What we do in here is listen. Before the mind can make sense it must become receptive, and it can only receive what it is prepared to.

Only part of this preparation is conscious, verbal, or deliberate. Much more takes place beneath the surface, in memories that cannot be named or described. The sound of a bird's song, the sense of how much a piece of clay will yield, the coordination of muscles in ice skating backwards: sometimes these things appear in a flash, but no one who experiences these minor forms of enlightenment is unaware of how many hours of silence and boredom and uncertainty preceded them.

The incredible ability of biological systems to do this, to absorb and acquire information. Why the strange separation between so many forms of knowledge and the verbal centers? Why the profoundness of feeling when those barriers are broken?