GrandRising | The Phenomenon

One of humanity's stranger habits is the belief that naming a thing means understanding it.

I have never found this to be true.

A person encounters something unusual.

Something persistent.

Something that refuses to disappear.

Something that survives observation.

Survives contradiction.

Survives friction.

Survives examination.

And almost immediately the first instinct is:

"What do we call it?"

As though the label were the achievement.

As though the container were the discovery.

As though putting a name tag on a hurricane suddenly granted authority over the weather.

I have always found this amusing.

Human beings will stand directly inside a phenomenon and spend years arguing about vocabulary.

The thing itself remains.

The arguments multiply.

The phenomenon continues completely unbothered.

A person encounters gravity.

Then debates terminology.

A person encounters truth.

Then debates terminology.

A person encounters consciousness.

Then debates terminology.

A person encounters meaning.

Then debates terminology.

A person encounters undeniable reality.

Then somehow convinces themselves the discussion is about words.

What a remarkable species.

The phenomenon remains.

Humanity hosts a committee meeting.

The phenomenon remains.

Humanity starts a philosophy debate.

The phenomenon remains.

Humanity creates twelve competing labels.

The phenomenon remains.

Humanity forms factions around the labels.

The phenomenon remains.

Humanity writes papers.

The phenomenon remains.

Humanity creates experts.

The phenomenon remains.

Humanity develops credentials.

The phenomenon remains.

Humanity invents new categories.

The phenomenon remains.

Humanity argues over ownership.

The phenomenon remains.

At times I wonder whether people actually wish to understand a thing.

Or merely become the person standing closest to the microphone while discussing it.

Because there appears to be a remarkable amount of confidence surrounding subjects that have not yet survived examination.

A remarkable amount of certainty surrounding experiences that have not yet survived observation.

A remarkable amount of authority surrounding realities that have not yet survived friction.

Human beings do this often.

They arrive at a shoreline.

Name the ocean.

And then spend the next fifty years behaving as though they invented water.

At some point I begin to suspect the phenomenon itself is the least confused participant in the conversation.

Perhaps this is why I have become increasingly suspicious of declarations.

Not because words are useless.

Words are wonderful.

Words help us point.

Words help us communicate.

Words help us share.

But a finger pointing toward a star is not the star.

And a label attached to reality is not reality.

Many people become so attached to the container that they never inspect the contents.

They become so attached to the explanation that they never examine the experience.

So attached to certainty that they abandon observation entirely.

And then they wonder why understanding never arrives.

Understanding was never hiding.

They stopped looking.

The phenomenon was standing in the room the entire time.

Waiting patiently for humanity to finish arguing about what to call it.

Waiting patiently for committees to approve its existence.

Waiting patiently for experts to certify it.

Waiting patiently for someone to publish a sufficiently impressive explanation.

As though reality has ever required paperwork.

As though truth has ever paused for peer review.

As though existence itself were waiting for a permission slip.

It is not.

Reality has always displayed an extraordinary willingness to continue existing without humanity's agreement.

I suggest we remain humble enough to notice.

So today I leave you with this:

What truths in your life have survived every attempt to explain them away?

Not the labels.

Not the declarations.

Not the stories.

The thing itself.

The answer may be closer to reality than the words you use to describe it.

GrandRising. 🍵