Listen

Cut open a conversation. Strip away the surface smile and look beneath the polite “mmhm.” Peer into the vacant eyes and see the thoughts - hundreds of them - fighting their way through the cerebral cortex, desperately wanting to be set free.

Realize that this conversation - like most conversations - is not the two-way street it is meant to be. It is not an exchange of ideas through verbal expression. Instead, it is a tug-of-words that carries on day after day, week after week, for years. It is a never-ending game of push/pull in which each party gives a little in order to take a lot.

This is not a conversation at all. Nobody is listening.

We think we are, but we are not.

We interrupt each other, finish the other person’s unfinished sentence, and continually try (mostly unconsciously) to bring the conversation back to us.

We sit next to someone we love - a dear friend we haven’t seen for weeks or months - but we are absent. They open their mouths and their words tumble out - words that we only partially hear because, as we sip our coffee and nibble on some cake, we are lost in our own circumstances and anxiously waiting for the opportunity to unleash our own discombobulated opinions, rebuttals, theories, and “truths.”

We say, “I know exactly how you feel” not because we know exactly how they feel (can we ever know exactly how someone else feels? Do we ever live someone else's life?) but because we want to share one of our own stories.

(Your Grandpa died? I know exactly how you feel. When my Grandpa died I was eight years old... and the tug-of-words continues).

We are trapped in a perpetual cycle of “waiting to talk.” Not because we are bad people, lousy friends, or poor partners, but because there is a deep need inside all of us to be heard.

I suspect it’s a need that arises in childhood, when most of us are told to “be seen and not heard,” to “be quiet in class,” to “shhhh.” We understood, early on, that our parents, our teachers, all of the adults in our world were busy. They didn’t always have time for our convoluted tales. They did the best they could, of course, but we didn’t want to be a bother, so we kept our thoughts mostly to ourselves and didn’t say the things we wanted to say.

We are saying them now though, whenever we can, to whomever will listen.

And here lies the crux of the problem - we are so consumed by the act of talking, so addicted to the sound of our own voice and the transmission of our own stories, that we have lost our ability to listen - really listen - to the stories of others.

Listening is not as simple as it looks. Real listening - the kind that has no underlying motive - takes practice and patience and resolve.

It requires a willingness to open your mind and your heart to fully receive the story that is being shared. It requires self-restraint to remain silent even though the words being spoken make you want to scream. It requires courage to stay present and grounded enough to see life through someone else’s lens, no matter how spotted or smeared that lens may be.

For the past two months, I have been actively trying to become a better listener and a more conscious friend. To be mindful when someone else is speaking, to turn off the flow of words inside my own head, and to immerse myself in the authentic sharing experience that is taking place.

The results, thus far, have been mind-boggling.

Friends whom I’ve known for years are sharing their previously unspoken hopes and deepest fears. They are divulging long-buried secrets and closeted pipe-dreams. They are opening up in a way they have never opened up before. And not because I am asking questions or digging for answers - but simply because I am there - really there - and I am willing to listen.

It is a privilege is to be invited into another person’s psyche; an honour to be entrusted with another’s personal mythology. It offers a tremendous opportunity for empathy, compassion, and growth.

After I have really listened to another person, I am always overcome by feelings of peace, joy, and profound gratitude for the genuine human-to-human connection of which I have been a part. Listening, I now know, is incredibly healing.

May we strive - all of us - to be better listeners. May we slow down, shut up, and be there. May we allow for pauses without feeling the need to jump in and clutter the silence with our own opinions. May we cherish those we love by creating a space for them that is comfortable and safe. May we come to understand that real listening is an art and an act of grace.

It is our right, as human beings, to be heard. And it is our duty, as human beings, to listen. After all, “the most precious gift we can offer anyone is our attention” (Thich Nhat Hanh).

Cut open a new conversation - one in which all parties are present, awake, and willing to relinquish their own narrative in order to embrace another’s. See the eyes - bright and alert. See the hearts - open and receptive.

See new kinds of relationships start to form, ones that run deeper than ever before. See the wounded child that lives inside every one of us start to heal. See the lessons being learned and the voices being heard. See the power of silent attentiveness at work.

Listen. Just listen. And watch your world transform.

***

This week's affirmation: I strive to be a better listener, a more mindful human being, a more conscious friend.

Metamorphosis

Thirty is the lotus flower about to bloom, the cocoon about to burst, the sacred space between the in breath and the out breath.

It is the snake shedding its skin and the oyster revealing the pearl within.

It is an unfolding. A stripping away of layer upon layer of debris and delusions. An untangling of narcissistic knots, an unthreading of embroidered half-truths.

Thirty knows not everything, but something.

It knows that everything stems from a single cell. It rejects notions of disunity because it sees the link between molecules, species, communities. It places its hand gently over a heart centre and touches the warmth that lives there. It is the same warmth that lives everywhere.

Thirty trusts the natural order of life and death, day and night, yin and yang. The fear of being stagnant is completely unjustified. Stagnant does not exist. All moves in a perpetual circular motion. The beginning ends and the end begins.

The Earth turns, the body breathes itself, life happens.

Thirty is the breathtaking moment just before daybreak. The first crack creeping its way along the chrysalid.

It’s an irrepressible feeling of hope nestled deep in the belly. It runs up and down streets, feeling courageous and free. It rejoices in its own autonomy, its own choices, its own rose-tinted view of the world.

It feels anything but old.

***

This week’s affirmation: I celebrate!

The Journey Begins

On November 21st, I wrote this letter.

Today, the journey begins...

*

Dear Institute of Traditional Medicine,

Some people know what they want to be when they grow up. Other people need to grow up in order to know what they want to be. I fall into the latter category, although when I think about my childhood, I realize that I embarked on this particular path very early on.

I see myself at eight years old, all knotty hair and skinned knees, seeking refuge in the safety of trees. I remember sitting on branches, face turned to the sky, feet dangling in the air, perfectly content in my makeshift perch. I felt as free as a bird and as strong as the tree itself. I knew - the way children always seem to know - that there was magic in the trees, the sun, the stars, the leaves. Magic and peace and healing.

Then, I grew up.

I moved away from the forest of my childhood and ventured to various cities, in various countries, endlessly searching for my place in the world and hoping to discover my purpose.

Often, in the midst of a busy city, I felt the need to return to nature. To find a tree and sit with it. To pick a flower and admire it. To jump in a river and go with its flow.

In 2005, after spending a stressful year in Japan, my health started to falter in a way it had never faltered before. I saw countless doctors who prescribed medications which, they assured me, would “make me feel better.”

But I did not merely want to feel better, I wanted to be better.

So, again, I immersed myself in nature. I walked, I breathed, I meditated, and I sought out alternative therapies such as massage, yoga, and acupuncture. Slowly but surely, I became well again.

Since then, Traditional Chinese Medicine has been a constant in my life. It has improved the health of my mind, body, and spirit. It has opened me up to the power of energy and the miracle of interconnectedness. It has encouraged me to explore various systems of healing, such as reiki and holistic nutrition, and to share my discoveries with others. It has propelled me forward, inward, and outward and has lead me to this particular moment, this particular letter.

I want to immerse myself in Traditional Chinese Medicine. I want to play a part, however small, in the healing of our world and of its people. I want to be an advocate for traditional medicine in North America. I want to be for others what some practitioners have been for me: teachers of balance, of inner-peace, of wellness.

I would be honoured to study at the Institute of Traditional Medicine. I have no doubt that it would be a positive and enriching experience for all involved. Thank you so much for your time and consideration.

In wellness and wonder,

Vicki Rivard

***

This week's affirmation: I go back to school with an open mind and an open heart and allow the lessons to nourish, inspire, and transform.

Love Is

Love is...

Him.

Bringing her a blanket, a wet cloth, a glass of water.

Wrapping the blanket around her trembling body, placing the cloth so gently on her forehead, bringing the glass of water to her blood-red lips.

He is here.

A constant in the ebb and flow of life. A heart that beats her story, their story. A heart that never falters.

He is present, not only for the moment, but for the moments. All of them. The seemingly menial moments that make up a full life.

This love is fierce.

And selfless.

And true.

Her.

Escaping to a haze of smoke and live music and asking the stars her questions.

So young. So old. So ready to kiss the world, kiss its neck, and watch it melt.

She is here.

A being of extraordinary beauty, a goddess in disguise.

She is a seeker of truth and of self and of others. She needs to be heard, needs to share her secrets, her dreams, her mind-made delusions. She finds comfort in a squeeze of the hand, a lingering look, a shared glass of wine.

This love is eager.

And dizzy.

And loud.

Them.

Sitting under the eclipsing moon, mouthing a promise to each other.

Touching the Earth, breathing the sky, caressing the moment and its infinite power.

They are here.

Enveloped between the folds of passion and fear and tenderness. A living poem written on the palms of their hands, in the lifelines that make them both flawed and flawless.

This love is gentle.

And healing.

And brave.

Us.

Beautiful strangers grasping for the meanings behind the stories, vowing to wake up in the morning and make another choice, finding the courage forgive and forge ahead.

All of us, lucky mortals inhabiting this precious planet, understanding nothing and trusting the miraculous. We carry faith in our bleeding hearts and hope in our pockets.

We are here.

Floating in the cosmos on a blue water marble as delicate as a drop of rain, a testimony to the magic of this world. We protect and preserve and self sacrifice.

We enjoy snowflakes on our tongue and skin against skin. We climb mountain after mountain because the view from the top is worth every step. We say, “I love,” “I’m here,” “I care” and we really mean it.

We sit around the Christmas tree, filled with awe and gratitude, not for the gifts so perfectly wrapped, but for the people who know us, cherish us, and share the journey with us.

We cry until we’re blind and yet we still manage to find our way home. We do the best we can. We do what we can. We are beams of light.

This love is all-encompassing.

And human.

And bright.

This love. That love. Your love. Our love.

Is strong.

Is for now.

Is forever.

***

This week's affirmation: Love is all there is.

Ode To My Costa Rican Morning

I sit with you.

In the hammock, toes in the sand, under the leafy tree, and the wind moves me.

I am in awe.

I close my eyes. I open them.

The blues and greens and whites of the ocean and of the sky unite on the horizon in a seamless fusion of matter. The two become one and then the one becomes me and then, suddenly, it all makes perfect sense.

The illusions of time and space dissipate until the only thing that matters is the intangible cord that connects us and nourishes us and makes us whole.

You breathe your salty air right into my pores, through my pores, and infiltrate the innermost chambers of my heart.

You swim in my veins and around my organs, dissolving barriers and creating new pathways.

You wake me up.

The sound of the surf lapping against the shore is settling and strengthening. In these waves, I find rhythm, heartbeat, breath.

I linger for hours.

Taking you in. Tasting you and cherishing you and allowing myself to be cherished in return. There is so much love here, on this deserted stretch of beach, at five o’clock in the morning.

I dread the moment of separation. I don’t ever want to leave you. But I know I have to because there is no way to contain you.

You cannot be stuffed into my suitcase and carried on-board. You cannot be bottled up and placed on the mantel as a keepsake. You cannot be worn as a dangling necklace around my neck. I have to walk away.

I walk away, in the early morning hours of another blissful day, and I promise to remember all of it, all of you, and all of me within you.

The glorious perfection of it all. The miracle of interconnectedness that exists between all things. Our divine love affair.

For some time, I do. I remember all the vivid details and I see you everywhere: in the midnight sky, in the early morning frost, in the howling wind, in every single teardrop. I am incredibly alive and full of sacred knowledge.

Then, as I had feared, I start to forget. The process is gradual - first a sight, then a sound, then a smell - until the entire feeling of you and me, of you encircling me, and of me as an integral part of you, has faded beyond recognition.

You are a dog-eared postcard now. A digital image on my laptop. A magnet on the fridge.

You are a fragment of my past and you no longer make my heart flutter.

But there are those moments - few and fleeting - when I swear I can still taste you. You sneak up unexpectedly - when I’m on the subway, at the tea store, standing at my kitchen sink - and for a split second, I am back there. With you. Within you. We are one.

I thank you.

You, my sun-drenched lover, reached down and around and rocked me to sleep, to life, and to that mystical world between the two where the subconscious mind wanders freely. You, unnameable force of nature, cradled me in the palm of your hand and showed me I was precious.

You, ethereal reminder of all that truly is, evoked within me awe and gratitude for a single speck of sand.

You, love, brought me home.

***

This week's affirmation: I recognize the flutter in my heart and I feel it fully.

Falling

The air is crisper now. The days are shorter.

It is mid-September and many are mourning the end of heat, of beach, of children running free in the streets.

But summer will come again. It always does. Everything comes again, in its own time.

Now’s the time for the comforting crunch under my well-worn boots. For jeans and sweaters and scarves lovingly knitted by knobby hands. For carving a pumpkin and baking a pie. For the scent of ginger, nutmeg, and cinnamon filling homes and fueling hearts. For morning walks under a cool blue sky and evening talks over steaming cups of tea, over-steeped and slightly bitter.

Fall is near. That mystical time of endings, of beginnings, of appreciation. I can hear it in the wind and I can feel it in my skin.

I fall into it, whole-heartedly and without hesitation.

I let it carry me, inspire me, remind me of the mystery inherent in all of life, the beauty intrinsically woven into every death, every last breath. I let it guide me to a place of gratitude and grace. I allow it to caress me and surprise me and move me to tears.

I say: Goodbye. Hello. Thank you. Don’t go. I love you. I miss you. I’m sorry. I forgive you. I am safe. I am strong. I am moving on.

I discard those thoughts and habits that have kept me stagnant and shriveled. Now is the time for change. For lessons to be learned, inside and outside of the classroom.

There is a change stirring within me that is both wondrous and frightening. The course of my life is being entirely altered. Thoughts that have been percolating for some time are being unleashed - fully brewed and delicious on the tip of my tongue.

I am taking that next, crucial step. It is honest. It is time.

I fall into this moment, losing my grip on the fears of yesterday and embracing the rush, the release, the unravelling, the discovery.

I wait for the reds and the oranges, rich purples and deep browns to once again transform my world into a watercolour painting of astonishing beauty.

I see myself, in the painting. I radiate.

I fall. Deeper and deeper into myself, acknowledging the less-than-perfect parts and loving them anyways. Dusk knocks at my door, always a few minutes earlier than the day before, and I welcome it with a smile, a sigh of relief. The blast of cool air is a tonic, energizing and propelling me forward.

Downward.

Inward.

I anticipate the brilliant landscape and I am filled with hope.

***

This week's affirmation: I surrender to the free fall.