Dear Sunday: listening
on using ears and mouth in proportion
Children are tuned in to a world we rarely access. To connect to a similar awe you must listen, be quiet and still.
Every time you practice this attention you will hear something new, something different. Every moment is changing, so even through the course of this moment, you will hear new intonations. Listen. Listening is the story we become, the joinery of deep presence and unfolding.
It is through listening that we see the magic of the world. The magic is often heard before it is seen, and is often seen in retrospect, with hindsight. But with listening, we are able to see magic unfold before us.
We were designed to listen.
How though? How to find time to listen in the bustle of the day?
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Stillness has been my guide. If I follow my earliest thread of curiosity it leads me back to my very first memory of watching the dust glint in the sunlight that shone through the window pane as I read books in the early tawny dawn light. Dust glinting in the sun—Spirit in Matter. The juxtaposition of the regal and the earthy. Dawn time, stillness, beauty, listening, breathing—these are the things I sit with today, this morning, and every morning. I remind myself, too, that stillness is not the absence of movement, stillness is the presence among it. Stillness is the mountain, who is moving and still, who listens to all.
There is a Japanese concept called yutori, a spaciousness. I heard Naomi Shihab Nye speak about this concept with Krista Tippett in an On Being interview a while ago. Nye had a student who explained yutori to her, and I'll quote her from the interview, regaling the letter her student wrote her. "And a girl, in fact, wrote me a note in Yokohama on the day that I was leaving her school that has come to be the most significant note any student has written me in years. She said, “Well, here in Japan, we have a concept called ‘yutori,’ and it is spaciousness. It’s a kind of living with spaciousness. For example, it’s leaving early enough to get somewhere so that you know you’re going to arrive early, so when you get there, you have time to look around.” Or — and then she gave all these different definitions of what yutori was, to her. But one of them was: “After you read a poem, just knowing you can hold it — you can be in that space of the poem, and it can hold you in its space, and you don’t have to explain it. You don’t have to paraphrase it. You just hold it, and it allows you to see differently.”
It's interesting to see differently. When we open our eyes after listening, we see differently. And that listening consistently can teach us to be more connected to each moment. People can tell when we truly listen to them, and they feel closer to us. Our body can feel when we listen to the moment. Think of the last time someone gave you authentic attention, and listened to you. It was magic, your hearts were two tin cans on a string. To be an empty vessel holding space for the story of another is the essence of receiving. Children receive in this way regularly, and I wonder if this is the key to their unbridled joy. This week, I am an empty vessel, I am space for stories.
I am so grateful we are here together. I hope you leave this note feeling a sense of calm and that you can hear the thrum of your own ancient ability to listen. I would love to hear from you. What are you listening to? What has your attention?
Until soon,
Lindsey
PS, this summer has been steeped in lingering for me. I’ve been turning it over and over and peering at the idea of lingering through different lenses and from different vantages. I’ve been writing about it. The thing is, this summer has me in a very interesting place I’ve never been, but I have been here before. I know this is abstract, and it needs to be that way for now, but I’m really thrilled about some upcoming shifts that I’ve been working on all summer (and for a lot longer too). For now, I love you and I love this space and I’m coming back with more regularity! I wrote this essay about listening a while ago and some of you may have read it.
Five things I’ve been obsessed with this month:
North Carolina
Marie Howe’s New and Selected Poems
Natural frugivore foods, as a frugivore, it only makes sense.
“Everything We Need”