It isn’t you this call is for, but since you’re so intent on listening, I might as well tell you––
I feel this grain-sized ear you glued to my back. I see them on the backs of some of the others, too.
Yes, I see them, but you’ll probably miss the nuance here. We hunt tiny insects in a pitch-black cave, but you––obsessed with the light you’ve equated by mistaken metaphor to some salvation––miss this point, too.
Look, it’s not that we don’t see you trying. It’s just––sigh. I mean, you look at the sky sometimes, too, right? When was the last time you glimpsed the Milky Way? Consider this: that light traveled billions of years across distances too big for you to imagine, only to be washed out in the last fraction of a second by the glow of a Wal-Mart parking lot. I’m trying to use terms you can understand.
Suggestion: try reciprocating?
You used to be here with us. Listen, I am trying to tell you––
You can’t hear any of this, can you? Still, you might.
Listen, try turning the light off. Stop stopping your ears.
We’re here. Stay a little while.
But–– Shhhh. I am trying to hear the others, too.
Inspired by Ed Yong’s recent Atlantic article, “How Animals Perceive the World.”