The words I write, are they poems?

 

Today afternoon
in the afterglow of making love
as my hands fiddled with
with stubborn locks in your hairs,
you had asked -
why I scribble
seemingly random words
that often break the rules
      of elementary grammar
and call them, well,
      poems?

How long, you wondered,
      will they live
before getting thrown
in the dustbins of time.

You got me thinking,
why do I, indeed?

I mulled over the question
rest of afternoon, and then…

…over the dinner spoke
ending up
      in the dustbins of time
      is okay;
what matters more
is that the words I write
are the white pills of sanity
to rescue my mind
from the headwinds of
      existential angst.

They help me sleep
      through the night
and to be with you
      during the day
so I can play
with those stubborn locks
in your hair.

You smiled, reached out
pinched my cheeks
and word, they were okay.

The reason I see and hear what I see and hear

 

Sometimes asking God for a reason for something is like asking Him why the sky is blue. There is a complex, scientific reason for it, Claire, but most children, including you, are content with knowing it is blue because it is — Susan Meissner (Why the Sky Is Blue)

Arun Kumar

Arun Kumar + AI

In the previous post I discussed how my senses can only perceive a small fraction of what exists. I can only see only 0.0035% of the electromagnetic spectrum between 380 nanometers (nm) (violet) to about 750 nanometers (nm) (red) and can hear compression (or longitudinal) waves that travel through the air and have frequency between 20Hz to 20,000 Hz. My range of hearing and vision being limited does not mean that there are no electromagnetic and compression waves beyond the limits of my perception. It just means that anything happening out there which falls outside the range of my sensory physiology does not get registered.

Right now, there are worlds beyond the reach of my perception of which I am not aware.

I am oblivious to much that goes around me. I am continuously flooded by electromagnetic waves to which I am not aware. Similarly, there are sound waves continuously passing by, wavelengths of which are beyond my auditory capabilities. The same sound waves, however, are picked up by the dogs taking their evening stroll with their owners on the sidewalk and occasionally their ears perk up as if they are listening to some melodious symphony that is not accessible to me.

Why is it that I can see and hear only a fraction of what is going on out there? It is not by random chance that I, as part of the human race, was blessed with this sensory range, perhaps when the world was created. Is there someone out there divvying up frequencies of spectrums like the FCC does?

The reason for my physiology being what it is has an explanation that traces back to the environment in which my ancestors, and more broadly, life on Earth, evolved.

The BLUF (Bottom Line Up Front) is that the range of wavelengths to which our vision and auditory physiology is sensitive is the result of an interplay between environmental conditions and the principles of natural selection, which work to increase our chances for survival and reproduction.

To understand the range of the electromagnetic spectrum I can perceive, the starting point is the radiation that the Sun emits. For every living thing on Earth that requires energy to maintain its biological functions, the source of that energy, directly or indirectly, is the Sun.

Plants, through photosynthesis, convert the Sun’s energy into various nutrients (such as glucose) and byproducts (like oxygen). They accomplish this remarkable transformation using water from their roots, carbon dioxide from the atmosphere, and light energy from the Sun. For my own existence, I depend on the nutrients produced by plants; thus, the origin of my energy source also traces back to the Sun.

The intensity of the Sun’s electromagnetic spectrum is concentrated within a range from about 200 nm (nanometers) (ultraviolet) to about 2000 nm (infrared). It also happens that at the top of the atmosphere, the spectral irradiance of the radiation emitted by the Sun peaks at about 400 nm (violet-to-blue). Additionally, the gaseous composition of Earth’s atmosphere allows a majority of the radiation emitted by the Sun, between 200–750 nm, to pass through. Conversely, radiation in the infrared frequency is largely absorbed by the water vapor in the atmosphere.

The bottom line is that, with the Sun’s radiation being the ultimate source of energy and its spectral irradiance peaking around 400 nm — declining rapidly on the ultraviolet side and tapering more gradually on the red side (but being absorbed in the atmosphere) — it is unsurprising that the majority of life forms on Earth have evolved to capitalize on this specific environmental condition.

This is why the physiology of my eyes has evolved to perceive what we call the visible spectrum (the use of the word visible is not surprising and is self-referential because I am bound by the limits of the language I use to communicate. What else would I call it?).

What about the physiology of my ears? The story there is no different.

Sound waves are compression waves that travel through the air. Their speed and other characteristics, such as how far sound can travel without losing its energy, depend on the air’s density. My auditory range has adapted to the frequencies of sounds most relevant for communication and environmental awareness, thereby increasing the prospects of my survival and reproduction.

The frequency of sound that can be efficiently transmitted is influenced by the medium’s properties through which the wave is traveling, including its density and pressure. The human ear has evolved to be most sensitive to the range of frequencies that travel best under the atmospheric conditions at Earth’s surface.

The frequencies within the human auditory range are those that can travel through the air easily and are more likely to be associated with sounds that have been important for our survival. The process of natural selection has guided human (and other animals’) hearing to adapt to the typical conditions of Earth’s atmosphere, where the density and pressure support the propagation of sound waves most efficiently within the 20Hz to 20,000Hz range.

Thus, it is no coincidence that my eyes and hearing are attuned to seeing and hearing what they are. In the environment where my ancestors lived and the overall biology on Earth evolved, these are the features that increased the chances for survival and reproduction. Attempts to utilize alternative seeing and hearing strategies either did not progress far along the evolutionary path or became relegated to specialized niches (for example, bats using echolocation).

Ultimately, the principles of natural selection, working within the constraints of the environment where the game of survival and reproduction is played, are the invisible forces that have shaped the physiology of my senses.

In some ways, natural selection could be considered a godlike force making me most adept to where I live.

Ciao.

Eternal Approach

Could death’s moment
    mirror Zeno’s paradox?

How exquisite—forever nearing the void,
     yet never gone. 

The worlds beyond my senses

 

Imagine a puddle waking up one morning and thinking, “This is an interesting world I find myself in, an interesting hole I find myself in; fits me rather neatly, doesn’t it? In fact, it fits me staggeringly well! It must have been made to have me in it! — Douglas Adams

Arun Kumar

Arun Kumar + AI

My senses serve as portals to the universe. They provide my brain with the data using which the brain interprets the world outside of me. Through the signals brought in by my senses, the brain discerns what to savor and what to shun; what to love and what to avoid. Over the years, this process has shaped my preferences and aversions.

What would I call an entity that is completely isolated from the external world (that is, for some reason, it does not ingest any signals from the external world)? What could such an entity conceive and comprehend? What would its comprehension of the external world be like? For that matter, for such an entity, do words like ‘external world’ even hold a meaning.

This inquiry might seem strange (or may sound even absurd), yet in my sleep, floating amidst dreams, I am such an entity. My brain is not processing much of sensory data (for example, related to vision), and yet, devoid of sensory input, some juxtaposition of brain and mind do conjure up brilliant worlds of fantasies.

Among my quintet of senses — vision, hearing, olfaction, tactility, and gustation –the faculties of sight and sound are especially vital for discerning the external world.

Vision, frequently hailed as the most important sense, empowers me to discern forms, hues, and motions. The percepts of vision are crucial for orienting myself in my surroundings, seeking sustenance, identifying friends and adversaries, and, in the current era, for reading a book — thus broadening my perspectives through the wisdom and experiences shared by others.

Hearing allows me to perceive sounds, a sense essential for recognizing the rustling of leaves, engaging in spoken language and communication, appreciating melodies, and heeding the sonic warnings of hazards that lurk in my environment.

As indispensable as my sight and hearing may be, the part of our world that my senses can grasp is small. Beyond the confines of my sensory capabilities, there exist worlds of which I remain utterly unaware of (that is assuming that they are there but are merely beyond the capabilities of my perception). The worlds I am unaware of are far bigger than the ones I comprehend.

The mechanism of my vision involves the transformation of electromagnetic waves into electrical impulses by my retinal cells, which are then relayed to the brain for interpretation. The richness of the world I see has extraordinary details — the blue sky, constantly changing formation of clouds drifting in the wind, the mountain peaks topped with the whiteness of snow, or sometimes a rainbow unfurled across the sky.

And yet, the world I do not see is far bigger than the one I do see. The electromagnetic spectrum encompasses a wide range of wavelengths, from very low-frequency radio waves to high-frequency gamma rays. The entire electromagnetic spectrum includes, in order of increasing wavelength (or decreasing frequency): radio waves, microwaves, infrared radiation, visible light, ultraviolet radiation, X-rays, and gamma rays.

My eyes (and their physiology) can see only an exceedingly small fraction of the electromagnetic spectrum, which (and no surprise) we have named is the visible spectrum (what else would we call it?).

The visible part of the electromagnetic spectrum ranges from about 380 nanometers (nm) (violet color) to about 750 nanometers (nm) (red color) in wavelength and only makes up about 0.0035% of the entire electromagnetic spectrum. So, I am only seeing a tiny sliver of all the electromagnetic spectrum that exists around me. I have no idea what worlds exist in the part of spectrum that I cannot see.

It is inconceivable to think that the only interesting things that are happening in the universe are happening in the fraction of electromagnetic spectrum I can see. That idea would be too self-centric or anthropomorphic.

The range (and story) of our auditory perception is no different. The sounds I hear are compression waves travelling through the air that make our eardrum (or tympanic membrane) vibrate. These vibrations are converted to electrical signals that are sent to the brain for further processing.

The physiology of the human ear is such that it responds to compression waves between 20 Hz and 20,000 Hz (Hertz)and makes me capable of hearing things that vibrate in that range. Like for electromagnetic waves, it does not imply that compression waves do not exist beyond the frequency range of my hearing. They do and physiology of ear in different animals can respond to those waves. The Greater Wax Moth is capable of sensing compression waves at a frequency of 300kHz.

The bottom line is that there is a lot going on out there (or I assume that is so, even if I cannot be sure) of which I am not aware. Who knows what kind of wonders exist in the worlds I cannot see and cannot hear? Is there a world that exists and is beyond my perception, however, is a deeply philosophical question.

A cloud in the sky is visible to me because it reflects the electromagnetic waves coming from the sun in the range of visible spectrum. Are there no other “objects” in the sky that can reflect various parts of electromagnetic towards me, but I am unaware of them. If they do, what would they look like?

At some level, the above sentence is bizarre because I am using words and experiences that are human to discuss what is independent of us, and more so, has never been perceived by our senses. I am trying to augment the world I cannot see or hear into the world I am familiar with, but a moment of reflection tells how absurd the notion is.

Heck for that matter, there may be many more dimensions out there that my senses cannot contact. Perhaps, because of some unintended perturbations, those unknown dimensions leak into the realm I can perceive and after a moment retract themselves back to where they came from. Who knows what else is out there and is beyond the range of my senses.

Do I ever dream of floating through a space that has more than three dimensions? Even if I do, how would my waking self-know.

Ciao.

Note: Electromagnetic and compression waves: The former can travel through empty space while the latter requires the existence of a compressible medium, like air.