Listening

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Sometimes the will to show up, listen and find out what wants to come through me, seems to go dormant.

I want to turn a blind eye, and I convince myself that my muse has gone, I have lost confidence, and that it is all hopeless.

Actually I just turned away from myself.

I didn’t want to know.  To listen seemed too big an ask. To distract myself and get busy with a thousand other things seemed so much easier.  And there is always so much that can pull my attention.

So today I sit down to write as a discipline, not because it comes easy.

I am sitting here and writing because I remember how important it is, even though all I apparently want to do is turn the other way.

So here I am.  Not a lot to say, and a streaming head cold which has the effect of making me want to run away from the direct experience of my body.  Even though, when I take time to listen deeper, my body feels warm, tingling, alive, my breathing moves through me like a gentle tide, and there is a sweetness in feeling the touch of my own hands on my body.  There is a sense of weariness, but it is skin deep; and a deeper listening opens me to something which is not weary, but is simply open – life itself tingling, the cells of my body vibrating so quietly I do not notice them unless I pay attention.

It is winter. The trees are completely bare except for the eucalyptus, and the ivy climbing up the trucks of the elder.  The young woodpecker is here, who has finally got the nack of eating peanuts from the bird feeder and now he is an absolute pro, pecking away to his hearts’ content as he curls his body around the metal contraption. Bright red against the grey-green background…

The pond has finally filled, after months of being empty and I can see the blue sky reflected in it.  I wonder if the heron – which spent many an hour last winter, standing silent and motionless as stone and then taking off majestically to circle around the garden and then disappear again – will return.  I loved her still graceful presence.

There is really not much to say.  But I am happy to be here, to be taking this time to listen, give space, and allow little things to surface.  It feels respectful.

Author: fannybehrens1

See more about me by visiting my website www.beingmoved.com

2 thoughts on “Listening”

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