By Thursday nights during the week my brain is usually passing medium rare and well on its way to char broiled. Concentrating on anything for more than a few minutes at a time can be nearly impossible. I was leafing through the small, rotating library by my chair and found myself leafing through similar passages from three different, very different books. The authors included a Bhuddist, a Presbyterian who also has ties to a Benedictine monastary and a Native American. All of the passages had to do with silence and listening. Listening not only to other people, but to the earth and everything on it and in it.
I've been dipping into a couple of books by Jamie Sams. She claims Seneca ancestry and works within the Native American tradtions. From some of the material I've picked up on the 'net I get the impression that not all her interpretations are accepted by all Native Americans. Perhaps her 13 clan mothers are metaphors for all the teachers who came before. And maybe in a time when so many of us are talking at the same time and listening seems to be limited to finding the pause in what someone else is saying so we can jump in with our own voices maybe there should have been a real Listening Woman.
Her book Earth Medicine is organized like a day book around the lunar months. Some of the entries are prose, some are poems. This is the one for today.
LISTENING TO THE WHISPERS