The Art of Listening to the Power of...More.
On My 14, 2020, I shared, 'Just Listen", a practice my parents learned from their parents and their parents digested from their ancestors. Through storytelling and repetition, it was handed down to me, my sister and brother. To recap, 'Just Listen' is a phrase my siblings and I heard quite often to say, "Pay attention." Not only to what is seen or said but what you don't see, what's not said. What you hear, don't hear and what you feel and sense is missing.
When the Heart is Present
Just listen elevates its intuitiveness when the heart steps up. It magnifies our ability to reason our 'sense' awareness. It Intensifies our grace and posture as we transition through time and space.
Listening to the Power of MORE...
Is a cultural and familial practice handed down through generations of elders. A lifelong commitment rested in my parent's keenly developed sense of listening. If It escapes you, let me say, your heart listens with greater depth than your mind could ever comprehend or digest. My mother, listened with her heart.
A truly life changing ah-ha showered over me in 2003. I returned to Hawaii and was helping my Dad. Nothing earth moving. Purging, sorting, packing. Normal stuff. However, 'just listening' to my Dad, revealed a completely different look not that he looked different. It unveiled an alarmingly uneasiness though his routine and manners were the same. The conversation was what I expected though it felt shallow and off beat. The glances were there, except the eyes were not dancing.
When a heart takes leave,
What was different? Where was my Dad's essence? Like many Father, Daughter relationships, my Dad is my Hokule'a (North Star). He is my compass and always gave me a sense of calm, like a canoe's 'ama which steadies the vessel.
By looking past what's staring us in the face. Noticing what is absent, what soft voice isn't whispering in the wind or what twinkle isn't twinkling. My Mother's heart had taken leave. And there it was, my Dad was missing his second heartbeat.
That was it. My mother was the 'ama my Dad steadied his course. His Hokule'a. The twine needed for a strong and versatile net. She was his horizon when he soared. The smile, the twinkle of his compassion.
How could I miss it? For so many years, how could I not see her heart woven into his words, into his actions, into his face, his eyes, his smile. It was her heart which tempered his fierce conviction, his duty. And through her heart he embraced and nurtured his people.
I've heard many times, behind every great man there is a strong woman. My mother is the spirit that breathes life into a warrior's heart. Over the years, I'm realizing for me, foundation was the first phase. And through experience, access to traditional or tribal knowledge, I was present and aware to receive, grow and evolve. Now, I'm strong enough to welcome vulnerability. To receive the beautiful subtleties of allowing my heart to have a substantial seat at the round table. As my heart is happily present, I know its because my heart is filled with my Mom's, Ululani Kealoha. spirit.