There was a period in my life when I followed the teachings of certain spiritual masters. I remember that one of them insisted on a fascinating—and seemingly very profound—interpretation of the word “reveal.” According to this reading, the term contained a hidden meaning: re-veal, that is, “to veil twice.” The idea was evocative: to make the unmanifest manifest would, in reality, mean covering it even more, hiding it beneath a second veil. A paradox with an almost initiatory flavor.

Over time, however, I learned an important lesson: when we receive explanations from those who present themselves as custodians of hidden knowledge, it is wise to maintain a critical spirit. The appeal of an interpretation is no guarantee of its truth. It is always worth verifying. And indeed, a simple look at etymology shows that reality is much simpler, and far less mysterious. “Reveal” derives from the Latin revelare, composed of re- and velare. But here the prefix re- does not have an iterative meaning, it does not mean “again.” Rather, it indicates removal or separation.

Thus, to reveal literally means “to remove the veil,” exactly like “unveil.” Not to veil twice, but to do the opposite: to bring into the light what was hidden. This use of the prefix re- appears in other words as well, where it indicates a backward movement, a revocation, or a removal: “revoke” (to withdraw a decision), “rescind” (to undo, to remove a binding), “remove” (to take away, to eliminate). In all these cases, re- does not add, but rather withdraws, loosens, or removes.

Of course, the prefix re- does not have a single meaning: it can indicate repetition, return, intensification, or reversal. It must always be interpreted within the specific context of the word. And that is precisely the point: to understand its actual function, rather than projecting onto it a suggestive meaning.

I also remember when I used to amuse myself with so-called “channelings.” Regardless of how one chooses to interpret such phenomena, what often struck me was the linguistic creativity with which certain messages were constructed: words taken apart and recombined to evoke new meanings. But there it was clearly a creative game, not very different from what certain acrobats of language do when they bend words to produce paradoxical and stimulating effects.

And here lies the important distinction: one thing is to use the flexibility of language to create evocative connections capable of provoking reflection and imagination; quite another is to present those connections as hidden truths. I may say, playfully, that ideas come from the divine and note that “idea” contains “dea” (goddess). But I cannot forget that idea comes from Greek and means “form,” “appearance,” “aspect.”

In short, words often have a precise history, and it is worth knowing it. Not everything that sounds profound truly is. Sometimes the truth is far less mysterious—but also far more solid.