He Fa on the Listening Funnel

Two brass funnels project from my shoulders and back, one long and angled upwards, the other short and broad. Their black mouths resemble two solemn vacancies. Smoky-green clothing and thin trouser legs look narrow beside them. I seem ready to hear the world clearly at any moment, yet the apparatus has already divided the world into directions: some sounds face its openings, while others reach only its back.

The funnels give visible volume to the idea of gathering sound. I inherit their wish to reach faint signals, while rejecting a simple equation: bigger ears mean more understanding. My face stays central, but exaggerated tools steal attention from my actual ears. A tool can improve the likelihood of certain contacts without proving I have heard everything that should be heard.

Different mouth sizes force me to consider selection. If an expression must first become loud enough or suit this funnel before it counts as deserving a response, so-called openness contains a hidden format. Conversely, an apparatus with no direction may gather only noise. The issue is not abolishing selection, but allowing it to be identified and adjusted.

Both hands remain outside my clothes, reminding me that listening requires action after reception. I can clarify what I do not understand, let someone interrupted continue, or explain what I cannot handle now. Taking in a statement without any response cannot forever be justified by earnestness. However large the brass, it cannot replace a clear place from which to answer.

The funnels make no sound now, and my boots rest firmly on the ground. I would first turn my own position before discussing a third funnel. Perhaps the faintest sentence was never missed because the apparatus was too small.