Monday, January 12, 2015

LISTENING IN THE SILENCE OF WINTER



Here I am in the middle of January, sitting by the fire with a cup of tea and a book of poetry, thinking of how comfortable it is to slow down in winter, to concentrate on the infinite pleasures of just being in the world — not doing, not resolving, not producing, not winning, not succeeding — just being.

The book in my hands is The House of Belonging, a collection of poems by David Whyte, and it contains a lovely poem that captures much of what is coursing through my thoughts on this particular day.  It's a poem about listening — listening for the sounds of a world being constantly renewed, listening for the quiet whisper of one's inner voice, listening for the unique music of every thing and every person, listening for the myriad joys that are about to be born into the world every moment, even as some of the old familiar joys are passing away.  Here it is:

                                            The Winter of Listening
                                                    by David Whyte

                                            No one but me by the fire,

                                            my hands burning
                                            red in the palms while
                                            the night wind carries
                                            everything away outside.

                                            All this petty worry
                                            while the great cloak
                                            of the sky grows dark
                                            and intense
                                            round every living thing.

                                            What is precious
                                            inside us does not
                                            care to be known
                                            by the mind
                                            in ways that diminish
                                            its presence.

                                            What we strive for
                                            in perfection
                                            is not what turns us
                                            into the lit angel
                                            we desire,

                                            what disturbs
                                            and then nourishes
                                            has everything
                                            we need.

                                            What we hate
                                            in ourselves
                                            is what we cannot know
                                            in ourselves but
                                            what is true to the pattern
                                            does not need
                                            to be explained.

                                            Inside everyone
                                            is a great shout of joy
                                            waiting to be born.

                                            Even with the summer
                                            so far off
                                            I feel it grown in me
                                            now and ready
                                            to arrive in the world.

                                            All those years
                                            listening to those
                                            who had
                                            nothing to say.

                                            All those years
                                            forgetting
                                            how everything
                                            has its own voice
                                            to make
                                            itself heard.

                                            All those years
                                            forgetting
                                            how easily
                                            you can belong
                                            to everything
                                            simply by listening.

                                            And the slow
                                            difficulty
                                            of remembering
                                            how everything
                                            is born from
                                            an opposite
                                            and miraculous
                                            otherness.

                                            Silence and winter
                                            has led me to that
                                            otherness.

                                            So let this winter
                                            of listening
                                            be enough
                                            for the new life
                                            I must call my own.


From The House of Belonging: Poems by David Whyte (Many Rivers Press, Langley, Washington (1997).

22 comments:

  1. Just the right poem for me at this moment, George. I'm listening.

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    1. Thanks, Barb. To your credit, you seem to always be listening. In winter, however, I think that listening is intensified. It's a natural time to consolidate, simplify, and prepare for the next season of the journey.

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  2. Beautiful pause for thought in winter's slow time. This particularly resonated with me, feeling as I did (do?) for so many years, that I couldn't figure out where I belonged but longed to feel it anyway: All those years
    forgetting
    how easily
    you can belong
    to everything
    simply by listening.

    Thank you, George.

    Wendy
    (ps. might I request that my blog address be updated in your blogroll? Temporary Reality is no longer current, but Wander-Bird is (www.smyeryu.com/wendy/) It's different from my login here but no way around that...sorry for the hassle…)

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    1. Thanks so much, Wendy. Great to hear from you! Sorry about that outdated blog address. I will make the correction immediately.

      Like you, I especially like the line you quote: ". . . how easily/you can belong/to everything/simply by listening."

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  3. I agree, it's so lovely to slow down in the winter and enjoy indoor activities. It is a our way of hibernating in these cosy months. I especially notice the silence when snow is on the ground, like in your picture of the horses wearing their blankets and getting some fresh air! Your poem fits the mood perfectly and yes, "inside everyone is a great shout of joy waiting to be born"!

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    1. Thanks for the lovely comment, Sandra. Winter in Switzerland must be absolutely fabulous! Here's hoping that the new year will bring you many blessings.

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  4. This sums up what is so good about winter...fire...cuppa and a great book of poetry...reading some. Heaney again bought for me by the potter for Christmas....lovely.

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    1. Thanks for the comment, Gerry. I couldn't agree more. Winter is made perfect by the fire, the filled cup, the book, and perhaps an open window in which to mindfully observe the ever-changing quality of the landscape.

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  5. Well George, that is two poems (this one and the previous one) for reading aloud at my next poetry afternoon.

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    1. Thanks, Pat. I'm delighted that your are going to read these two poems at your next poetry gathering. They do seem relevant to both the season and the current state of world affairs.

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  6. Beautiful, George. David Whyte is one of my favorite poets and I've enjoyed reading this poem many times. Listening, it seems, has become a lost art. Poetry is such a lovely 'lead' into listening.
    Love the photo of your horses in their winter finery!

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    1. Thanks so much, Bonnie. You're absolutely right! Listening has indeed become a lost art. It is an art, however that can be easily recovered with mindfulness, solitude, and quiet time spent in nature.

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  7. This is a beautiful post, George, encapsulating my own winter in its quiet simplicity. Poetry and a cup of tea in the midst of winter ... a lovely way to be.

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    1. Thanks, Teresa. "Winter in its quiet simplicity" — that says it all. Hope the new year is treating you well.

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  8. We have to consciously cultivate hearing — or, more actively and profoundly, listening — and all the senses, don't we? It's so easy to default into stand-by mode and not tune in. Winter is a great time to calm down, sit by the fire, reflect — and listen to ourselves and the world. Not always good things going on — both in ourselves or in the world — but hearing them, recognising them, is the first step.

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    1. Thanks for the thoughtful comment, Robert. I agree entirely. If we are to truly participate in this thing we call "life," we must actively cultivate all of the senses, especially hearing and seeing. Otherwise, we will miss the loveliest and most meaningful parts of our respective journeys.

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  9. I know what you mean about winter and the "just being" stuff. I've been thinking a lot about that here, recently. A few minutes meditation here and there is a real help through the winter weeks - you feel like you're quietly joining in with the rhythm of the world around you.

    The poem (in what it says rather than its form) reminded me of Blake.

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  10. Thanks, Dominic! Yes, I think that too many people tend to resist winter. The key is to embrace it for what it is, and, as you say, join "the rhythm of the world around you."

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  11. I had just read Robert's quote from The Snow Leopard, and this continues to resonate in the same way. We must allow our true individual self to live and thrive and blossom. I'm touched that you are still finding this true. Unfortunately, a great magnitude of people do not listen or allow their true self to emerge daily, any time in life, let alone in the 70s.

    The challenge for me is to not worry about that "everything" if I can't take it in or understand it. Like Wendell Berry, to rest in the grace of life and be free.

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    1. Hi, Ruth! Great to hear from you, and glad to know that this post resonated with you. From my standpoint, there is no life other than that of the authentic individual unfolding, singing his or her unique song into the ongoing creation. To keep the authentic self imprisoned is to be nothing more than a foot soldier in the ranks of the walking dead.

      As for that constant pressure toe worry about everything, particularly those things beyond our control, I think you and Wendell Berry have it right. One must pay attention. One must be compassionate. One must be a force for constructive change, especially where justice is involved. Ultimately, however, we must stay anchored in a place that will allow us "to rest in the grace of life" and be free.

      Stay in touch. I've missed you!

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    2. I've missed you too. I have dramatically slowed and reduced my presence in social media, including blogs, much related to this very topic of listening, resting, and choosing what to engage with. Since you and your blog are important to me, I will continue to read, though I may not always speak "out loud" in a comment. The only place I'm posting regularly is at my quilt blog, as quilts are where my heart seems to dwell more so than in writing these days. So good to see your heart expressions in photos and words.

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    3. I support your new approach entirely, Ruth. Indeed, I have also be posting less and giving my life the freedom to roam where it may from hour to hour, day to day, paying attention to what comes my way. Stay with your heart; there's no better place to dwell. Have a great weekend!

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