How To Disappear Completely

The Romantic Rift

An IM conversation with a friend whose taste gravitates toward the Romantic Sublime. We usually disagree on aesthetics, but in this conversation.....
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Me: So I had a Romantic moment the other day.
Friend: Good. I am glad to hear that your soul isn't completely dead. :p
Me: My soul is silly.
Me: So I hide it most of the time.
Me: But every once in a while, it emerges.
Friend: So what was this Romantic moment?
Me: It snowed on Friday. I walked home in the snow. Everything was so still and peaceful and calm and expansive and I wondered how there could be so much beauty.
Me: And then my hair sparkled.
Me: From the snow.
Friend: !
Friend: You are a poet!
Me: ?
Friend: Those are things that poets would notice, that's all.
Friend: But you probably convinced yourself that it was all meaningless and illusion and went home and listened to Cage. I know how you are.
Me: Well. Er. Yeah. It just seems rather silly to say stuff like that.
Friend: Perhaps because words can't adequately describe it.
Me: Yes and no.
Me: Poetry has remained popular for a reason....

And so forth...a rambling conversation on the difference between 20th century poetry and Byron....word play, imagery, etc.

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Is there a disjunct between words and feelings? Are words really inadequate to describe ourselves? Perhaps because of the fall and even Babel, we can't correlate our words and world perfectly any more. And yet, I sometimes wonder if I am only experiencing "the sublime" because the poets tell me I should feel a certain way. If I had never read poetry, would I ever feel anything? And is feeling really connected to the soul, anyway? Hmmm. I probably ought to undergo some Therapy for Those Overly Analytical Persons Who Can't Just Enjoy the World without Wondering Why. Maybe this is why I don't describe my feelings that often. They get lost somewhere in the shuffle.
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A treasured compliment I have received was "Sarah, you look like Geniveve," given once when I was wearing flowers in my hair.

Flowers in my hair.
Ribbons down my back.
And the desire to be beautiful.
All there. I confess.

On the one hand, this seems sentimental and silly. On the other hand, Romantic. I realize that in this extended entry I have wandered a bit, conflating Romantic with romantic, the sublime with the concrete. But I believe that they feed off each other and ultimately , as C.S. Lewis might say, are to be found in Christ. And yet, the symbols, though lesser, can bring great joy.

All things hold together in Him.