Myriad Ways

I have always felt that there was a dialogue going on imperceptible to my inadequate senses like voices mumbling in another room, mumbling made up of light and waves and interruptions and strings of events, as if, with a little insight, I could figure out some of the vocabulary and syntax to give the mumbling a structure so I could start to make sense of everything. I am still here ear to the wall trying to make some sense out of what I am beginning to suspect is just the sound of water in the pipes or beams settling in the cooling evening, but still I listen, because what else am I gonna do. The information I gather from human interactions and events makes very little sense. I know that everyone perceives the world with their own set of filters. I wonder if I need more or less filters to make sense of this mess, and maybe if making sense of it will be something I will want in the end. It may be a mercy to live in ignorance, drowning out the subtler undercurrents of the stream by remaining on the surface. We live life deafened by culture and brightly flashing distraction. There are lots of cute fuzzy creatures and crazed honey badger videos to drown out the subtler sensations, super heroes, guns and sensual overload all at the touch of fingers on a keyboard.