She heard me speak.
It was to a large group of Activities Directors
and she wanted to hear more after the last word. . .
She saw me in the parking lot after the presentation but didn’t,
well, she was afraid,
not so much of what she was going to say,
but what I was going to hear. . .
She called me through an office to another office
who contacted another office
to leave me a message to contact her. . .
I didn’t remember her;
and even now,
several years later I don’t remember her name
or recall in detail her face;
They gave me her name and number,
but I had never met her to remember her;
“Could we meet?”
She wanted to know if we could meet
at an area nursing home where I would be visiting patients
and, as it turns out,
her Partner of nearly 30 years had died. . .
We set a time. . .
A Friday around 11:00 a.m;
She recognized me coming down the hall;
I only saw a woman,
mostly in a shadow
with the sun at her back from a smudged window;
We found a small lounge area
and she began to tell a story
that didn’t so much need telling,
but most absolutely
H E A R D
I l i s t e n e d. . .
L i s t e n e d
with my eyes;
she looked tired,
weary with tears
that begged to streak down her face;
L i s t e n e d
with my nose;
she sprayed on a lot of perfume;
L i s t e n e d
with my mouth;
I sipped from a cup of coffee
that she had poured for me from the lobby;
L i s t e n e d
with my hands;
I handed her a tissue
and felt the roughness of her hands,
her fingers
when they touched mine;
L i s t e n e d
with my heart;
words that a mouth couldn’t share;
L i s t e n e d
with my ears;
but heard more listening in the other ways;
l i s t e n e d. . .
She s o b b e d
that she had been conceived from a rape;
Cried that she was given up for adoption;
Wept that she has been a victim her whole life
and that her Life Partner
left her when she needed her the most. . .
And then she asked me what
I had never been asked before. . .
As she wiped her face from tears
that were replaced just as fast
as they were wiped away:
“W H A T I S T H E S P I R I T T E L L I N G Y O U
T O T E L L M E ?”
I didn’t think.
I didn’t react.
I didn’t analyze.
I didn’t pause.
I didn’t reflect.
I just answered:
“The person I see right here, right now in front of me isn’t the person she has seen all of her life. Look at the person I see and not the one who looks back from the mirror asking, ‘why me?'”
When we L I S T E N just to R E P L Y we never really h e a r!
What. . .
WHAT STIRS YOUR DEEP WATERS OF UNEASINESS
T H I S
literally took place
several years ago
and yet feels just like yesterday
mostly because of the question
that she asked
that has echoed through me
and now asked by me
in situations
places
events
occurrences
with i n d i v i d u a l s
I Y E A R N to know:
“W H A T I S T H E S P I R I T T E L L I N G Y O U
T O T E L L M E ?”
I asked it a week ago of Jenny and Steve
a couple who made it possible for us to vacation
A N D. . .
it wasn’t a tangible worded answer that they gave
so much as a powerful
W O R D L E S S
J U S T B E C A U S E
v a l i d a t i o n
It’s like looking into a mirror dimly
but being being SEEN
e x p l i c i t l y
Sometimes what we hear,
a Heart can only shout
and a mouth can never whisper. . .
Like a ripple that comes lapping up on YOUR SHORE
from an UN-SEEN Place. . .
but undeniably leaves you soaked. . .
Maybe the Language of the Heart
can only be heard by the Soul. . .
understood from the Being. . .
. . .N O T A L L T H A T H U M A N !
It RE-ADDRESSES
RE-FRESHES US. . .
It’s puts us succinctly
at the bottom of a winding staircase
that waits
b e g s
to take us to a higher place
if we don’t fear the
s
t
e
p
s
D I S C O V E R
that we can grow
In the most unlikely of p l a c e s
of s p o t s
if we let go of
WHAT WE KNOW
.and grab on to
what doesn’t always seemingly exist. . .
It just might be the one way to concretely KNOW
what can never be ANSWERED
by the question:
“W H A T I S T H E S P I R I T T E L L I N G Y O U
T O T E L L M E ?”
I’m sorry. . .
did you say something?
Shhhhhhhhhhh. . .
the more silent you are,
t h e
L O U D E R
y o u s o u n d
the better
Y O U H E A R
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