“The People of Youzhi: In an ancient land in the middle of the Western Steppes, renowned for its beauty and lush flora, has lived this warm and welcoming people. They have mastered the art of zhi and can speak the earthen tongue.”
                -Nie June, Seekers of the Aweto: Book 2 (Strange Alliances), translated by Edward Gauvin and and Helen Chao

                One of the creatures in Seekers of the Aweto—a kind of magical child—speaks only the ‘earthen tongue,’ a mysterious language shown in characters Nie June makes up for the story. We readers can’t understand. Staring at one of these characters, a bit like a cursive r into a u with two dots over it, I start thinking about all the things I can only say by not saying.
                Years ago, while teaching, I invited students to make up words that they needed but English didn’t have. There were some delightful ones. Reading Nie June, I wonder about a different version of the exercise. What are the symbols for things I need to say (or need to hear said) but that can’t be put into any recognizable words? This afternoon, in some tougher hours, I tried to turn back toward what I was feeling and seeing. I’ve been practicing that in the last years. Sometimes naming “it” helps—I’m stressed, or I miss my family. But sometimes there are no names, no words—what symbol for the lethargy of my mind, inside too long on a hot day, and the trees shimmering in a quick wind outside, and the silence after I’ve chatted a bit with my brother on the phone? What sound for a soundless pause of breathing?
                Maybe one I can’t read, in the earthen tongue.