January 15
Nature loves to hide. Whoever merely listens and does not understand is like the deaf: present and yet absent.
Fragments (freely rendered)
Listening mode
Nature loves to hide. Whoever merely listens and does not understand is like the deaf: present and yet absent.
Some sentences you know so well that you no longer hear them. Someone on the phone says "It's fine," as they do almost every time, and you move on to the next subject. You didn't miss anything. Every word got through. That is exactly why you don't notice that the pause before it was longer this time.
A great deal hides not behind something but in what repeats itself. The new draws attention; the familiar is only recognised. And recognising feels like understanding. It is quicker, seems surer and asks nothing of you.
The difficulty is that you can't break open every habitual phrase. A conversation in which every "It's fine" was examined would be exhausting and would soon have something mistrustful about it. Most of these phrases mean exactly what they say. You just don't know in advance which one doesn't.
Perhaps you notice only in the evening, washing up, for no particular reason. The pause comes back to you. There is no one on the phone now.
