Beyond Words

Words have terrifying power. A well-told tale can evoke emotions. Rhetoric or a compelling slogan can rewire the human brain: we see examples on the news and in advertising every day.

Words also have limitations. On one level, they pander to our inherent biases and cultural associations. But go deeper, and we see they are squiggles on a page, or sound vibrations in the air, wannabe symbols attempting to convey a single message about an ultimately ineffable mystery that can never be accurately described.

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,There is a field. I'll meet you there.. -Rumi

That field is wordless, I suspect. Filled with silence and wonder, and birdsong, brook babble, the wind whispering in the leaves. Breathe that in.

That field is where we can meet each other in peace. Every division, every prejudice disappears when the words and name-calling stop. Rhetoric falls lifeless on the ground and wars cease to be possible.

I found that field by accident, in an intravenous infusion clinic, when I was recovering from a life-threatening illness.  

An 82-year-old man sat in the next chair. He was clearly anxious, facing a major surgery soon, and the way he managed his anxiety was to talk.

He had terrible veins, so the nurse apologised in advance, thinking she’d need to have a few attempts to get a drip in. She said she'd say a prayer to Saint Jude whose picture was hanging on the wall in the room. The old man protested, “As a scientist, I don't believe in that stuff. I don't believe in miracles.” The nurse got the drip in on her first attempt.

I responded, “As a former doctor, I do believe in miracles and the benefits of grace.”

He agreed to disagree and began to pour out his life story.

He said, “I don’t believe in God, I don’t believe in Allah. I don’t believe in Jesus. I’m a scientist.”

He migrated from Yugoslavia after World War 2. He trained as a medical scientist and told tales of the changes he had seen during his career. Many times, his whole face lit up as he said how lucky he had been. A priest provided a fake birth certificate for his father, so his family could be accepted as refugees in Australia. He’d had a terrible accident decades ago, and was the first person in the city to receive a new experimental antibiotic, which had just been developed and probably saved his life.

He told me of his fascination for how things worked, for nature, for increases in scientific understanding. His passion was evident in every expression and gesture, and he'd say, “How wonderful! How lucky I am.”

He told me about the countries he'd visited and the temples and mosques and cathedrals he'd visited, their beauty and the wonders of their history and architecture. “I don't believe in Jesus or Allah. I’m a scientist. Isn't it wonderful, aren't I lucky?”

After he said it for the third time I couldn't keep silent any longer. I told him, “I see the wonder and awe and the passion for life in you. We believe in the same thing we just call it different names.”

A rose by any name smells just as sweet …