Too Much to Tell?

To tell the Beauty would decrease
To state the Spell demean--
There is a syllable-less Sea
Of which it is the sign--
My will endeavors for its word
And fails, but entertains
A Rapture as of Legacies--
Of introspective Mines--

-"To Tell The Beauty Would Decrease" Emily Dickinson

Some stories are woven far too deep to tell, and perhaps some questions are better left unanswered. And yet, we live in a day and age where people far and wide are trying immensely to pin things down and make them readily accessible after a mere 5-second digital search. What do these searches yield? Certainly some results are worthwhile, but I surmise that we must look deeper than the instantaneous grit and sand if we are to find real pearls. What about those dark misty eyes, or that bottomless abyss that is the human soul? Have we really traversed the depths of the universe high and low and come to its finale? Ah, limited we remain. What of the tacit dimension? How might one even begin to capture the essence of its composition? We try but fail, still, to put into words that which is beyond words. To describe in some regard would be to limit what remains inexpressible. And so, we must create metaphors for those images and notions that can never be distilled into mere verbiage. A hint, a glimpse, an icon.