The Listening One
The Listening One
Does he, did he, know, what he contributed
to the truth of what was spoken?
Towards the back seats of the lecture room,
this tidy, slim, quiet, dark-complexioned youth
listened with unwavering attention;
so much in the moment, his mind, so visibly,
claiming nothing; receiving all that there was to receive;
contributing, all that an audience can:
under his so steady listening,
I could not lie, blur, dodge; be anything
but dedicated to the truth;
from his attention, through my own,
he gave the audience more than I prepared.
I wonder if he knows the gift he’s shaped.
How many others has he blessed thus, with himself?
The Hindus have a name for him:
the Southward Facing, and the Formless One;
the Self as youth who teaches elders by his silence.
You may have met him, mortal, once or twice;
I wonder if he knows his priceless gift?
*
[A long-delayed debt of gratitude never since forgotten.]
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Related quotes
Listening
Listening.
And being there for someone loved...
To do just that!
With a mind willing,
To be receptive and clear...
Of opinions sitting,
On the tip of one's tongue.
With a giving of attention,
And staying mum.
Listening to someone.
Listening is not easily done.
For those who have experienced...
A life in which peace of mind has come.
When a listening ear,
Had not been volunteered by no one.
And some who know this...
Do their best to sit with patience.
Listening with no other reason...
But to be there as is wished.
For someone who has selected you,
Just for this.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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0419 Tribute to a Listening Man (George Steiner)
The TV studio set for a prestige production
of the sort that wins renewed network contracts
if not viewers, late on Sunday night:
the subject, a weekly series on
The History of Christianity -
worthy discussion leader, impressive panel
mingling ecclesiastical robes of
a glowing spectrum of faiths with the
open-necked, for open-minded,
dress-down of young freethinkers, but
respectful of their elders, with it;
subtle lighting on the semi-circular panel
and the background, tastefully designed
with hints of the history of otherworldliness
and among the assembled voices
of faith and reason in their polite battle,
the great intellectual guru of the Western world
himself – would his searing intellect, his daunting
global dimensions of mind, dominate
this gathering?
Life can have its glorious surprises even
on a dozy, precious-last-weekend-hours
of a Sunday night – George said his piece,
then, challenged by the other speakers,
sat there listening: as if, without a resistant, reacting,
or self-regarding thought in his head –
listened rapt in full attention, as if expecting
to listen to a further, deeper truth from
those who argued against him – his face
benign, almost smiling
I have never seen such intellectual humility –
as if, way, way beyond the personal, a mind
was listening constantly, for truth, to truth itself..
listening to that listening,
I felt proud to be
a human being.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Love of the Truth
'They perish because they did not receive the love of
the truth, that they might be saved.' 2 Thess.2: 10
There is a receiving of 'the truth', and a receiving of
'the love of the truth'. These two things widely differ.
To receive the truth will not necessarily save; for many
who receive the truth, never receive 'the love of the truth'.
Professors by thousands receive the truth into their
judgment, and adopt the plan of salvation as their creed;
but are neither saved nor sanctified thereby. But to receive
'the love of the truth' by Jesus being made sweet and
precious to the soul, is to receive salvation itself.
'Yes, He is very precious to you who believe.' 1 Peter 2: 7
(J. C. Philpot, 'The Valley of Achor' 1861)
poem by Mary Wismer
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Sharing The Ultimate Gift
I want to share a special gift with you that God has given to me,
This gift like most others that you will receive is absolutely free.
However unlike other gifts that you may have received in the past,
This special gift and this one alone through all eternity will last.
Although you can't see this gift, it's the greatest you can receive,
This gift is not in a box, but in the heart of all those who believe.
And even though this gift is one of a kind and very special indeed,
You'll surely want to give this gift away as soon as it is received.
Don't be concerned about giving away something you didn't use,
For God said “Blessed are the feet of those who bring good news.”
This gift will surprise you on the day you decide to give it away,
You won't feel any loss at all with more to give the following day.
My friend you will be Eternally Grateful when you finally choose,
To truly embrace but give away this gift that you can never lose.
By now you know this gift is none other than Jesus Christ the Lord,
And your faithful sharing of this gift, by Him, will not be ignored.
For our Great Blessed Hope, who through the ages many have adored,
At His return will bring to all His faithful, an Everlasting Reward.
So the next gift you receive and think you'll treasure forevermore,
Remember that the only truly lasting gift is Jesus Christ The Lord.
(Copyright © 12/2002)
0031 Check-off
'Who was listening
when I apologised
for my life? '
I jotted that down
in a moment of regret
over the wasted things
of life, that is, my life..
and thought, that
sounds a bit like dialogue
or rather monologue to audience
stage or stalls
in Chekhov
so if no-one was listening
well, that's that
but suppose that 'everything'
was listening, and made
changes so subtle that
they'll go unnoticed except
that I find I have
nothing to apologise for
even to myself
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Christening
Yes, yes there's a new world dawning
Get dressed, quit dreaming you're falling
Take notes and I'll tell you when you got it right
No, no you can leave your attitude
You're the only one it seems to matter to Count votes and you'll see it in a
brand new light
Why can't you be a man about it
Let me turn you into someone new
I'm screaming in a fan
I doubt that any of my words will make it through
This is your christening
Find out what you been missing and
I promise it'll make you fell better
This is your christening
The audience is listening
Baby, baby we're a perfect pairing
Walk in the room and they can't stop staring
I've gotten used to it, I've gotten used to you
You'll never, never land another like me
I think you're clever, please don't try to fight me
Take notes and I'll tell you when you got it right
Why can't you be a man about it
Let me turn you onto something new
I'm screaming in a fan
I doubt that any of my words will make it through
This is your christening
Find out what you been missing and
I promise it'll make you fell better
This is your christening
The audience is listening
This is your christening
Find out what you been missing and
I promise it'll make you fell better
This is your christening
The audience is listening
Why can't you be a man about it
(There's a new world dawning)
We're swimming in a painted fountain
(There's a new world dawning)
This is your christening
Find out what you been missing and
I promise it'll make you fell better
This is your christening
The audience is listening...
song performed by by Tiffany
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Youth is blind
Youth is power; youth is vigour;
Youth is initiative; youth is revolutionary;
Youth is dedication; youth is freedom;
Youth is love; youth is passion.
Yes, because youth is blind
Out of them elders make winds
01.01.2003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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His Youth
Dying? I am not dying. Are you mad?
You think I need to ask for heavenly grace?
\I\ think \you\ are a fiend, who would be glad
To see me struggle in death's cold embrace.
'But, man you lie! for I am strong-in truth
Stronger than I have been in years; and soon
I shall feel young again as in my youth,
My glorious youth-life's one great priceless boon.
'O youth, youth, youth! O God, that golden time,
When proud and glad I laughed the hours away.
Why, there's no sacrifice (perhaps no crime)
I'd pause at, could it make me young to-day.
'But I'm not \old\! I grew-just ill, somehow;
Grew stiff of limb, and weak, and dim of sight.
It was but sickness. I am better now,
Oh, vastly better, ever since last night.
'And I could weep warm floods of happy tears
To think my strength is coming back at last,
For I have dreamed of such an hour for years,
As I lay thinking of my glorious past.
'You shake your head? Why, man, if you were sane
I'd strike you to my feet, I would, in truth.
How dare you tell me that my hopes are vain?
How dare you say I have outlived my youth?
''In heaven I may regain it?' Oh, be still!
I want no heaven but what my glad youth gave.
Its long, bright hours, its rapture and its thrill-
O youth, youth, youth! it is my \youth\ I crave.
'There is no heaven! There's nothing but a deep
And yawning grave from which I shrink in fear.
I am not sure of even rest or sleep;
Perhaps we lie and \think\, as I have here.
'Think, think, think, think, as we lie there and rot,
And hear the young above us laugh in glee.
How dare you say I'm dying! \I am not\.
I would curse God if such a thing could be.
'Why, see me stand! why, hear this strong, full breath-
Dare you repeat that silly, base untruth?'
A cry-a fall-the silence known as death
Hushed his wild words. Well, has he found his youth?
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Someday
hold her close when she's near
let her scare away your fears
only she can dry your tears
[she whispers in your ear]
[with lips of truth]
believe in love
[clairvoyant youth]
believe it's enough
-life could be so sweet someday-
look into those eyes of hers
pay attention to her words
don't just simply wait your turn
[she will speak of wonders]
[with lips of truth]
believe in love
[clairvoyant youth]
believe it's enough
-life could be so sweet someday-
feel her heart change it's pace
tell her things will be okay
kiss her lips and grab her face
[she'll take your breath away]
[with lips of truth]
believe in love
[clairvoyant youth]
believe it's enough
-life could be so sweet someday-
[with lips of truth]
believe it's enough
[clairvoyant youth]
believe in love and..
-someday love could be enough-
(07/27/07)
poem by Frozen Beauty
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A Birthday Celebration
How strange it seems, that old age follows youth!
when all the world seemed one's own, at that time,
with time enough to seek a higher truth -
who'd guess the stairs so steep, so slow to climb?
Worn carpets and worn kneecaps are old age
- and yet, a blessed time for life of mind:
for those who wish, a different sense of wage;
free-chosen universal work to find;
and yet more blessed still: that earth-bound soul
to meet and greet, and work its soil and flowers;
to live with gratitude; and scan the whole
to find that One which proves the whole world ours.
As iron age yields to the gold of truth,
so our old age may find within, true youth.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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0016 Orpheus - or his lute?
It was his listening; he listened
to himself; he listened to himself
listening to his lute; his lute perforce
listened to itself; listened to itself
listening to him..listened to
the measures of all things, even
the measures of mankind..
space, air, listened to his listening;
listened as the eagle made a silent,
perfect circle around a centre in its mind
high above Delphi that clear morning;
listened to the silent cliffs across the gorge,
silently ominous in their listening;
the stream which trickles down past the carved theatre,
cool and clear enough to wash your face;
look up the mountain and hope it sacred, holy; it
plashes like curiosity pursued, down towards the river
which is a mere pencil line at the bottom of the gorge
in this so unexpected place;
the sea barely visible in the distance,
misty with its myths unspoken;
space listened and loved his music, allowed this scene;
a cool air, this morning elsewhere hot, descends gently
down the mountain to the gorge, curves past these rocks
where a dark shadow here or there
could be where the Sibyl listened too.
we thought, boarding the hot bus,
that we were tourists; then we looked,
became pilgrims; then something more,
more like worshippers of the unknown god
whose altar we left behind in Athens,
silent beyond questions,
listening to the space
as if the space itself
listened to some instrument well tuned,
a voice perhaps, silent, powerful.
the sun, the sunlight, moved from rock to rock
this cool, clear morning, waking
clumps of sparse bright flowers, woken
again by morning bees
who may be unaware – or born to know—
they forage at a world heritage site as do we visitors,
at Delphi, where still truth speaks in silence;
bees who listen to each other,
dance their satnav trails,
listen inwardly to flowers,
to honey, and what else
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Paying Close Attention
What ammunition do 'I' use?
Truth.
Truth as I observe it to be.
You know...
The kind that I can see,
That is more real to me...
Than what someone else,
Wants to feed me as 'their' reality!
What ammunition do 'I' use?
Truth as I observe it to be.
And the process of effective listening.
You know...
Paying close attention.
Even to those unconscious.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Black Bruises II
I can ponder upon the blackness,
the garrulous of silence
placated by benign solitude
I can endure the ostracizing
listening to lulling lullabies,
listening to trembling metals,
listening to enraptured echoes,
listening to a soundless shattering,
listening to nothingness,
listening to guffawing crows,
listening to diffident clocks,
listening to the waning time;
but am I the only one listening
to these black bruised whispers?
poem by Norman Santos
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Inflated Self Worth
Inflated self worth...
May be a need some must feed,
To receive attention.
Or a curiousity shown,
To them expressed and mentioned.
Eventually to be addressed,
At someone else's expense.
And this often takes place,
When those who love to embellish...
Do so,
When it is realized the audience listening...
Has several unfamiliar and attentive fresh faces.
To accomplish and achieve what one believes,
Is an easier way to notoriety...
Than providing the actual evidence that can be researched.
But then again when one embellishes a delusion,
One is hoping that a dazzling performance is sufficient...
Enough,
To enthrall newcomers and nonbelievers.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Teacher as healer: an observation
Even before the question put,
they’re full of quiet attention; something
is already being listened to.. makes
that space, in which a question
may be floated on the air..
tentatively perhaps, or self-concerned,
the question’s put; and listened to;
perhaps with gentle nod of head;
a keen attention; even a half-smile:
you and they are meeting now
in the fullness of the heart, in
a place that’s fully shared:
the teacher, almost eager, so it seems,
to hear more of your truth;
to hear the truth of you.
And as the question nears its end,
the answer floats upon the air
as if it and the question are but one;
the answer gently given, as if
already shared; not given,
not received; but already shared;
(and I saw: each time they said
the words ‘it is’, their spine
relaxed into a greater straightness..)
Who can describe that unity of mind -
as joy in stillness; or the bliss of peace?
Somewhere in the world of name and form,
something has been healed;
wholeness has returned to wholeness;
perfection taken, and returned;
the teacher, too, is still;
gifts of grace have been exchanged.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Silent Truth
I can see the truth with it's infinite light
Shining through the darkest night
Becoming pure in it's own way
Never trying to become astray
Sometimes the truth does not speak at all
Never telling us that we will fall
Although we rise again and feel
The truth is always there and real
Listening to the truth may open our eyes
Catching us by an unexpected surprise
The truth is spoken again
And will never fail to end
poem by Sarah Bruun
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Epileptic Truth
When I touched your pshyche,
my completeness wavered.
In the empty words
and hollow thoughts.
The road to my dream house burned.
I longed to meet my flame.
You were listening to declaration of truth.
It was a refuge,
there was no evidence
of any movement of humanity.
My soft mind took the imprint
of golden spaces between
the dark alleys of earth.
The skeletons of history remained unclaimed.
Remembering your trust
My attachment floats. Anxiety
of seeking. The dust smears
the face of epileptic truth.
The clogged arteries of mundane heart twitch.
There wasn’t room for sentiments.
Moment to moment I travelled
to break the silence in vain.
poem by Satish Verma
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Eurydice: Listening: A Picture By Burne Jones
I
As sentient as a wedding-bell,
The vibrant air throbs calling her
Whose eager body, earwise curved,
Leans listening at the heart of hell.
She is one nerve of hearing, strained
To love and suffer, hope and fear-
Thus, hearkening for her Love, she waits,
Whom no man's daring heart has gained.
II
Oh, to be sound to such an ear!
Song, carol, vesper, comfort near,
Sweet words, at sweetest, whispered low,
Or dearer silence, happiest so.
By little languages of love
Her finer audience to prove;
A tenderness untried, to fit
To soul and sense so exquisite;
The blessed Orpheus to be
At last, to such Eurydice!
III
I listened in hell! I listened in hell!
Down in the dark I heard your soul
Singing mine out to the holy sun.
Deep in the dark I heard your feet
Ringing the way of Love in hell.
Into the flame you strode and stood.
Out of the flame you bore me well,
As I listened in hell.
IV
I listen in hell! I listen in hell!
Who trod the fire? Where was the scorch?
Clutched, clasped, and saved, what a tale was to tell
-Heaven come down to hell!
Oh, like a spirit you strove for my sake!
Oh, like a man you looked back for your own!
Back, though you loved me heavenly well,
Back, though you lost me. The gods did decree,
And I listen in hell.
poem by Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward
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If your audience is young, it'd be youth culture, if your audience is older, it'd be older people, if it were senior citizens, it'd be senior citizen issues. So you try and hit the target audience.
quote by Kurt Loder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heart-shaped Box
She eyes me like a pisces when I am weak
Ive been locked inside your heart-shaped box for weeks
Ive been drawn into your magnet tar pit trap
I wish I could eat your cancer when you turn back (alt: ... when you turn black)
Hey! wait!
Ive got a new complaint
Forever in debt to your priceless advice
Hey! wait! (alt: hate! haight!)
Ive got a new complaint
Forever in debt to your priceless advice
Hey! wait!
Ive got a new complaint
Forever in debt to your priceless advice
Your advice
Meat-eating orchids forgive no one just yet
Cut myself on angels hair and babys breath
Broken hymen of your highness Im left black
Throw down your umbilical noose so I can climb right back
Hey! wait!
Ive got a new complaint
Forever in debt to your priceless advice
Hey! wait!
Ive got a new complaint
Forever in debt to your priceless advice
Hey! wait!
Ive got a new complaint
Forever in debt to your priceless advice
Your advice
She eyes me like a pisces when I am weak
Ive been locked inside your heart-shaped box for weeks
Ive been drawn into your magnet tar pit trap
I wish I could eat your cancer when you turn back (alt: ... when you turn black)
Hey! wait!
Ive got a new complaint
Forever in debt to your priceless advice
Hey! wait!
Ive got a new complaint
Forever in debt to your priceless advice
Hey! wait!
Ive got a new complaint
Forever in debt to your priceless advice
Your advice (x3)
song performed by by Nirvana
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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