"Murka, why can I talk to you and cactuses, but the grown-ups can't?"
"Ehhh... They can only talk in their own language."
"And what language do we use?" I asked.
"We don't use a language. We use All-knowing."
"What is that?"
"All living beings except humans use the All-knowing. Mind to mind, body to body directly. Adult humans can't do that, because they have invented their own separate language and got addicted to it. It cuts them off from all the other creatures. They come to believe that only their language is real, and any other form of communication isn't. "
"I don't want to become like that!" I said horrified.
Murka licked her paw thoughtfully, "Hmm. None of the humans I've ever met were able to talk to me, except for tiny children. But I do know a very old wise kot Barsik, and he might know some human who still uses the All-knowing. I'll ask him next time I see him."
"Thanks."
I lay there thinking for a moment, then came up with the next question, "Murka, why do you think when children learn the grown-ups' language they stop using All-knowing? Why can't they do both?"
"Probably because humans made up words for everything, and if they can't name something with their words, they can't say it or even think it."
"Also, because it would take hundreds of their words to name everything in one All-knowing sentence, " added cactus Floid. "All-knowing is kind of like watching a movie. If you'd have to name everything in one frame, you'd get so frustrated, you'd never get to the next."
"Could you expound on that a bit?" said Murka, interested.
"Sure. Like when they look at that picture on the wall, for example, they'd have to translate it to themselves into their words. Like: the girl is about 5, she is eating an egg, the table is made of wood, the spoon could be silver, or silver-plated, the girl is blond, she has blue eyes... And so on and so forth. They would completely miss the meaning of the whole..."
"I don't see what you mean," said Murka. "They are capable of summarizing the whole. I've seen them do it. They watch moving pictures on that box over there."
"But people in those moving pictures are talking all the time! They translate everything they're doing and thinking!"
Yolka joined the conversation, "And get this: they even go so far as to claim that anyone who doesn't speak a language like theirs isn't even conscious!"
"No way!" I exclaimed.
"They think just because we can't tell them it hurts when they cut us, we don't feel pain!"
"That is horrible!" I nearly choked from distress.
"Maybe that's why they invented their language, so they don't have to deal with too much knowing, because if they did, it would make them feel bad for all the creatures they are hurting," said the Lemon Tree.
"Wait a minute! I eat mice, even though they feel pain and beg me to stop eating them. But I don't want to become deaf and dumb so I don't have to hear their cries," Murka pointed out.
"That's the way life is in the woods, yes," said Yolka with a finality in her tone, "I saw wolves and foxes eating smaller animals every day. I guess, either humans were especially talented in lying to themselves, or they did way more damage than any other animal, but, whatever the reason, they invented their ridiculous language and cut themselves off."
"Are you sure I'm one of them humans?" I asked pitifully.
"Pretty sure," sighed Murka.
"You all better figure a way to help me. I don't think I'm going to like being a human at all."
"Ehhh... They can only talk in their own language."
"And what language do we use?" I asked.
"We don't use a language. We use All-knowing."
"What is that?"
"All living beings except humans use the All-knowing. Mind to mind, body to body directly. Adult humans can't do that, because they have invented their own separate language and got addicted to it. It cuts them off from all the other creatures. They come to believe that only their language is real, and any other form of communication isn't. "
"I don't want to become like that!" I said horrified.
Murka licked her paw thoughtfully, "Hmm. None of the humans I've ever met were able to talk to me, except for tiny children. But I do know a very old wise kot Barsik, and he might know some human who still uses the All-knowing. I'll ask him next time I see him."
"Thanks."
I lay there thinking for a moment, then came up with the next question, "Murka, why do you think when children learn the grown-ups' language they stop using All-knowing? Why can't they do both?"
"Probably because humans made up words for everything, and if they can't name something with their words, they can't say it or even think it."
"Also, because it would take hundreds of their words to name everything in one All-knowing sentence, " added cactus Floid. "All-knowing is kind of like watching a movie. If you'd have to name everything in one frame, you'd get so frustrated, you'd never get to the next."
"Could you expound on that a bit?" said Murka, interested.
"Sure. Like when they look at that picture on the wall, for example, they'd have to translate it to themselves into their words. Like: the girl is about 5, she is eating an egg, the table is made of wood, the spoon could be silver, or silver-plated, the girl is blond, she has blue eyes... And so on and so forth. They would completely miss the meaning of the whole..."
"I don't see what you mean," said Murka. "They are capable of summarizing the whole. I've seen them do it. They watch moving pictures on that box over there."
"But people in those moving pictures are talking all the time! They translate everything they're doing and thinking!"
Yolka joined the conversation, "And get this: they even go so far as to claim that anyone who doesn't speak a language like theirs isn't even conscious!"
"No way!" I exclaimed.
"They think just because we can't tell them it hurts when they cut us, we don't feel pain!"
"That is horrible!" I nearly choked from distress.
"Maybe that's why they invented their language, so they don't have to deal with too much knowing, because if they did, it would make them feel bad for all the creatures they are hurting," said the Lemon Tree.
"Wait a minute! I eat mice, even though they feel pain and beg me to stop eating them. But I don't want to become deaf and dumb so I don't have to hear their cries," Murka pointed out.
"That's the way life is in the woods, yes," said Yolka with a finality in her tone, "I saw wolves and foxes eating smaller animals every day. I guess, either humans were especially talented in lying to themselves, or they did way more damage than any other animal, but, whatever the reason, they invented their ridiculous language and cut themselves off."
"Are you sure I'm one of them humans?" I asked pitifully.
"Pretty sure," sighed Murka.
"You all better figure a way to help me. I don't think I'm going to like being a human at all."
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