A velvety pastel lotus blooms, eventually, from a seed case. Bees, in a scouting party for a new home, do a waggle dance to signal their choice of locations. In my universe, this is speech, writing in water and air.
In this way of feeling, cave paintings of Lascaux feel newly alive, ancient gematria more shimmering, pictograms more sensate. The prose poems of Heraclitus or Lao Tzu or Rumi – and now a Wilber or Tolle – call to an inner sphere more delicate and vivacious than the hard shapes of their transmission.
Every one of us hears differently – tuned by Nature and nurture to experience every info-bit distinctively. We amalgamate trillions of signals and write new realities every moment, as expressions of our unique embodied instrument, its receptors and filters, its translators and transmitters, its guiding impulses, its multi-level mind.
And so we signal. We paint ourselves and tweak our signals in harmony with our known and unknown desires. We listen for echoes, in sight, sound, felt-sense, and movement, naming them communication.
May all the writings – here, and in the ones we might create together – light up something fresh and joyful in all who read them.