Sometimes I can feel things of beauty so much better than I can explain them... words are not always sufficient for the depth that one needs to share an experience with someone else.
Of course, there is always drawing and painting--both are so entirely different yet complementary to writing that sometimes it's the only way I can truly release a thought. It's best to save drawing for a time when you can't satisfy your creative state with words; then it flows and feels constructive. I have heard that a picture's worth a thousand words, and sometimes, I have to admit to the truth in that.
Why is it that I always try to explain and describe everything? I had a friend say to me the other day that he spent much of his life trying to find a formulaic explanation for it, a sort of reason for why everything exists the way it does. But he found that after a while, the art of explaining everything got so tiring that much of the joy was taken out of things that can't be argued into rationality, like beauty, and relationships.
The fact is, some things cannot be said: but that doesn't make them any less important and wonderful. Most of the things I can't explain are beautiful, sacred, solemn in a sense: I shouldn't soil them with my harried attempts at proving their worth through speaking or writing. They are above me, are something which can be enjoyed, loved, even tangibly felt at times, but are not captive by my descriptions of them. Undefinable, yet purely real....
On that note, I shall say no more, and leave your imaginations to find the rest.
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