Really Listening

                                                Really Listening

I listen to the quiet between the words.  In that interval between the sounds of us talking, the true, deep meaning is to be found, if only I am gentle with myself, and the speaker, moving into the space of the depth of true understanding.

If I listen to myself and to you, truly listen, then I will hear your true voice, and mine.  I will hear the message that I need to listen, deeply, intentionally, and with love and understanding.  In that lies my intention. I will connect with the heart of our true conversation.

Yes, the words have meaning, and stories are told from the words, and then some.  More.  I listen to the sentences, the rhythm of the speaker, inflections, the rising and falling of the cadence of the words.  I am led gently down the path of the storyteller, and shown the meaning of the words.

What is really being told here, I wonder.  There is more, there is always more.  My task is that of the explorer, the miner digging for the gold in the midst of the rubble, the ordinary chit-chat that often passes for conversation. Herein lies something even greater. So, truly listen.

Go deeper, I am sensing.  There is more to this than just what I am hearing, what is being said.

Underneath this, there is more.  I can feel it deep within me.

There are many layers to this tale, and I listen harder, taking in the silence, strewn among the spoken words, wanting everything that is revealed. I am seeking the message of the silence, exploring its vocabulary, its nuances.  What are you really saying here? And, what am I being called to really hear?

We feel the silence now; the spoken words uttered.  There is tension, the tension of the anticipated, the expected, the comforting patter of more words, more sounds. 

I am on edge; we both are.  This space between these words is new, irritating, literally dis-quieting.  I find myself yearning for a word, a phrase, to keep the banter going.  Part of me is reticent, to not really listen.  Do I prefer banality? Being on the surface, and not going deep.  Can’t I stay here, gliding on the mere surface of our conversation? Then, I won’t have to ponder the silences, and hear in my heart the real meaning of what your heart is saying.

Now I hear your breath, and mine.  There are other sounds, too.  Clothes, papers rustling, air moving, the ordinary background noises of whatever kind of place we are in, the place of normal, everyday conversations, the detritus of our daily lives. 

Yet, when I go deeper, beyond this ordinary sound clutter, my mind literally opens up, expands, so that I can take in all that you are expressing to me, the stuff beyond conversation, beyond the plain words of everyday conversation.

My senses broaden  ---  feeling, seeing, hearing, touching, and yes, even smelling all that you are offering me, in this near vacuum of experience between us. Yet, it is rich and full, and not vacuous, a contradiction.  Or is it? This is rich territory, and, so often, new to me.

If I would only truly sense what you are offering me, I would understand so much more.  You have so much information, so many ideas to express to me, if only I would be open to you, truly open. If I do this right, my senses, my intuition, the entirety of my entire array of sensory neurons would be on fire, overloaded with all that you are telling me.

You share with me in so many ways, ways that we both would agree would be of such enormity that neither of us would be deemed to be competent to assess, even measure.

Henri Nouwen wrote: “Somewhere, we know that without silence words lose their meaning, that without listening, speaking no longer heals; that without distance, closeness cannot cure.

He calls us to visit that “somewhere”, which is beyond our daily, mundane experience, and open ourselves as far as we believe we can go, into new territory of our existence, our humanity. 

He calls us to embrace the silence, and truly listen, to stake out that space between us, and let us be able to reach out to each other within that emptiness, and finally grow.

Now, I can’t reach any further out and listen harder, for the harder I work at this, the more difficult it becomes.  Another conundrum.  But isn’t that life?

The more I try, the less I succeed. No, I need to be now, just be, in all my humanity.  I must listen more gently, easier, more fully with all of my senses, with all of my feelings, on the edges of my soul, my very being.  On the rim of my existence, I must stretch further, letting the experience become in and of itself, beyond mere thought.

In that, I will truly listen to what you are telling me, and I will, at last, hear you, in all of your wonderful mystery and beauty.

                                                --Neal Lemery

                                                11/11/15

Lost and Found

                              

                          By Neal Lemery

   I can be so lost and alone, in a crowd of people.

   I plug into my electronic devices, suddenly accessing the immediacy of "news", social commentary, so many thoughts of others.  Yet, I can be, at the same time, in a dark cave of despair, my isolation and sense of unworthiness becoming the ghosts in the dark.  

   Friends are searching for their own meaning in life, their purpose, their place in this hectic, yes frantic world of immediate deadlines and obligations.  

   We heed the call of the Mad Hatter in Alice in Wonderland, "hurry, hurry."  

   But, we can be lost, easily pushed to the side of the freeway, as the world goes rushing on by.

  What we have sensed that we have lost is being connected with each other.  We used to tell stories around the fire at night, and during the day, work together, laughing and singing, always connected.    We shared the good and the bad.  

   We were close to the land, and the stars, the birds, and, through our hands, we were connected to the earth.  Our work was something we could see, touch, hold onto.  

   How we lived our day impacted our village. If we didn't hunt, or plant, or work together, we did not eat.  We truly connected with each other, and with the universe.  Spirituality was not abstract, it was real.  And, we had accountability around the fire at night, and around the shared meal.  

   Social media is popular, as we are back around the fire, telling stories, catching up, sharing our lives.  It has its drawbacks, and we can easily be alone in a crowd, ignoring the person next to us.  But, social media life is a form of village life, of community.

  Today, friends write about the  power of Alcoholics Anonymous, the Friends of Bill W. Why does that message, that simple act of gathering together and sharing, why does that work for so many people? Why does that change lives? 

  AA works because it is communal, it brings spirituality to the forefront of our lives, it has a belief that our  spirituality and our uniqueness as a person is truly valuable, and we benefit from the spiritual energy of others.  All religions, all prophets have the core message: be connected, love one another, find peace and meaning in being in communion with each other and with the universe.  Avoid separateness, don't be alone.  We are all one brotherhood and sisterhood.  The person next to us matters to us, simply because they are our brother, our sister.

  Yesterday, I reconnected.  The sun was out, it was a perfect day, almost hot, and still, with the colors of Autumn around me.  I had plants to plant in my yard, and it felt good to my soul to push a shovel into the rich, dark soil, and make a new home for shrubs, trees, and daffodils.  

  In sixty or seventy years, the trees I planted will reach their prime, and will send their seeds throughout the valley, and stand tall and proud, objects of beauty for those who come after me.  I will be long gone, but what my feet, back and hands did for those trees yesterday will be remembered by the trees, on the day they moved here and took up residence.  

   It felt good to feel the dirt under my feet, and between my fingers.  I held the plants, and their roots, tenderly settling them into the ground, settling the dirt next to their roots, and watering them in.  One tree needed staking, to hold it up in the coming winter storms.  Yet, all too soon, it will be growing tall and sturdy, its roots firmly reaching downward, connecting with and becoming part of this land.

  Being the tree planter connected me with the earth, and with the universe.  I am part of this place, as is the tree, and the hawk that circled above me, and the wind that blew in off the ocean, bringing the smell of last night's rain.  

  Today, I am far away, meeting one of my buddies, making more connections with him, as he is planting his own trees, and setting down his own roots.  He, too, will grow straight and tall, his soul firmly planted in good soil, taking in the water and sunlight of knowledge and stability, making his life rich and productive.

   I've been teaching him about tree planting, and farming his soul.  He's a good student, and what I've been saying about what we do in the village, how we are part of our tribe, is stuff he's taken into his heart.  

   "What are you doing today?" people ask. 

   Making connections, planting trees, tending my soul, taking care of the brothers and sisters in this world.  That's what I'm doing.

10/7/2013