Have you ever had one of those moments in nature when you suddenly feel so full of pleasure that words don’t quite capture the exuberance and awe you are experiencing in the moment? When the beauty around you seems to stir something deeper — a little burst of wonder and delight that you can feel almost physically? I do. Often.
Just this morning, I was bike riding and, halfway through my ride, I came upon my second field of blooming wildflowers. The sunlight was brushing over the gathered fields and seeping through the cracks between each cluster of blades. As I rode, the scene danced with light, flickering little pops of joy between trees and side streets. The burst of endorphins from getting back on my bicycle on a summer day only heightened it. I felt overwhelmed by an intimacy of pleasure — a sense of awe and wonder stirring at my core. To describe how I feel in these moments, “joy” and “happy” seem to limit my overall experience. I feel content, but almost like my contentment is riding on the coattails of a euphoric high.
There is something happening in these moments — a fullness that seems to move through my body before I can even put words to it. The world feels unusually intimate. Light feels brighter. Air feels sweeter. For a few fleeting moments, I am not simply looking at the beauty around me; I feel woven into it. Perhaps that is why “happy” feels less appropriate. Happy describes an emotion. What I was experiencing felt more like an entire state of being. It felt spiritual.
Aoibhneas Croí (pronounced EEV-ness KREE) is an Irish (Gaeilge) term that I recently stumbled upon while looking to start a gratitude exercise. When I read what these words meant, they landed with such accuracy. These two small words seemed to hold an enormous feeling, one that perfectly captured how I experience moments like these.
Aoibhneas carries a beautifully profound sense of blissful delight — a deep contentment that stirs from the soul.
Croí means heart.
Together, these two Irish words evoke a deep delight of the heart, something that brushes against the soul.
After I found this phrase, I made it an intention to try to use it to reflect on moments like these. Because meaning is made through language, and language is socially constructed, I love the idea that finding a word can sometimes help us make clearer sense of an experience as well.
As I have begun to weave aoibhneas croí into my own reflections, I find myself noticing these moments of delight more often. Perhaps that is the gift of finding a word for something we already feel: it gives us another way to notice it, name it, and hold onto it. My hope is that others might also find their own moments of aoibhneas croí.
With love.
The Word Mill 