Listening, listening, listening.
What do You want me to hear?
Bird song?
Mower at work at 7:42 am on a Saturday?
My chest constricting with the story of that?
The fan over the eggs boiling on the stove.
The clink of my spoon against my bowl of oatmeal.
The feel of the pen against my journal’s thick paper.
(Yes, that is something to hear as well.)
Leaning into this other way to listen —
Sensing the texture, the pressure of the inky tip, the
Tightness of my grip around the pen’s rubber neck.
Listening, listening, opening.
Receiving. Feeling the expansion in my chest,
Sensing the easing of “doing” stories.
Even this poem (does it need a label?) —
Dropping the need to analyze, question, compare.
Not meaningful enough? Letting it go.
Not skillful enough? Letting it go.
Not practiced enough? Letting it go.
Not polished enough? Letting it go.
It is here.
The visitor when I listened.
My body’s gentle whispers confirms it is enough.
How are you listening these days? Are you bringing curiosity to more expansive ways of “hearing”? Are you getting quiet enough to connect with (and celebrate!) what’s fresh and new in both your outer and inner world?
