The tower in, what is known as the City of Light, was said to have gone dark.
The City of Love, known for romance was plunged into darkness.
I have not been to Paris, to France, but I’ve wanted to go, for a long time. There’s so much I want to see there.
I do not speak French, but I listened to the recorded sound of the gun shots and the bomb blasts, on the news. I wondered how I was going to describe it later. I’m still not sure things like this can be described, in words, but words are all I’ve got to work with.
All the talk of blood and bodies and I know what “indescribable” truly means. These horrors are in a different city, a new country, on any given nightly news broadcast. I don’t want to be afraid, to wonder how I’m going to describe my fears to others.
I can’t see the images on television, but I hear the distinctive whine of European emergency vehicles, the sound that I woke to, to hear out my window, the first night I spent in Dublin, Ireland. I hear that sound again, but I know why I hear it, what it’s duty is to those in crisis now.
When we say something is indescribable…well, I know it can be described, but I don’t know. Not really. I grasp at the words I love, to make the indescribable describable, but my brain hurts inside my skull.
How does someone, my brother, how does he describe the world to my niece?
She is young still and can be somewhat sheltered from the realities of the world, but for how long?
What would I say? How would I make something so indescribable become clear, when it isn’t even clear to me?
Not just the facts and the details of a senseless night in Paris, but of the state of things. It’s simply indescribable to me, that a human being, as I am a human being, would do harm to another. I don’t know why and I don’t know, even what the issue really is. Religion, one’s beliefs, and the lengths people go to for all these are indescribable.
It’s an indescribable feeling to hear my niece or my nephew’s voices say my name, my siblings/their parent’s names.
It’s indescribable what I smell in the air, on the perfect fall day or in the middle of a still winter night.
It’s indescribable what love really feels like. What heartbreak does to the human soul. What death and the loss of a loved one damages deep down.
I describe a lot of things, but my fading, remaining sight makes it harder and harder, nearly impossible, an indescribable, retreating skill lost, to describe what I once saw so well.
I want light and dark. Love and loss. These are realities. The stuff that really does matter is the stuff that’s always going to be indescribable, but I need to try anyways.
Stream of Consciousness Saturday:
Granted, not the best Friday the 13th on record.
Superstition, to me, is indescribable. It makes people think strange things, but, oh, how I long for the usual in Friday the 13th superstitious beliefs now.