Following the pattern I set with my previous blog posts, I will resume the many and different thoughts on human senses. This time it’s time to talk about the gustatory sense and it being a means of communicating and expressing our feelings. Unfortunately, unlike my other posts on the matter, I’ll have to keep this one short, because my sense of sight is slowly losing it. I mean it’s already past four. (Disclaimer: this one actually happened to be longer than the other ones).
This time I want to talk about wine. Our curiosity sometimes suggests things that have an unearthly and strange influence on us to be transcendental, which is true, because our experiences with such things always transcend language. Very rarely can we communicate the true feelings and emotions stimulated by wine. Usually the only way we can try and express ourselves at such times is through art; like we can write poems or draw our grandmothers and then blame everything on the wine. That’s not what I want to talk about. As a matter of fact, I no longer know what I want to talk about. We communicate our experiences verbally, especially when there is wine involved, at least for me, we want to talk and we need to talk. We talk to express the tingling influence of wine and we say it’s the wine talking, while in reality there is no such a thing. It’s always you talking, not the wine, dummies.
Taste precedes language. And this is just a random sentence, which sounds nice, but doesn’t communicate any meaning, unless we try and insert one in it. Elaborating this random set of words, we experience wine non-verbally and then try to put our experiences into words. They say wine holds the truth, and that I like. I think wine in its molecules has the most beautiful knowledge of this world and of life, which is then transmitted to us through our tongues. We drink and the information, initially hidden in wine, unveils itself through our gustatory system. We still can’t express or explain the knowledge wine communicates to us, but on an unearthly level we feel it and we know it. I think when we drink wine we know things that we don’t really know, but we know. I mean, there are things that we will never know and that we always try to get to through sciences or mythologies; and those things exist in wine, and we experience them. Wine makes us love or hate, it makes us happy or sad. Wine imitates feelings and does so instantaneously, making us experience them all at once.
You see, we are bound to learn and bound to discover. We are bound to name things with ridiculous names; like once we named a four-legged object a table and acted like it’s not a big deal. We do so because we have no, absolutely no, idea what the things we are surrounded by mean and why on Earth they surround us. And to make our experiences on this strange globe bearable and more fun, we invented language, which is an art form in its way, but a lot earlier, we invented art in its purest sense. We invented nature. We invented it by discovering and using it. We dance because we have the natural ability of doing so, we draw because we have the natural inclination of doing so, and we create stories because we need proof of our own existences. In a similar manner, we invented wine. Wine is an art form of its own. I hate the word art because it sounds like a word my grandmother, Queen Elizabeth II, would use while drinking her favorite tea with her girlfriends. Anyways. We always play with our senses to understand the world around us and we feel eternally satisfied and euphoric when those senses respond in an unusual way, which, like the case with all art, transcends our realities.
I wrote this post with no particular purpose. I just feel very good. I like my friends and I like people whom I don’t really like. I like the woman I accidentally hit with my fist, and I like the little boy with crystal blue eyes who wanted to buy candies. I like big ears and I like big noses, because that’s the kind of a person, unfortunately, or, maybe, fortunately, I am. But I like all that because at this point of the time, I know the truth and yet I’m very blind to it. I feel it and I know that everyone around me, everyone I hurt or, maybe, made happy is just as lost as I am and is just as full of feelings and dreams as I am. I know that tomorrow I won’t be thinking this way and that tomorrow some people will still get on my nerves, but that’s normal and that’s part of our nature. But for now I have the truth on my side and I know that life is beautiful and I’ll always know that, and everyone will, but for now I feel it, because a simple bottle whispered it to me.
Now if you excuse me, I’ll try to get my point straight, which I realized only now. All this art thing I talked about throughout this terrible writing of mine is only necessary to help grasp the universal truth, which we, from the beginning of time, struggle to get across. We think, I mean the Greeks think, that the truth is in wine, but in reality, it’s in us. Each of us is born with the mystery of this Earth. We are born knowing what we are born for, and only art gives us the opportunity to experience this knowledge, at least for an instant, for a bright and memorable instant. The truth is in humans and wine and other forms of art, my grandmother the Queen will be proud of me, are just the many means of projecting it.