Learning to Listen

            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.