The inspiration of The Good Listener comes from a really dark place. And like a beacon of light on a shady path, it showed itself with resilience against the shadows. Once unleased it became a brilliant light that warmed my heart and burned inside of me (it's still a passion that burns inside of me). It demanded me to listen to it's pulse, it's song, and it's cry. I heard the call.
I looked back at the dark place, a whole in my own heart from not having been heard and even hurt by bad listeners. And I realized that this beacon of light which warmed my heart, filled the hole. It filled the gap. It was a gap that I created myself and filled with other things like lots and lots of talking. For the first time I was listening and hearing what the heart says.
And now I'm ruined for life. Like sweet music, I want to listen to what the heart says all the time. In each story teller there is an infinate amount of heart song. My ears will never grow bored, void, or wanting. Since I've been listening, I've disovered that if you have beating heart in your chest, you've got something to share. And I would love to listen.
The Music Teacher Who Couldn't Hear A Dance
Small, meek, and shy, I stood infront of the 3rd grade music class. I hid between my pony tails, long, thick, and brown like puppy dog ears. With my chin drawn in, I sqweaked out Do, Ray, Me in a whisper so small that the shuffle of a shoe could overpower the sound.
I was scared to death standing in front of all those kids. The kids were mean to me. They didn't like me. They picked on me because of my shyness. And they thought my pony tails were ugly.
The Music Teacher played a few notes on the piano. She gave me a small chance. But, once she heard the whispers of my mouselike voice, she passed me on saying, "I'm sorry but you have no music ability". This meant there would be no chior concerts for me. And no instrument assigned for study. My life was limited to the Recorder which was provided to every student during a typical music class.
I looked around the room to see who had heard her determination.
The bully snickered. His friends made snarky comments under their
breath. It was typical for me to be passed on and overlooked by
teachers. The kids predicted this. Then, I looked at the ground and
hesitated before quietly walking way from the side of the piano.
Then, I lifted my small chin. And in that very same, very small, shy,
voice I said, "But I can dance. I'm a ballerina. If I have no music
ability, why can I dance?" She quickly replied, "We have no place for
dancers," and she shewed me away.
My chin is still small and drawn in most of the time. But above it,
these days, as an adult, there is a big empathetic smile for that
little girl I once was.... who spoke up, "But I can dance." I love
that little girl. She's my heart beat. I hear her! I heard her! I am
listening to what she has to say!
She can dance! And she can sing! And she can carry a beat! And she can
play music! And she has hope!
But most of all she dances.
The thing about telling a story is that it doesn't have
to sound smart, articulate, and charasmatic. It can be
as quiet as a dance. Good Listeners can hear the dance,
the songs of the meek, and the look of the eye. ~ Eve
The Inspiration of the Good Listener
The Good Listener fills the gap
The Good Listener hears what your heart says
The Good Listener is a beacon of light
The Good Listener is also a Story Teller, been there!
