More on wordlessness

Note just for honesty's sake: This thought process grew partly out of an e-mail exchange, and the following post is almost verbatim what I wrote there. Edited for anonymity of the other person.

It's frustrating—but it's also fascinating. This all comes out of such a deep gratitude. It’s easy for me to thank a human being, even for gifts of deep wisdom, and to hear them receive it as they will. I may still be amazed by such gifts, for a long time. I only need to acknowledge them once, for the giver’s sake.

But to life, God, body, soul, community—to just the gift of waking up? It's like trying to birth a way of being (not of speaking)—knowing that it's only now being conceived.

I know... relax, breathe, process this, be with it, don't rush. Meanwhile everything in me is (not merely says) both "thank you" and "wow." And wants to just yell, the words that don't begin to be adequate.

How to incarnate that shout?

I don't ever want to go through cancer again. (Chances are I won't, with interferon: 70% is passing.) But all of this has taught me so much. I know that God and community are with me. I know that however the biopsy comes back, I am in the hands and arms and heart of God. As we all are. I know that I can trust my body. I know that I am alive. I can't even touch words for how grateful I am. There are gifts in. all. of. this.

This is about being, a different kind of "whole."

I’ve been told I’ve done a good job with the words, thus far. It's what I do. I know they won't stay permanently gone—this is all about expressing, with the human being that I am. They will be a piece of that, not nearly all of it. How, I don't know.