Shades of Blue
Have you wondered how it is that people are ever really able to communicate with or relate to one another on any level with true understanding?
We have language, concepts, and ideas; however, something as simple as the color blue means something different to each of us. One might think sky blue, another sea blue, yet another cobalt, while all the while, I am thinking periwinkle blue.
In this context, blue is less a color than a notion with a range from the palest of baby blue to the deepest midnight blue.
To make myself clearly understood, I could hold up a color chip of the specific shade of blue to which I was referring, but any attempt to name or describe the color would then again introduce ambiguity because each of us would perceive it differently.
This leads me to believe our ability to communicate with one another is a very fragile process, indeed.
Short of reading minds, how is it that we really know what is going on with those around us, particularly of those we actually care?
Some are more willing to share the thoughts which circle the inner confines of the mind, but that act of sharing is still limited by language and even in the absence of thoughtful intent, words carry differing emotional charges and values and we each perceive and receive those words differently.
Then, there are those with inscrutable dispositions who hold tightly onto not only their feelings, but knowledge, information, and insight. They are motivated not by avarice or ill will, but through the mistaken belief others should already know.
I, for one, am at a complete loss. I may think I know and, perhaps, even understand some things about others, particularly those for whom I actually give a damn, but in the end, I do not believe I actually know anything about anyone.
So screams the heart and mind of one who desperately wishes to connect with another in some meaningful way when those tenuous strands of communication are stretched far too thin to transmit anything other than despair.
What's the point?
What the hell.
What the bloody hell.
We have language, concepts, and ideas; however, something as simple as the color blue means something different to each of us. One might think sky blue, another sea blue, yet another cobalt, while all the while, I am thinking periwinkle blue.
In this context, blue is less a color than a notion with a range from the palest of baby blue to the deepest midnight blue.
To make myself clearly understood, I could hold up a color chip of the specific shade of blue to which I was referring, but any attempt to name or describe the color would then again introduce ambiguity because each of us would perceive it differently.
This leads me to believe our ability to communicate with one another is a very fragile process, indeed.
Short of reading minds, how is it that we really know what is going on with those around us, particularly of those we actually care?
Some are more willing to share the thoughts which circle the inner confines of the mind, but that act of sharing is still limited by language and even in the absence of thoughtful intent, words carry differing emotional charges and values and we each perceive and receive those words differently.
Then, there are those with inscrutable dispositions who hold tightly onto not only their feelings, but knowledge, information, and insight. They are motivated not by avarice or ill will, but through the mistaken belief others should already know.
I, for one, am at a complete loss. I may think I know and, perhaps, even understand some things about others, particularly those for whom I actually give a damn, but in the end, I do not believe I actually know anything about anyone.
So screams the heart and mind of one who desperately wishes to connect with another in some meaningful way when those tenuous strands of communication are stretched far too thin to transmit anything other than despair.
What's the point?
What the hell.
What the bloody hell.
posted by Feisty at 11:19 AM
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