“Our hearts are closed. All we can do is to place these words upon our heart. And there they stay . . . Until one day the heart breaks…and the words fall in”
JACOB NEEDLEMAN, WHY CAN’T WE BE GOOD?
POETRY AND DISCERNMENT
Fully experiencing life through the languages of words, of others, and of the heart. Living words as bridges toward wholeness.
Words transform our hearts. They merely give a pale image of what cannot be defined or expressed, and that they necessarily limit. And yet, words reveal our world and its meaning for us. But what is, and how do we find, “meaning”? Is it a state? A truth to discover, once and for all, or is it an experience to embrace? Is it a dynamic flow that emerges through time and that we only see after the fact? Is the very essence of life to be found in fully conscious and attentive living?
Words can show the way, indeed. “Meaning” in French is “sens,” which also signifies “direction”… In Spanish, we say “sentido” (as “a way”), a word that also expresses wholeheartedness and feelings. Is there meaning to be found when we simply speak our hearts? Does “meaning” hence become a destination, a path engaging the heart? How to understand that a blessing – such a lovely wish or hope – resembles the French “blesser,” which means “to hurt”? Is it the wisdom that suffering can teach us? When we “remember,” we bring back the members together, implying a physical and incarnate act of retrieving memory through wholeness. The same in French is “se rappeler” (to recall, or call again), pointing to the essential role of the voice and the power of words that are spoken.
In this quest for meaning, we wander sometimes… anxious, eager, waiting for an answer, a sign, a revelation, and we can wonder: is there such a thing as a mean-time? Can time be wicked? Or does this speak about our inability to simply wait and endure a mean and painful transition between two times.
Yes, foreign words and words of foreigners do give us a new direction to find meaning in our lives. Embracing a foreign language can open doors to ourselves and become a discernment practice.
Engaging with mystical poetry
a discernment and integration practice
The apophatic tradition — the theology of not-knowing, of approaching the sacred through what cannot be said — is not a medieval curiosity. It is, in my experience, the most honest available posture for anyone accompanying another human being in a time of deep uncertainty. To resist the answer. To hold the space. To trust that what is real will become visible — but only if we don’t rush to name it prematurely. This is what the poem tries to hold, and what the accompaniment tries to practise.