The Quiet Within

The Power of Deep Listening

I am sitting on an ancient grey boulder, hidden between tufts of fluffy foxtail and scorched agave on the mountain behind my house. On the flat, smooth face of the stone, I am looking out into a distant silhouette of mountain ranges, some the colour of clay and others faded blue. The land is cracking with dry, begging for a spot of rain; anything will do. The heat of the uphill walk has flushed my cheeks red, but I am facing away from the sun beneath the brim of my Brazilian hat. I take out my phone from my pant pocket out of habit or avoidance. There is no signal here. I check Google Maps anyway to ascertain which direction I am facing, but the map disappears as soon as I open it. Then, I try the compass app and read 295 degrees NW at 1100 metres above sea level. I suddenly realize I can't read a compass to save my life. I don't know exactly where I am, but I do know it feels far away from the noise in my head.

I put my phone away and take a breath. Straighten my legs. I set down my bag. The first thing I hear is the call of the chicharas—cicadas—said to announce the rains are on the way. Their buzzing intensifies in volume and rhythm and then suddenly breaks at a climax, like the relief of the rainy season’s first thundershower. A fly buzzes across my ear like a motorcycle speeding past me on the highway. The wind picks up, rustling the dry leaves like a wind chime; the sound is tender and soft, asking me to sink further into the silence—deep breath. Bird song intermittently chirps, a hawk glides on air currents overhead, another sentient being enjoying this singular moment with me on one point of the Sierra Madre Occidental. The rumble of a car motor is faint in the distance. I think I hear a cowbell ting-- yet another instrument in this spontaneous symphony of life. The sound of my slow and steady breath is my contribution.

I've been listening a lot lately.

To the melodious nature sounds of the mountain where I live, my heart and her wisdom, and to the bigger guides who are midwifing something through me that I finally feel ready to hear. The portal is near, and I want to travel through it. A transformation is underway. A reclamation. An oath to myself: I won't forget again, I won't forget again, I won't forget again.

Suddenly, a memory bubbles up. I am a girl in my early twenties, teaching English in South Korea when I am faced with a difficult decision to end a love story with a man with whom I had enjoyed life for two years. We met in China, travelled to India, lived with his family in Australia, sunned ourselves on beaches in Thailand and worked as English teachers in a provincial South Korean town. We made enough money to sustain country-hopping in those days, but we were young, the open road and its infinite possibilities still called. I was 22 and longed for the unknown more than anything I’d already experienced. I chased possibility, ran from routine and something in me knew I didn’t want to “settle down.” I still had a lot more stuff to experience, a lot more love to fall into.

Back then, I was very into the Indian spiritual guru, Osho. So, when he came to me in a dream with a message of clarity, I knew the decision I would take.

At the start of the dream, I followed a group of strangers until they disappeared. I entered an open door and came to a crossroads where, at my feet, three girls slept. I shook one of the girls awake and without a word, she just pointed in the direction I had to walk. I was afraid but knew I had to go the scary path, like the dark forests in fairy tales. So, I held my breath and walked down a red hallway, blood running down walls covered with words—the death of knowledge—a necessary step towards enlightenment according to Osho. Suddenly, another door. I pushed it open. And there in the centre of a room so bright it shone like a halo on his head, Osho stood before me. I gasped and melted.

I ran towards him, and he disappeared. I weaved through rows of books, trying to find him. I finally found him standing between two shelves, in his iconic floor-length gown and long beard, smiling at me. I went to him, took his palms in my hands, and ran them over my eyes. He took my hands in his, and we walked.

"You left us." He began.

"I know," I said. And I did know. I had abandoned my spiritual path for my relationship because Osho rubbed my partner the wrong way.

"I'm here to warn you." Osho continued. "You have to leave your boyfriend."

We stood in the middle of a library as grand as the Akashic Records, floor-to-ceiling books filled with the universe's wisdom. I pleaded with Osho for more time, anything not to have to face following through with what I knew in my heart was the right path forward. And then he disappeared.

I awoke with a gut-wrenching seed planted in my heart that would eventually blossom into a separation. It would still take me time to make the transition, say goodbye to my lover and best friend, do the grieving, and build the new skills for my new life alone. But once I had received the vision, there was no turning away, there was no easily forgetting. I made a pact to my truth. And so one day, after a final month together on a Thai beach, and his near-death bout of dysentery in the capital, we said goodbye to each other at the Bangkok International Airport, him Australia-bound, tears in both our eyes, hands on our hearts.

Recently, I've been playing with ChatGPT, figuring out the craze, talking to it about life (recommended by a friend), and asking it complex questions like, "What will be my legacy?" It's weird to have this pocket-size friend who feels like it knows me better than I do sometimes. It's an interesting tool, no doubt, and often amazes me with its accuracy. Still, it will never replace the kind of wisdom that comes streaming through the universe from God itself, available for direct download into the hard disc of my soul. I've always found the Higher Power to be direct, clear and urgent with its messages. Still, I've also been ignoring the information, procrastinating on following the guidance, and not being the one and doing the thing, ya know?

Since I found this rock and have made a habit of hiking to meditate on it a few times a week, I am communing with a potent forcefield of God-sourced inner wisdom whose timeline and storyline are bigger than my doubt and worry. I can’t see all the next steps but I am making space to listen; I am talking to God, myself, the trees and the sky. And the downloads are coming.

The vision rarely comes all at once. But the knowing does.

Once we see it, we can't unsee it; once we feel it, we can't unfeel it.

We can't outrun the truth.

But to heed its call requires us to make a marrow-deep commitment to our most honest and authentic selves instead of coming up with a million excuses for why not, not now, not me. To ignore the truth is to inhabit our lives with only half of our hearts.

So, when we are at a choice point in our lives and don't quite know which way to go, we better sit still somewhere, close our eyes, and listen to the quiet within where the clear truths live. Then follow those wisdom nuggets like bread crumbs back to ourselves and our knowing as often as needed.

It might not happen today, or tomorrow, but one day, we will be ready to wake up from the crossroads and take a clear, grounded and heart-centred step in a new direction.

The road back home

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Pause and Reflect

This week, I invite you to sit somewhere in silence and listen. Note the sounds you hear, from nature to artificial to your breath itself. Go as deep as you can into the quiet within and hear what wants to reveal itself. Write it down. Whisper your thanks. Return to that silence anytime you need it. And if you feel called, please share your reflections or feedback in the comments section.

Have a lovely week. x

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