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Posts Tagged ‘listening’

When we listen, we hear someone into existence.
Laurie Buchanan, PhD

What is Pretty? A Long-Ago Question

I rewrite a scene from my own ancient history.
Not to alter its reality or change 
what has already happened. Because
I have learned a kinder way to pass on
a response to children, fresh adults.

In my past I stand before a mirror
and criticize not-styled hair on an insecure 
head until the pain erupts into panic.
My mother replies in a razor-sharp tone,
Pretty is as pretty does.

A comb. A brush. Mundane tools.
I catch what my mother is implying.
Inside I am not worthwhile either.
Ten commandments on stone.
How do I release them into real time?

Much later I learned the gift of listening.
Touch. One set of eyes aware of another
person’s experience. You see ugly? Let me
tell you what I see. Let’s discover the beautiful inside,
said with a smile. Same message. Improved delivery.

The difference between a stagnant pool and a lake.
A lake was given space to exist and move.
Perhaps I understand because
I have tried to swim in both places.
And have learned love along the way.

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The wound is the place where the Light enters you. (Rumi)

The mission. To fill aching cracks. In people with warring views. In the world. With glue that connects more than bones or moments. With one glue known as truth, another known as love.

Should be, words as vacant as a cup with no bottom. Who owns the should-be privilege? A limited few or a diverse population? A political circle or a world team? Violence at the Capitol Building in Washington DC. Because an angry mob wanted a different leader. How did it help?

Destruction, obvious. Wounds, untouched, made deeper.

Light. May it find a way to reach universal suffering.

 

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acrylic painting I made recently based upon a photo of a birch in Acadia Park in Maine

There’s a lot of difference between listening and hearing. (G. K. Chesterton)

The scene is a circle of young women. In the distant past. I am among the women as I admit I am close to despair.

“Look at the beauty of the trees in the yard,” one member advises. She spreads her arms as if she were Mother Nature enjoying her handiwork.

The scene she describes doesn’t lift me. I feel censured for embracing a less-than-perfect place. And the blue rug where I sit opens. Or at least it seems to open. I fall through. Hidden inside.

Later. Much later. I realize I couldn’t accept the glory because it wasn’t mine. It belonged to someone else. I’d been given a simple answer to a complex situation. An accepting nod would have been better.

Strange. I understand this after my ears needed amplification to catch the most uncomplicated conversation.

It is also strange that I am grateful for the depths because now I can recognize a natural gem and celebrate its worth.

The news advertises fear. With or without facts depending upon the source. A friend calls about her confusion. I don’t have answers. I listen…

 

 

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Try to see things differently – It’s the only way to get a clearer perspective on the world and on your life. (Neal Shusterman)

Laundry waits inside a plastic, easily opened hamper. If it were viewed by the privileged, it would be dismissed, seen as mundane, too common to be noticed.

If it were given to a group with nothing, the people would open the lid and stare inside. They would gather and empty the contents. Find a use for every fiber.

It belongs to me. I take it for granted. Wash and dry. Watch the time as if I owned each minute.

Friends and I talk. I listen. We see life differently. Together, we cleanse one another’s thinking. Peace, please.

 

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Change yourself to change the world. Keep it personal today. (Horoscope for Taurus, February 25)

I usually read my horoscope in the daily newspaper, not because it rules my day. I’m curious. Sometimes the advice is so vague it could fit any situation; other times it fits in an odd serendipitous way—like accidentally opening a how-to book to the right page—without effort.

Last night my husband and I went to a fun, well-attended family wedding. I noticed we were seated at a table with relatives who have polar political views. Yet, we did not discuss them. We shared our love for one another. Our lives as they are. I felt blessed. When we separated, I experienced a sense of loss, a longing to see these good people again as soon as possible.

If we had delved into our differences, I suspect the bond could have been tested. The differences need mending. Among families and in the world. However, the breaks can’t be healed in a single discussion. They can’t be adjusted within the us-versus-them void.

Have I changed my mind about laws that affect the poor, the immigrant, the marginalized? Absolutely not. That does not mean I need to react with name-calling. What I say reflects who I am. May the power of the written and spoken word add healing, not pain. Eventually…

can-we-risk-peace

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