The Weavers

Words have power.

When I say "blue" - you may think vaguely of the color, or notice all the areas on your computer screen that are various shades of blue. Given time to contemplate, your thoughts may wander to the sky, or later to the melancholy feeling often associated with the hue. Maybe B.B. King would cross your mind.

Every word is like that. They all have associations affiliated with them. They vary from person to person, depending on what we have experienced (for example, if I say "vegetables", the connotation may be positive or negative, but we all probably think of broccoli, carrots, etc.)

I say this to point out that there are places in language that omission is of more accuracy than inclusion. I feel that I am a moderately capable of stringing together words to inflict a number of emotions, but given three days to rack the vocabulary for the words to describe seeing one's own child for the first time, and the ensuing days of realization after realization of short- and long-term subtleties of being a parent... I am coming to the conclusion that there are none.

they simply don't exist.

I think language only goes so far in describing human emotion. Not just this one, but any number of intensely emotional occurences; a family member dying, falling in love... I think this is why so many songs are written about these subjects; there is no way to accurately describe it, so there are a million ways to get close.

And I think it should be this way. If these magic words existed, those that could conjur up these emotions in others, then we would become desensitized to them before they happened to us.

If you had never seen the color blue, and there was not a word to describe it, then the first time you saw the sky, you would be breathless. You would stand outside all day, waving the clouds to the right like it was October 1975 at Fenway Park.

When the sun began to set, you might set up camp outside, waiting for the black to become gray, and eventually become this inexplicable color again.

But of course, we all know the sky. We've seen it since we were too young to know what it was. (unless you live in the UK or Seattle, in which case, maybe this analogy makes even more sense to you.) We see it most days, and while we appreciate it, we are no longer fascinated by it.

These moments must elide language, to protect their breathtaking nature.

And not only must they and do they elude language, but they avoid being accidentally uncovered by mere sight.

I have seen babies before. I've seen fathers with their children, and I've even seen the videos (ohhhhh, the videos. *whew*) but even seeing, I didn't see.

It's as if someone gave you the ability to see the wind, something you had looked through your whole life, but never seen.

You could try for all the world to explain it, but no matter what you said, you would not be able to tell me what the wind looked like.

So it goes with this. Every "it will change your life", "there's nothing like it", and "you will love him immediately" was only a vague precursor, something I may as well have ignored, because they may as well have been describing the facial features of the wind. This is in no way a criticism of their inability to communicate, but my inability to perceive the truth that was driving these completely ineffective words.

And now I find myself on the other side of the pendulum. Any time people ask how I feel, I find myself shuffling through old cliches, discarding each one before it escapes my mouth. I'm mostly in silence about it these days. Which I think is the best description of all.