On a few words I like

People who know me well know that I love words; those who know me even better know that I hate words; and those who know me best of all know that I love words.

Here is a handful of words that I enjoy.

Procedural (as a noun). I do not watch police procedurals on television-- I never have. But I love the use of the word "procedural" as a noun. I am moved by the concept that there can be beauty and substance in a procedure rather in just what the procedure effects. It also has such an air of movement about it, in that something proceeds, but also something grave and timeless and cyclical. The procedure-- and the exploration of it, the procedural-- remains even after and through an iteration.

Apoptosome. Aside from being pronounceable in seemingly dozens of different ways, all of which are so fun (and one of which sounds like "hippopotamus"), this word ought to be known by the general public if only for use in metaphors. The apoptosome is a bunch of cytochrome c and APAF-1 glommed together with 7-fold symmetry. This huge complex forms in response to a cell death stimulus, and activates pro-caspase 9. The cell undergoes apoptosis (it DIES). I can't get enough of apoptosomes, and no, I don't even feel "nerdy" about that. I just feel happy.

Gone/Done. These are words so basic to the language that I'm sure they've been around since time immemorial (much longer than 'procedural' or 'apoptosome,' at least). I don't think that the essential words get enough credit for their own beauty. Onomatopoeic words are easy to love, and I extend my definition of onomatopoeia to include what I may also call "psychonomatopoiea." That is, words that somehow sound like the concept they mean to communicate. I particularly appreciate 'gone' and 'done' for their versatility. They can sound so absolute, so final; and yet, since they end with an 'n,' there is some ambiguity to them... they can kind of resonate and then leave a trail as they disappear. They can be so cold and hollow with their central "o"-- or they can be almost tender with a warmer "ah" or "uh." They can be plaintive or relieved. These are truly pillars in great-word-dom.

Enlightenment. This word has so many syllables for what it's trying to say, and it kind of (to me) undermines the point. But that's why I like it. We use this word as a translation of words which in other languages are so simple and straightforward-- they don't have all these little prefixes and suffixes, trying to aggregate meaning from other parts. But I love that we're trying. And I love the irony that it infuses into our understanding of "enlightenment" as a concept, especially as we complicate matters with the term "The Enlightenment." What a clumsy word it is; and yet it is so pretty to look at. And how much we yearn for it.

Seemingly. I challenge you to incorporate this into your speech. If you do, no explanation on my part will be necessary. Use it to begin thoughts. Use it to end thoughts. Use it in the middle of thoughts-- before adjectives, verbs, wherever. Then graduate to using it all by its wonderful self, as a jewel of an answer to many a question. You will be seemingly hyperarticulate.

On Having Survived To Celebrate The Second Anniversary Of My Death

--"All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death"-- T.S. Eliot


I died two years ago today. I didn't mean to do it, it just happened and I couldn't do anything to stop it because I wasn't wise enough to know that I was dying until I was already dead

The events of that day summoned forth the figure of death that had been lurking in the shadows. Not recognizing him in his disguise, I sealed his entrance across my threshold with a final kiss.

Today could not have been any more different. I woke up at 6 a.m., put on a gray skirt and wooly black pea coat, hopped into my trusty old truck and drove across the Bay to Hayward. All day long I jumped up and sat and moved and waved my hands and in the evening came home from the acting school called Moreau Catholic High School and made tacos and wassail and hosted a small dinner party at my home. Now at 11:04 p.m. I type on this blog and listen to KT's Christmas CD on the MacBook.

I could not have done these things two years ago, nor a year ago. Only now do I remember what it is to be alive.

The ironic thing is that I didn't recognize life quite so clearly before I had encountered death. Like Eliot, I had "seen birth and death, but had thought they were different." Only in experiencing my own death and rebirth have I come to understand that they are the same. The compassion, the empathy, that I can feel now was born only out of the ashes-- the hard, the bitter agony-- of the death I experienced on a chilling day two years ago.

I think Eliot has it right-- that an essence of Christianity is that ONLY through death, ONLY by taking upon ourselves the weakness of mortality can we experience eternal the birth that never ends in death, even ETERNAL LIFE-- this through the suffering and Atonement of the Lord Jesus Christ who, born a wee babe in Bethlehem, laid down his life so that we could overcome the bonds of both physical and spiritual death.

And so on this, the anniversary of my death, I testify of the resurrection of the body and the spirit-- of life, of goodness, of truth-- of the birth of the Lord Jesus Christ. May the hope of the birth AND the death of the Babe of Bethlehem bring you joy this Christmas season.