He pointed out that it had ever been thus. Even the idea of objective truth, as proved by science or law, was a recent invention.

All we’ve known for millennia has been hunches and impulses and opinion, he said. Who’s to say that isn’t our true nature?

I should make clear that this kind of conspiratorial thinking only ever reared its head a few times in our many meetings, and I’m probably letting future events colour my recollection of things by spending so much time writing about it here. I was deeply invested in the group, and had a genuine affection for each and every member, even if there were elements that occasionally unsettled me. Sometimes, the elements that unsettled me unlocked the most profound revelations. The most obvious example of this was the first time that all of us tuned.

We were sitting in a circle in the middle of Howard and Jo’s living room. Our eyes were closed. The older among us were sitting on decorative cushions from the couches. The furniture had been pushed back against the walls, and the coffee table had been moved into another room to give us space. The ten of us sat quietly, but not in silence, for there was no such thing as silence, as I had come to learn. We were listening to the infinitely complex aural tapestry unfolding around us, and we were giving ourselves over to it. As we became aware of a sound we named it so as to isolate it, examine it, and incorporate it into our being.

The neighbours’ wind chime, I said.

I could hear its soft, random tinkling through the bay window. It reminded me of clinking glasses being carried by a waiter. My grandmother’s garden, filled with tiger lilies. The hot summer wind.

After a long moment, Leslie murmured—Wind through the trees in the backyard.

And yes, I could hear it too. Its hushing, like the waves on a beach.

There was another long pause, in which the air was thick with concentration.

There’s a bird, Mia said.

Two birds, I think, Nora said, a few seconds later.

A dog began to bark in a distant backyard, and Emily and Kyle both noted it at the same time. After another minute or so, Damian remarked on the car that could be heard driving slowly past us, down the crescent.

It’s braking at the stop sign now, he said. And it’s turning—

Which direction? Jo asked.

Left, towards Sanderson.

We continued this for the better part of an hour, listening with exhausting intensity, until Jo said—And now I’m going to ask everyone to slowly bring their awareness inside the room. Paying attention only to the sounds they hear within these four walls.