Translation

"Two speakers must not, and never do, completely understand each other; they must remain only partially satisfied with each other's replies, because the continuation of dialogue is in large part dependent on neither party knowing exactly what the other means. Thus true communication never makes languages sound the same, never erases boundaries, never pretends to a perfect fit."
(Wayne C. Booth, introduction to Mikhail Bakhtin's Problems of Dostoevsky's Poetics, Edited and Translated by Caryl Emerson)

I have found myself in a narrow world. I have always sought an escape. I often find one in language.

Circumstance—ill health, war, and poverty—often leads to a narrowing of worlds. Survivors, of environments that have closed in, share experiences that often result in a code of ethics among the survivors.

They have bonded. You, if you stand outside, cannot understand. They are sure of it. They are right in their understanding. I don't think we can "completely understand each other." Problems derive from the belief that we should never try.

It is not necessary to so completely dissolve the space between us that it ceases to exist.

My world is shaped by bridges, some natural, others constructed over years. Some of these bridges are near. Some require a great and costly journey to even glimpse them in the distance. They change light. They offer a means of travel. Some are rainbows. Some are stone. Others hard metal stolen from the earth, our mother.

I was in Minneapolis when their great bridge fell. Many were injured as a result of neglect. Bridges must be maintained—at a cost. They cannot be erected from bodies that tire and decay. Bodies are not bridges. We should not suffer the illusion that bridges are problems belonging to others—those not I. Even those who rest confident in their refusal to travel anywhere outside their understandings.

Circumstance—health, peace and wealth—often leads to a narrowing of worlds. Celebrants of these circumstances often develop calluses. The thick and hard are insensitive to meaning. Meanings are fragile, subtle and supple. They cannot bear the weight of hate (of oneself or others).

Survivors and celebrants share in this, the development of codes and calluses. We must work on the project of translation (from me and mine, to you and yours) in light of these bonds and in consequence of these calluses. They keep us from hearing and from recognizing each other's speech as language. They leave us incomprehensible, and estranged with nothing to say to each other.

The idea that "we must not, and never do, completely understand each other" offers several possibilities: continuity, responsibility, compassion and patience.

The idea that "we must not, and never do, completely understand each other" also rests on one significant assumption: desire.