Two things that I love, love more than life because they antecede my life-- and give my life to me-- can’t even be in the same room together. One is an inky, shimmering dark, the other, words constellating shimmering lies. And if not lies, then half-truths that, in falling short in describing the other thing I love, falsify it in the mind and sometimes erase it from the heart until-- like invisible ink that is so strong and clearly visible at first, yet inexorably fades away--this luminous signature of divine reality is, thankfully, retraced. Again and again. This is the nature of the divine experience.
It has come to pass that I cannot live without either of these very beautiful things: words that fail to describe divine reality and divine reality that defies description, itself. Somehow the cognitive dissonance, between these two things that I love, uncomfortable like the voice of a singer singing always just slightly off-key that becomes part of their unique sound-- think Madonna—and that, if the pitch were corrected, would make that sound unrecognizable-- and therefore, maybe not as appealing-- this cognitive dissonance I am speaking of that is caused by the failure of words to peel the true form of reality from its cloak of shimmering darkness, becomes incorporated into the unique flavor of this divine reality that I love more than life because it antecedes my life and gives my life to me.
It may be possible, therefore, to say that could words and the divine come together without causing any distortion in either, neither might remain as appealing as it is now. It is, perhaps, the struggle of words to define the indefinable that gives them their tragic, and also heroic, charisma.
It may be that the very nature of the unsayableness of the divine--that cognitive dissonance between the experienced and the retold-- is what enacts its greatest allure.