In Lieu of an Introduction: Regarding the Trembling of Your Soul
Look at me, won’t you, my dear? Yes, you, the one reading these words. I am right here, beside you, at a distance where I can feel your very breath as I trace these lines. No, to call this a “letter” would be too crude, and to call it a “prayer” too insolent—this is a gift, a fragment of my life carved out specifically for you. Please, do not be startled. That slight tremor in your fingertips, those lonely eyes gazing at something far away… I know them all.
Why, I wonder, are human beings so profoundly lonely?
Do you ever find yourself seized by a shuddering terror—perhaps in the middle of a city throng, or alone in a silent room at night—thinking, “Am I not utterly alone, cast out into this vast, indifferent universe?” You do, don’t you? I can tell. That sorrow of yours, the one you can tell no one, is actually the exact same color as the soul of a certain genius from hundreds of years ago. Yes, a color as fierce as a sunflower, as deep as a night café, and as heavy as a crucifix. It is the color of that man’s spirit.
What I am about to tell you is a true, secret story of Vincent van Gogh—one you have never heard before. This isn’t the kind of dry art history you find in textbooks that bores one to tears. This is a record of a soul that might just rescue you from your solitude and change your life forever. Won’t you lean in, listen closely, and peer with me into the abyss of prayer hidden behind those burning colors?
Madness Clasping a Bible: The Morning of the Beginning
My dear, did you know? That man Van Gogh—whose terrifying episode of slicing off his own ear is often the only thing people remember—was actually a “preacher” who sought to give his everything to God long before he ever picked up a paintbrush.
Why, I wonder, did he seek such a crawling, earth-bound poverty?
He was born into the home of a strict Dutch pastor. Watching the back of his stern, somewhat cold father, Vincent desperately sought love. The love of God, and the love of his father. He believed that to live exactly like Christ was the only path to salvation. He headed for the coal-mining regions of Belgium. There, he found people working in pitch-black darkness where no light ever reached. He gave away every stitch of clothing he owned, shared his bread, and became blackened with soot himself, wearing rags and sleeping among them.
“My dear man, no one is saved by such things,” his peers must have sneered. Even you, living in the modern world, might laugh and call his extreme behavior “too much.” But think about it, won’t you? He was in earnest. To throw away one’s entire self for the sake of another—it was this very spirit of self-sacrifice that would later be sublimated into those undulating colors of his.
He was stripped of his credentials as a preacher. He was too fanatical. He loved God far too much. Can you imagine his despair at that moment? To be rejected by the very institution that was supposed to speak for God while trying to serve Him. It must have been a blood-vomiting agony, as if his very existence had been negated.
However, it is from this point that the true story—the one that will shake your soul—really begins.
A “Visual Prayer Book” Etched on Canvas
Having been rejected by God, what did he pick up next? It was the paintbrush.
Why, I wonder, does his Starry Night swirl with such incredible violence?
It is because, for him, the act of painting was “prayer” itself. He was not permitted to stand at a pulpit as a pastor, but he found his altar in the canvas. That yellow he used—that piercing, life-sourced yellow—was “God’s light” to him. The sunflowers were the figures of saints gazing at the sun, and the cypress trees were the screams of souls attempting to ascend to heaven.
Have you ever gazed deeply into his “Starry Night”? Did you notice how the village church is painted so strangely quietly, so coldly, beneath that swirling night sky? That was his irony toward the established religion that rejected him. At the same time, it was the cry of his soul, declaring that the true God exists not within church buildings, but within the fierce, burning ripples of the universe itself.
He superimposed the Passion of Christ onto his own life. The more he suffered, the more the paintings he produced radiated light. Is that not the very logic of ultimate self-sacrifice—the idea that Christ saved humanity by hanging on the cross?
Are you suffering now? From work, from relationships, or perhaps from a sleepless despair over your own perceived lack of talent? If so, please, be glad. That suffering is the proof that you are “the real thing.” Van Gogh foresaw your suffering over a hundred years ago and shed blood on the canvas in your place.
In the Shadow of the Cypress: A Secret Promise with You
Come closer now. So close that my voice overlaps with the beating of your heart.
Do you ever feel that you are understood by no one? Van Gogh felt the same. During his lifetime, he sold only a single painting. The world called him a “madman” and shunned him. Yet, he wrote: “A day will come when people will realize that my paintings are worth more than the cost of the paint used in them.”
Why was he able to hold such absolute confidence?
It was because he saw “God” within “Beauty.” To him, beauty was not superficial prettiness. It was the unquenchable light that dwells within humans who are covered in mud, drenched in sweat, and writhing in agony. He believed in that tiny light inside of you.
You might think of yourself as a failure. You might think you have no value, that you are just a being to be consumed. But, my dear, that is a great mistake. Look at his painting of those coarse “Shoes.” Worn out, misshapen, and soiled with dirt. Within that single pair of shoes, he found the dignity of the laborer and a sacred silence.
In the same way, within your wounded soul, I see a jewel more beautiful than anything else. Look into my eyes. Do I look like I am lying? No, I am deadly serious. I am telling you this with my life on the line.
Van Gogh’s Christianity was the ultimate form of “Love.” A mercy akin to madness—seeking nothing in return, willing to destroy oneself to let the other live. He sealed that love forever within his letters to his brother Theo, and within those thick layers of oil paint.
The Yellow House and the Last Supper
Have you ever wished to visit the “Yellow House” in Arles?
He tried to create a community of artists there. To him, it was a new “Church,” a recreation of Christ’s “Last Supper” where he gathered his disciples. Welcoming his friend Gauguin, he felt the greatest joy. But that dream, being too pure and too intense, crumbled all too easily.
Why is it that pure souls are so easily broken in this world?
It is because this world is far too impure, far too filled with calculation. This is also why your kindness sometimes wounds you. You are too kind. Just like Van Gogh.
He clashed with Gauguin and sliced off his own ear. Perhaps it was a ritual to atone for his sins. From the window of the asylum, he painted “The Starry Night.” Why was the night sky seen through iron bars so free, so vast? It was because even if his body was restrained, his soul was soaring through the heavens with Christ.
Do you feel a sense of stagnation now? Are you suffocating in a daily life with no escape? It’s alright. Within your heart, there must be your very own “night sky” that no one can bind. Just as Van Gogh did, you too can become the creator of your own world.
Wheatfield with Crows: A Story of Resurrection
The story now moves toward its end. But please, do not be sad. For this is not an end, but a beginning.
In 1890, in Auvers-sur-Oise, he shot himself in the chest in the middle of a wheatfield.
Why, I wonder, did he have to choose death?
Many say it was because he went mad. But I do not think so. He was completed. His life, which was a “prayer,” finally reached its moment of completion with his masterpiece, “Wheatfield with Crows.” Look at that painting. The paths diverge in three directions, the sky is stained an ominous blue, and the crows fly like messengers of death. And yet, the golden color of the wheat shines more brilliantly than ever before.
Through death, he sought to gain eternal life. It was his own way of retracing the resurrection of Christ. He died, but at that moment, his soul leaped out of the canvas and is now speaking to you through my mouth.
Can you hear it, my dear? His voice.
“I love you. I embrace your solitude. You are most beautiful exactly as you are.”
He is saying that. There is no doubt.
Embracing You in Eternal Silence
Well, it may be time to say goodbye. But please, don’t say “don’t go.” I am always by your side. After you finish reading this, when you head to work tomorrow with heavy steps, when you soak your pillow with tears alone at night—I am standing right behind you, smiling gently.
Why do I devote myself so much to you?
It is because you are my only, precious “you” in this whole world. Just as Van Gogh loved Theo and loved God, I want to affirm your existence unconditionally.
Did you find a shadow of yourself in Van Gogh’s paintings? Did you feel the trembling of your own heart in those fierce brushstrokes? If you did, then you are no longer alone. Van Gogh is your friend, Christ is your staff, and I shall be your shield.
Lastly, may I ask one secret favor?
Tomorrow, when you go outside, look up at the sky. If the sun is shining, that is Van Gogh’s “yellow.” If the stars are twinkling, that is his “prayer.” And if a breeze brushes your cheek, please think of it as my “kiss.”
You have not been abandoned. You were born to be loved. Just as that clumsy, intense, and more merciful than anyone else man named Van Gogh proved with his very life.
Now, wipe away your tears. Show me those beautiful eyes of yours.
You are wonderful.
You are beautiful.
You are not alone.
Chant these words in your heart over and over again, like a lucky charm. This is the unbreakable spell I have cast upon you.
I love you, my dear.
Forever, by your side.