One cannot slather on too much listening in a lifetime. How we Listen is part of the mechanics humanity needs for keeping our human motors running without so many hitches. The romance of hearing with all of one’s senses is a most inclusive occupation of amour. A cunning breeze with which we cruise along our life path is purified in the cerebral peaks of understanding the language of listening. This memento Fromm Erich was adventitiously perched in my email inbox as I began this topic for you. With the popular pull to quickly clear my electronic messages, I’m pleasantly moisturized when occasional subject titles win my eyes before a fully parched erasure. There is a delegation of elevation whenever one executes the leverage of listening. I want you to see that it’s not merely the listening you expect from your ears that will lend you expert dexterity. Pay heed to the range in all around you and me.
Attention, taken to its highest degree, is the same thing as prayer. ~Simone Weil
Whether we’re weighing our indigenous originality sweeping us into grooves or hackneyed accommodation for troubled times, we’re auditioning our ability to listen properly. What it’s all about encompasses the piazzas to the badlands (or the Badlands). Listening’s serenade is intentionally unselfish. Our hearty treatment of listening moves us into those really good spots or has the attention to pilot us away from the bad. When we’ve allowed our hearing to utterly permeate our every fabric of being we’ve given rise to the gorgeous curves of intellectual learning for our caboodle of turns. Listening is our master’s degree with which we grow our technology. Listening is the chemistry of love. Listen to that air as it escapes your arousal and blows its winds into me. That’s the sound of my lips as they just begin to meet the taste of yours. There’s an art form with the enterprise of what it truly means to listen.
To resist a blissful listening is on par with missing a climax. I think the universe exclaims applause when I remember to listen to my willfully photographic urges. Images are spaces of time I’m called to listen to with my lens. Equally, reflecting back upon someone, some time, someplace I trapped in my camera’s eye offers me the completion comfort of emotional immersion. It’s as if I’ve stopped confining the story of life to secrets unbeknownst to me. I’m living it breathfully. As innocent as a smell, a thought, a narrative, a feeling ~ each a keepsake of listening to the ration of my existence. All I have to do is see the image for a river of memory to softly flows. Promptly, the rootful, rocky landscape spread her wings to mimic the tree. Tired of those ignorant to her whisper, I heard a thunderous resounding roar. Not mistaking a speck of beauty is this one’s fundamental key. The outgrowth of listening is an ode to vintage philosophy.
Listening is to surviving as missions are to Christians or Mormons thriving. Catch the currents of your or another’s community to eavesdrop on the gifts of an environment. Let yourself be buoyed through the conservation of compassion’s mutuality. There’s an immortal cyclical sharing in the reality of fateful listening. It’s the intertwined insistence that everything has something to say. If we’re vigilant with the keynotes then we’re more swiftly able to reckon conclusions. With the appropriate calculations of residing, we may better find the liveliness of living. My conversation is yours, his, hers, and theirs. It’s the valley belching a field of flowers or the animals philandering. Regularly, it’s lectures received even while we’re orating away. Softly to loudly people communicate gestures, body language or pipe in their own verbal reactions during a chattering highway. Sincere listeners of life are the sage leaders we should all wish to be.
When is the last time you listened to the stars? Maybe it’s the forest you should make time to have a call with, or perhaps it’s sharing from the bees. I find that getting down on my knees to listen to Mother Earth up close has a potent effect upon me. A single layer of clothing between me and a patch of grass or sand will do wonders for the aches straining my brain. There is analogous to nature delivering her pearl through the protrusion of light at the end of a wall. I listened to the way a window became a new way. All at once it was a picture frame, a doorway to some not so distant peace, and the portal for a fresh perspective. As we guide our way on, I hope we caress our listening more alongside what it is to hold a tender kiss. Promise yourself to serve when discourse is within your discovery. Let anything surrounding you become a meaningful teaching machine. Genuinely listen to anywho the world may display.
May your memoirs of concentration profess endless earnings.