In the twentieth century Western philosophy began to engage with an interesting problem: analysing the range of meaning in speech. What is the connection between thoughts and words? And what is the connection between words and objects? How do certain objects come by certain names, and how is meaning conveyed? And is it possible to name anything at all? Philosophical analysis shows how hard it is to name anything at all. Many hold that naming things is a matter of common agreement. If, for example, we agree to call a certain fruit an apple, and everyone concurs, then that is what we call this object, and this name stands for this object. This holds even if my personal conception of an apple necessarily differs from everyone else's, since we each form our own concepts of things and rely on our personal experience. This common agreement makes communication vastly easier. If you ask the market woman for an apple, you will get an apple. What chaos it would cause if she called what you call an apple a pear. You ask for an apple – and get a pear.
Words help us communicate. But on the material plane there is a problem with objects and words: when I say apple, I do not yet taste it. There is no tasting the name of an apple, and no eating your fill of a name. That is why, on the material plane, the magic of names is only half-magic: the name is not yet the object itself. It is impossible to bite into the word apple. You may meditate on this problem and rack your brains over it, and still it will not be resolved, for here there is a difference between the name and the object. Such is the divided world we live in, split into dualities, where outer form and essence are two different things. The material world is divided up by names and forms.
In the East this problem has been studied for thousands of years. Some theories say that the particular power of words lies in their meaning, while according to others it is sentences that convey meaning, not the parts of a sentence but the larger structure. But if we think about it, even the simplest syllables carry some meaning, which is to say that thought-word-meaning-object is a manifold, intricate system of connections, a true mystery! Have you ever considered what a wonder it is that we can express our thoughts? That we call things by their names and others understand, or grasp at least part of what you meant to say? It is a true wonder that we can express ourselves, and even have a chance of understanding others!
Most of the time, of course, we misunderstand each other. I say apple, and you understand pear. Then my field of communication does not touch your field of communication. If these two fields touch, a chance to communicate opens up, and if they overlap even a little, understanding appears. The closer the relationship between the two parties, the greater the overlap between their fields of communication, the greater the chance of understanding, and then of agreement. Indeed, if you read the other person's thoughts, you can say what they are thinking, and you can think what they mean to say. But as to whether a complete overlap exists between fields of communication, well, we would have to say: no. For we are wholly unique, separate persons, there is no other like us in the world, and our awareness, our intellect, our power of perception, and the views and experiences that spring from them are wholly unique as well. We are in a wholly unique, independent position, as individual sparks of consciousness, and so there is not, nor can there be, a complete overlap between fields of communication. It is true, though, that in a deep spiritual bond, in an intimate and close relationship, with a high degree of spiritual attunement, these fields overlap almost completely. Sometimes people understand each other even without words. You think of someone, and they dream of you. An intimate bond of love overcomes even the philosophical problems of communication…