The Listening Revolution with Luïza Luz

a conversation about deep listening, love, loss, and justice.

Courtesy of Luïza Luz

Trigger warning: This article briefly touches on themes of suicide.

"Whatever is alive in you is alive in me. We are more than the sum of inherited pain. We carry the dreams, resilience, and hopes of those who came before us. What is alive in you is alive in me, because our roots trace back to the same source—the Earth." From Beneath the Surface: Deep Listening, Buried Narratives, and Embodied Resistance” by Luïza Luz

Writing was my first refuge. It was the place where I would go to listen to my inner murmurs, there I felt unjudged and free. To find a place where you can truly listen feels like a Herculean task in today’s age. Almost everywhere I go, I hear the sounds of machines, unsolicited Bluetooth speakers, and other people’s opinions. We drown in the noise of constant movement and growth, unable to find a quiet space that feels easily accessible.

“In these turbulent times, as many turn away from listening, we refuse to follow this indifference. In defiance, we listen deeper”. This is the first sentence of Beneath The Surface: Deep Listening, Buried Narratives, and Embodied Resistance, written by artist, author, and educator, Luïza Luz. This book calls for a quiet revolution, one that is guided by the body’s wisdom because “what we feel in our body is undeniable.” I read the whole book in one day, next to a mangrove tree, unable to leave my seat.

Luïza and I have been in each other’s circles for many years, and I have been wanting to speak with them for so long. They were born and raised in Brazil and now live in Berlin, where they came for a master's degree at the Art in Context Institute at the Berlin University of Arts. Their aura is irresistible; they are both incredibly entertaining and someone who oozes calm and groundedness, and they are most certainly connected to realms that many of us are unable to connect with. “When I was a child, I had so much energy, and so much depth. I ran, sang, and jumped all the time. And I spoke to angels, guides, and spirits,” they tell me, “I also spent a lot of time alone, in my room, writing, constantly.” I resonate deeply with the satisfaction of being alone in one’s room and able to converse with the self through writing. It was a favourite pastime of mine.

They tell me that when they were young, several teachers—especially literature ones and later a monk who taught meditation—encouraged them to keep writing, and looking back, they see how those early moments wove together writing and presence, helping them process life and share what lies beneath the surface in a way others could connect with, even in disagreement.

When they were seventeen, they had a traumatic loss when their partner committed suicide. “The strange thing is, I had already been writing a lot about death from a Buddhist perspective, with my teacher giving feedback, and after school, I’d go meditate—almost as if life was preparing me, through my writing, for the kind of loss I’d need to survive.”

Courtesy of Luïza Luz

This experience marked them profoundly, “I had to confront the reality that I had the power to decide whether I lived or died, that I could choose not to be here. And I decided to stay”. They recall a sweet memory of how they used to call each other a “number tree”, stable in itself, yet open to connection with others. “When I chose to continue, I accessed something huge within myself- the power of life itself. It was an experience that taught me to stay grounded in discomfort”.

In their book, the topic of discomfort, something I have written about extensively as well, is mentioned. Luïza talks about the importance of sitting with pain. A piece from their book I loved was one where they mention the discomfort of the unfamiliar, and how we tend to analyse and categorise what we don’t understand. “How often do we allow unfamiliarity to breed prejudice, and how might our world be transformed if we approached the unfamiliar with curiosity rather than judgement?”, they write.

Understanding how to sit with pain brought them to the topic of embodiment, which is at the root of all their work. They tell me that all their studies privileged the mind, that there’s a separation between mind and body, even in art. “When I stepped into academia, I realised that this institution does not recognise the body as something real. It's a system that creates separation because it is extractive, exploitative, and destructive. So my body became my ally”.

How often do we fail to listen to the subtle, subterranean expressions surrounding us?

So, instead of making paintings, Luïza used their body as their art. “This is the place where I have autonomy, where I can move freely and resist the institution”.

Luïza began to teach their work in Berlin, but on October 7th 2023, something changed. “I witnessed my own professors- representatives of what was supposed to be a decolonial institute, tasked with revising historical crimes-remaining silent on Palestine. No lectures, no discussions. “I realised there was no space for true listening, no space for embodiment—just assumptions and surface-level discourse. I felt a responsibility to document what was happening, to write about the voices being silenced, and to expose the hypocrisy of institutions that claim to be progressive while ultimately serving state and imperial interests.”

Courtesy of Luïza Luz

Beneath the Surface is the culmination of 10 years of life and research, and was propelled by what happened in Berlin after 7th October.

Luïza tells me the book examines how academia remains a colonial structure, exposing the deception of surface-level knowledge in a hyper-visual culture that prioritizes speech and written text, thereby validating certain modes of existence while dismissing others; as it delves deeper, it reveals the profound power of sound, words, and vibration in shaping reality. But when I read it, I felt like this work was a call to love and relationality; to me, it highlighted the importance of listening as a fundamental tool of resistance. The questions it raised in me were: how can I intentionally create space for quiet moments, so that I can listen to my body, my ancestors, and the subtle things that only reveal themselves when we truly listen?

“Through deep listening—not just with our ears, but with our entire being—we can break silences, make conscious decisions that serve the collective, and contribute to the Planetary transition. Listening is more than just sound; it’s about embodying different vibrations that speak to us and acting on them.” Luïza Luz

I ask them about the importance of ancestry in collective healing. “Our bodies are living archives—of memory, joy, and trauma. Connecting with ancestry, both human and more-than-human, helps us understand what life is communicating to us. This isn’t just about looking at what our ancestors did or didn’t do, or carrying the past as guilt. It’s about using that awareness as a starting point to situate ourselves in the present.” Luïza replies.

Luïza draws their practice from the people they meet, from the forest they have lived in, the memory they hold, and the messages they receive from the more-than-human. All of these practices originate or land within the body, and that’s why their teaching is merged with performance, storytelling and somatic practices.

Lately, in my practice, I have been overcome by mind work, trying to manage a full-time job with my creative writing. Today, I come away from this conversation with a crucial reminder that my body is my first school, it is the place where I interact with other bodies - human, institutional, and more than human- and that I must always begin again from this place.

You can purchase Luïza’s book here. The book is published by Archive Books and We Make it.

Below, only for paying subscribers, is a beautiful somatic exercise curated by Luïza for their book. You can also find this week’s recommendation for reading, listening, and watching!