Making sense
May 7th, 2007 by Michael Max
Language has an odd drip drop drip way of falling through the ears.
It tingles nerves and bounces up against thoughts, rings meaning out of syllables, feels like drowning in a rapid fire stacco of breathing. It feels fast when the words fail to chime meaning and is full of nuance and emotion when it does.
At times, it is as if there is a hamster spinning a wheel at the back of my mind, trying frantically to continue making sense. It is the biggest obsticale to understanding. That constant “trying to make sense” narrows of the focus of attention to a personal struggle to make sense, it closes the ears, and constricts the lungs, gives a temporary sense of dizzy and a feeling of cotton in the ears.
Strangely enough, in those moments of forgeting to hold on, mumbles turn to syllables, turn to words, meaning, feeling and that sense of understanding another through sound. We are not so different really. All struggling to understand and be understood, appreciated for the unique creations we are. Our particular spot of color and light in the universe.
Perhaps it is I have come to China as something other than a student. Or, it might be that my language skills have progressed. Or that I have learned to listen with different ears. The stories I heard. Of a 20 years ago China. Of present challenges in life. Of dreams of a future that might be dared. Mornings tasting tea. Mulling over idioms. Recognizing half a world and magnatude of language language away, we find moments of meeting, connection, shared joy and common saddness.
Somehow, in this trip, there is a veil that I’ve slipped through, the polite talk is just an introduction, but it is not where we stay, the real words like a thirsty connection are abundent.