Poetry By
C.B. Anderson
Published on: 1/26/2016
In Defense of Tongues
We require other organs, a sensory organization different from that which perceives only words as such, if we want to understand within the word the thought that another wishes to communicate. — Rudolf Steiner, from The Boundaries of Natural Science A tongue accused of tripping over words that then express by accident a truth may try to mount a spurious defense, adducing, say, a voiced array of surds transformed by colic or an aching tooth— an unintended sequence of events— whereby a "choice of trucks" becomes the "joys of drugs." Though Sigmund Freud was surely right when he averred that slips of tongue are wrought in hidden foundries, words turn into noise when they are chanted endlessly, the thought they carried disappearing like the light of serial undifferentiat- ed days. It stands to reason that all tongues should be forgiven their unmindful slips, and likewise for the hyperactive lungs, those rhythmic bellows pledged to regulate the void transactions issued from the lips of social creatures. All we know for sure is that a seventh sense exists, the means by which we comprehend the spoken sounds that reach our ears. On busy village greens we greet our brethren while we make our rounds, with little care for words if hearts are pure.
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