19: Listen — twice as much as you speak
Once upon a time…
There was life before Sesame Street…Netflix…Live Streaming and DVR…back in the “dark ages” — some of us grew up with Captain Kangaroo — more like Mr. Rogers than Star Wars– Captain Kangaroo and Mr. Greenjeans (so named because his jeans were allegedly green, although it was impossible to tell on the black and white 19″ screen) who had a good friend and my personal favorite, “Dancing Bear”
The youngest of five children and born to my parents as their mid-life surprise, I thought of myself as my mother’s cohort. I went wherever she did and filled her world with my chatter. Later in life, it was these early years that cemented our relationship as best of friends. She always seemed interested in my rendition of the latest adventures of my imaginary friend, Jan, and the world through my eyes. Occasionally (likely as she needed just a moment of sanity), she would suggest to me, “I have a great idea — why don’t you go play a game. Why don’t you go and impersonate Dancing Bear!”
I thought that was a GREAT idea. It is important to note that Dancing Bear never spoke. He was silent. My impersonation of Dancing Bear gave her a reprieve from my world of self-expression. And, in later years, she recalled to me with exuberant joy that I was content to dance through the day in silence, but then when the “espacio” was done, she would have to hear about all the things I had been thinking about while dancing.
Side-Note: Now, I just write them…
Through the course of my life, I have learned and re-learned the importance of Dancing Bear time. We remember the koan: you have two ears and one mouth that you might listen twice as much as you speak.
Such is my work of Lent this week — to listen twice as much as I speak.
For me, Lenten listening begins with impersonating Dancing Bear,putting on the mask of silence…to stop…to cease not only the words that I speak, but the inner conversation, as well. It is to silence not only what I say, but what I think, but do not say. The Dancing Bear of my childhood taught me to stop talking. The Dancing Bear of my adulthood teaches me to stop the chatter within that prevents me from hearing anyone else, including (and most especially) God.
It’s not easy to listen without expectation of how I will speak. It’s not simple for me to be as still on the inside as Dancing Bear taught me to be on the outside. Generally, it is only a momentary vacation of solitude before I find myself solving the next problem or languishing in the bliss of my imagination as I rearrange the furniture rather than be available to the silence within. But, I’ll take those few moments and delight in them, much as my mother did. And, I think God doesn’t mind if my experience of those few moments of silence results in what I learned so many years ago…there, in the midst of silence, there is joyful dance.
See…those days of black and white small bulky screens weren’t so bad…
