a habit; posting online feels like the letters I used to send home to family and friends. The silent retreat is over, so finally I can get some peace and quiet around here. lol Though it is literally quieter as the retreat-attendees were often making music. But beyond that, you realize how simply the human presence carries a whole language with it, even if unspoken. Body language, movements, grunts, and exclamations of pleasure or tears. And the internal dialogues that were unheard but almost visible on faces. Imagined as that story is.  So while it was virtually wordless, it was not really silent at all, as the voice of ...

  We were standing at the edge of the lake, at the end of what we call a day, and my candy apple brain was sending me images of light filtering through clouds and reflecting off the water---clouds and water, these things I had learned to name and to see. It was an almost impossible swirl of delicate colors and streaks of luminosity. Fiona, the girl I had learned to call by a name as well, stood nearby; we had walked here together. I looked over at her, and saw tears on her face. She looked back. I nodded towards the sky, thought of the fragile beauty bringing her tears. She said, “No, it’s just…there’s no words. Can’t be said. What they call…'this'...” She started to stretch out her arms as if to indicate all that appeared, then stopped and shook her head. "No, no…" I said, in apparent agreement, then my voice trailed off. She looked back at me, a few feet away across an impenetrable distance that didn’t even exist. "An' we can’t even shar...