Maybe half a dozen times in the past few weeks my four-year-old has come up to me and out of the blue started spouting some wise declaration about listening. Like a little oracle with tangled hair and chocolate on her cheek, suddenly possessed with an urgent need to share. From playing with a collection of shimmery toy mermaids on the floor to looking up at me with her big green eyes and telling me what she knows about being quiet, and then right back into the mermaid lagoon again as if nothing had just happened.
Sometimes I sit on our step, and if I hold still, the Cardinals come and if I close my eyes - I can hear their beaks cracking and clicking the seeds when they are eating and it makes me feel peaceful - Lorelei (4 years old)
When this happens, these little sermons, I stop and notice that my heart has turned into a small brown bunny, all softness and warmth, something fuzzy and fast, my nose is twitching because my eyes are prickling with the kind of tears that come when a child says something that doesn’t really seem from the child but straight from some other magical source, landing directly, squarely in the middle of your heart…it hurts a little at first but not in a bad way.
I like to close my eyes and listen to nature, and hear the wind and the trees and the birds, and sometimes if I’m near water I can hear water moving back and forth, and it makes me feel happy and quiet inside. - Lorelei
It makes me feel quiet inside, that part killed me. What does a four-year-old know about being quiet? Apparently, a whole heck of a lot more than I do.
It’s happened enough times, these orations, randomly as mentioned, that I have taken note - literally, I have been writing down what she says because I have the memory of a goldfish and these words are good - they feel good to hear and I want to remember them because honestly I forget. I forget that we have a say in how and when we listen. Sometimes, to get quiet inside we have to purposely close our metaphorical and physical eyes - firmly plant ourselves in a soft dark, slightly sparkly, place (Lorelei says, did you know if you close your eyes you can see colors like rainbows behind your eyes? I don’t see rainbows. I see blackness and some white bacteria-like shapes floating around, but I know what she means), maybe make ourselves a little blind to what we think we see so that we can tune into the small tiny universes happening in front of us…like a seed being cracked open.
Truth be told this kind of simple open joyful listening has been almost impossible for me the past few months - scatch that, for most of my life. Oh don’t get me wrong - I’m a person who likes to think I’m paying attention; I like to think I’m tuned in. I would have argued four months ago that I was quite the mindful and intentional little human. My mantra here in this space has always been very much about slowing down in all the myriad of ways possible. When I go for walks in the woods I am FULL of noticing. When I’m sitting having tea with the girls in the morning, I see the light and shadows from the sun coming in through the window and landing on the ottoman and snap pictures (see picture below as evidence).
HOWEVER, I’m also tuned in at the same time to a gazillion other mental radio stations blaring at the same time. I notice EVERYTHING all at once. Humorously, but also not really …more like darkly sad funny, even when I think I’m being present this is happening. It’s become so normal to have this level of mental clatter that I had not even been aware that it might be atypical. Spending the VAST majority of my day standing somewhere muttering out loud “That’s weird” because I can’t find the thing that I was just holding or could have sworn was “right here.” I cringe when I hear myself say this word out loud… weird…because it’s not really - it’s quite normal and happens on the regular. Even Esme has said Mom, it’s not weird… it’s just you.
And it’s been getting worse. Especially worse since my estranged father died in November. Something about the upheaval seemed to make that radio dial just start spinning around like a ghost was playing with me. There has been very little actual music and a whole lot of noise and subsequent headaches. I joked to Christopher, my partner, that it felt like I was getting early dementia, I laughed when I said this but inside I scary movie whispered oh my god, what if I’m getting early dementia….this idea frightened the bejeezus out of me.
And fear my friends is a great motivator for me - it’s always propelled me forward. Maybe actually as I’m writing this it’s more that I have an actual lack of tolerance for the feeling of fear but regardless it lodged itself in my days and I noticed a hint of scrappy desperation bubbling up. I was unable to move forward without some help, some tools, and some information.
Acknowledging how hard it was for me to concentrate on anything I made some moves; I quit social media for the year on January 1st. And in case you suddenly, just now…take a breath it’s ok… felt squirmy thinking oh God, is this going to be another let me tell you how evil social media is and how good it feels to be off diatribe; I’ll simply state it has been good. I don’t miss it. I feel a million times more like the human I would like to be in the world. End of story on that front. Then I quite begrudgingly started meditating in the mornings. It’s EXTREMELY difficult for me and very very annoying and I can only do it in five-minute increments (I forget three days out of five) but it is happening. And then I went and got a therapist… actually, two…wait it was three (don’t laugh, it takes a minute to find the right one and sometimes there is overlap!). I started talking and it turned out they all agreed (I’m down to just one now but there was a sweeping consensus) that I had a few things going on; complex PTSD from years of abuse from my father, undiagnosed inattentive ADHD (say whaaaat????), and untreated trauma. Oh goodie. Labels! But also a deep Ohhhhhh… I felt an exhale from somewhere deep down inside. I sat and scratched my head and thought, well now what?
I don’t mind labels. I like to read ingredient lists - it matters to me - what’s on the inside, what makes up this jelly I’m about to smear in obnoxious quantities onto my gluten-free toast. And that’s how I look at it with myself. These labels are waving at me gleefully from the label of my jelly, pointing out ingredients I didn’t even know were in there. That sour taste was in fact due to someone sneaking in some lemon juice way back when on the sly!! So there ya go. You know when you buy something and there’s the main ingredient list and then down below in fine print, it says other ingredients. These other things are maybe why you’ve been breaking out in hives and having migraines…sometimes they’re no big deal but sometimes there’s something on the list you can’t sound out for the life of you and you whisper “I don’t think that’s even food.”
Then of course there’s the fact that labels are on containers, they serve to explain in finite terms what’s inside and so by their nature they are limited - and that’s one of the dangers. They can contain you; hold you in their embrace - you are x,y,z now whether you like it or not...forever (insert maniacal laughter).
Or it can simply be information. A chance to know something more about makes you up…maybe when you learn a little more about yourself you can find compassion instead of criticism. In the past, before I held these new labels, certain characteristics (I now know are tied to PTSD and ADHD) would arise and I would simply find myself exasperated, stern, and frankly bummed out and confused with myself. Now at least I can see where they come from and why and steer my way toward being less of a jerk to myself…at least that’s always the hope, isn’t it? To be less of a jerk in the world…to everyone, including yourself.
I have been taking the girls to a local zen center every other weekend and we’ve been reading a bit of Thich Nhat Hanh. Last week's reading was from his beautiful book How to Love.
Understanding someone’s suffering is the best gift you can give another person. Understanding is love’s other name. If you don’t understand, you can’t love.” - Thich Nhat Hanh, How to Love.
This flew into my heart just like a little red bird.
And the annoying thing about understanding is that it takes up space. Just like love. It moves into our hearts, puts its bags down, picks a bed, and starts talking. It can be uncomfortable.
We were driving yesterday and the sun was shining almost too brightly and the sky was extra blue - the way winter makes the blue seem extra and out of this blue Esme says (yes, I know I’m quoting my children a lot) she would risk dying to find out what’s on the other side of a black hole in space. What if it’s magic? She said. What if it’s a whole other world? To risk dying to answer a question. That’s something. She wanted to just fly up into space, and dive right into the darkness, just to find out. To use up her little life to know something about the darkness, the mystery; I think deep down she wanted to know what was on the other side and give it a name.
Every time I’ve sat to write or string a sentence together I have heard a little snide hissing whisper that says uh huh, niccccce try, look at your mind spinning around from past to present, in and out, from peace to pain - you have no attention, you were broken a long time ago, you are stuck, you are not here in this moment, you don’t hear the birds…
We all have a version of this voice; the interrogator my friend Kristine calls it. It questions everything about us, in every moment, in a loop of constant criticism and doubt; it’s the jerk. And when this voice comes we have to remember we can choose to close our eyes, and watch the amoebas floating behind our eyelids for a second while we turn the dial - moving past the static to something quieter. Something present and bright and if I’m lucky joyful. It’s not easy to hear if you’re not used to it - the sound of joy but it’s something worth diving into the dark to find that’s for sure.
The girls and I wait after breakfast, quietly, by our back sliding glass door and stare into the backyard. Trying to seem not like people but maybe just part of the door frame so we don’t scare the animals. The cardinals have been coming to our bird feeder daily—the woodpeckers, blue jays, and a little brown bunny that hops around and collects the leftovers. I watch them with Lorelei and we get VERY excited about the Cardinals. They are shocking. So very bright. So very small it seems at first but also so large and radiating.
When she talks to me about hearing the sounds they make, I wonder out loud if maybe we could hear their tiny little hearts beating - if we were very still and quiet…is that possible? Their teeny tiny little hearts, like little jewels pulsing quick, so small, so fast, vibrating, glowing, raising them up…maybe I can hear it? Now it’s all I can see when I watch them on the branches…I see their little glowing hearts beating, under their feathers, like a red flaming pen dot burning so hot like a little fire. I think to myself they might just melt all the snow if they keep on like that. Or maybe like the seeds of the giant sequoia, their tiny burning hearts will get so hot they will crack open and break them out of their feathers; maybe they’ll turn into something new. Something that hasn’t been named yet but asks to be listened to, to be understood.
To be a red bird on a snowy day with a fire in your heart cracking open. If you close your eyes you might just hear it.
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I love reading your wanderings and observations. I adore that you quote your children. Cardinals and blackness that lights up in color are both my friends. Labels and I have played, sometimes even nicely, over the years. Thank you for continuing to bless us with the musings of your pen. I miss seeing you on social media but don't want to be there myself. Reading your words are salve for so many thoughts of my own. So thankful I popped by to enjoy them. Take care of all parts of yourself and what you need and enjoy your children. ❤ Becca Rae
There’s a LOT going on here and I loved every bit of it. I was thrilled to see you had written a new post. (I sent you a little hello message on Instagram, forgetting you weren’t on there anymore) Wow, what cool and cosmic kids you have, love those little wisdom bits from Lorelei. I was also thinking of doing a post about listening, so I may have to link to this post if you don’t mind.