BECOMING A GOOD LISTENER III
Lenten Observations 2012
by Gregory Talipson
a.k.a. Snark
"The Universe is made of stories, not of atoms." Let's take this wise observation of the poet Muriel Rukeyser a few steps further. We know that if a neutron is fired at the atomic nucleus of Uranium 235, a huge amount of energy is released in the resulting nuclear fission. We also know that, around this time of year in fact, when the sun's solar rays sufficiently warm the earth, the bulbs of the crocus and even the daffodil are "split." Enormous botanical energy is released: first, the green shoots appear, followed by all the lovely flowers that give us hope for life returning once again from winter's grip.
But by what method is a story "split?" How can its energy be released? The answer is, I think, by bringing caring, attentive listening to the story that another tells. When this happens . . . when another has told their story to one who has respectfully and empathically listened . . . a certain energy is released both within the storyteller and between that person and the one who has listened.
In the last Lenten observation, I suggested that we first must listen to the part inside of us that gets agitated and threatens to undo our attempts at being good listeners. This post will suggest something we can do to help soothe this internal agitation of our alligator brains . . . and thus help us to become good listeners.
But first, let me ground this suggestion in a piece of our Christian tradition. That I do so was suggested to me by Advocatus himself. If you've been reading Last Supper Red, you know that he and I have not always been particularly good at listening to one another. But we've been improving of late. He now understands that I'm not trying to supplant Christian spirituality with psychobabble; and I've come to appreciate how the more progressive version of Christianity that interests me can often appropriately incorporate the wisdom of Christian traditions that have preceded it.
So here are the words to a familiar, traditional Christian hymn written in 1878 by Edwin Hatch and frequently sung to the tune "Carlisle" composed by Charles Lockhart in 1791:
Breathe on me, breath of God,
Fill me with life anew,
That I may love what Thou dost love,
And do what Thou wouldst do.
I have quoted these hymn lyrics because one of the best ways we can soothe our alligator brains is to BREATHE! Yeah, I know: we're doing that all the time, so what's the big deal? Well, when some part of us (the amygdala and the hippocampus, or the "Alligator Brain") perceives a threat of some sort, it releases adrenalin into the bloodstream, preparing us to fight or take flight. When this happens our breathing becomes rapid and shallow.
When we realize that, among other signals, we are beginning to breathe in a more shallow and rapid way, we can begin to calm ourselves by breathing more slowly and deeply. Now, when you start to do this, don't expect your first breaths to be slow and deep. But stay with it and gradually your breathing will return to a more normal, deeper, slower pace . . . all of which is correlated with being in a relaxed state rather than an agitated one.
In fact, it is impossible to be breathing slowly and deeply and, simultaneously, to be in a state of anxious agitation! So, by intentionally trying to slow our rate of respiration and to deepen each breath, we will automatically "reverse-engineer" the effects of the Alligator Brain!
Even if you are quite relaxed while reading this, try it. Pay attention to your breathing and see if you can slow it down . . . gradually . . . and just a bit. Imagine the air going down, down, down until it inflates your lungs just behind your navel. (I know, I know . . . that's not 'anatomically correct' . . . but, hey, this is a family site!!) Try it now and see if you experience yourself feeling pleasantly relaxed. I'll wait.
* * * * * *
How'd it go? (I'm going to guess it went well and that you're relaxed enough to let in the next suggestion.)
If we couple our breathing with well-chosen images and/or words, the effect can be enhanced. So one way you could do this would be to take the first line in Hatch's hymn and couple it with your breathing. On the inhalation, silently hear the words, "Breathe on me." On the exhalation, silently hear, "Breath of God."
I have deliberately made those phrases quite short. When you are listening to another and find your breathing becoming more shallow and rapid, that's about as long a phrase as you can hear!
If you want, as part of your Lenten practice, you might want to practice this kind of intentional breathing. If you are already in a neutral or relaxed state when you do, then experiment with imaging these words upon your inhalation: "Breathe on me breath of God." On the exhalation: "Fill me with life anew." When you have tried that as often as you wish, you can use the rest of the first verse. Inhalation: "That I may love what Thou dost love." Exhalation: "And do what Thou wouldst do."
You can, of course, substitute many things in place of this hymn's lyrics. For example, you can imagine "I'm" on the inhalation and "Okay" on the exhalation. Or "Peace" and "Calm." But if you choose to use the lyrics to the hymn, remember that what God loves is compassion. And that is what God practices.
This simple discipline of breathing is one of our first lines of defense against becoming so uptight that we become unable to truly listen to our conversation partner.
From a Biblical perspective, we should not be surprised that breathing might hold a key to the creation of attentive, caring listening. In the Bible the Hebrew word ruach and Greek word pneuma are each rendered as breath, wind, and spirit. "In the beginning, the spirit (or wind) of God hovered over the face of the deep." "And God breathed into Adam and he became a living soul."
There is infinite wisdom in these ancient stories: remembering to breathe can become . . . for us . . . a way to remember God . . . what God loves . . . what God does. And if enough of us do this when we are trying to be good listeners to another's story, who knows . . . the stories might be split open, release immense energy, and an entire chain-reaction might start! From such small beginnings New Life grows!
Until the next Lenten post, then, be well . . . and remember to breathe!
Snark
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