Bench-sitting
Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak; courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen. — Winston Churchill
When I was a newly arrived community member of Southern Pines I spent a lot of time bench-sitting in the downtown area. The experience allowed me to catch snippets of conversations in passing and observe people; older couples holding hands going for a stroll, young mothers wheeling their toddlers in a carriage, others just casually walking in conversation. For weeks when time allowed I would simply sit on a bench and watch taking in the environment.
Then one day, someone sat beside me and started talking. It wasn’t a conversation, it was more like a monologue of their history. I just listened, never seeing them again.
Empathetic listening is an awesome medication for the hurting heart.
—Gary Chapman
As I appeared more regularly at different benches one by one people would sit down and start talking to me; often after the injunction: “You’re not from here.” As if people from here would not sit on a bench and just wait. Listen. Hold sacred space outside in a quiet community on a beautiful day. Then I didn’t think much of that work. I was merely a place holder an empty vessel and people would fill me up with their stories. As this kept happening repeatedly; almost any time I sat somewhere by myself, someone would come share their story.
Even as a youngster, I was always fascinated by other’s storytelling and I felt comfortable holding their confidential secrets with no desire to spread their intimacies, much less remember their stories or even respond with one of my own. Perhaps that was because I found other ways of telling my story through dance and movement. I could say more without words like Isadora Duncan (1877-1927) who based her dances on natural movements of nature: swaying, swinging, running, and skipping. My storytelling resonates with hers:
If I could tell you what it meant there would no point in dancing.
As time went on, if I sat for longer than a half-hour someone would sit beside me, no introduction, no salutation, except maybe “you’re not from here.” Not allowing for a response, today, if given the chance I might say: “No, I’m not and neither are you.” This would surely have shifted the trajectory of the conversation and interfered with the intimacy that later got revealed in assuming that I wasn’t from here.
Little did I know that I was being prepared for a later stage in my life where listening would aid people in finding a deeper relationship with themselves. No interference on my part, just allowing the Divine to be seen within. It seems that more and more people are seeking to be listened to, as well as others searching to express themselves through embodied practices.
These are not new 21st century practices. They are ancient! People often sought guidance from someone whom they held in high esteem, or who they knew would merely listen to their deepest thoughts with no need to worry where there sharing might go, beyond the present moment. And of course, dance and movement was part of every culture and reflected all aspects of life; mourning, joy, and ecstatic celebration. The fact that listening is becoming an art form in some instances, called spiritual direction is worth noting, when placed in the context of our current evolution.
How many of us are yearning to be seen, to be noticed, to be listened to, to be moved into wholeness, I wonder!
The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit. John 3: 8, NRSV