#16: Listening

I am teaching George to take a walk. Being a Dachshund-Beagle mix, our 8 month old puppy is easily distracted. The hound in him is led by his nose which means he meanders widely and stops frequently to investigate. More importantly, he is led by his eyes and ears which means his fright and flight response is easily triggered. If he sees deer, strangers, or trash bins, his first instinct is to make a beeline back to the safety of the house. George responds similarly to sounds; a loud truck in the distance, a low flying plane overhead, a leaf blower, or a dog barking elicit the same response. As his walker, my ears are similarly attuned as I try to anticipate his reactions and calm his fears. 

Today, our walk was mostly uneventful, yet winter in Virginia continues to delight. The sun, stillness, and temperatures in the 40's welcomed us as we stepped outside. The ice that formed overnight and coated everything after yesterday's rain had largely melted. The earth slowly soaked in the moisture, and we slowly soaked in the sun. We were not alone. Unlike the winter weather farther north, where nature tends to be silenced by frigid temperatures, deep freezes, and the necessity of migration and hibernation, nature comes to life with the smallest amounts of encouragement here. I listened to no avail for startling sounds and instead heard birds in full song.

Feather and fowl of many species remain all winter long in Virginia. Here, one need not wait for the arrival of the first robin as an early sign that spring has arrived. Rather, a flock of robins seems to have settled in the neighborhood, forming a congregation divinely sanctioned to entertain in song for the fortunate listener. And, the robins are not alone as I could easily identify a Titmouse, Nuthatch and Chickadee among the bare branches and decomposing leaves of February. I worked at listening to be sure I didn't miss the woodpecker in the distance or the deer that blended in as masterfully as George to our landscape. 

I have been thinking about the art of listening often lately and even remarked to my husband that perhaps we ought to teach listening skills in school as much as we teach speaking skills. Listening means so much more than simply being quiet until it is your turn to speak. Listening means being able to see the world from the point of view of another and being willing to concede the speaker may have a point of view worth considering. Of course, listening is essential to finding common ground, and humility is essential to listening. Only arrogance can lead us to the conclusion that our experiences and viewpoints are always correct for everyone in every place and all time, no?

I received a most surprising compliment from my younger daughter last week. We were talking about her guidance counselor at school, who responds quickly to her requests and questions, never fails to find time to support her, and listens to her concerns with great empathy. My daughter said, "Mom, I think you would have made a great guidance counselor, because you are a good listener, too." Of course, I allowed myself to relish the moment (Take it when you can get it!) but not too much. 

I do believe that I am a good listener, and my husband often exclaims that he can't believe what others share with me in short order. However, I also know that I need to work at it so that someone's name, for example, doesn't just go in one ear and out the other. Moreover, I need to listen so that the end goal is not to silence the other but to respect the simple existence of another. Then, conversation and even debate might not only be possible but also productive and enriching for both parties. If we listen well, we might sing a different song as surprising as the birds in a Virginia winter, each unique and significant to nature's chorus as a whole. Even George knows that this is something you don't want to miss, something worth exercising despite our shortcomings and fears.

The Winter of Listening

David Whyte

No one but me by the fire,
my hands burning
red in the palms while
the night wind carries
everything away outside.

All this petty worry
while the great cloak
of the sky grows dark
and intense
round every living thing.

What is precious
inside us does not
care to be known
by the mind
in ways that diminish
its presence.

What we strive for
in perfection
is not what turns us
into the lit angel
we desire,

what disturbs
and then nourishes
has everything
we need.

What we hate
in ourselves
is what we cannot know
in ourselves but
what is true to the pattern
does not need
to be explained.

Inside everyone
is a great shout of joy
waiting to be born.

Even with the summer
so far off
I feel it grown in me
now and ready
to arrive in the world.

All those years
listening to those
who had
nothing to say.

All those years
forgetting
how everything
has its own voice
to make
itself heard.

All those years
forgetting
how easily
you can belong
to everything
simply by listening.

And the slow
difficulty
of remembering
how everything
is born from
an opposite
and miraculous
otherness.
Silence and winter
has led me to that
otherness.

So let this winter
of listening
be enough
for the new life
I must call my own.