In our content-glutted world, listening is exalted above speaking. There’s many people talking and few people listening.
Human beings are creatures of the foreground. We like to take the direct path. If few people are listening the solution is: Start listening. Right? Isn’t that a satisfying answer? Don’t you feel virtuous when you take the attitude of the good listener and let the other do all the talking? Don’t you feel charitable?
But let me ask you this: If you perceive it this way – that all honor is due the listener… are you really listening? Or, taking it from a different angle: when someone needs to be heard, is the need essentially one of needing some silent space and a friendly face? Or something else?
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The paradox: We listen to the degree that we value what is said. Unless the listener experiences the value of what he hears – unless he is genuinely grateful for what is being said – he’s not actually listening at all. Valuing doesn’t have to mean agreeing, it means valuing the shared being of conversation. A conversation of this kind has itself (as a shared whole) through its part-icipants.
The resolution: Start by refusing to listen to what you can’t value; but even more importantly, don’t speak what you do not spontaneously experience as valuable yourself. If it doesn’t move you saying it, it won’t move the other hearing it. Don’t say it, write it, sing it, paint it, build it, dance it. Wait attentively and openly for your vision to come to you from within or from without.
There is no shame in waiting. There is tremendous honor in waiting.
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Have you ever experienced the liberation of art?: a deeply persuasive presentation of a new way to be in the world?
Art that does not radiate a new existential possibility around itself is not art, but mere entertainment.
It does not matter if the art “moves” you emotionally, as long as you are moved within the same old world as before. That is mere sentimental jostling, and it seems like a big enough deal until you’ve experienced a true shift at the depths.
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Your universe is a planetarium. You look out into the starry, plaster dome and you see infinite space. You look at the projector at the center, and it is an object, furniture.
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We no longer expect enough. But do not worry: desperation is on its way and it will liberate us from our drab satisfaction. Nothing but genuine intense pain can liberate. Until then vanity and fear conspire to imprison us in cozy complacence. I have nothing to say to someone who has never suffered and known the disorientation of despair.
I’ve always loved people in deep crisis, and also people on psychedelic drugs; both listen urgently enough to hear the radically unexpected.
“Lord we have come to the end of this kind of vision of heaven…”