This summer, I slept on the forest floor under a sky full of stars during a camping trip with two dear friends in Killarney. I practiced deep listening – attuning to the earth, the night, and the quiet rhythm of being held.
At night, I watched the shadows of trees swaying above me. I thought I wouldn’t be able to sleep – worried a bear might wander upon us – but instead I felt safe, held by the earth, and slept like a baby.
I lay on quartz rock, listened to the crackle of the fire each night, to the silence before a storm rolled in one afternoon, to the playful shimmer of fish in the lake (we named one school the Wizards), and to the stillness of a dragonfly landing on my foot.
But it wasn’t all rainbows and sunshine. I also listened to the relentless hum of mosquitoes, to the ache of carrying thirty-eight pounds on my back while hiking between campsites, and to the sharp throb when a tree stump pierced the surface of my foot. I leaned into the fear of swimming in an open lake, soothed by my friend Aggie reminding me she had once been a lifeguard.
And one moment stood out most of all. At Lake Acid, a chorus of frogs filled the night. My friend Jody pointed out there were four different kinds of frogs singing. Until then, I had only heard the sound as one voice. The next night, I listened more deeply – and could hear each distinct note, each layer of the chorus.
Listening is a practice of meditation…
Beneath the hum of thought,
beneath the pull of the day,
beneath the weight of expectation-
there is a softer rhythm:
the breath, the heartbeat,
the earth cradling you.
Softening the edges…
Here, we enter the temple of listening.
Listening not with the ears alone,
but with the skin, the bones, and the heart.
Listening into the subtleties-
the distinct notes hidden within the chorus of life.
Beyond listening,
we dissolve into the silence beneath all sound-
a river of stillness, endless and unbroken,
where freedom breathes,
and the soul remembers its way home.
Listening With the Whole Self
This poem was born from my own experience on the mat – the discovery that listening is the gateway to rest.
But deep listening is not only about the gentle and serene moments. It is also about the times when we arrive in turmoil – fidgeting, restless, emotions unraveling. It is about being willing to listen to the parts we don’t want to see.
Knots and contractions form in the body and energetic field from the stress of the day, from words spoken, from experiences that leave a lasting imprint. Often, we don’t notice them because we are too busy running, chasing, or numbing. Slowing down, returning to the mat, gives us the chance to connect with what we truly feel – and this connection takes time and practice.
Deep listening asks us to turn toward the shadows: the contractions in the body, the tightness in the chest, the places in the heart that feel raw or closed. It invites us to cradle these hidden parts, giving them space to belong – to hear the chorus within the symphony of our being.
This is where rest becomes radical. Stillness is not passive. Stillness is a spacious presence that receives us as we are – light and shadow, soft and hard edges, whole and fractured.
How Do We Practice Deep Listening?
Deep listening begins in small, simple ways. On the mat, it might look like:
- Pausing long enough to notice the breath moving in and out, feeling its subtleties.
- Softening into sensation – bringing awareness to each feeling in the body and giving it space to speak.
- Turning toward what arises – the tightness in your jaw, the ache in your chest, the heaviness of thought. Not trying to change them, only acknowledging: I hear you, I feel you.
- Holding space without judgment – as if you are cradling yourself in compassion.
And then, off the mat, deep listening extends to our relationships:
- Putting aside distractions and being fully present.
- Listening not only to words, but also to the silences, the pauses, the unspoken.
- Breathing as you listen, so your presence stays steady and open.
From the Mat to Our Relationships
This is where practice on the mat becomes practice in life.
In stillness, we learn to listen to the breath, to the subtle rhythm of the heart, to the way the earth holds us without judgment. And slowly, this skill spills into our relationships:
- We begin to listen to our loved ones without rushing to fix them.
- We hold space for their shadows as we have learned to hold space for our own.
- We discover that listening itself can be the most profound act of love.
In True Love, Thích Nhất Hạnh reminds us that the most precious gift we can offer another is our presence. When we listen deeply – not only to words, but to the heart beneath them – we create conditions for healing and intimacy.
A New Season of Rest & Remembrance
This September marks the beginning of a new year of teaching for me. I am honoured to be bringing my Restorative practice to a beautiful studio, Corten, in a class called Restore, Stretch, & Sound. This will be a space where we gather in quiet, in breath, in the shared practice of listening.
And this October, I invite you deeper into the pilgrimage of rest through my Restorative Yoga Teacher Training.
✨ A pilgrimage to be fully received. ✨
Whether you are a teacher wishing to guide others, or a seeker longing to root more deeply in your own rest, this training is an immersion into the sacred art of restorative yoga. Together, we will explore not only how to shape the body into stillness, but how to hold space for silence, for shadow, and for the profound power of listening.
