The Language We Lack

How much joie de vivre do we miss

simply because English has no word for it?

How many gems of creation, light filtering through Japanese trees,

Nordic moonlight glimmers on water, whispers of rustling leaves,

and misty rain on fjords do we ignore due to our weak words?

We should be dreaming of

forest-bathing, early-bird-listening gökotta,

sweet retrouvailles producing Basque aspaldiko,

sunset-poetry-music-conversations,

Hebrew chesed and self-renewal, Danish job-joy.

How many types of love or snow or comfort

do we lose in our lacking language?

Where’s our sense of Costa Rican pura vida,

our adventuresome wanderlust and fernweh, our dogged, Finnish sisu,

our anxiety calming, our kintsugi beauty in imperfection?

How happy we would be if we stopped

worrying about what only God controls,

threw up our hands and said “Þetta reddast”, as in Iceland,

if hearthside hygge, providential kismet,

or Greek honor-love were in our lexicon?

We should show ubuntu to others, greeting them

with an uplifting “Sawubona!” and listening with respectful dadirri.

Our hearts and homes should be safe, embracing Welsh cwtches,

our paths leading to a divine sense of life purpose,

flourishing eudaimonia and lasting shalom.

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