Deep Listening: Ear of the Heart
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| Photo Credit: aussiegall |
Learning to listen involves stepping out of our
incessant inner dialogue, and using what St. Benedict called the “ear of the
heart.” This deep listening offers a compassionate space for healing and
intimacy.
One of my meditation students, Kate, discovered
the power of listening in her relationship with her mother, Audrey, a wealthy,
successful, brilliant, and yet narcissistic woman. Those who knew Audrey well
kiddingly referred to her as “the center of the known universe.” A well-known
writer, Audrey treated other people as orbiting satellites, audiences to regale
with stories; their role was to let her shine in her own reflected light.
Audrey could be lively and charming when holding
forth, but she was exhausting to be around. As soon as they could, both of her daughters
settled on the opposite coast. Kate’s older sister rarely returned for visits,
and while Kate came for holidays, she kept her stays brief. Their step-dad
loved his wife, but he and Audrey had drifted into a routine that lacked
intimacy. Some of Audrey’s friends still tolerated being a captive audience, but
as she aged she became increasingly isolated.
Kate came to one of my Conscious Relationship
workshops to focus on her marriage, not on her mother. Yet, by the time she
left, she’d become acutely aware of
her mother’s woundedness, and of the possibility that deep listening might lead
to healing. Her inspiration was the image of a fountain.
During the workshop, we envisioned our inner life
and spirit as a fountain that becomes clogged with unprocessed hurts and fears.
As we ignore our painful feelings or push them away, they impede our flowing
aliveness and obscure the pure awareness that is our source. By not listening
to our inner life, we cut ourselves off from reality. What remains is a
diminished self, an unreal other.
However, when we confide in someone and they
listen to us, really listen, the debris naturally begins to dissolve, and the
fountain of aliveness is again free to flow. And, when we really listen to
another, we help them come home to this same aliveness.
It’s
important to remember that this process takes time. As we begin to listen, we
often come face to face with the distasteful tangles—the jealousy or
self-consciousness or anger that have been clogging the fountain. The
conversation might seem superficial or dull, nervous or self-absorbed.
Yet,
a dedicated listener hangs in there without getting lost in resisting or
judging. This unconditional presence can be a healing balm that gradually helps
the speaker’s tangled defenses relax so that his or her natural vitality and
spirit can emerge. Perhaps you’ve noticed this when someone is really listening
to you. You feel calmer, whole, “more like yourself”—more at home. Like an
unclogged fountain, the deeper waters of humor, intelligence, creativity, and
love begin to flow.
Kate left the workshop with the intention of
experimenting, and when an opportunity to attend a professional training session
near her mother’s home presented itself, she decided it was time to try deep
listening with her. She made
arrangements to stay for ten days, her longest visit with her mother since
she’d left for college.
Now, Kate really listened during their time
together. As we’d practiced, she listened
inwardly to her own tension without judgment when she felt resistance, then
reopened to whatever her mother was saying. In the same way, when she felt
unimportant, impatient, bored, or judgmental, she brought mindfulness and
kindness to her own experience. By doing so, she was able to bring that same
open and clear space of presence to her mother.
Kate admitted that at first, it was hard. “I had a
panicky sensation,” she told me. “It was like I would drown if I didn’t get
away, if I didn’t find a way to have some of my own space. She takes up so much
room!”
Yet, Kate found that if she kept a sense of humor
about it, she could breathe, forgive her own reactions, and keep coming back. Then
she would coach herself to deepen her presence: “Now … what is happening? My
mother is talking, and I am quiet. There is endless time. I hear it, every word.
And what is beyond the word? . . . I hear who she is.”
As Kate listened for what was behind her mother’s
words, it got easier for her. She began to hear desperation, as if her mother was insisting over and over, “I’m
here, I matter.” Taking in her mother’s pain, Kate felt her heart soften with
care.
Through her own quiet, steady presence, Kate
communicated, “You are here, you matter.” And her mother started to relax. Kate
knew this, because there were longer pauses between the stories and commentary—her
mother sat back more in her chair, looked out the window, slowed down, and
seemed more reflective.
Several days before Kate was scheduled to leave,
her mother began to tell her that she felt alone and unappreciated. Kate was
able to respond with sincerity, gentleness, and honesty. “Mom,” she said, “it’s
because you don’t listen to people.”
Her mother froze, but to Kate’s surprise, didn’t
get defensive. Kate had been so truly present, and had offered such uncritical
sympathy, that a trust had emerged—this was not an attack, but a caring
reflection of truth.
Her mother wanted to know more: “Please tell me, I
need to know.” And Kate told her. She explained how it had been for her sister,
for their dad, and now, for her step-dad. “When you don’t listen, people feel like
they don’t matter, that they’re not known. And it’s true—you can’t know them if
you don’t listen. You can’t be close.”
Audrey looked at her daughter with a sorrow and
understanding that pierced Kate’s heart. And in that moment, something changed.
Maybe the pain of alienation had broken through her defenses, or maybe this was simply her time, but Audrey
started to listen.
Others noticed, too. After her sister’s next visit
with her mother, she told Kate, “For the first time in my life I felt like I
was a real person to her … that I existed!” The change was most poignant
with Kate’s stepfather, who began to
enjoy the long dinners and evening walks that had been abandoned shortly after
their marriage.
Audrey was
no longer speaking to demand the world’s attention. She was speaking and
listening in order to belong with other people, to share their lives. Because
Kate had listened and let her heart be touched, her mother’s fountain had begun
to unclog. Her life could once again flow from its source.
Adapted from TrueRefuge (2013)
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