What I’m Reading:
It’s been some time since I have shared my Musings with you; life has been hectic, I’ve had the summer blues, and I haven’t been as inspired to write as I normally am.
For this reason, I appreciated Katherine May’s candor in her new book, Enchantment: Awakening Wonder in an Anxious Age. “I’m supposed to be writing, but I lack the solidity to do it,” she comments. “What is there to say anyway?”
What is there to say anyway?
This question feels deep and existential: I have both so much and so little to say, a tension that has rendered me temporarily silent.
Like May, I have been struggling to resolve this tension, all the while wondering if language can do what we ask of it. That is to say, I have been wondering if language—if writing—has the ability to connect us, if it can render us intelligible to others. Indeed, May remarks, “Constantly surrounded by conversations, we are nevertheless chronically lonely.”
For May, some of this tension stems from her desire to communicate on a level that is not linguistic—one that is both corporal and spiritual. She says, “I want to speak plainly and directly to an entity that I can’t quite perceive, and I don’t have the language for that.”
It’s not just that she doesn’t have the language, it’s that words themselves get in the way. She longs for something other than words, “I want what Julian Jaynes’s ancients had: to be able to talk to god. Not in a personal sense, to a distant figure who is unfathomably wise, but to have a direct encounter with the flow of things, a communication without words.”
Interestingly, her son has parallel desires, though he doesn’t couch them in terms of spirituality. He, too, expresses an ambivalence about linguistic communication in the below exchange that I will quote in full:
I am the mother of a non-verbal autistic son, so this exchange cuts deep. I have spent countless hours wondering what is happening inside his mind, wondering how to bridge the gap between us. I have looked into his eyes, pushing him to use words to make requests, knowing that doing so pulls him out of the internal space where he seeks comfort. I have often wondered if my demands for verbal communication—for him to look at me and use his words—doesn’t in some way truncate his branches.
What I’m Thinking About:
Last week after an intense and wonderful hour and a half, I lay silently in the arms of one of my clients. I felt his heart beating against me as I rested my head on his chest. I was in his space: not only in his arms, but in his bed, in his suburban house.
As we lay there, I thought about how we got there: I rang the doorbell, he welcomed me with a smile and a kiss (this was not our first encounter), and he put his arms around me and asked me if I wanted to go upstairs.
Though it was not my house, I knew the way and he followed me up the stairs, his hands on my wide hips as we climbed. We entered the room and without saying anything, he pulled my dress over my head, and I slid between his sheets.
In our silent, post-coital bliss, I realized that there was nothing that I needed or wanted to say. He and I are from different worlds. We have different cultural and religious backgrounds, different native languages, and far different lifestyles. We came together for a few hours on a weekday afternoon, each with our own histories, desires, and longings. We poured our energy into communicating these through our bodies—and the communication was complete. What else was there to say anyway?
In her book, May talks about her own longing. She says, “I want to retain what the quiet reveals, the small voices whose whispers can be heard only when everything falls silent.” After some time, I mentioned to my client that I was grateful he was comfortable with silence. Indeed, his ability to hold me—while leaving me to my own thoughts—was a rare gift.
May reflects, “Between water and our bodies there is effortless communication, both engaged in an endless saturated exchange.” Sometimes, between bodies themselves, there is the same effortless communication, one that allows us to feel whole.
What I’m Excited About:
After a very busy spring with a ton of travel, I am happy to lay low in Pittsburgh this July. I have been working my way through every Quentin Tarantino movie, painting the rooms in my house, and trying to imagine a world where I have a daily writing practice again.
Booking & Availability:
I am busy planning future travel and tours, beginning in August!
Buffalo, NY | Aug 11-13
NYC | Aug 16-18
Philadelphia, PA | Aug 18-21
Buffalo, NY | Sep 8-10
Cleveland, OH | Sep 21-24
Buffalo, NY | Oct 13-15
Boston, MA | Oct 26-29
Pittsburgh in between
Make sure to check out my complete travel schedule on my website.
