Words Failed

Words Failed

You could not have told me where you were. You had been in hiding. Then one week, when the house was stilled and quiet, you heard my voice. I opened your eyes to see where you were, and you saw that what you knew was not true. In the nakedness of unknowing and ashamed, you fled into the night. Your knowledge now amounting only to that of being lost, you turned from the brilliance of the order you suddenly saw for it was too bright to comprehend. Without having formed a question, you sought answers.

You sought answers but the questions had no form. Words failed. Without the words you had so clung to through your life, reason failed. Your logic began to flow from sight to sight. The inability to describe the meaning behind what you saw was staggering. The meanings you had known were all wrong, all wrong. And the meaning you now saw was ineffable.

You fled further into the night, and you found me, though you did not recognize me then as you once had—as when an infant in your crib you cried at length in your loneliness until I soothed you to sleep. When you found me, you explained all you had seen, and while I understood you very well, the words failed to be understood by others. You, for the first time, saw a fulfilled love. You saw it with the terror and agony that, until then, you had known had no place in love. You realized you were wrong. You realized you are wrong. You let me hold you close for but a moment until you fled again into the night.

You fled, abandoning what you had seen was right for what you knew was right, as though you had not begun to know me. You fled to all the shadows you had known, hiding again in each one. No matter how dark the shadow in which you hid, no matter how familiar it had once been, you could not hide from what you had seen. You could not hide from who you had seen. You sought the familiar more and more. Where you had thought you had family, you had no family. Where you had thought you had had joy, you had no joy. Where you had thought you had companionship, you had no companionship.

The shadows you had hidden in could not take away the truth you had seen. They could not stop me from calling you. I made all so you could not stop your ears. So that when I called, you would hear. How many harvests have passed as you fled to the shadows? How many before you realized you could not live without my voice? How long before you relented of your known and familiar that has been only a shadow of a family?

Let me hold you close again and there will be no more shadows. You have no need to desire them for what you know to be good in them is truly the good in me. Your desire has been for me. Though I have always been with you, you have often been without me. Your wanting and desiring only grew with each passing thing with which you sought to satisfy them. Your appetite only grew as you fed on what you knew. Your appetite for me only grew. Wanting, desire, and appetite, seeking and not finding until your strength fails. When, in ceasing to desire what was in the shadows, you learned you desired me, you learned you were all desiring. Only in relenting of all desiring have you found me. Only then have you found me already with you. Only then have you been with me.

Here, where your words still fail, there are no words but my own. Where what was in darkness is in light, there is no hiding, for you know where you are—you know with whom you are, and I show you who you are. You get so lost when you give words to me. The words you know do not suffice. When you desire to use them, you desire once more, and lost once more, you lose yourself again. Do not be lost in shadows. Be lost in me, without words, and you will be found in my Word and you will be who you are. Become who you are. Listen to me, listen in silence, when your house is stilled and quiet.