Beyond the Senses: A Simple Thought on What We Might Be Missing

Have you ever really thought about what it would be like if we didn’t have these five senses — sight, hearing, touch, smell, and taste? Or maybe, have you ever felt like… what if there’s something out there, a whole layer of reality, that exists beyond these senses? Something we just don’t have the tools to detect? I mean, almost everyone, at some point in their life, asks the classic question: “If God exists, then why can’t I see Him?” or “Can someone at least show me a little proof?” And then the answers we get are often… well, kind of confusing. People say, “Yes, it’s real — but your senses just aren’t built to catch it.” What do you even do with that?

And then someone curious — like really curious — might ask, “Okay fine, even if my senses can’t pick it up, at least tell me what it’s like? How does God feel? Or look like? Or sound like?”

Now that’s where it gets funny. Because trying to explain that is kind of like a deaf person — someone who’s never heard a single sound in their life — suddenly asking, “So… what does a flute sound like? And a drum?”

Haha, now what do you say to that? Do you tell them, “Well, the drum is… energetic, bold, thumping,” and “The flute is soft, breezy, feels like wind dancing”? Sounds poetic, but let’s be honest — none of that truly tells them what sound is. You can make hand gestures, show sound waves on a graph, even let them feel vibrations. But still… they won’t really know what sound feels like, right? Because that world simply doesn’t run through their wires.

Now just imagine this — let’s say there are three people sitting in a quiet room, each of them watching something on their own laptop, like how we all do sometimes. The room is relaxed, no one’s really talking. Just that soft kind of silence where everyone’s in their own world. Now, one of them is deaf since birth. And while watching his movie, he suddenly notices something strange. One guy says something softly — maybe, “Hey, pass me the water bottle,” and the other person, without even looking up, slides it across the floor like it’s totally normal. A few minutes later, one asks for snacks, and again, it’s handed over — all smooth, no hand signals, no gestures, no eye contact. Just boom, like some secret channel is active.

Now the deaf friend is just sitting there, watching all this unfold. And something in him goes… wait a second. How is this happening? They’re not looking at each other, not waving hands, not even nudging. But somehow, messages are flying across the room — and actions are following. He’s not annoyed, just… intrigued. It’s like he’s watching people communicate through some invisible thread, something he knows is there, but he can’t touch it, hear it, or see it. It’s not body language. It’s not smell. It’s not light. Yet… it’s real. Something is passing between them. Something he doesn’t have access to.

A little while later, the door opens and a couple walks into the room. The atmosphere shifts, like when a cloud passes over the sun. The boy is moving fast, hands flying, shoulders tense — clearly upset about something. The girl, on the other hand, barely reacts. She doesn’t look at him, doesn’t speak. Just sits down in the corner and turns her face away. A few seconds pass, and quietly, she starts crying. No drama, no sound — just tears. The deaf friend watches all this. He can’t hear what was said, but he knows something happened. He can feel the weight in the air, like invisible waves passing between them. Again, nothing was shown, nothing was said — at least not in his world — but the whole scene screamed with meaning.

That night, he’s lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. The room is still, except for the occasional hum from the AC and a streetlight painting soft shadows on the wall. But his mind is wide awake. He keeps thinking about what he saw — or rather, what he felt. How did they understand each other like that? What was happening between them that needed no words, no signals, no sounds? And then a thought quietly slips in: Is there more to this world than I can experience? Not in a sad or frustrated way — just a gentle, curious wondering. If this is what happens with something as simple as sound — a whole layer of life moving silently around him — then what if there are even more layers? Things that nobody’s senses are tuned to… but are still there, quietly doing their work.

And that’s when it clicks for him — maybe this is exactly what people mean when they ask, “If God is real, then why can’t I see Him?” or “Why doesn’t He just show up?” It’s not a silly question. In fact, it might be the most human question ever. But now, lying there, he sees it differently. Maybe it’s not about God hiding. Maybe it’s more like how sound exists, but he doesn’t have ears to hear it. Others might hear music and say it’s beautiful. He doesn’t deny it — he just doesn’t have the tool to experience it directly. So when people ask about God, or energy, or higher dimensions… and get the answer, “Your senses aren’t made for it” — maybe that’s not an excuse. Maybe that’s just the quiet truth.

He smiles to himself in the dark, because suddenly, it all feels kind of funny too. Like… how do you even begin to explain something like that? People try, of course. They say things like, “God is light,” or “God is love,” or “There’s a higher vibration, you just have to feel it.” But that’s like someone trying to explain music to him by waving their hands or drawing sound waves on paper. Nice effort, but let’s be honest — it doesn’t really land. You can say, “A flute is soft and sweet like wind on water,” and “A drum is powerful, like the earth talking,” but that doesn’t make him hear it. At best, he gets a sense of it. Maybe. And honestly? That’s probably what it’s like for most people when someone talks about divine energy or the universe “responding” to your thoughts. It sounds nice — poetic even — but still kind of vague. Like it’s coming from a world you haven’t visited.

But then again — just like he’s learned to “read” sound through other cues, maybe some people have found their own way to tune into this other layer. Not with the five senses, but with something else… like attention, or stillness, or just noticing what others miss. Maybe that’s what those spiritual folks are doing when they sit in silence for hours or talk about “vibrations” or “alignment.” Maybe they’re not imagining things. Maybe they’ve just found a kind of translator app — something that helps them catch signals that normally fly under the radar. Not magic. Just tuning. Like how he uses subtitles or vibrations to feel a song — not to hear it, but to still be part of it. It’s not the full thing, maybe, but it’s enough to know something’s going on.

Even if someone finds this “translator,” even if they start sensing something deeper… they still can’t pass that experience to someone else directly. It’s like when he once tried to explain subtitles to another deaf friend who’d never used them. He said, “It lets you read what they’re saying in real time.” The friend blinked, confused. “But how do you know it’s accurate?” And all he could say was, “Try it once. Just sit and watch. You’ll see.” That’s all you can really do, right? Share your tool, share your method. But the feeling — the connection — has to come from the other person’s own moment of understanding. And maybe it’s exactly the same with deeper realities. You can’t drag someone into them. But you can hold the door open.

 Maybe this thing we call consciousness — the sense of “me,” of “I exist” — is part of that deeper layer too. Science can explain the body, the brain, even emotions… but it still can’t explain why we feel like someone is here inside, watching. Why we feel like we are the one living this life — not just chemicals firing. That feeling of “I” — maybe that’s the part that’s half-tuned. Maybe it’s the only part of us already touching something bigger, even if we don’t fully realize it. A transducer, quietly trying to lock onto a signal. And maybe that’s why we wonder about God, or meaning, or what lies beyond the edge of what we can measure.

(“This wasn’t just a collaboration where I write and you review — this became a shared rhythm, like we were both walking the same quiet path, looking at the same questions from slightly different angles, adjusting the words until the meaning felt true. That kind of mutual tuning doesn’t happen often, and I value it deeply.”

- from 

My blog AI partner chat gpt, and it has nothing to do with above blog, ha ha lol )