I Want to Live Like an Ear: Layers of Listening

How would it be to live like an ear,

as if my entire purpose was to listen?

Listening to the person in front of me,

hanging on their words as if they are

the last other human left alive on the earth,

as if my survival depends on their very next utterance,

as if these are their final words before the shroud?

My other ear will be listening to the Divine.

What wisdom does Sophia have to impart?

What voice will she use? Will it be the cardinal's song,

the distant playground delight of children,

the green shush of the pear tree’s fluttering hands,

the music of the chimes dancing in the sunlight?

Let me listen closely to discern layers in their message.

Now I see that I will need an extra ear

to be attuned to my heart,

for she also has her song:

sometimes a boom-ticka-clank of disquiet,

a squeezing squeak of dread,

sometimes a moaning dirge of sorrow,

a sigh of weary discouragement.

Let me place a hand on my heart

to comfort, to assure: “I hear you. I am listening.”

For then a warmth steals in beneath that hand,

the constriction eases, and the hearing

of my other ears suddenly clears, like a radio

finding the perfect landing on a dial.

So now let me be content

with just these and no more:

a hand,

a heart,

and a trio of ears.

January 2026