Behind words, within, beauty lurks. To open the space around words, to free them, I try other tongues. One language limits more than two or three or more.
Tree is arbre is baum. Willow is saule is weide. Elm is orme is ulme. Birch is bouleau is birke. And yet the mot word wort is not the arbretreebaum.
New language facilitates detachment from the word-illusion: that a tree is a tree. Neither is it an arbretreebaum, although the word that is not a word offers an opening to « what » it truly is, to the what that cannot be said or named, to the beauty that brims, to « it, » to « cela, » to « es » or « das. »
Beauty lurks. Words unveil it when they are themselves unveiled.

Master Shuzan held up his staff, and showing it to the assembled disciples said, « You monks, if you call this a staff, you are committed to the name. If you call it not-a-staff, you negate the fact. Tell me, you monks, what do you call it?
Mumonkan (The Gateless Gate), Case 43