Listening as a Spiritual Practice

If I accept every moment as an opportunity to hear messages from the beyond, I notice myself listening to the radio for snippets of wisdom, reading every bumper sticker as a personal communication from god.

    Listening to my clients creates compassion and empathy clearly, but listening to myself somehow is harder. Taking note of my body’s sensations, every emotion allows my creativity to flourish, even in using crayons to doodle my grayest interior, the fierce red flashes of pain in my joints, the hidden truths behind any headache.

    Joan of Arc was killed for listening to the voices in her head, yet she led an army into triumph. Who am I to deny myself triumph when maybe all I heard was a small voice say “don’t take the freeway”?

    The more I listen, the less I speak, wisdom seems to flourish in my soul, giving me guidance, confidence, and peace. Blessed be.

Notes To Listen Care Fully

• Make eye contact.

• Repeat back what you just heard.

• Pay attention to the body - match their posture, gesture, breathing.

• Make mental notes on your fingers to avoid interrupting. You will remember anything that is important when it is your turn to speak.

• Ask good questions - Go deeper.

• Give all the time in the world.

• Don’t try to fix, solve, or give advice.

• When appropriate, share a story about a similar situation or experience without the expectation that this person will do the same thing. Offer comfort, understanding, empathy and perspective.

• Tell them “I love you” with your eyes while they are talking.

• Follow up somehow - a note, an email, a remark the next day to say: I heard you. I validate you. I know you can work it out. I’m confident in you and appreciate you trusting me with your story.

What My Body Tells Me

My body never lies. My body tells me “yes” when I think of you. My heart races, my eyes widen, and there is an unmistakable tingling between my thighs.
    My body told me when it was not okay. Slowly at first, small burps and farts, escalating as I didn’t listen to full blown acid reflex, the beginning of an ulcer.
    My body feels safe with you now. It sleeps easily in your arms, our feet caressing at the southern hemisphere of blanketdom. My body tells me yes, yes, this is the time, this is the place, this is the one - for right now, for this moment, letting go of any expectations of forever-ness. I notice my fists unclenching underneath the cover of the pillow, the relaxation travels through my wrists and elbows, smoothing out the knots in my muscles, the tension in my shoulder blades.
    For long I doubted, for long I feared, I held back, and my body is flooded with relief to trust, to hope, to burst with joy at the sight of your eyes, the touch of your palm, the exchange of breath before we kiss.
    My body tells me, yes, yes, do this, walk this path with this person at this time. Combine your energies and be amazed at how far the two of you will climb.

On Not Listening

I have been a member of various networking groups over the last few years now, an incredible way to grow my business, create new relationships, and yes, learn some lessons in listening. There was one woman in particular who I found to be perpetually annoying. She would raise her hand several times every meeting and ask questions in a loud, harsh voice, reminiscent of “Horseshack” from Welcome Back Kotter.
    I found myself resisting her energetically, taking a cue from other members, and it was easy to blow her off at first. I’d look away during her initial promotional; write myself notes during her monotonous presentations, using the time to tune out her repetitive monologue and create lists of things to do over the coming week.
    She became louder and louder over time, always interrupting other speakers, making inappropriate comments and off beat jokes when it was someone else’s turn.  I found myself complaining about her after meetings - at breakfast with my colleagues, occasionally with clients, and even my kid would ask what annoying thing had occurred with her this week.
    At some point I realized what a drain of energy this was for me. I felt irritated every time she spoke, the proverbial cat being rubbed the wrong way, and quite certainly I was giving her no referrals. One of her power partners quit the group altogether, stating she could no longer stand the amount of contact they had outside the group, let alone in it.
    During one of our meetings, I noticed that she tended to sit exactly opposite me, no matter where I sat in the room. I decided that this was an opportunity to reflect upon this person as my mirror - when do I want attention? When do I act inappropriate or obnoxious? How could I find commonality with her incessant “pay attention to me” attitude and little girl antics? If we are all one and this was just another part of me, how could I love this part of myself?
    In our initial 60 seconds of silence before every meeting, I started to make lists in my head of 10 things we had in common. The first few were easy: We’re both women, in business, white, the same age, etc. then I had to start digging deeper. This was a great mental exercise, reminiscent of the work I had done in the past to “love my enemy and wish them happiness”.
    I also began to really pay attention during her first promotional, making eye contact, smiling, nodding my head in encouragement.  I discovered that if I gave her my full focus for those 30 seconds, she wouldn’t bug me for the next hour and a half, let alone the whole week.
    And clearly it had an effect on her - on whatever level, conscious or subconscious, she noticed that someone was listening to her. She stopped doing all the extra gyrations to be noticed, and seemed calmer as time went by. As Eleanor Roosevelt says, "Everyone needs a good listening to."

Listen in the Moment

There is much to listen to, here, now, this moment - logs being piled up by the fireplace, a short exasperated sigh to my left, the hum of the heater, whispers of encouragement as the kindling takes the flame. I'm on a silent retreat with a dozen or so other writers, up in Point Reyes, California.
    Breakfast was a pleasant mish mash labeled “Australian Casserole” - I give thanks for hot food on this chilly day. I notice the Christian books for sale, a poster on symbolism I’d like to study later, a jigsaw puzzle of cats and easter eggs that looks completely out of place in this parish hall. In the lost and found I find a four inch horse shoe nail - symbol for Jesus on the cross? I’ll have to google it later.
    I sat with my coffee earlier, looking out the window as a tiny sparrow flicked through the bushes. Yesterday I noticed blackberries when I parked the car, and now I wish I had photographed the mist lying in the redwoods instead of pressuring myself to reach the retreat house.
    The ride up was fast and much shorter than I expected, giving me an extra hour before check in. Going through Oakland the traffic was hairy but I smiled at the thought of making this trail to Berkeley to have lunch with Amber when she goes to college in a few years.
    Amber - dear sweet Amber - the aliens have kidnapped my child and replaced her with a hormonal beast. I need to reread How To Talk So Your Kids Will Listen... I don’t take it personally -  her crankiness, complaining, stomping around - but it wears me out and I wonder how to help her channel her energies. I find it baffling - she cried more over her T-shirt turning pink in the laundry than when her beloved cat died, calling her other mom and posting her woes on Facebook.
    I feel inefficient and ill equipped in these moments. I try to remain serene, a calming presence in the midst of her emotional storm. I recognize my own lessons here, trying to not take on her moods or feel like I have to fix her - though maybe I need to separate out the whites in the wash a bit better. listening to her slam around her room has me clenching my jaw and wondering how to communicate - better me than a couples counselor or divorce lawyer in the future. I wonder if she knows how much she makes me cry.
    In the moment, listening to myself, I hear what all mother’s wonder - was I present? Did I do the right thing? could I have done anything different? In the moment, I hear a voice say, “It’s all going to be all right.”

What I Like to Listen To

My lovers voice - I love listening to the rich tones, whether reading from a book of poetry or telling me about the day. It fills me with pleasure, an aural ambrosia.

My Self - The more I follow my own voices, the easier everything seems.

Music - radio, stereo, singing in the car, shower or while doing housekeeping. Sometimes while working, it is pleasing to have the companionship of human voices in my rather solitary environment.

My Clients - I love their stories. I never get bored. I love listening to their struggles and ultimately their solutions.

Nature - the sound of sea lions and the fog horn through the window at night, the splatter of rain on the windows, the soothing hum of tires on asphalt.

My heart - When I go deep and do my 3, 2, 1 meditation, I really listen to my heart and all it has to say in each of it’s four chambers, what it has to tell me right now.

My body - The pulse in my feet, the creak in my knees, the crack in my shoulders as I twist for relief. Each twinge and ache a message, a chance to respond, to take care of my self.

My cat’s purr - 'nuff said.

What do you like to listen to?

Listening Vs. Hearing

Hearing is the sound of the radio driving my teenager to school in the morning.

Listening is actually paying attention to the lyrics, the tug on my memories as an emotion is recaptured, a certain rhythm or beat that seems to fluctuate with my own life blood.

I hear your words...

I listen to your eyes, your body, your fingers touching mine.

I  hear your story...

I listen to the quality of your voice, the timbre and tempo, the courage it took to utter these words, the risk in revealing your more transparent needs.

I hear you say “I love you..."

I’m listening to your heart, your doubts, your fears, your hopes, your dreams.

Hearing is empathy.

Listening is compassion.

Do you hear me?

Are you listening right now?

Hearing is temporal.

Listening is eternal.

Church of Zumba

There is an inexpressible joy
An ecstasy in rhythmic movement
I call this my
Smiler-cize

My body is wordless
yet knows all the lyrics
the steps well
before my mind

I quench a deeper thirst each time
I make the decision to be here
in Church of Zumba
arms stretched, heart pounding
My hips Salsa, my feet Cumbia
Here is my sacred community

The hardwood floors preserve
The stomps and punches
of the kick boxers before us
The mirrors reflect
Our personal goals

We create conversations of sweat
dialogs and choruses as we
move in sync, discovering
our individual movements
even as we dance as one

Warm up, cool down
So much repetition
So different every time

Each week there are us regulars
and the brave neophytes
A fluctuating tribe of women
learning to love
 the strength
in their bodies, the glory
of perspiration

In this moment we are Shakira
Madonna, Lady Gaga, every Las Vegas showgirl
We are fluid and flexible
we clap our hands and sigh
With relief, stretching our tendons
lengthening our breath

We pour out into the parking lot
Waving goodbyes, drinking more water
This holy moment directs my day, my week
long after
My purifying shower.

October 2010

Listening to Silence

I love listening to Silence. She is a friend of mine. Never a gossip or a chatterbox, we are quite comfortable together. I usually pick her up at the High School after dropping off my teenager, giving her a ride back into town, the sound of the wheels on the freeway and the hum in my head join our quiet chorus.

    We live well together, Silence & I, in the times my daughter is at her other parents’, the times my lover is at his place. We move through the house together, fussing over the angle of a photograph, the feng shui of a chair. With the stealth of the cat, we pad around, tying back the curtains we agree on sunlight and plenty fresh air.

    My lover is jealous of us, feels threatened by Silence, always trying to come between us, trying to fill the gaps with conversation, fearful that I am somehow bored with him and thus courting Silence. But these are the moments when I feel truly at peace, listening to the hum of the tires as the landscape flicks by, the bubbling of morning coffee before we talk about our dreams, the sound of his breath before gently falling asleep.

    We often have lunch with my Dad, who accepts Silence as my chosen companion, and the three of us are relaxed together in the busy cafe. There is no need to impress each other, to discuss the quality of light, the taste of feta and cranberries in our harvest salads, the feel of the plastic tables pretending to be made of wood. We have already reached consensus in sharing our time together, in noticing the lady wearing her slippers with just an arch of an eyebrow.

    Silence has much to say to me. She whispers in my ear, she whispers in my heart, and she holds all of my secrets safe. I listen attentively, a good pupil, always the student, never the master, as I easily live up to my nick name Rambling Rose, trying to validate oh so clumsily in the places where Silence remains simply, sweetly, softly eloquent.


October 2010

next time

next time

bring a sippy cup
a warm shawl
a flash light

bring less stuff
less to do
nap more

October 2010

What My Heart Tells Me

What My Heart Tells Me

    My heart tells me: Thank you, thank you for taking care of me. Thank you for nourishing and exercising me. it makes my job so much easier. I love being your heart. I love bringing all that rich, oxygenated blood up to your brilliant brain and down to your twinkly toes. I love taking away all the carbon dioxide/ the lactic acid, the emotional toxins out of your system. I love being in the center of your body, the center of your being.

    I feel safe in your chest. I feel safe having your ribs gently encircling me, giving me room to breathe, room to grow.

    There are times when I felt battered and bruised, tired and sad, overburdened or just plain stressed. Thank you for taking the time to tend to my wounds, to listen to my woes, to fill me with morsels of hope.

    There are times when I have overjoyed, full of optimism, excitement and enthusiasm. I love being in love and I love the way I expand in your chest when you expand in trust instead of contracting in fear.

    I am your loyal heart. I am always here for you and you can always count on me. Thank you for taking the time to pray with me, to play with me, and above all, thank you for listening to me.

October 2010