valley cactus in bloom at Grace LandRecently I had an opportunity to sit and listen as a friend spoke about her partner learning she may have lymphoma. My friend had already left me a message asking if she could call and “be received," speaking through fears, questions, confusion, concern. Her request brought to mind a Margaret Wheatley article where she talks about “the simple practice of being brave enough to sit with human suffering, to acknowledge it for what it is, to not flee from it . . . When I bear witness,” Wheatley continued, “I turn toward another and am willing to let their experience enter my heart. I step into the picture by being willing to be open to their experience, to not turn away my gaze.”
Both of the women in this relationship have been at the forefront of my thoughts and prayers the past two weeks during testing, a biopsy, and the predictably uncomfortable wait for results. Clearly the best loving I can do is to "bear witness" and “receive” my friend, listening with utmost tenderness as she ponders what this could mean in their lives.
Last year I asked another friend of mine if we could practice ‘radical listening’ together. On regular walks one of us would talk while the other listened without trying to figure anything out or offer advise at the end, simply staying present for attention’s sake, taking in as much of the other’s experience as possible. This is different from trying to ‘fix’ something or someone, and as is so often the case, how would we know anyway what should be fixed? In the case of my friend whose partner may soon be navigating an intense and uncomfortable course of treatment that I know little about, what in the world could I offer that would be better than listening while remaining powerfully present?
It’s certainly a very different situation, but I’ve found I must be in a similar place of “receiving” or “bearing witness” when I visit a classroom to observe a teacher, watching and listening with as much attention as I can muster. My work is to center myself and absorb what that teacher is doing as he or she interacts with a group of learners, later giving a voice to what I’ve seen and heard in a way that will hopefully encourage someone to reflect on this incredibly difficult endeavor of teaching. My friend has a strong propensity for reflection and I only hope that after listening to her, whatever I shared may be of help as she and her loved one traverse the potentially arduous healing path ahead.
In the world of education I’ve never felt particularly comfortable with the label of ‘master teacher.' Looking back on my own career some startling mistakes remind me how I could have done a number of things very differently. Although I made plenty of changes while still in front of classes day after day, there are other things I was simply oblivious to at certain points in my practice. What stands out to me, however, is an almost bulldog-like commitment to keep on keeping on. Such vigilance certainly included experimenting with some different instructional methods, but ultimately mixing determination with a willingness to listen carefully may have helped me more than anything to become a stronger teacher – listening to other teachers, administrators, authors, parents, students, and especially myself.
That’s the real test: when I can take all that I’ve heard and turn the lens back upon myself, “bearing witness” not only to what others are saying to me, but also really hearing what I am saying to others as well as what I’m saying to myself. Whether in the moment or later, when I am able to step outside of the circumstances and carefully observe such things, some stark realities fly in the face of how I think I’m being or what I thought I was saying or doing. For example, as I remember the conversation with my friend and all that was shared, I realize that amidst my love and concern for her and her partner, a certain preoccupation surfaced with “am I saying this right?” or “am I being of value here?” along with nagging fears and doubts around my own life. What if this were me or my spouse? How would we navigate a similar situation? Some of this chatter can be relevant, but other internal conversation simply sounds like my own ego jumping in trying to 'save the day.'
I’m inching up on my sixth decade of living and honestly, I don’t know if it’s my age or the world these days that makes life seem increasingly challenging. Hannah Arendt once said that it’s when we are in dialogue that we are most human. My hunch is that learning to engage in the some of the most meaningful dialogues, whether with myself or others, can also mean learning to practice the deepest kind of presence possible, receptive silence. If only I will be courageous enough to take time to “bear witness” on my own life, over and over, so that doing so with others is truly of help. I hope I can do this next week in the most supportive way possible when I see my friends in Texas. Several days ago they learned that lymphoma is indeed the diagnosis.
It’s certainly a very different situation, but I’ve found I must be in a similar place of “receiving” or “bearing witness” when I visit a classroom to observe a teacher, watching and listening with as much attention as I can muster. My work is to center myself and absorb what that teacher is doing as he or she interacts with a group of learners, later giving a voice to what I’ve seen and heard in a way that will hopefully encourage someone to reflect on this incredibly difficult endeavor of teaching. My friend has a strong propensity for reflection and I only hope that after listening to her, whatever I shared may be of help as she and her loved one traverse the potentially arduous healing path ahead.
In the world of education I’ve never felt particularly comfortable with the label of ‘master teacher.' Looking back on my own career some startling mistakes remind me how I could have done a number of things very differently. Although I made plenty of changes while still in front of classes day after day, there are other things I was simply oblivious to at certain points in my practice. What stands out to me, however, is an almost bulldog-like commitment to keep on keeping on. Such vigilance certainly included experimenting with some different instructional methods, but ultimately mixing determination with a willingness to listen carefully may have helped me more than anything to become a stronger teacher – listening to other teachers, administrators, authors, parents, students, and especially myself.
That’s the real test: when I can take all that I’ve heard and turn the lens back upon myself, “bearing witness” not only to what others are saying to me, but also really hearing what I am saying to others as well as what I’m saying to myself. Whether in the moment or later, when I am able to step outside of the circumstances and carefully observe such things, some stark realities fly in the face of how I think I’m being or what I thought I was saying or doing. For example, as I remember the conversation with my friend and all that was shared, I realize that amidst my love and concern for her and her partner, a certain preoccupation surfaced with “am I saying this right?” or “am I being of value here?” along with nagging fears and doubts around my own life. What if this were me or my spouse? How would we navigate a similar situation? Some of this chatter can be relevant, but other internal conversation simply sounds like my own ego jumping in trying to 'save the day.'
I’m inching up on my sixth decade of living and honestly, I don’t know if it’s my age or the world these days that makes life seem increasingly challenging. Hannah Arendt once said that it’s when we are in dialogue that we are most human. My hunch is that learning to engage in the some of the most meaningful dialogues, whether with myself or others, can also mean learning to practice the deepest kind of presence possible, receptive silence. If only I will be courageous enough to take time to “bear witness” on my own life, over and over, so that doing so with others is truly of help. I hope I can do this next week in the most supportive way possible when I see my friends in Texas. Several days ago they learned that lymphoma is indeed the diagnosis.
To relieve suffering NOW, by deep listening, is the best thing we can do to help others. If we can listen, we can learn from their pain (come to terms of impermanence) and we can break down our perception of what we THINK. To relieve suffering means to listen, to not only those we love, but those we hate. hard task-- but sitting and listening without judgement is a fine art. When someone is suffering, the best thing we can do to relieve their suffering is to listen openly without a solution. Deep listening is healing in itself.
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