Today, I had a meal with an elderly woman.

Throughout the meal, she repeatedly brought up hearing aids. A topic we have already discussed several times. Each time, I told her that, given her current condition, she might not need one just yet. Because what she calls “not hearing clearly” doesn’t feel to me like a problem of the ears themselves.

I’m not a practitioner of traditional medicine, nor can I offer a complete theory. But sometimes, in a person’s fingernails, complexion, and small details, I sense traces of an overall imbalance. It’s not that a single part is broken, it’s that the whole system is operating in a different way.

I’ve always believed the body to be an incredibly precise instrument. It knows how to self-adjust, how to detour, how to get stuck in one place and compensate in another.

Like the ancient trees I’ve seen, standing for thousands of years. The twisted scars on their trunks often come from moments in their youth being struck by lightning, cut down, forced to grow crooked. And yet, it is precisely those wounds that allow them to stand so firmly later on.

Sometimes I wonder: when a certain sense slows down, becomes a little blurred, or less sharp could it be cultivating another mode of perception? Not degeneration, but redirection.

At such moments, if we rush to intervene, rush to “fix” things, rush to apply a convenient patch, we may actually interrupt a process of self-adjustment already underway.

Some conveniences quietly push still-functioning abilities into the background. Not because they’ve failed, but because they were replaced too early.

I’m not opposed to technology, nor do I deny the value of tools. I’ve simply become more cautious about when to step in and when not to.

Some things may not need to be completed, but understood why they exist the way they do.



—— 🎐 XC Scribbles · 壹佰肆拾伍 CXLV 🌳