Here, for
my final blog post of the semester, I believe it wise to reflect on what our
time at Nine Mile Run revealed to be my biggest struggle: listening. As we
walked along the water/sewage system on that day more beautiful than any that
had come this year, I struggled a great deal to listen to our leader. She would
speak about the drainage system, and I would immediately tell myself, “I do not
understand that,” or, “this is boring.” Unable to recognize these thoughts as
indicative of my default responses, I continued onward under their
jurisdiction, never really hearing
what she was saying. Thus, I am sad to admit that I came out of the day with a
very small amount learned about Nine Mile Run and its significance.
But how
much I could have learned! I had walked alongside the run several times in the
past, and each time I had thought only, “what a pretty stream.” I’d even
crossed it, thinking the water to be the purest water in existence. I was
caught within a limited aesthetic, unable to see that there is more occurring
than meets the eye. Factual knowledge of a place or thing expands one’s
perception of that place or thing. That may be the most important lesson this
course has taught me.
I am not
sure if this is the case for all, but for me, listening takes great effort. It
requires me to breathe deeply and do my best to open space for new sounds to
enter. I, like many, become all too engrossed in a routine, both mental and
physical, until the routine becomes all encompassing.
I was able
to break out of my thought patterns a bit, however, during our writing
exercise. I ran up a steep dirt hill, exerting great effort not to slip or fall
backwards, and arrived at the hill’s peak. My shoes crunched over fallen oak
leaves, leaves that the warm wind swirled around me. Up there, unseen, immersed
in the sweet scent of dirt, I heard the sounds of my breath, of the robins, of
the wind. Up there, I felt calm and receptive.
All it
takes is a small amount of daily effort. I have sacrificed this daily effort
for the sake of more productivity, more pages produced, and in the process I
sacrificed components of the receptivity to stimuli I’ve always held in such
high regard. The funny thing about this “effort,” however, is that it demands
one merely sit still and breathe. Of course, amidst a life transition from Grad
School to the World Beyond, this sitting still can be difficult, for it
requires me to face the fears that arise. Yet during these transitions, sitting
still is more important than ever before, for it allows one to realize that the
world still exists outside the sphere of individual consciousness. And that world
is full of so much to learn.
