Listening

That word, Listening, arises today again and again. Relentlessly it pulls at my heart-strings begging me to come closer, to be more aware of how much there is to hear.

Henning Mankell

The sun calls to the wind, “blow me a kiss.  why are you so coy with me today?  Yesterday you tickled my toes and today you ignore me.”

I hear the tree outside my window.  It too has a voice, “My leaves grow with each word you type.  You please me beyond measure with your dreaming.”

And, of course, Amelia, the grand baby, “Gigi story.  Pwease a story.  I nap in Gigi’s bed with Gigi.”

Kali, our dog, just returned to us from the hospital, stitches and all, “How did this happen?  It was just a pecan.  I have eaten so many others.  It hurts.  I am glad to be home.”

The faucet in my bathroom, “Drip.  I said drip.  Does no one notice I am running?  I have been left as such since morning.  Drip.”

The collage over my computer, “Look at me.  Remember, the best thing after having control is having none.  Back to basics.  The walls are about to cave in.  We like women with gray hair.”

The authors of books strewn across my desk: Lao-Tzu, “How can you follow the course of your life if you do not let it flow.”  John O’Donohue, “the human person is a threshold where many infinities meet.”  Desikachar”We must expect cycles of clarity and confusion, recognizing that falls from clarity may be more disturbing that a state of no clarity at all.” Pema Chodron, “Always meditate on whatever provokes resentment.”

My desk plant, “I am forgotten again.  Dry and neglected I sit and wait for you to notice, to hear me.  Please, water me, now.

The miniature green flocked Christmas tree, “And why, pray tell, am I still about.  I should long ago have been stored away.  My season has long passed and I grow weary of passers by looking at me askance. May I go up to the attic now?”

My nose, “Blow me.  Blow me now or I will send mucous down your throat and make you cough.  I will.  I will do it.  I am so annoyed with you.”

My I-Phone,”I incessantly beep and you do nothing except peck, peck, peck away on that silly key board.  I am important.  I bring you news of the world, Facebook, text messages.  What would you do without me?”

The silence, “I hold the answer to all your questions.  Stop whatever you are doing right now and listen…..”

LISTENING- Rumi

What is the deep listening? Sama is
a greeting from the secret ones inside

the heart, a letter. The branches of
your intelligence grow new leaves in

the wind of this listening. The body
reaches a peace. Rooster sound comes,

reminding you of your love for dawn.
The reed flute and the singer’s lips:

the knack of how spirit breathes into
us becomes as simple and ordinary as

eating and drinking. The dead rise with
the pleasure of listening. If someone

can’t hear a trumpet melody, sprinkle
dirt on his head and declare him dead.

Listen, and feel the beauty of your
separation, the unsayable absence.

There’s a moon inside every human being.
Learn to be companions with it. Give

more of your life to this listening. As
brightness is to time, so you are to

the one who talks to the deep ear in
your chest. I should sell my tongue

and buy a thousand ears when that
one steps near and begins to speak.

Joy in Your Heart

Sunlight blankets the driveway outside my kitchen window.  Light in its purest form reminds me to look inward, to listen, to glean from the Source, what I need to bring forth joy.  My parents never spoke of “joy.”  They used words like, “broke,” “spent,” “out of work,” and “too expensive.” These same themes played out in sentences like, “Money does not grow on trees.”  “You cannot make silk out of a sow’s ear.”  “You have champagne tastes and a beer wallet.” “Enough is enough.  I do not want to hear any more about what you want.” “You’re damn lucky there is food on the table.  Now shut up and eat.” “The children in China are starving.  Why are you complaining?” I cannot recall a time when the word “joy” was used by either one of my biological parents or their other partners, of which my mother had four and my father three.

Christmas was a lavish event, hundreds of presents stacked under the giant tree, but nonetheless joyless.  We six children tried to be patient amusing ourselves until early afternoon when my father finally dragged himself, grumpily out of bed.  “God damn kids.  Can’t get a minutes rest around here.  So much God damn noise,” he yelled casting his dark shadow over our shining faces.

“Daddy, when can we open our presents?”

“Selfish little brats.  Shut up.  I haven’t even had my coffee yet.”

Elaine, my stepmother, tried valiantly to appease.  “Be patient kids.  It will just be a few minutes more.”

When Daddy did sit down with us, he lit his pipe and watched in boredom as we tore into our gifts.  I played Santa, distributing the presents among my five siblings.  Seems not one of us ever got what we really wanted.  Daddy did most of the shopping.  What he bought was strictly governed by the sales he scouted out.  I always thought that the number of gifts under the tree meant more to my father than quality of the item or our satisfaction with it.  Christmas day inevitably ended in a screaming match between my father and Elaine.  He claiming she spent too much money on things we did not need, like clothes, and she desperately drawing attention to the money he wasted buying toys.  Elaine cooked a special Christmas meal and set a beautiful table.  Daddy ate on the couch watching TV.

As I sat, silently eating, I imagined being at Christmas’ elsewhere, enjoying the revelry, the love of families’ laughing, playing games and enjoying being together.  In the midst of our joyless holiday, I created imaginary happiness with make-believe parents.  I promised myself that I would one day have a happy family, one that made Christmas a time to be with friends and relatives, a family whose members loved and respected one another.  I have just such a family today. Tomorrow night on Christmas Eve we will gather here at my house, Jimmy and I, Katie, Greg and Amelia, and Jackie and Leah for our annual Christmas Eve dinner.  Jordan and his partner, Travis are in Virginia with Travis’ family.  On December 25th, Katie is hosting a brunch and present opening for our extending family.  Jimmy and I will probably go to a movie later in the day and then have dinner with our neighbors, Mark and David.  David’s whole family will be there.  Last night we had dinner for thirteen friends, a shower for Nichole who will give birth in January.

I live the lfe I imagined so many years ago.  My mother, father and Elaine are dead.  I am sorry they did not live to share our joy, to see our children grow, marry and have children of their own.  I like to think they would have been happy for me, for the life I have today.  I am grateful to them for giving me this life and for showing me what I did not want re-create.  I choose a life filled with resounding joy.   Even in the hardest times, when the darkness of the past threatens to swallow me alive, I choose to practice joy.  Like the Buddhist concept of Big Sky, I note that the sky is boundless, limitless. It contains everything that arises without stain. Even the horizon is only an apparent perceptual/conceptual boundary that can never be reached. Even on the cloudiest day, I know that above the clouds the sky is luminous, all pervading, limitless and free, just like the heart of a child, my heart and yours.

“Children are not born hating another person…..People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart.”

-Nelson Mandela, 1918-2013