More Than Words

In A Walking Head, I already wrote about how I used to be unable to feel—I could only think. As long as it made sense rationally, then it was right. I had no connection to my feelings, or to my body, which was screaming “ALARM” loud and clear. Keep smiling, keep pushing through, and above all, keep trying your very hardest. This approach clearly didn’t work: addiction, depression, chronic pain, and burnout were the result. Sometimes, no matter how hard we try, there simply comes a time when we can’t go on anymore, and then we have to dare to acknowledge that those feelings deep inside us might actually be trying to tell us something. Today I want to reflect further on this, but in a completely different way. I want to talk about words, and about how much they can conceal.

Six months ago, I started learning Italian. “Brushing up on it and seriously delving deeper” is actually a more accurate description. Back in 2011, I spent five months in Italy completing the final internship for my bachelor’s degree. At that time, I learned Italian purely through immersion: immersing myself in the language and letting my subconscious do its work. I’m learning Italian in a similar way today: I dutifully do my Duolingo exercises every day, and I also learn the language by listening to Italian Christian music. When I first listen to a new song, I might understand about 20% of it. If I like the song and it moves me, I look up the translation and listen to it a few more times until I fully understand it and can sing along.

A while ago, I stumbled upon a beautiful song. Not just beautiful—beautiful, beeeautiful! I barely understood any of the lyrics, and yet I had goosebumps and was almost in tears. For the umpteenth time, I was reminded that there is something so much greater than what our rational minds can comprehend. For me, that’s what life is all about. Christians call that presence the Holy Spirit; others call it “love,” or simply something greater than themselves. It’s something we feel, experience—something that resonates deep within us. A presence and an experience for which there are no words, and which can only be felt.

I’d really like to invite you to listen to the song and watch the video. It’s worth the few minutes—I promise you that. I’m not including the lyrics just yet, because they might get in the way of the experience.

Even without understanding the lyrics, I knew right away when I heard this song: I want more of this. This feeling—that which cannot be understood but only experienced—is what I want to keep seeking in my life. This isn’t new to me, because this is what my recovery has been about for several years now: discerning what my body—through which God speaks—is trying to tell me, and following that guidance. For example, over the past few years, I’ve had many friends—or groups of friends or acquaintances—around me who said or did the right things, and in theory there was nothing wrong with them, but I felt that something inside me just didn’t feel right. Their words were correct, but my gut feeling about them was off. And sometimes I can’t rationally figure out exactly what the problem is, but the (sometimes subtle) alarm signal in my body goes off. And then I have to be very honest with myself and others, and decide to go our separate ways. That often hurts the other person, and I myself feel especially guilty, but at the same time I also feel that I can breathe again, that it’s the right thing to do. Daring to make this decision is sometimes difficult, and sometimes it's (still) impossible. But being aware of it and being honest with myself is already a good first step, even if no final decisions have been made yet.

The opposite is often true for me, too: people with whom I seem to have little in common at first glance, but around whom I feel very safe. No warning signs, not even deep down inside. Just safety, joy, and peace. I want to continue surrounding myself with those people, situations, places, or things. I believe that continuing to strive for this is the core of recovery. What and who makes me feel safe? What and who is good for me? This isn’t just about people—it can also be about safe places like nature, certain parts of the city, or a particular museum. It’s also about the hobbies I pursue, the music I listen to, and the things I do throughout the day. It’s about respecting my deepest self, listening to God’s breath within me, and following it—not with my head, but with my heart. Not understanding, but feeling. Beyond language, beyond words, beyond actions. Straight into the heart and the body. In complete safety, joy, and peace.

Here you can find the Italian lyrics and the Dutch translation of “Puro”.