Listening to Loss
I've dealt with two losses about a month apart. It makes it hard not to think there's something divine about our experiences—that life isn't just a mathematical collection of deterministic and random events. Academia has deeply ingrained in me the scientific method, teaching me to develop tools in search of well-supported theories about how the world works, always within comfortable confidence intervals. Yet the more deeply we explore our world and universe, the more we realize our tools are merely blunt instruments, feebly attempting to capture the wealth of invisible cosmic forces.
How can we possibly find words to describe such profound and deeply personal events in our lives? In our quest for understanding and healing, we often turn first to the rational mind, attempting to process our wounds, grief, and loss through careful reasoning and analysis. We find ourselves desperately trying to make sense of what has happened, focusing intensely on the practical details and logistics, perhaps even entertaining futile thoughts about reversing senescence. Yet we discover, sometimes painfully, that even the most rigorous logical analysis cannot bring peace to an inquisitive mind that must, by necessity, eventually yield its carefully controlled mental territory to the raw power of emotions and feelings. This fundamental transition from thinking to feeling seems particularly daunting when the very gift of intellectualization—a trusted companion that has helped us navigate countless challenges in the past—must now be gently asked to step aside, to take a deep, nurturing breath, and to create a sacred space of quiet where we can truly listen.
There are many levels to listening, each requiring a different quality of attention and stillness. Only when we truly calm our racing thoughts and quiet the constant chatter of our analytical minds can we begin to perceive those subtle, invisible forces that flow through our body, mind, and surroundings. Deep within us lie innate tools, gifts we've carried since birth, waiting to be activated—tools that allow us to tap into vibrations and signals that initially seem imperceptible to our ordinary senses. Like a dormant windmill suddenly catching a gust of wind, this awareness can unfold dramatically, revealing an overwhelming wealth of information and subtle cues that were always present but previously unnoticed. The truest, most profound form of healing emerges when we dare to connect authentically with our raw emotions—our deep-seated pain, our burning anger, our gnawing frustration, and our hidden shame. This healing journey demands we develop special listening skills, ones that enable us to sit patiently and courageously with these intense feelings, creating a safe space where we can process them fully and completely, truly hearing and honoring the important stories they have to tell.
As we develop and strengthen these deep listening tools, we begin to see the forces around us and realize we aren't alone. Saying goodbye isn't really goodbye, because these forces live within us. The ones we've lost have shown us how to love, how to play, and how to experience life every day. We just have to learn to listen.
