May it continue

A meditation on silence and what listening means to me

Mostly, we want to tell our stories and leave our mark on the world.

In a world that is constantly shifting, and changing, and even threatening to leave you behind, there is always this urgency to find ourselves. Maybe it’s because our own self is the only one thing that will remain constant in our life as things and people come and go.

But I have never really had a good grasp of myself. I often worried about taking up space and speaking over others. I always worried about my thoughts being not good enough, not being special enough to be heard. There are plenty of events and circumstances a person can go through in life that can make the voice inside their heart waver or even lose the sound of it altogether. I think growing up is like that. Slowly losing your voice and then trying to come back to it years later, trying to remember what you sounded like before your voice was drowned out by everything else.

I was interested in making myself smaller. As much as I craved for someone to look at me and understand me, it's not something I had ever been well accustomed to. Not all of us are fortunate enough to have a safe place where we can bare ourselves. For some of us, sometimes being seen meant something terrible. If someone were to look at me too much, I would run away and hide.

Back then, having a place in any conversation didn’t feel right to me. It didn’t feel safe for me. So I resigned to being a listener.

But I have been slowly trying to change that, and slowly trying to speak more. I’m trying to find that small voice in my heart again and help it remember how to sing its song again, one word at a time.

---

Mark Osborn, The Little Prince, 2015

Over the past few years, I have been learning how precious my voice is, thanks to my friends and the people around me, who, I have learned, are much more kinder than life has lead me to believe. People are naturally curious and eager to listen, and learning about their propensity to pay attention and understand has made my journey all the more easier. But even as I grow more comfortable with myself, I think I have found immeasurable value in my years of silence and years of running away.

When you are at your lowest point, but still open and still listening, the world opens up before you. More than you ever think it could. Even the smallest things carry their own wonder and secrets if you listen closely enough. And when you reach this point, all you’ll want to do is listen, listen, and listen.

Most importantly, I remember how even at my most silent and my most despondent, I had dear friends who still listened. Even when I couldn’t hear my own heart, they heard its voice and payed close attention. They found something worth listening to. They found something precious to shine a light on when I thought it was too dark inside to find anything. My best friend always did. She heard my heart, amplified its voice and became its spokesperson when I couldn’t do it myself, and in turn reminded me of my own stories and wishes that I tried to forget about.

---

From Jessica Dore:

We don't listen & I think that's a big part of our problem. We love our hero stories & personal narratives & the concept of authorship, but have no clue how to be receptive. It's always "what am I trying to tell" & never "what is wanting to be expressed through me?"

"What is wanting to be expressed through me?" Well, I think about the swirling emotions, stories, feelings, hopes, dreams, wishes I'm carrying. Some I have spun myself. But mostly, the stories inside me are ones I have found, inherited, been given. Not my own. A lot of what makes me, me, are pieces of others. I think deeply and carefully on each and every one of these stories. Which ones I want to give voice to, to let express through me, to let continue and build upon, and give a bigger life to.

I think a lot about which ones I want to take care of and nourish just like others have done with mine.

In listening to the people around me, in paying attention to the world outside of me, I notice important work that needs to be done that many others have laid down the foundations for. I honour the people around me and the ones who have come before me by listening to their hearts and giving voice to them as I go on about my life.

In Diane di Prima's words, "we begin the work / may it continue" I want to be someone that hears the quiet voices around me and uplifts them. I want to be someone that sees the unfinished work left behind by those who have passed. I want to be someone that acknowledges and continues preexisting work laid out before me, especially work that is so heavy it needs all the hands and hearts it can get to carry (and that is often the case with the most important work, like building a better world for each other). I want to take these precious wishes, dreams, and hopes that belong to others into my hands, and see to it that they will be listened to, payed attention to, and eventually, fully realised.

Let my life's work be that of continuing.

Let my life's work be that of a lover. And not just any kind of lover, but an artist, who can make visible the things that are invisible. As James Baldwin put it: The role of the artist is exactly the same as the role of the lover. It's because I love you, I love this world, I [want] to make you conscious of the things you don't see… and things that you don’t hear.

Mark Osborn, The Little Prince, 2015

I don't believe there will ever be an end to this, that we will ever reach a day when the work is finished. But this is our ongoing work: to notice the work and to carry each other to the next day, and the next.

Let me never forget or lose sight of all the work and love around me. Let me illuminate and give voice to them so that their love may continue, and continue, and continue. If I can pay attention to and represent anyone's heart—the forgotten ones, the ones that have difficulty trying to express themselves, the ones that struggle to be heard—I think that would be the greatest honour.