One of the hardest things about writing, is that there are countless, endless ways of explaining, recounting, telling, measuring and quantifying experiences. That, most of the time, the right words don't just leap at you and fall into their rightful place with any grace at all. Instead, they grind against each other like so many glacial flats, or tectonic plates, in utter chaos and disaster, sometimes for what seem like several millennia; and the landscapes are only exposed later.
Then there are experiences so clearly beyond words, that the words can really only graze at their surface, or gaze wistfully at them in the horizon. I feel like we just came back from the deeps, so it might take a little while to tell about it.
But as always, it's good to be home.