" ... Since we fail to see what’s going on, it’s no surprise we often fail  to hear what’s going on as well. On his speaking tours, the late American  philosopher Robert Anton Wilson occasionally had his audiences engage in a Sufi  listening exercise. After giving out pens and notepads, he asked the people in  the auditorium to sit in silence and listen intently, while writing down all the  sounds they could hear: distant traffic outside the auditorium, creaking chairs,  fabric rustling as people shifted in their seats, etc. When he asked for a show  of hands, Wilson found the most sounds heard by any one person came to almost  two dozen. He then asked the audience if anyone had heard anything this fellow  had not. The author added these sounds to the list, for a total of over forty.  Wilson had led this exercise plenty of times before in other talks and this was  a consistent score. This proved, he said, that even the most observant person in  the room was aware of only half of what was going on.
 
“Personally, I see two or three UFOs every week,”  Wilson noted on his website. “This does not astonish me or convince me of the  spaceship theory because I also see about two or three UNFOs every week –  Unidentified Non-Flying Objects. These remain unidentified (by me) because they  go by too fast or look so weird that I never know whether to classify them as  hedgehogs, hobgoblins or helicopters, or as stars or satellites or spaceships,  or as pizza-trucks or probability waves.”
 But the world mostly contains mundane things that Wilson could “… identify  fully and dogmatically with any norm or generalization.” After all this  intellectual leg-pulling, the self-described “stand-up philosopher” got to his  epistemological punchline: “I live in a spectrum of probabilities, uncertainties  and wonderments.” Wilson refused to settle on one model for reality. He believed  the universe continually presents us with quantum “maybes,” which our acts of  observation collapse into definitive values.
 That sounds more appealing to me than the hard-edged certainties offered by  religious or materialist dogmatists. Wilson’s attitude toward the big questions  is one of humility, awe and humour. And given the truly weird picture of reality  drawn by contemporary science, that seems like the right attitude to take.  
  
 [ ... ]
  
 If science has taught us anything, the essential nature of the universe is  magical – lawful, but magical nonetheless. And although we humans are conscious  creatures haunted by our imperfection and mortality, our very existence is drawn  from this same ground of being. We’re the universe embodied as intention,  exploring a boundless capacity to create and confound. And Hamlet’s words to  Horatio still apply. No matter how much knowledge we accumulate, there will  always be more things in the heavens and earth than are dreamt of in our  philosophy. 
 
In Myth and Meaning, anthropologist Claude Lévi-Strauss  wrote of his initial shock when he discovered that “a particular tribe” of  Indians could see the planet Venus in full daylight with the naked eye. He  describes it as “… something that to me would be utterly impossible and  incredible.” But when he learned from astronomers it was feasible, he concluded,  “Today we use less and we use more of our mental capacity than we did in the  past.”
 Most academics would have simply said the Indian tribesmen  were “seeing things.” In his book Breaking Open the Head, Daniel Pinchbeck  commented on Levi-Strauss’ discovery. “We have sacrificed perceptual  capabilities for other mental abilities to concentrate on a computer screen  while sitting in a cubicle for many hours at a stretch – something those Indians  would find ‘utterly impossible and incredible’ – or to shut off multiple layers  of awareness as we drive a car in heavy traffic. In other words, we are brought  up within a system that teaches us to postpone, defer and eliminate most  incoming sense data in favour of a future reward. We live in a feedback loop of  perpetual postponement. For the most part, we are not even aware of what we have  lost.” ... "