I have two ears to hear by. Sound comes in, bounces around, moves the required bones and cartilage to translate what is heard to the brain, which then deciphers the audible translation into recognizable sounds. It is a complicated process, but simple enough to me. I hear what I hear.My grandma used to tell me that I had selective hearing. I would only hear the things I wanted to hear. Never would I hear her tell me what chores to do. Always would I hear that is was dinnertime. To some extent, I will admit that it is true. I might have done that. I might still do that.
I hardly ever drive my bus without listening to some music. I love music. It is a big part of my life. It can soothe my nerves with sweet sounds. It can make me want to ram the vehicle in front of me with its heavy sounds. It can make me smile with sounds of pure silliness. If there is nothing worth listening to on the radio, I simply push a button and music from the 6-disc CD changer starts playing songs that I want to hear. But just yesterday, I opted to not listen to music. I just wanted to listen to the sounds that Oscar made as we rode as a team down the road. I wanted to hear what he had to tell me. I heard the squeak of the spring attached to the accelerator pedal as my foot commanded more or less speed. I heard the tires meeting the pavement, holding on ever so tightly to the surface of the road. I heard a whum-whum noise coming from the front end, telling me that some wheel bearings needed adjusting or replacing. I heard the engine firing and exhaust belching; the wind howling through the open vents and open windows; the whine of air being sliced by the roof rack. In all of this I heard sounds of what needed to be done, and the normal sounds that a 30 year old vehicle makes while it keeps on keeping on.
I did something today, that to some might seem to be punishing myself, but to me, it was something I felt I needed to do. After doing it, I kind of saw the “punishing myself” side, but I had done it and got what I needed out of it. I had been packing boxes and moving stuff to my new place today. On my final trip over there, I decided to pull into Red Clay State Park, which is on the way to my new home. Red Clay is special to me, not only because of my Cherokee heritage (which I need to embrace more tightly, I haven’t for many years), but because of other, deeper loving reasons. It was there that my ex and I had gotten married. It was there that family and friends came to witness the ultimate public act of love and affection. It was there that I went today. I went there for some solitude and to look for peace. I went there to listen to what nature had to say.
I heard birds singing back and forth to each other. I wondered what they were saying with their chirps, warbles, and whistles. I heard the water as it bubbled up and out of the spring and made its way down the narrow stream. I remember pictures taken across that stream…the rocks we stood on are still there, but they are being used as bases for the new bridge that crosses the stream. I couldn’t tell what the water was saying. I heard the wings of yellow-jackets as they streamed in and out of their nest, a nest that surely would have been right in the middle of where people were sitting for the ceremonial union of souls that was our wedding day. The yellow-jackets didn’t know where they had made their nest…they just kept coming and going in steady streams. I sat down in the Cherokee tribal council shelter. I could imagine the drumbeats and chanting as the council convened, possibly in the very spot where I was sitting. I listened as hard as I could, but couldn’t actually hear voices or drumbeats. Pretty soon I realized that I wasn’t going to hear anything in this place. Not with my ears. What I needed to hear wasn’t going to be heard in the normal way of hearing. So I started listening with my heart. I started to hear things, happy things; happy things that made me sad. As beautiful and peaceful as this place is; as quiet and full of history that Red Clay is…I listened with my heart and discovered that I couldn’t be at this place. I couldn’t be where the one person who I had given my heart to, my life to, my love to; and the one person who is now gone from my heart…had given of herself back to me in this place. I probably can someday, but not today. I heard my heart tell me the things that I had done to hurt her, the things done without realizing what was being done, the things that I never would have intentionally done. I couldn’t listen anymore, so I quickly took some pictures and made my way back to my bus to continue on.
Sometimes ears aren’t the only things you hear with. Your heart tells you things as well. Sometimes the things you hear are not what you want to hear. I tune them out when I can. And when I can’t, the sound is more deafening than a jet plane just over my head. That’s when I turn on the selective hearing, just like grandma said. I had always been good at it, I suppose. It doesn’t work as well as it used to, though. I think that is because I am teaching myself to listen more, to hear the things just under the audible range, to notice things unseen, to see things more clearly. To close my ears and open my heart. Is this a good thing? I don’t know. Someone I am very interested in told me something that her Gramps told her about. Whenever he was trying to make a decision, based on his smarts or what his feelings were about the situation, he would use this equation:
Emotion over intellect = Failure
Intellect over emotion = Success
Does this mean I am destined to failure because I listen with my heart? I am a very emotional person. But I also consider myself to be somewhat smart. At least I am not a stupid man. But will the heart overthrow the brain? If I listen to what the heart has to say instead of the brain, am I doomed to a life of misery and despair? I hope not. Because I always, always listen to what I feel. Maybe I should re-introduce those two parts of my body, the brain and the heart, and teach them to communicate better, to learn lessons from each other. Keep them in tune and let their friendship grow. That way, maybe Gramps’ equation could turn out more like this:
Emotion + Intellect = Happy life
It is late. I think I am going to lay my head down on a pillow and see what it tells me. I think it will be singing a lullaby. That’s a good thing.
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