.: the art of being listened to :.

I find that I am somewhat hesitant these days to enter into any sort of conversation. There is often far too much going on for me to stay in tune with what another soul is bearing to me. I do not mean to look away, but my attention flies to whatever seems more exciting at the moment. Why can I not keep my focus on their heart? Oh, wait... did I return the movie I rented last night? It seems like my mind is forever clearing off the mental notes that tend to clutter that space. It is not that I am careless about their story. Rather, I am taking seconds at a time to dial into something I was wrestling with before they arrived on the scene. But then the thought enters my head; how am I to know that the same is not being done in exchange for my own failure to visual prove that I care? Love would have us to listen. It would have us to care deeply for what is being presented to us. So how can I carry another person's burden when my own seems always threatening to crush me? I want to care. Believe me, I do! But there are moments of each day that cause me to get caught up in what is happening here and now; in me, for me, to me, with me. So forgive me if my eyes fill up with those clouds that imply distraction. I guess no one's story is more or less important than the one resting in the body across from me. But I refuse to be ushered into a contest of comparing who stands closer to tragedy or mystery. I cannot believe that this has happened to you. But you are going to have to let me off the hook on this one, as well as so many to follow. These words are constantly coming at a time in which I feel on the edge of complete brilliance. Release me to wander away for the sake of recovering bits of misplaced strength. How can anyone say that we owe this to them? Though I must admit, how sad that we as a culture have moved beyond the opportunities that lay all around us to invest in another heart. We feel that what lies beneath the surface is apparently closer to real life than anything else we have seen thus far. Maybe we could learn what it looks like, if only we could cut into our own habits and intentions. At the end of the day, how many times did each of us use that conversation to make something better of ourselves? In what ways did we improve our lives on the basis on that discussion? Not one of us escapes the trap of making our own standing ground more solid. All of us establish our position that much more, and root ourselves that much deeper into our growing (yet always changing) convictions and experiences. It is quite possible that it is not as bad as it seems. But who am I to tell you? And who are you to make me believe it is not true? We must take the risk of finding that few truly care about what is stealing joy and peace from our souls. They are only looking for peace of heart and mind themselves in the words that were exchanged. As for me, the distractions and obligations in my life have stolen opportunities to genuinely show my brother or sister that I hurt when they hurt. Right or wrong, who is to say? But those who would utter an attempted answer are probably caught in the same search as myself.