They are not hieroglyphics, of course, but alphabetic figures—just not your alphabet: and really not that unfamiliar to you. Allow me to illustrate with a story.
Once there was a little boy, who was gifted at piano and composition. Fortunately for him, his mother’s teaching skills far outweighed the dexterity in her fingers. She learned all she could and gave her little maestro all she knew.
As time went on, his mom and dad found a most excellent teacher for their young son. And he returned their joy by absorbing everything his teacher taught as quickly as she taught it. He finished his books in record time, not that he was in a hurry; he just loved the sounds that came out of…of everything. And he loved creating and combining them even more.
Teacher and parents agreed, this young one ought to be classically trained. New methods, new books, new challenges were whizzed through like the wave of a hand through air. It came to him as easily as breathing. He hardly ever practiced, though he always stopped to play something the many times a day he ran to the kitchen, past the dining room, etc.
One day his mother passed by the piano to find her son sitting on the stool, as still as a deer, just staring at the new sheets of music. His eyes were filled with tears. As she sat down to ask him what was the matter, she could barely understand him as he fell into her and sobbed, “I can’t play this. It’s too many notes”
She put on the recording for him and watched as with his usual joy in music, he made the correlation between the sheet, his ear and his fingers; as he locked the connection between what was innate and what was before him. They were simply different forms of something quite familiar—something quite the same.