Tea Conversation

Smart Thought and Naobum-Centaur

Over tea, sometimes it is not a thought that arrives, but something much faster.
And that something we called Naobum-Centaur.

Thought is still somewhere in the hallway. For now, she is adjusting her bow, smoothing her words, looking into the little mirror of meaning, and carefully asking
herself: “How can I enter delicately? How can I avoid spilling anything? How can I phrase this gently?”

Naobum is already in the kitchen.

And he does not enter.

He almost flies in, right from the doorway:

— Hello, Funny Face!

And that is it. The room wakes up; the tea trembles in the cup, and the cookie realizes it has already entered the story.

At first it seems as if Naobum is just a random accident.
As if something was not calculated, not checked, and also not walked around three times. Yet suddenly it turns out:
No, he hit the mark. Right in the bull’s-eye. Not near the eyebrow, but straight in the eye.

And right there it becomes clear that Naobum is not so simple. Of course, there is mind in him. Only this mind has not put on its glasses yet.
That is, it has not sat down at a writing desk and started drawing neat explanations. More than that, he arrives before the phrase. Sometimes even before the thought itself.

We called him Naobum-Centaur

One way or another, by definition, he has speed, instinct, a leap, a hoof, and wind. Besides, he does not need to be harnessed: he is already on horseback, because the horse is his own other half.
He does not harness himself, does not prepare for the road, and does not ask circumstances for permission. He hears movement and goes.

Yet above, of course, he is still human. And then he is not only force, not only running, not only a hoof striking the ground.
On top of that, Naobum-Centaur has a bow. So he sees a target. Moreover, he releases the arrow quickly, almost without explanation, but not into emptiness.

Thought is something entirely different.

She walks in circles, reasons, combs herself:

It would be good to approach delicately, to take the circumstances into account, to find the right tone.

Like a blow to the head

Meanwhile, Naobum has already blurted it out. As usual, like a blow to the head.

— You cannot do that, — says Thought.

— What, does the truth sting? — he replies.

And here the argument almost ends. Because Thought is busy with the form of entry, while Naobum is already at the center of attention.
He is not always polite, perhaps not always beautiful, and not always convenient. Still, sometimes he is the first to notice what a beautiful thought would walk around out of delicacy.

Thought generally likes to arrive dressed up; with powdered meaning and neat words.

She stands before the little mirror:

— Well, how do I look today?

Naobum looks carefully and says:

— What a mess, and a bow on the side.

Thought becomes embarrassed:

— What do you mean, on the side? No, that is not about me.

Naobum grins:

— Of course it is not about you.
I mean the naked man in profile.
You are all dressed up there, while truth, in theory, is meant to be naked.

Naked truth

And everything becomes clear at once: Thought, as always, was looking at herself from the outside, while Naobum, one might say, saw the essence of everything immediately.
Including the absurdity on the side, which the mirror, as usual, does not show.

This is his strange usefulness. He does not decorate meanings. He shoots them.

One day Thought entered with special solemnity:
— I have brought a subtle understanding of the situation.

Naobum nodded toward the empty plate:

— Too late, dear. Everything has already been eaten here, without salt and without your subtleties.

Thought felt hurt:

— Well then, did you really not find even one smart, subtle thought?

Smart thoughts were sent to the smart ones

Naobum shrugged:

— Smart thoughts were sent to the smart ones, and I was sent here.

And the kitchen came alive; how is that supposed to be understood?

No one is saying that smart Thought is unnecessary. Not at all.
Without her, Naobum might become just a rush, noise, an arrow into the dark.
Thought comes back later, gathers words, joins the pieces, and gives meaning a form.
She makes it so that what was found does not fall apart.

They simply have different functions.

Thought shapes.
Naobum opens up.

Thought asks how to approach.
Naobum is already standing at the center of attention.

Thought protects subtlety.
Naobum protects the living impulse.

Not a bug, but a feature

One day Thought said:

— Naobum, to put it mildly, you are one complete misunderstanding.

He was not offended at all:

— Most likely, I am a Freudian slip. And besides, not a bug. I am a feature.

And it is true. Sometimes the slip reveals what is hidden.
A random word suddenly opens the basement of meaning.
An awkward joke may hit where a long speech was afraid to look.
A funny phrase can incredibly become a key.
Naobum does not cancel Thought.
He simply arrives from another layer.
From the place where meaning has not yet become proper, but is already alive.
Where movement comes before explanation. Where his arrow, in theory, flies faster than reasoning.

Thus, in “Tea Conversation,” he fits perfectly.
Because this is not a lecture hall, not a tribune, and not a meeting room.
Here you can hear how a word seems to crack, turns sideways, and suddenly opens a door.

Naobum, of course, is not always mindless.
Sometimes he is mind before thought.
A knock before the key. A shot before the map. “Oh!” before “Boom!”

And Thought will come closer later, adjust her bow, look at the arrow mark, and quietly admit:

— All right. This time you hit it.

Naobum is already drinking tea. Almost in passing, he says:

— I always hit it. I just do not like fussing around the way you do.