Listening for the Light
In 2014 a short piece ran on NPR:
"Can you hear the difference between hot and cold?
A British "sensory branding company" called Condiment Junkie wanted to know the answer. They specialize in sound design for all sorts of advertisements. Now they're taking a look at how they might use sound design to make better beverage ads. Take the sound of water pouring in this Twinings Tea commercial.
The marketers wanted to know: Would it be possible to make that noise itself more appealing? Can people hear the difference between a hot cup of tea being poured and, say, a cold beer? And is it possible to make a hot drink sound hotter or a cold drink sound more refreshing?
So they did an experiment. They played sounds of hot and cold water being poured into glasses and asked people to guess: hot or cold? The results were kind of insane. Ninety-six percent of people can tell the difference between hot and cold, just by the sound."
Almost unbelievable, isn’t it? Ninety-six percent of people can tell the difference between hot and cold, just by the sound.
I was ridiculously excited when I heard that piece on air, because I had long heard the difference between hot and cold liquids but the only people I’d ever mentioned it to rolled their eyes at more nonsense from Lisa. Outside of the world of advertising I’m not sure what practical application there is of the fact that lots of people can hear the difference between the sound of a hot beverage being poured out and the sound of a cold beverage being poured out. But the fact that many of us can hear that difference suggests something important about the ways we encounter and interpret the world.
When we first learn about the five senses we’re taught that we hear sounds, see colors and shapes and size, taste flavors, smell odors and fragrances, and feel texture, hardness or softness, temperature. But if we can hear temperature, does that mean all our other neat ways of characterizing sensory input are too narrow and restrictive? Can we also hear color or light or dark? Can we feel sweet or sour? Taste loud or quiet?
Metaphorically we already blend sensory perceptions. Interaction with an unpleasant person leave a bad taste in our mouth. We might say a business deal smells bad if it sounds too good to be true or veers too close to the line between legal and unlawful, between ethical and unethical. The sound of fingernails on a chalkboard hurts our ears and makes our skin crawl.
Moving out the metaphorical back into actual sensory perception, we also know that for some folks, maybe neurodivergent, maybe not, or maybe it’s all a spectrum–some folks perceive numbers as gendered or colored. When we add in colorblindness, and super smellers, supertasters, and the ways some people can hear sounds outside the typical frequency range of about 20 Hz to 20 kHz, then perhaps "Listening for the Light" doesn’t seem as curious as it might have when you first read this morning’s sermon title in the newsletter or on Facebook or in the blast.
Most of you are probably familiar with Fred Rogers’ advice to young children in scary situations, that they should always look for the helpers. Listening for the Light is my version of that admonition for adults, in these scary times we’re living. In a time of deep fakes, alternative reality, and the Big Lie that has spurned tens of thousands of littles lies; a time when it is tempting to judge neighbors by the political signs they display instead of by our interactions with them; a time when even people who recognize the lies and genuinely despair for the future of democracy struggle with the decision to break from the political party that has formed their identity, their family’s identities for years and decades; a time when on the one hand it seems everyone wears their affiliations and loyalties and agendas like flashing badges and on the other hand people surprise us everyday with their affiliations, loyalties, agendas and action... In a time such as this, we need to bring all our ways of knowing to the tasks of remembering who we are and what values we hold dear, finding a calm center, and discerning the next best thing to do in aid of vouchsafing the future we believe is possible, a future of justice, equity, and peace, of flourishing communities in hamlets and villages, suburbs and neighborhoods within megalopolises.
All our ways of knowing.
My all time favorite line from NPR–it’s a good Sunday when I get to reference two different NPR stories, both of them science related–my all time favorite line from NPR is this : what you taste is sweet; what the carrot is saying is it doesn’t want to die. One way of knowing how to survive in turbulent, frightening, uncertain times is to listen to and heed the advice of experts in community building, survival kit preparation, and evacuation routes. Another way of knowing how to survive in turbulent, frightening, uncertain times is to listen to the carrot tell us there is a preservative quality to sweetness.
All our ways of knowing.
One way of understanding the world so that we may know the best next step is following a selection of trusted news sources. Another way is tuning in to alternative news sources such as Unicorn Riot or Al Jazeera.
All our ways of knowing.
One way of remembering who we are and what we value is seeking counsel from mentors and teachers and spiritual leaders. Another way is to become still for a portion of every day in order that we might seek the counsel of our own soul.
All our ways of knowing.
Absorbing statistics, reading graphs and charts of demographics and trends and likely voters and then observing neighbors and coworkers, listening beyond their words or campaign t-shirts for the light in their actions and their stories.
All our ways of knowing.
Respecting the experience and heeding the advice of activists about strategy and self-care for the long haul and listening to the advice of water– the message of rivelet grooves on stone teaching us the power of patience and persistence, and the message of the stream teaching us that following the path of least resistance can carry us far.
We need to engage all our ways of knowing because we are 23 days out from the 2024 presidential election and the stakes are very high. But this isn’t an election sermon. Not really. The stakes are always very high and will. We need to make a practice of listening and seeing, tasting, smelling and feeling in all the traditional ways, and in all the ways the natural world shows us, and all the ways the young and folks from different countries and cultures and segments of society have of knowing that are different from our tried and familiar ways, not simply because we care about the outcome of this or any election, but because we understand the vital imperative of healing and repairing all that is broken and misaligned in our society, all that has brought us to these perilous times, with these particular very high stakes.
Listening for the light, hearing the sweetness of the carrot, seeing the color of the wind. It’s the only way toward a future of justice, equity, and peace, of flourishing communities in hamlets and villages, in suburbs and neighborhoods within megalopolises. And moving toward such a future is our calling as a people of faith. Amen.
