Listening to the Non-Human: Language, Silence, and Presence

The Ávila Runa are known—and feared—throughout the lowland Runa communities for a particular ability. The text evokes this reputation without defining its contours, instead emphasizing its effect on those who hear of it:

Indeed, as I mentioned in the introduction, the Ávila Runa are renowned—and feared—throughout lowland Runa communities for their ability to become shape-shifting were-jaguars.

The sentence says nothing more. It does not describe the process, explain it, or situate it within a broader context. It merely reports a reputation, a circulating fear. The words shape-shifting were-jaguars hang in the air, undeveloped. They point to a possibility without revealing its nature. Is this a physical transformation? A symbolic ? A perceptual experience? The text does not decide. It only suggests that this ability exists, that it is acknowledged by others, and that it elicits a particular reaction.

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Silence as Act

In stark contrast to this evocation of transformation, another practice presents itself, radically different in form and intention. Shikantaza, or “just sitting,” is described as an art where immediacy takes precedence over all mediation. The text that speaks of it mentions neither forest, nor jaguar, nor . It focuses on a single gesture: sitting.

The Art of Just Sitting: Essential Writings on the Zen Practice of Shikantaza.

This sentence, too, is minimalist. It does not elaborate on what “just sitting” means, nor specify what occurs during the act or what it aims for. It merely names a practice without detailing its mechanisms or effects. The title suggests it is an art, but without revealing its rules or purposes. The emphasis lies on the act itself, without reference to anything beyond or any transformation.

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Two Ways of Being Present

On one side, an ability to become something else, evoked through a reputation that travels across communities. On the other, a practice of remaining oneself, without seeking to become anything at all. The two approaches seem opposed: one implies movement, a form of , while the other rests on stillness and the absence of intention.

Yet neither seeks to explain the world. The first does not say how the transformation into jaguar occurs, nor what it signifies. It merely reports a belief or an experience without drawing conclusions. The second offers no method for attaining a particular state, nor any theory on what “just sitting” means. It limits itself to naming a practice without clarifying its implications.

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What Remains

Both texts leave room for silence. In the first case, the silence concerns the nature of the transformation: the text does not say what “becoming jaguar” means, nor how it manifests. In the second, silence lies at the heart of the practice itself: sitting without expectation, without seeking to grasp anything.

Neither claims to provide a definitive answer. They simply propose a way of being present—whether by becoming something else or by remaining oneself, without mediation. One evokes an ability that inspires fear and renown, the other a practice where the act is its own end. But in both cases, something unfolds in immediacy, without explanation, without justification.

Nothing is asserted beyond what the texts say. Nothing is added. Only these two evocations remain, side by side, without a bridge between them, without synthesis. Just an ability to become jaguar, and an art of just sitting.