Listening - a sacred practice
In silence
In stillness
In emptiness
I find what I am looking for.
I am a writer, artist, facilitator, and astrologer. I have more than eighteen years experience as a practising re-evaluation counsellor. I am also a mother and a grandmother, and I practitioner of meditation and mindfulness. But most fundamentally, I would call myself a listener. For me, all the roles that I play are different ways to practice listening.
Listening to what life’s unfolding is showing me, to what the people in my life are showing me, to what my own internal mystery is showing me.
I think some would call this noticing, or mindfulness, and that might be a more accurate way to describe this, because it isn’t something solely done with the ears, but the word Listening resonates best for me because it instantly has me pause, and pausing is essential.
Let me pause right now, and practice what I preach. Let me notice this very moment here, as I am writing this. What is there to listen to right now?
It is dark and cold outside, nearly six o'clock on a February evening, but I hear a bird, it sounds like a blackbird. I listen to how this makes me feel – kind of hopeful and optimistic for no real reason, except the song of a blackbird always makes me feel that way.
I also notice that I feel a bit unsure, nervous, because this wasn't the plan. I’m supposed to be writing about what listening means to me, and now I’m writing about the song of a blackbird.
But it makes sense. This is what listening is. It's not the plan you set out with, it's your response to what is going on right at this moment.
Everything is an interaction, a conversation in which, when I am wise, I understand that I have less to say than to hear. Of course I am not always wise.
Listening is my favourite life-long work in progress.
​
Claudia Monteith and Cedar
On the Matter of Names
​
Claudia Monteith is my original name.
My mother was German, so you say it like cloud, not clawed. It is my writing name.
Cedar is the name given to me by my first born because he couldn't say Claudia at two years of age.
That was over 30 years ago. It is what most people call me now, my everyday name.
Both names are about me.
Claudia is in gratitude to the child that looked up.
The one who found a way to float above what was going on around her when it got too hard.
The one that used imagination to keep her heart intact.
Those of us who lean this way are often criticised as ‘dreamy’ and ‘unrealistic’,
but I have come to recognise it as a resourceful survival strategy.
One that nourishes a tender heart and an original thought process.
Respect to all those who choose to spend at least some of their time with their head in the clouds.
Cedar is in gratitude to the tree that takes up space.
To the decision to belong wherever I am.
To the courage to send roots into the ground and branches out in all directions.
To daring to declare – I am here!
