Living As Listening

Many years ago, I was on a flight from Southern California to Minnesota. As the plane began its slow descent above the Midwestern farmland, I watched out the window, enraptured. At first, I was struck by the symmetry of the cultivated fields, their gridlines stretching mile after mile in every direction, intersected occasionally by a highway or a country lane.

Then, as we got lower, I saw cars and trucks moving on the highway as people went to work, took their children to school, came home from running errands. And as I watched, I saw something that had only become obvious from this vantage point high over head: “They’re all connected! Those people don’t see it where they are, but they’re all connected. We’re all connected.”

That recognition, that feeling, has stayed with me, called to me for the rest of my life.

The wider lens of our jet’s elevation created the space for me to see the movements of everyday life in context—as part of a larger whole. And that view made me want more. I wanted to see if I could learn to sense all the time, and up close, that connection that had been so apparent for a few minutes from the airplane window.

There are many ways of practicing this. Two of my favorite explore the wider lens by deepening our listening. They come from widely different times and cultural traditions. But they also share many elemental attributes. One of the essentials is slowing down.

The centuries-old Chinese practice of taijiquan has its roots in both internal martial arts and qigong healing arts. The gentle, flowing taiji movements are performed very slowly, without strain or effort. Each footstep is placed with intention and care. “Never land with weight on your feet,” is one of the defining rules in taijiquan. Because at the heart of the practice is the principle of wu wei, “actionless action” or “empty stepping.”

In essence, the taiji movements are a form of listening. Unlike a lot of actions that are a kind of statement, a declaration of “I am here!” “This is me!” or “I am doing this!” the slow, quiet actions in taiji are designed to give the taiji player a means to sense and attune to the living world. Empty stepping—walking without landing with weight on your feet—is a reminder that the ground is not inanimate dirt, but a living organism and presence. In taiji, arms and legs, fingers and toes, head, neck, spine and torso all become antennae, ears for deep listening. Moving in this manner, taiji cultivates a deep appreciation and reverence for the natural world, and our place and relationship in it. In doing so, it models the spirit of collaborative stewardship by treating living less as an act of doing, and more as an art listening.

Focusing is a form of body-based inner work originally developed in the 1950s and 1960s at the University of Chicago by philosopher and therapist, Eugene Gendlin. It explores the inner landscape slowly, respectfully, by pausing to listen empathically to whatever is revealed.

Gendlin’s work has been further elaborated on by Focusing teachers around the world. Two of those teachers, Ann Weiser Cornell and Barbara McGavin, developed Inner Relationship Focusing. Here, the Focuser uses empathic listening specifically to cultivate her/his inner relationship with their wounded, exiled and forgotten parts. These are the parts we’re embarrassed by, ashamed of, afraid of; as well as the parts still caught in memories and slights and hurts we can’t move on from.

But Focusing doesn’t bring about change by trying to change the offending or offended parts. Like taijiquan, it avoids “landing with weight on its feet.” So, instead of commanding, cajoling or coercing the wounded parts into some different behavior or feeling, the Focuser practices “actionless action” by slowing down, pausing and acknowledging. S/he listens, gives space and waits, and so creates the environment in which change can happen naturally, where the next life-forward step can be revealed. Not by force, but with the power of acknowledgment, of being present, of being with. The Focuser creates the environment in which change can happen by living in the moment as the listener.

That’s often a challenging task in the world in which we live. It’s noisy. Connection more often than not seems displaced by distraction, conflict and confrontation. It’s not always possible to retreat to a jumbo jet flying at 10,000 feet to get a wider perspective. Even then, clouds might obscure the view, if we manage to get a window seat.

But we can pause where we are. Slow down. Breathe. Feel our feet touching the floor, touching the ground, touching the earth. Maybe thinking about all the feet that, at this very moment, are also touching the same earth. Maybe thinking about all the lungs that, at this very moment, are also breathing in… breathing out. Connected.

It may seem like a small thing. Insignificant even. But in that pause, in that moment of slowing down to listen, we create the environment where change can happen. Even just a bit.

Sometimes, that’s all it takes.