Because we are all beautiful empyreal bundles of feelings and thoughts and subjectively lived experiences, each inherently, gloriously unique yet united by the deepest essence of human nature. But at the same time we are all isolated within layer upon layer of physical existence, and ultimately unknowable to one another.
EXCEPT for our capacity for communication. No person can directly observe another person’s interior actuality, but we can choose to share those feelings and thoughts and subjective lived experiences by putting them into words. Language gives us the framework, we just have to choose to use it.
Talking is the most immediate, accessible way to exchange ideas and offer glimpses of what’s inside our own heads to anyone who’s interested enough to listen, and don’t get me wrong, I am a big fan and practitioner of conversation, thinking aloud, and every other verbal variant. Writing, though, is all of that slowed down and refined to a more pure form, taking the time to choose each word and construct each phrase and arrange the entire message to minimize misunderstanding and maximize the possibility of a meaningful connection. It’s more effort, with no guarantee of success on any level, but it’s worth it all the same. Words on a page have the power to open two awarenesses at once, mine and yours, and let them intermingle for a little while. Imagination and philosophy swirl and synthesize into something new.
If life as we know it has any point at all, it might well all come down to understanding the world around us, and the biggest challenge in that is understanding other consciousnesses than our own. Relationships based on understanding are our greatest accomplishments, uniting the essentially divided. We allow ourselves to bleed together, into one another, or else we bleed alone, floating in our separate lonely jars on the shelf.