The Cave Wall
When message and context are inseperable
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A small group of hominids lounged in the shade of a cliffside that emerged abruptly from the surrounding forest. It was a limestone escarpment, crumbled out at its base, revealing layer upon layer of compressed sediment. Above the group, five body-lengths up, a shadowy cleft silently belched out the vapors of the deep, deep Earth. It was the entrance to a cavern, full of chambers and conduits and high-vaulted ceilings. It took only twenty steps in to be enveloped in pure darkness. To go further required ear sight and touch, or the aid of a bright fire.
The cave was empty but for the bats and other blind creatures of the night. The hominids, watching its dark mouth from the sides of their eyes or through the backs of their heads with their minds’ eyes, sat transfixed. It was the topic of conversation for the afternoon. Not the cave itself (it was decided it would make a good fortress), but one of its massive, dry, clean walls. What was to be written?
“Let us be practical. We must draw a map to the water and a map to the food—the deer, the berries,” said an old hominid, often called Water-Finder.
“But what about a diagram of how to properly slaughter the deer, how to boil water, or how to tell good berries from the poisonous ones? What good is a map if it leads people to death?” said a middle-aged hominid called Soft Stepper.
“Why do you want to put anything up there? We will always be here to say these things and show these things. If we all die, we all die. Then what good are maps and diagrams? And if someone else comes along, say our enemies, do we want to share our secrets with them?” The grayest hominid called Stone laughed. “Let the young scribble and play.”
The one called Fire Ward stood up from tending the embers and watched the smoke drift into the forest canopy. “You all know that I know the secrets of the fire that lives in dry wood and dry grass. I know it well—how the heat sleeps in stillness and how motion wakes it. But how can I draw it?”
She began scraping the ashy dust surrounding the embers with a twig, attempting to capture the angles, frictions, and feelings of creating fire. Stone laughed as he watched Fire Ward struggle to draw her body knowledge.
The sun began to set. Fire Ward dropped more branches onto the fire. The discussion would continue into the night. What should be drawn, how should it be drawn, and how could you understand it without the living context? Whether or not they came to an agreement that night, their voices and laughter and erupting tempers would at least keep the monsters of the dark at bay.
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