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I’ve never heard a snowflake fall. It must make a sound, even if, as an Asian parable says, a snowflake weighs “Nothing, or less than nothing.” And yet there must be a point of contact, and with it, a sound, however slight.
Even if human ears are not sensitive enough to hear it.
I can’t hear a worm, burrowing through moist soil towards a dew-dappled lawn. But a robin can.
A dog can hear a whistle way above my frequency range; at the other end of the frequency scale, elephants use a sub-audible rumble to communicate with other elephants out of sight over the horizon.
In her book, A God That Could Be Real,author Nancy Ellen Abrams explores some implications of our human limitations. We can only comprehend things that fall within a certain size range, she asserts, relative to our own size.
Categories: Soft Edges
Tags: God, hearing, sight, Nancy Ellen Abrams, perceptions, A God That Could Be Real
The mallet raps gently against the rim of the bowl. The bowl rings, sings, high and clear.
The sound slowly fades. Do I still hear it? Or do I just imagine that I still hear it? Sound consists of molecules of air vibrating against each other; I know their ripples continue to spread and interact, even when they are no longer audible to my ears.
There is no clear break between hearing and not-hearing. Between tasting and not-tasting. The boundaries blur.
Tags: hearing, Senses, sight, touch. taste, touch, memory