Listening

In the silence between words, life is spoken. I hear it in the echoes of family and whispers of lost love. I see it in the quivering of moist lips and bright eyes. I feel it in the touch of a gentle hand and skinned knees. I remember it in the taste of chicken soup and the softness of a first kiss. I smell it in Vicks Vapor Rub and spring honeysuckle.

And yet, sometimes the loudest voices belong within. Innumerable voices with unfriendly names. In these conversations, I stand alone and so I battle and conquer; succeed and fail. In a perpetual effort to live in peace, I struggle.

When stillness reigns, I am able hear. I step back and do not form opinions or create persuasive arguments. I do not interrupt or negate ideas. I do not impose. I do not fight. I simply listen to the ones in front of me. Their voices tempered with the tenor of their past, their demons, and their victories.

For in the silence between words, life is spoken. I hear it in tones and pauses. I see it in faces before me and in the hunch of overburdened shoulders. I feel it in the tremor of hands I reach out to touch and in tears I wipe away. I hear it in laughter and in the comfortable stillness of those who know each other best. I feel it in the stickiness of cotton candy hands reaching into mine and in the beat of a fragile heart.

Life is spoken. It’s up to me to listen.