The existence of one person implies the existence of all others who have lived or will live.

Our own existence is implied therefore in everyone else’s and theirs is implied in us.


Languages gain their meaning largely from the pauses and hesitations between sounds. They obviously gain their meaning also because of the sounds not used, so that any one language also implies the existence of all others. To that extent, all other languages reside silently within any given spoken language. The same applies to language written upon a page. The written characters make sense because of their arrangement, and precisely because they are chosen over other characters that do not appear.In the same kind of manner, our focused existence is dependent upon all other existences that are not us presently. We are a part of them. We ride upon their existences, though we are primarily us and no other.


The same applies, however, to every other person. Each of them  becomes a primarily focus or identity within which all others are implied. In Ordinary terms, we do not “make ourselves.” We are like a living language spoken by someone who did not originate it– the language was there for us to use. The language in this case is a molecular one that speaks our physical being. The components of that language or the earth elements that form the body were already created when we were born, as the alphabet of our particular language was waiting to be used.


Our very physical life, then, implies a “source,” a life out of which the physical one emerges,– the implied, unspoken, unmaterialized, unsounded vitality that supplied the ingredients for the physical, bodily, molecular “alphabet.” Our physical life therefore implies a non-physical one. We take our particular “language” so for granted, and use it so effortlessly, that we give no thought at all to the fact that it implies other languages also, or that it gains its meaning because of inner assumptions that are never spoken, or by the use of pauses in which no sounds are made. We live our lives in the same fashion.


There are many languages, though most people speak one, or two, or three at most. Languages also have accents, each somewhat different while still maintaining the original integrity of any given language. To some extent we can learn to speak oneself with an accent, so to speak, in which case, still being oneself, we allow ourselves to take on some of the attributes of another “language.”

We can read the world in a different way, while still maintaining our own identity, or we can move into a different country of oneself that speaks our native language but with a different slant. We do this to some extent or another whenever we tune in to broadcasts to which we usually pay no attention. The news is sightly foreign, while it is still interpreted through the language that we know. We are getting a translation of reality.


The psyche, always in a state of becoming, obviously has no precise boundaries. The existence of one, implies the existence of all, and so any one given psyche comes into prominence also because of the existence of the others upon which its reality rides. One television station exists in the same manner, for if one could not be tuned into, theoretically speaking, none could.

These inner communications, reach outward in all directions. Each identity has eternal validity within the psyche’s greater reality. At one level, any person contacting his or her own psyche can theoretically contact any other psyche. Life implies death, and death implies life– that is, in the terms of our world. In those terms life is a spoken element, while death is the unspoken but still-present element “beneath,” upon which life rides. Both are equally present.


To obtain knowledge consciously other than usually available, we pay attention to the pauses, to the implied elements in language, to any felt or sensed quality upon which the recognizable experiences of life reside. There are all kind of informations available to us, but it must be perceived through our own focus or identity.


All events occur at once– a difficult statement to understand. All identities occur at once also. Each event changes every other. Present ones alter past ones. Any one event implies the existence of probable events which do not “emerge,” which are not “spoken.” Physical world events therefore rest upon the existence of implied probable events. Different languages use sounds in their own peculiar manners, with their own rhythms, one emphasizing what another ignores. Other probabilities, therefore, emphasize events that are only implied in our reality, so that our physical events become the implied probable ones upon which other worlds reside.


We are part of the world, and yet we are oneself.

This does not confuse us, and we follow our own sense of identity without difficulty, even though we are everywhere surrounded by other individuals.


Using this as an analogy, we are a part of our psyche or our soul, dwelling within it, easily following our own sense of identity even though that psyche also contains other identities beside the one that we think of as our own. We draw sustenance from the world, and grow through its medium. We contribute our abilities and experience, helping to form the world’s civilization and culture. To some strong degree we bear the same kind of relationship to our own psyche.

Through ordinary methods of communication we are able to tell what is going on in other countries beside our own, even without traveling to them. news telecasts acquaint us with conditions around the world.


Now there are also inner “broadcasts” going on constantly– to which, however, we are not consciously attuned. These keep us in constant touch with the other portions of our own psyche. We are so a part of the world that our slightest action contributes to its reality. Our breath changes the atmosphere. Our encounters with others alter the fabrics of their lives, and the lives of those who come in contact with them.


It is easy for us to see how the cells of the body form it– that is, we understand at least the cooperative nature of the cell’s activities. An alteration on the part of one cell immediately causes changes in the others, and brings about  a difference in body behavior. It is somewhat more difficult for us to understand the ways in which our own actions and those of others combine to bring about world events. On the other hand, each individual alive on the planet at any given “time.” It may seem that the individual has little power. On the other hand, each individual alive is a necessary one. It is, each of our actions is so important, contributing to the experience of others whom we do not know, that each individual is like a center about which the world revolves.

If we did not do what we did today, for example, the entire world would be in some way different.


Our acts ripple outward in ways that we do not understand, interacting with the experience of others, and hence forming world events. The most famous and the most anonymous person are connected through such a fabric, and an action seemingly small and innocuous can end up changing history as we understand it.In metaphysical terms, we have our being in our psyche or soul in somewhat the same manner. Identities are obviously psychic environments, primarily, rather than physical ones. Physical objects cannot move through each other, as a table cannot move through a chair. mental events behave differently. They can mix and merge, move through each other while still maintaining their own focus. they can interact on psychic levels in the way that events do on physical levels, but without physical restrictions. Though we are a portion if our psyche, then, our identity is still inviolate. It will not be submerged or annihilated in a greater self. It carries a stamp–a divine mark–or its own integrity. It follows its own focus, and knows itself as itself, even while its own existence as itself may be but a portion of another “identity.”


Moreover, there is nothing to stop it from exploring this other greater identity, or moving into it, so to speak. When this happens both identities are changed. In greater terms, the psyche or soul nowhere exists as a finished product or entity. On the other hand it is always becoming, and that becoming happens on the part of each of its own portions.


Our very physical stance and existence are dependent upon portions of our psyche’s reality, or our soul’s existence, of which we are normally unaware. Those portions are also dependent upon our existence, however.


We take our breathing, our moving, for granted, though they are unconsciously produced. In certain terms, however, “at one time” we had to learn how to do these things that we are not consciously concerned with. At still other levels of reality, activities that we now consciously claim as our own have– in those same terms and from another viewpoint–become unconscious, providing a psychic history from which other identities emerge, as it seems that our own identities emerge from unconscious bodily activity.




We read our own identities in a particular, specialized fashion.

Within our biological experience, however, plant, mineral, animal, and human consciousness intersect. They encounter each other. In the language of the self that we speak, these encounters are like the implied pauses in our verbal language. These other kinds of consciousness then form inner rhythms upon which we superimpose our own.

These encounters of consciousness go on constantly. They form their own kind of adjacent identities. We would call them subspecies of consciousness, perhaps, but they are really identities that operate in a trans-species fashion.

If we “read ourselves” sideways in such a manner, we would discover portions of our own consciousness stretching out across the entire fabric of the earth as we understand it– becoming a part of the earth’s material, even as those materials become part of the self that we recognize. Our consciousness would be far less hemmed in. Time would expand adjacently. We think of ourselves physically as “top dogs,” however, separate from the other species and kinds of life, so that in effect we limit our own experience of our psyche.

If we thought or felt in such a fashion, then we would appreciate the fact that biologically our body is ours by virtue of the mineral, plant and animal life from which it gains its sustenance. We would not feel imprisoned as we often do within one corporal form, for we would understand that the body itself maintains its relative stability because of its constant give-and-take with the materials of the earth that are themselves possessed of consciousness.

We could to some extent feel our body coming together and dispersing constantly, and understand how we hover within it without fearing our own annihilation upon its dismantlement.

When we ask: “Who am I?” we are trying to read oneself as if we were a simple sentence that we recognize is only one of many probable variations. Us  and no other choose which experiences we want to actualize. We do this as spontaneously as we speak words. We take it for granted that a sentence begun will be finished. We are in the midst of speaking ourselves. the speaking, which is our life, seems to happen by itself, since we are not aware of keeping oneself alive. Our heart beats whether or not we understand anatomy.

We read oneself in too-narrow terms. Much of the pain connected with serious illness and death results because we have no faith in our own continuing reality. We fight pain because we have not learned to transcend it, or rather use it. We do not trust the natural consciousness of the body, so that when its ends mears– and such an end is inevitable– we do not trust the signals that the body gives, that are meant to free us.

Certain kinds of pain automatically eject consciousness from the body. Such pain cannot be verbalized, for it is a mixture of pain pleasure, a tearing free, and it automatically brings about an almost exhilarating release of consciousness. Such pain is also very brief. Under our present system, however, drugs are usually administered, in which case pain is somewhat minimized, but prolonged–not triggering the natural release mechanisms.

If we read our selves adjacently, we would build up confidence in the body, and in those cooperative consciousnesses that form it. We would have an intimate awareness of the body’s healing processes also. We would not fear death as annihilation, and would feel our own consciousness gently disentangle itself from those others that so graciously couched it.

Almost any question that we can ask of God, can be asked of the Psyche as well.

It seems to us that we know ourselves, but that we take the existence of our psyche on faith. At best, it often seems that we are all that we know of our psyche, and we will complain that we do not know oneself to begin with. When we say: “I want to find myself,” we usually take it for granted that there is a completed, done, finished version of oneself that we have mislaid somewhere. When we think of finding God, we often think in the same terms.

We are “around ourselves” all the time. We are ever becoming oneself. In a manner of speaking we are “composed” of those patterns of oneself that are everywhere coming together. We cannot help but be oneself. Biologically, mentally, and spiritually we are marked as apart from all others, and no cloak of conventionally can ever hide that unutterable uniqueness. We cannot help but be ourselves.


In a way, physically we are a molecular language that communicates to others, but a language with its own peculiarities, as if speaking an accepted tongue we spoke with a biological accent that carried its own flavor and meaning.

When we ask: “What is my psyche, or my soul, or who am I?” we are seeking of course for our own meaning as apart from what we already know about oneself. In that context, God and the psyche are constantly expanding– unutterable, and always becoming.


We will question, most likely, “Becoming what?” for to us it usually seems that all motion tends toward a stat of completion of one kind or another. We think, therefore, in terms of becoming perfect, or becoming free. The word “becoming” by itself seems to leave us up in the air, so to speak, suspended without definitions. If I say: “You are becoming what you already are,” then my remark sounds meaningless, for if you already are, how can you become what is already accomplished? In larger terms, however, what we are is always vaster than our knowledge of oneself, for in physical life we cannot keep up with our own psychological and psychic activity.

In a way our bodies speak a biological language, but in those terms we are bilingual, to say the least. We deal with certain kinds of organizations. They can be equated with biological verbs, adjectives and nouns. These result in certain time sequences that can be compared to sentences, written and read from one side, say, to the other.


Pretend that our life’s experience is a page of a book that we write, read, and experience from top to bottom, left to right, sentence by sentence, paragraph by paragraph. That is the you that you know– the wold view that we understand. But other quite as legitimate “yous” may write, read, and experience the same page backwards, or read each letter downward and back up again, as we would a column of figures. Or others might mix and match the letters in entirely different fashions altogether, forming entirely different sentences. Still another, vaster you might be aware of all the different methods of experiencing that particular page, which is our life as we understand it.

We think that our own consciousness is the only logical culmination of our body’s reality. We read oneself in a certain accepted fashion. In the “entire book of life,” however, just  physically speaking, there are interrelationships on adjacent levels that we do not perceive, as other portions of our own biological consciousness or biological language relate to the entire living fabric of the world. In physical terms we are alive because of substructures–psychic, spiritual, and biological– of which we have hardly any comprehension at all.


These are implied, however, in the nature of our own consciousness, which could not exist otherwise as we know it. As language gains and attains its meaning not only by what is included in it, but also by what is excluded, so our consciousness attains its stability also by exclusions.

What we are is implied in the nature of what we are not. By the same token, we are what we are because of the existence of what we are not.


We read ourselves from the top of the page to the bottom, or from what we think of as the beginning to the end. Our greater reality, however, is read in terms of intensities, so that the psyche puts us together in a different way. The psyche does not mark time. To it the intense experiences of our life exist simultaneously. In our terms they would be the psyche’s present. The psyche deals with probable events, however, so some events– perhaps some that we dreamed of but did not materialize– are quite real to the psyche. They are far more real to it than most innocuous but definite physical events, as for example yesterday morning’s breakfast.

God and psyche

The inner events of the psyche compose the greater experience from which physical events arrive. They cast an aura that almost magically make our life our own. Even is two people encountered precisely the same events in their lives at precisely the same time, their experiences of reality would still hardly be approximately connected.

Before the birth of images and words, the world existed in different terms.

Images as we consider them had not taken the form that we recognize. It seems to us that visually, for example, the natural world must be put together or perceived in a certain fashion.


Whatever our language, we perceive trees, ,mountains, people, oceans. We never see a man merge with a tree, for example. This would be considered an hallucinatory image. Our visual data are learned and interpreted so that they appear as the only possible results of those data. Inner vision can confound us, because in our mind we often see images quite clearly that we would dismiss if our eyes were open. In the terms of which we are speaking, however, the young species utilized what I have called the “inner senses” to a far greater degree than we do. Visually, early man did not perceive the physical world in the way that seems natural to us.

When a man’s consciousness, for example, blended with that of a tree, those data, became “visual” for others to perceive. When a man’s consciousness merged with an animal’s that blending became visual data also.



In a manner of speaking, the brain put visual information together so that the visual contents of the world were not as stationary as they are now. We have learned to be highly specific in our physical sight and interpretations. Our mental vision holds hints as to data that could be, but are not visually, physically perceived. We have trained ourselves to react to certain visual cues which trigger our mental interpretations, and to ignore other variations.

These latter can be described as too subtle. Yet actually they are no more subtle than those cues we acknowledge.


Data, we say, are stored in the chromosomes, strung together in a certain fashion. Now biologically that is direct cognition. The inner senses perceive directly in the same fashion. To us, language means words. Words are always symbols for emotions or feelings, intents or desires. Direct cognition did not need the symbols. The first language, the initial language, did not involve images or words, but dealt with a free flow of directly cognitive material.

A man or woman, wondering what a tree was like, became one, and let his or her own consciousness flow into the tree. Man’s consciousness mixed and merged with other kinds of consciousness with the great curiosity of love. A child did not simply look at an animal, but let its consciousness merge with the animal’s and so to some extent the animal looked out through the child’s eyes.


In ways most difficult to explain, man and woman “absorbed” an animal’s spirit before he killed it, so that the spirit of the animal merged with his or her own. In using the animal’s flesh, then, the hunter believed that he or she was giving the animal a new focus of existence. He or she could draw on the animal’s strength, and therefore were one.

Our own kind of focus emerged from such a background, so that within ourselves we contain myriad consciousnesses of which we are unaware.. Through our own particular focus, the consciousnesses of the natural world merged to form a synthesis in which, for example, symphonies can emerge. We act not only for ourselves, but also for other kinds of consciousness that we have purposefully forgotten. In following our own purposes, which are ours, we also serve the purposes of others we have forgotten.


In thinking our own private thoughts, we also add to a larger psychic and mental reality of which we are part. Our language program our perceptions, and limit our communications in certain terms, as much as they facilitate it.

A musician writing a symphony, however, does not use all of the notes that are available to him. He or she chooses and discriminates. His or her discrimination is based upon his knowledge of the information available, however. In the same way, our languages are based upon an inner knowledge of larger available communications. The “secrets” of language are not to be found, then, in the available sounds, accents, root words or syllables, but in the rhythms between the words; the pauses and hesitations; the flow with which the words are put together, and the unsaid inferences that connect verbal and visual data.


As a species “We” sought certain kinds of experience. Individually, and as tribes or nations, we follow certain “progressions”– and yet in so doing we act also on the part of the whole of nature. We take into our bodies in transmuted form the consciousness of all the things we consume.

Those consciousness then merge to perceive the world in a fashion we call our own. Through our eyes the beasts, vegetables, birds, and dust perceive the dawn and sunlight as we do– as us, and yet on the other hand our experience is our own.


To some extent it is true to say that languages emerged as we began to lose direct communication with our own experience, and with that of others. Language is therefore a substitute for direct communication. The symbols of the words stand for our own or someone else’s experience, while protecting us or them from it at the same time.


Visual data as we perceive them amount to visual language; the images perceived are like visual words. An object is presented to our visual perception so that we can safely perceive it from the outside. Objects as we see them are also symbols.

Regardless of the language…

The sounds that you can make are dependent upon our physical structure, so that human language is composed of a certain limited number of sounds. Our physical construction is the result of inner molecular configurations, and the sounds we make are related to these.

Early man and woman felt a certain emotional magnification, that he felt, for example, the wind’s voice as his own. In a manner of speaking our languages, while expressing our individual intents and communications, also represent a kind of amplification arising from our molecular configurations. The wind makes certain sounds that are dependent upon the characteristics of the earth. The breath makes certain sounds that are dependent upon the characteristic of the body. There is a connection between alphabets and the molecular structure that composes our tissue. Alphabets then are natural keys also. Such natural keys have a molecular history. We form these keys also. Such natural keys have a molecular history. We form these keys into certain sound patterns that have particular meanings.


This provides us within a certain kind of communication, but it also allows a molecular expression that is natural at that level, and then used by us for our own purposes. I am not saying that molecules speak. I am saying that they are expressed through our speech, however– and that our speech represents an amplification of their existence. Through our words their reality is amplified, in the same way that man’s emotions once found amplification through the physical elements.

Certain sounds are verbal replicas of molecular constructions, put together by us to form sentences in the same way, for example, that molecules are put together to form cells and tissue.


There are “inner sounds” that act like layers between tissues, that “coat molecules, and these serve as a basis for exterior sound principles. these are also connected to rhythms in the body itself.

To some extent punctuation is sound that we do not hear, a pause that implies the presence of withheld sound. To some extent, then, language is as dependent upon the unspoken as the spoken, and the rhythm of silence as well as of sound. In that context, however, silence involves merely a pause of sound in which sound is implied but withheld. Inner sound deals primarily with that kind of relationship. Language is meaningful only because of the rhythm of the silence upon which it rides. Yet, to so many people, the language that we speak is, literally, foreign. However, millions of people every day are striving to learn our language, either through school classes or through other means such as the Effortless English Club. And then, once they have put in the hard work and dedication, the way that we make sounds can also be understood by them too. Some people like to go to another country though to learn the language. This might mean that people go and become an au pair. As this way people can experience a new culture whilst also learning a new language. If this is something that interests you then you can check out something like this Cultural Care Au Pair site to give you a good idea of what happens on this sort of experience and how people can apply for it.


Its meaning comes from the pauses between the sounds as much as it does from the sounds themselves. The flow of breath is obviously important, regulating the rhythm and the spacing of the words. The breath’s integrity arises directly from the proper give-and-take between cells the functioning of the tissues; and all that is the expression of molecular competence. that competence is obviously responsible for language, but beyond that it is intimately connected with the patterns of languages themselves, the construction of syntax, and even with the figures of speech used.

Again, we speak for ourselves; yet in doing so we speak a language that is not ours alone, but the result of inner communications too swift for us to follow, involving corporal and subjective realities alike. For this reason our language have meaning on several levels. The sounds we make have physical effects on our own and other bodies. There is a sound value, then, as apart from a meaning value.


The words we speak to someone else are in certain terms broken down by the listener to basic components, and understood at different levels. There are psychological interpretations made, and molecular ones. The sounds and their pauses will express emotional states, and reactions to these will alter the body’s condition to whatever degree.


The listener then breaks down the language. He builds up his own response. We have so connected words and images that language seems to consist of a sound for feelings and subjective states, and they had no subjects or predicates, nor even a sentence structure that we would recognize.

Our language must follow our perception, though the sound structure beneath need not. We say: “I am today, I was yesterday, and I will be tomorrow, ” yet some languages would find such utterances incomprehensible, and the words, “I am” would be used in all instances.

Channels of interrelatedness.

Connecting all physical matter– channels through consciousness flows.

Man’s identification with nature allowed him to utilize those inner channels. He could send his own consciousness swimming, so to speak, through many currents, in which other kinds of consciousness merged. The language of love is one basic language. Man loved nature, identified with its many parts, and added to his own sense of being by joining into its power and identifying with its force.


It is not so much that “Man” personified the elements of nature as that he threw his or her personality into its elements and rode them,s o to speak. Love incites the desire to know, and communicate with the beloved; so language began as man tried to express his love for the natural world.

Initially language had nothing to do with words, and indeed verbal language emerged only when man or woman had lost a portion of his love, forgotten some of his or her identification with nature, so that he or she no longer understood its voice to be his or her also. In those early days man and woman possessed a gargantuan arena for the expression of his emotions. He or she did not symbolically rage with the storms, for example, but quite consciously identified with them to such a degree that he or she and his or her tribesman or tribeswoman merged with the wind and lightning, and became a part of the storm’ forces. They felt, and knew as well, that the storms would refresh the land, whatever their fury.


Because of such identification with nature, the death experience, as we understand it, was in no way considered an end. The mobility of consciousness was a fact of experience. The self was not considered to be stuck within the skin. The body was considered more or less like a friendly home or cave, kindly giving the self refuge but not confining it.

The language of love did not initially involve images, either. Images in the mind, as they are understood, emerged in their present form only when man or woman had, lost a portion of his or her love and identification, and forgotten how to identify with an image from its insides, and so began to view it from outside.



In a way the language of love followed molecular roots– a sort of biological alphabet, though “alphabet” is far too limiting a term.

Each natural element had its own key system that interlocked with others, forming channels through which consciousness could flow from one kind of life to another. Man and woman understood himself and herself to be a separate entity, but one that was connected to all of nature. The emotional reaches of his subjective life, then, lept far beyond what we think of as private experience. Each person participating fully in a storm, for example, still participated in his or her own individual way. Yet the grandeur of the emotions was allowed full sway, and the seasons of the earth and the world were jointly felt.


The language or the method of communication can best be described perhaps as direct cognition. Direct cognition is dependent upon a lover’s kind of identification, where what is known is known. At that stage no words or even images were needed. The wind outside and the breath were felt to be one and the same, so that the wind was the earth breathing out the breath that rose from the mouths of the living, spreading out through the earth’s body. part of a man or woman went out with breath– therefore, man and woman’s consciousness could go wherever the wind traveled.  A man or woman’s consciousness, traveling with the wind,became part of all places.

A person’s identity was private, in that man always knew who he was. He was so sure of his identity that he did not feel the need to protect it, so that he could expand his awareness in away now quite foreign to us.



Take the English sentence: “I observe the tree.” If the original language had words, the equivalent would be: “as a tree, I observe myself.”

Or: “Taking on my tree nature, I rest in my shade.” Or even: “From my man nature, I rest in the shade of my tree nature.” A man did not so much stand at the shore looking down at the water, as he immersed his consciousness within it. Man’s initial curiosity did not involve seeing, feeling, or touching the object’s nature as much as it involved a joyful psychic exploration in which he or she plunged his or her consciousness, rather than, say, his or her foot into the stream–though he or she did both.


If that language I speak of had been verbal, man never would have said: “The water flows through the valley.” Instead, the sentence would have read something like this: “Running over the rocks, my water self flows together with others in slippery union.” That translation is not the best, either. Man or woman did not designate his or her own as the only kind of consciousness by any means. He graciously thanked the tree the gave him or her shade, for example, and he understood that the tree retained its own identity even when it allowed his awareness to join with it.

In our terms, the use of language began as man and woman lost his and her kind of identification. I must stress, that the identification was not symbolic, but practical, daily expression. Nature spoke for man and woman and man and woman for nature.


In a manner of speaking, the noun and the verb were one. The noun did not disappear, but expressed itself as the verb.

In a kind of emotional magnification unknown to us, each person’s private emotions were given an expression and release through nature’s changes– a release that was understood, and taken for granted. In the most profound of terms, weather conditions and the emotions are still highly related. The inner conditions cause the exterior climatic changes, though of course it now seems to you that it is the other way around.


We are robbed, then, or we rob ourselves, of one of the most basic kinds of expression, since we can no longer identify ourselves with the forces of nature. Man and woman wanted to pursue a certain kind of consciousness, however. In our terms, over a period of time he pulled his awareness in, so to speak; he no longer identified as he did before, and began to view objects through  the object of his own body. He or she no longer merged his or her awareness, so that he learned to look as a tree as one object, where before he would have joined with it, and perhaps viewed his own standing body from the tree’s vantage point. It was then the mental images became important in usual terms– for he or she had understood these before, but in a different way, from the inside out.


Now he and she began to draw and sketch, and to learn how to build images in the mind that were connected to real exterior objects in the presently accepted manner. Now he or she walked, not simply for pleasure, but to gain the information he or she wanted, to cross distances that before his or her consciousness had freely traveled. So he or she needed primitive maps and signs. Instead of using whole images he or she used partial ones, fragments of circles or lines, to represent natural objects.


He or she had always made sounds that communicated emotions, intent, and sheer exuberance. When he or she became involved with sketched or drawn images, he or she began to imitate their form with the shape of his or her lips. The “O” was perfect, and represents one of his or her initial, deliberate sounds of verbalized language.