Are you willing to listen with the ears of your heart to the other voices of yourself speaking?
—prayer learned in my women’s circle
I am listening
with the ears
of my eyes,
with the ears
of my ears,
with the ears
of my spleen
and the ears
of my pineal
gland tucked
between the
hemispheres
of my brain.
I am listening
to the trees,
to currents of mud,
to the nighthawk’s
white stripes, to
the park’s sullen metal,
and to clouds as they
shift, I am listening,
I am listening
and lifting my
heart, not to
be fixed, not
to be filled, but
to better hear.
How hard I tried to explain my vow of silence to my loved ones. How well you perform it here. Hear.
I shall pass this on, in hopes that others may understand my need to have these hours of pure silence.
I like that first cumulative line that runs down to “brain” for its cleverness, but what follows that I love for the detail — what you are listening to instead of what you are listening with. Listening to the mud is particularly grounded. Then the end, to be listening with you heart, could be so trite, but you lead up to it with such dexterity, dispensing with the other cliches first, so in the end it rings so true.