"For magic consists in this, the true naming of a thing." - Ursula Le Guin
As a human, I like to name things. Labels are helpful. I like to know what things are at their root. There's magic in a name. It lets me know what's going on. It's September, it's autumn, it's 2014, it's the afternoon, it's this, it's that. I know where I stand when I know an object's name. I can research it more, I can call it, I can claim it. Sometimes, I can turn it into something else.
I thought I had a name under which to classify the strange symptoms my body has been experiencing. I feel like while Lyme disease is possibly what I have, the fact that antibiotics did not dissolve all of my symptoms makes me think there is more going on.
What do you do when you don't know the name of something? When you can describe it, but the description doesn't add up to anything anyone else has ever seen or heard of before? Do you create a new name? Do you wait until someone else names it for you? Do you search and search, knowing that it must have been named somewhere else? Do you think that the name has to be out there, somewhere, if you just look hard enough?
This is how I feel with what is going on with my body. I am not sure what to call it. I am not sure what it is or what will happen next. I don't know the magic word. I feel like with the word, the name, the label, I can then move forward and heal. I can dissolve this fear and worry that has crept up and start to feel better.
But my body is being elusive and quiet. It's speaking in hushed whispers. I have the feeling my body doesn't know the name of things either. She's curious, too. So we go on, describing things, taking notes, seeking out different people to listen to our story and symptoms in hopes of coming to a solution.
The Buddha says in the Dhammapada, "Better than a thousand statements composed of meaningless words is a single meaningful word which, having been heard, brings peace." There is peace in the single word. There is confusion in the ever-lasting description circling a not-word. But, is that one word even necessary? What if you rested in the lack of a word?
Is it possible to find ease with a lack of name? With the silence? You can say "yes" to the unknown, yes to the mystery, yes to the unnamed which insists on making itself known. You can embrace this nameless thing, welcome it and just let it be.
Just let it be.