half of learning how to play
is learning what not to play
and she’s learning the spaces she leaves
have their own things to say
The same I feel happens whenever we speak or write. Language is a discrete medium, whereas experience is continuous. Words are tiles that never really cover the area they’re meant to describe, convey, bring to communicable life. And yet at times those empty, void, missing parts coalesce into a meaningful whole, and cooperate to the making of meaning. When the process works at its best, poetry happens.
The same applies to our many other bits and pieces found wanting, or lost. What’s visible, tangible and defined can become a pointer towards the wider, fuzzy yonder. Eventually, it’s within the very fabric of the vast vast cosmos that our wanting soul is lost and found.