Really Listening

                                                Really Listening

I listen to the quiet between the words.  In that interval between the sounds of us talking, the true, deep meaning is to be found, if only I am gentle with myself, and the speaker, moving into the space of the depth of true understanding.

If I listen to myself and to you, truly listen, then I will hear your true voice, and mine.  I will hear the message that I need to listen, deeply, intentionally, and with love and understanding.  In that lies my intention. I will connect with the heart of our true conversation.

Yes, the words have meaning, and stories are told from the words, and then some.  More.  I listen to the sentences, the rhythm of the speaker, inflections, the rising and falling of the cadence of the words.  I am led gently down the path of the storyteller, and shown the meaning of the words.

What is really being told here, I wonder.  There is more, there is always more.  My task is that of the explorer, the miner digging for the gold in the midst of the rubble, the ordinary chit-chat that often passes for conversation. Herein lies something even greater. So, truly listen.

Go deeper, I am sensing.  There is more to this than just what I am hearing, what is being said.

Underneath this, there is more.  I can feel it deep within me.

There are many layers to this tale, and I listen harder, taking in the silence, strewn among the spoken words, wanting everything that is revealed. I am seeking the message of the silence, exploring its vocabulary, its nuances.  What are you really saying here? And, what am I being called to really hear?

We feel the silence now; the spoken words uttered.  There is tension, the tension of the anticipated, the expected, the comforting patter of more words, more sounds. 

I am on edge; we both are.  This space between these words is new, irritating, literally dis-quieting.  I find myself yearning for a word, a phrase, to keep the banter going.  Part of me is reticent, to not really listen.  Do I prefer banality? Being on the surface, and not going deep.  Can’t I stay here, gliding on the mere surface of our conversation? Then, I won’t have to ponder the silences, and hear in my heart the real meaning of what your heart is saying.

Now I hear your breath, and mine.  There are other sounds, too.  Clothes, papers rustling, air moving, the ordinary background noises of whatever kind of place we are in, the place of normal, everyday conversations, the detritus of our daily lives. 

Yet, when I go deeper, beyond this ordinary sound clutter, my mind literally opens up, expands, so that I can take in all that you are expressing to me, the stuff beyond conversation, beyond the plain words of everyday conversation.

My senses broaden  ---  feeling, seeing, hearing, touching, and yes, even smelling all that you are offering me, in this near vacuum of experience between us. Yet, it is rich and full, and not vacuous, a contradiction.  Or is it? This is rich territory, and, so often, new to me.

If I would only truly sense what you are offering me, I would understand so much more.  You have so much information, so many ideas to express to me, if only I would be open to you, truly open. If I do this right, my senses, my intuition, the entirety of my entire array of sensory neurons would be on fire, overloaded with all that you are telling me.

You share with me in so many ways, ways that we both would agree would be of such enormity that neither of us would be deemed to be competent to assess, even measure.

Henri Nouwen wrote: “Somewhere, we know that without silence words lose their meaning, that without listening, speaking no longer heals; that without distance, closeness cannot cure.

He calls us to visit that “somewhere”, which is beyond our daily, mundane experience, and open ourselves as far as we believe we can go, into new territory of our existence, our humanity. 

He calls us to embrace the silence, and truly listen, to stake out that space between us, and let us be able to reach out to each other within that emptiness, and finally grow.

Now, I can’t reach any further out and listen harder, for the harder I work at this, the more difficult it becomes.  Another conundrum.  But isn’t that life?

The more I try, the less I succeed. No, I need to be now, just be, in all my humanity.  I must listen more gently, easier, more fully with all of my senses, with all of my feelings, on the edges of my soul, my very being.  On the rim of my existence, I must stretch further, letting the experience become in and of itself, beyond mere thought.

In that, I will truly listen to what you are telling me, and I will, at last, hear you, in all of your wonderful mystery and beauty.

                                                --Neal Lemery

                                                11/11/15

Prison to Greatness | Noah Schultz | TEDxSalem

An inspiring story of a young man who achieves great success through his time at Oregon Youth Authority. His story is not unlike the stories of the young men I mentor at OYA's Tillamook campus.

A fabulous Ted Talk

Prison to Greatness | Noah Schultz | TEDxSalem

A Day to Explain

a new poem from a young poet...

A Day to Explain

When the day is to exhale

The dead of night will sail

On an airplane one flies

Some might prevail

From comfort to pain

I see heaven and hell

A state of mind it is

But a reality to tell

It feels like an illusion

When fact his reality

Full of wonder it is

So most answer with deity

No judgment to others

But a question that’s unclear

Maybe all this thinking

Is the reason I’m here.

--Samwell Manjur

November, 2015

For a society we live in

For a society we live in

Demands for every citizen

For the ones who stand out have the courage to face difference

Two heads are worse than one

One is best to change

We stand here in silence until one does something strange

We wish for the better

And we acknowledge we commit pain

For the pain we cause others is an action in vain

We are a superior race

But we are scared to face the unknown

But if we knew the answer to life

Society would be overthrown.

--Samwell Manjur (2015)

Changing Times

                        

            Change is all around me. I look outside and there is more than a hint of Fall in the air.  Leaves are changing color, my garden is in harvest mode, and the air is cool and damp.

            After a summer of unusual warmth and dryness, we have had some rain, and plants are reviving, coming alive again.

            I turn the calendar to a new month.  Summer vacations are ending, and there is a flurry of activities. Classes, meetings, events are happening. Community life is coming alive again.  There are things to do and opportunities to grow. 

            Driving by my neighborhood school, I see it coming alive after the summer break.  The parking lot is crowded, and families are heading inside to an evening welcoming, celebrating the opening of school.  Excited, nervous little kids break into an enthusiastic skip as they walk into the school, parents smiling with pride. 

Their child is starting school, and opportunity awaits. Anything is possible.  I see that in their faces, in how they walk, and hold their kids’ hands.

            At the store, I navigate through the hordes of tourists and weekenders, and I run into old friends.  We reconnect, realizing we haven’t seen each other all summer.  We pause to catch up, and reconnect, reweaving the fabric of community.  This weekend marks the end of the high season, the wave after wave of visitors who crowd our roads, and walk our beaches and trails.  Soon, it will be quieter here, and we locals will breathe big sighs of relief, and reclaim our peaceful moments in the places we treasure.

            They, too, are caught up in this sense of change and transformation.  It is a new season, a new beginning. 

            Before yesterday’s rain, I planted a new crop of peas, beets, and radishes.  My new lettuce rows are already up.  I harvest more broccoli for our dinner, knowing that my work will bring on yet another feast in another month. 

            A friend is soon off to college, and we pause for coffee, and share his excitement for his new adventure.  He’s ordered his textbooks, and is already packing for his move to a new city, and a new school.  Excitement is in the air and in his eyes.  His future is happening, and he’s ready to grow.

            All this newness and excitement.  I feel alive and invigorated.  Anything is possible.  Anything can happen.  I am part of that, and I am all of that.

            Change.  It is in the air, and I am ready to take a deep breath, and move ahead.

Neal Lemery

9/7/15

            

My new video about my book and mentoring

Enjoy my new video, where I talk about mentoring, and the writing of my book, Mentoring Boys to Men: Climbing Their Own Mountains.

Taking Up Again, At Our Fortieth Reunion

It was that class we took together, both out of our element. A business class, way outside our academic path, but it was really about what we we both passionate about, human interaction.  The psychology major and the political science major, finding the “juice” of our college experience. 

Our big assignment for the term was to get together every week, for a day, maybe a weekend, and spend time together, interacting, observing each other. And, most importantly, observing ourselves observing others and how we behaved, inwardly, within a group.  We had to write about it all, without any real direction on what the professor wanted, how we were going to be graded.  

It was, we agreed, standing outside in the hot evening after our class reunion dinner, the best experience of our undergraduate years, studying how people related with each other, how that really was the gist of becoming a better person, how we used those skills, those observations, in growing our lives, in making a real difference in the world.  

We took our experiences together, all those late night conversations, the four years of living on campus during the social upheaval of the Vietnam War years, and went our separate ways.  We kept in touch, sharing news of our careers, our marriages, our kids, and how our lives were enriched by what we learned at college, and in navigating our lives in the world. 

The best things in our lives, we realized, weren’t the things we thought we’d do, once we graduated and moved on.  Life happens, and we used our skills and brains to do unexpected things, growing ourselves and learning even more about life, and who we are.  

One of the reunion organizers asked us to ponder whether or not we had changed the world, like we’d all talked about in those late night gatherings, and if we’d made a difference in our lives.  

“Yes, indeed,” we answered, but not in the ways we had thought, back in the days of Watergate, and the week we staged a sit-in in the college president’s office, angry at Nixon bombing Cambodia.  

The conversations that night were about good relationships, connecting with people, making a difference about how people felt about themselves, how we could make their lives better, simply by being who we were. No one showed their bank statements, their stock portfolios, their photos of their real estate or talked about their job titles, or the cars we drove to get here that night. We didn’t wear any fancy clothes. We laughed at the photos of our days on campus, the wild hair, how much beer we could drink back then, and the times when Angela Davis and Anais Nin spoke on campus.  

We talked about the people we had become, how that one class, that one professor made all the difference to us as we went on about our lives, how we became better people, how forty years gives you a perspective on life and the world that we may not have had back during our days as eager, curious college students.  And, who we are today is still about who we were then, curious, looking inward, and figuring out how we can connect with someone, and change their lives.  

—Neal Lemery 6/27/15