The Bittersweet Dance of Words and Silence.
Clarity and Confusion.
We often place a significant value on language, considering it the primary means of communication. Recently, I found myself contemplating the concept of language and its underlying implications. In my thoughts, I envisioned layers or degrees of language, with the most apparent being our native tongue — English, Spanish, French, etc. Beneath this surface layer lies what I’ll refer to as our “sublanguage”.
Each individual possesses a unique sublanguage, characterized by concepts like: “I speak logic”, “I speak empathy”, “I speak bipolar”, “I speak insecurities”, “I speak trauma”, “I speak parent”, “I speak sociopath”, “I speak spirituality”, “I speak romance” …and so on. These sublanguages are combinations of various elements since they are cut by our past experiences, biases, beliefs, genetic predispositions, and values. While multiple components contribute to our sublanguage, one usually tends to stand out more prominently, much like a dominant feature on a body.
[This concept of sublanguage is reminiscent of Sigmund Freud’s idea of the subconscious. However, I’m only going to focus on language within his psychoanalytic theory.]
This “sublanguage” often goes unnoticed or disregarded, even though it holds a crucial role in our communication.
What if we reversed our perspective and elevated the significance of our sublanguage to the level of our primary language? …
Clearly, however, this isn’t what happens and perhaps this could potentially explain why two people could be speaking English to each other (for instance) and miss the entire meaning of the message. Because too often, people depend solely on the mere words spoken to gather information. Even though the words are clear, confusion can arise [which is the paradox — it’s clear but confusing], and then confusion can lead to conflict, or in the best-case scenario it’s taken with levity and you both laugh at the absurdity of it all. That’s the way to go. I’m smiling as I wrote that last bit. Smiling or laughing your way through confusion or conflicts can be just the right medicine sometimes. Some will require our seriousness — but not all of them.
Communication serves as a translation method for conveying feelings and thoughts, yet some emotions or ideas remain ineffable. In such cases, alternative forms of expression like art, music, touch, or even silence attempt to bridge the gap. Silence can be powerfully revealing, yet it is often interrupted by speech.
This isn’t to say that speech lacks value, not at all… our language development was a crucial evolutionary step. Nevertheless, I had a beautiful realization the other day: speech, along with other communication mediums, essentially stem from silence, making them the grandchildren of silence. Isn’t that something?
The “truth” will always be beyond words.
If not used judiciously, speech can be of the lowest order and/or ineffective method for communication, unless its goal is simple or systematic.
Going back to silence. Not everyone is drawn to silence; it can be uncomfortable. Mental defenses shield us from what silence might expose. But this sort of reluctance isn’t buying us any real protection. It just creates another trouble. Now we’re anxious, depressed, or lonely in our mentally insulated sanctuary.
HERE = HEAR
The quality of our attention, or listening, holds immense importance. Yet, it often remains superficial due to our inclination toward seeking rewards. This tendency can hinder our capacity to override behavior driven by compulsive instincts — an innate aspect of our animalistic nature.
This leads to a question: Why override these behaviors?
Perhaps it’s connected to our tolerance for suffering… When suffering reaches a breaking point, we seek an everlasting antidote for liberation. This process involves detaching from our constructed identities and weakening the grip of desires and fears [as mentioned in the Buddhist four noble truths].
You’ll be able to stand in the middle of the fire and not get burned. — Ram Dass
True freedom arises when we act without seeking the fruits of our actions. This concept is challenging, as seeking to act without a motive can become a motive itself.
[The paradox of language is apparent here — it breeds both clarity and confusion simultaneously. The attempt to express these sorts of ideas through words alone can lead to confusion, particularly when the concepts are unfamiliar.]
A way that I can explain the whole: “acting without a motive is just another motive” is…
Because we’re living a human life, we cannot really rid ourselves entirely of anything (even a motive) once it reaches the mind. Our thoughts, beliefs, ideas, emotions, etc. they are all incredibly sticky. What we want to do, and do it with awareness, is use one to become unstuck from another. Using them as a tool where the whole goal is to not remain stuck in one only and to always remain aware of where and when you do get stuck so you can get unstuck.
Confused?
Exactly.
