seen
witnessed
grokked.
Isn’t it so?
You don’t want to be fixed
made better
no!
The white bone of your soul wants to be heard.
To be heard, it appears,
we also must be listening.
Which entails opening the tent flaps on our hearts and
letting the stories of pain and suffering, and of celebration and soaring (you know how sometimes those are harder to allow), in
while we remain rooted, reminding ourselves “I am here and I hear you.”
What changes when we truly see and hear each other?
and
When we ask to be seen? (gulp)
Confession: I used to think this witnessing stuff was a load of new age soft serve hogwash — after all, listening doesn’t feed anyone. Doesn’t stop violence, dictators, bombs.
But as I learn more about serving, aid, conflict, I keep glimpsing a thread shimmering: Listen to me. Listen to what you took from me. Listen to how I was hurt, forgotten, ignored. Honor my story. Acknowledge me.
Certainly listening to the world – right now it’s the birds – is a portal to savoring.
Who will you listen to today? Who will you ask to listen to you?
