Listening as justice. Is listening enough? Sometimes, when everythingeverywhere feels like it’s on the wobble, we can feel powerless to do anything about it. We feel that here at Still Lake, for sure. Michelle and I often wonder how we can put action to our wish to “do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly” in a world gone wonky.
Listening as Justice
One of our mentors often says, “Simply listening is justice.” What does she mean by that?
If you imagine yourself in a listening moment — maybe your friend has called with some rough news, a loved one has been hit with a health diagnosis, or your kiddo has come to you with a heartache — notice what it’s like to be you. As the listener, it can be tempting to want to fix, rescue, and help. Oh, goodness! Do we ever want to help.
Advice? We’ve got it for days! Reasons why they shouldn’t/can’t/don’t need to feel that way? We can name all of the reasonable arguments.
It can be challenging to detach from the suffering being expressed and simply listen without trying to save the day.
Imagine, now, that you are the one who’s been hurt. When you are the one telling the story, do you have a sense of what you long for? Is it to be advised? Corrected? Reminded of why you don’t need to feel as you do?
When we are in a wrestle with The Thing, to be heard is sometimes enough.
Non-judgmental, wonder-soaked listening is safety. It is validating and affirming.
It resolves nothing. The broken heart is not healed; the bank account is not suddenly flush. Grief is not magically banished; the yaw of loneliness is not filled.
And yet, a restoration of dignity, a reassurance that we’re not going crazy, an acknowledgment of, “Oh. Oh, of course you feel that way.” all serve as a kind of restoration.
This requires no doubling-down on a political or religious position. It is deeply human, impartial, and sacred. Listening is one of the ways that justice shows up in our lives.
Listening as (Quiet?)Activism
We sit with folx of so many differing views, beliefs, un-beliefs, and perspectives. Honouring the lived experience (human, spiritual, embodied) of each participant is the heart of this practice. And, sometimes, there are issues that we feel like it might be harmful to remain quiet about. When we are in the listening chair, we tuck away our own predilections and prejudice (Goodness knows, implicit bias is a thing, and we are not exempt!). You really can talk about anything in your session. Any. Thing.
And sometimes our remaining quiet in the presence of inequity feels sticky. Complicated.
We often wonder how we are meant to be women of action while also holding to the sacred mandate to simply bear witness to persons of every religion, creed, and political affiliation. For ourselves, we can buy the t-shirts, attend the rallies, and pause on the path with placard-bearing champions.
You won’t find us vigorously or loudly campaigning for an issue — even an issue that we feel very strongly about.
But we will listen. Persistently, patiently, and deeply. And as we do, there might be a little hidden, activist-like agenda in the holding space. The secret hope? That, together, as we lean in to hear what a life is saying (often whisper-shouting), we will all move ever-deeper into a shared Way of non-judgment, abiding compassion, and freedom to thrive creatively.
We imagine a world where you are living freely from your Essence (the deepest You that existed before wound upon wound was visited on your life). We believe that if you are You, and we are We, there will be an end to injustice, bullying, shaming, and inequity. We haven’t made any signs to carry that shout that message. There won’t be any rallies or bull horns or public release statements to that end. But maybe you can relate to the call to, ever so persistently, hold a line for Humility and Love?
Listening as Resistance
Something about the word “resistance” implies a steady pressure. Is there an image or memory that arises when you think about “resistance” in your own life? It’s a visceral, embodying sort of word, hey? Maybe effortful? Even if the effort appears passive. Like, if I’m weary and heartsick, resistance might look a lot like I’m slothing-out on the couch and binging “The Good Wife”! If I’m attending to my own inner process, resisting the healing of complex trauma might sound like a properly reasonable and even curious argument.
Resistance takes on all kinds of action-y shapes and behaviours. Some for our wellbeing. Some for our undoing.
When it comes to listening as resistance, it feels all kinds of spacious and hopeful! In a world gone mad with opinions and jargon and one-line self-help mantras, to settle in for a deliberate unfolding of your own story is resistance. To be with your self (and your Self) patiently and curiously — in a culture that loves to remind us of flaw and excess and not-enough and hurryhurryhurry — is resistance.
To have a listener remain-hold-honour your telling, without judgment and with Wonder? To be a witness to resistance against a bombardment of cultural messaging that tells us our galaxy-like depths must be reduced to an altered photo and a 15 second video of a shiny, happy persona feels life-affirming — is Vital.
Monthly, my spiritual director settles in across from me on Zoom. She is accompanied by a towering and colourful bookshelf to her right. A tea light burns persistently behind her and to her left. She invites me to notice my own breath. To become still. And she raises a candle and a lighter between us, wondering, “What if lighting this candle is a kind of resistance? A way of saying, ‘No.’ to the noise and rush and press of the world? A way of choosing, just for an hour, to become quiet and listen for what our own souls are saying?”
The imagining of contemplative resistance taking countless shapes is enticing! Could it be as simple as breathing?
Breathe in — I acknowledge the suffering of all.
Breathe out — I cooperate with the Hope that Peace and safety are meant for all.
Breathe in — I experience the ache and uncertainty of all.
Breathe out — I invite Hope and Peace and safety to be as alive in me as this present suffering.
As we breathe, we name the longings of our deep Self, the shared longings that are true for every one of us, and perhaps the Longing that thrums at the heart of it all. Could that all move through us, wordlessly (even unconsciously), with every breath? So, with every breath we resist complacency, terror, poverty, injustice, inequity, and despair.
We might hear the flow of a creek as resistance. The laughter of the one we love. A note played just-so. A harmony sung in community. Can we imagine the flurry of colour pouring from a pencil or paintbrush as an act of resistance? What about the deliberate (unseen?) attention to detail of the hospital custodian, or the librarian building a display of overlooked books? Consider the rhythms of your own hourly, daily, weekly life: the ways in which you align (again and again!) with kindness, tolerance, giving, caring. All resistance against the discordant, the diminishing, the despairing.
Harmony | The trees have some things figured out
We are tied to one another by something deeper than shared space or beliefs. The thread of divine Love and holy mischief runs through each of us and holds us together.
Like roots beneath a forest floor – hidden, intertwined, and nourishing the whole forest – we are connected in ways we cannot always see. When one of us rejoices, a ripple of joy moves through the whole. When one suffers, we all feel the tremor.
For us, “harmony” embodies our wish to align with the human needs for belonging, provision, safety, and agency that we all share. For that reason, we’ve created Harmony Sessions. Our intention is that these monthly offerings will nurture your loving resistance. Through offering these no-cost sessions for unique groups from time-to-time, it is our Lived Out Loud Longing that this listening presence will enliven and embolden you in the Goodness you uniquely carry in the world as you thrive, hope, and heal. Listening as justice.
If you have questions about what spiritual direction care is all about, please pause and explore awhile? If reading a tome of information is not your jam, just give us a call (403-613-5241) or pop us a text. We’re happy to answer any questions you have.