I listen for the hidden wholeness, wisdom, and grace.
—Wayne Muller
I’ve forgotten how to listen
for the hidden wholeness—
trained by the ring of the phone
and the morning alarm and
the unheard bells of the day
that say “go, go, go.”
I’ve forgotten how to be still.
To empty. To unexpect.
Today, though it is May,
the green world is covered
by snow. It’s one way the world
learns to unknow itself.
My teacher reminds me
how the deepest healing
can only take place in the quiet,
the still, the great awake.
I know she is right, but
it is the kind of knowing
that is too certain of itself.
As I walk, I open my hands
to let the snow land there.
I watch the flakes melt.
For a moment, I almost think
I can hear them. For a moment,
I forget who is doing the listening.
