Midwives, Mindfulness, and Deep Listening

During my years in public schools from kindergarten through high school I didn't do all that well as far as my grades were concerned.  For the most part I did not like school—at least the classroom part of school. I never flunked any classes or got a D but I constantly heard the words “lazy, immature, and underachiever” applied to me.  I was told that it was very important for me to do well in school in order to be able to go to college and get a good job. But of course most of the adults around me complained bitterly about their “good” jobs.  In addition, if I don't like school, how motivating is it to be told "If you work hard at it then we'll let you do it for four more years?”

  I was sent to see a school counselor once a week, every week for an hour all through 8th grade and most of 9^th.  I was actually pulled out of class for this, and I dreaded going to these weekly sessions.  

During these sessions, and at home too, I was regularly asked “Why aren't you doing better in school?” I always said “I don’t know” because I really didn’t know.  I knew I didn't like school, and I didn’t like my counselor, Mr. Evans, who told me once if I did not show a better attitude he would “put me through the wall.” What I really needed here was someone who knew how to be what Socrates called a midwife.

When Socrates called himself a midwife he meant by this that a large part of his method was to use questions to draw out the wisdom that was already within a person but which they were not in touch with. He was a midwife in that he helped people give birth to the wisdom that was already within them.

Yesterday, in talking with my best friend, who is a pretty good midwife, I realized something that shocked me.  I realized that through all those years that I was convinced that I didn’t know why I wasn’t a better student, I actually did know—both in 8^th grade and all the time in between. 

My friend had simply practiced mindful listening without any agenda, and asked me a few probing questions and then allowed me to work with them:  “What kinds of things energized you to work enthusiastically and with real joy?  How did they differ from the things that school wanted you to do?”  When I did this, I discovered that I did know the “why” about school and always had.

I remembered the things that energized me in early childhood:  building things like model ships, building a model train layout (tracks, mountains, trees, tunnels, lights), and building “forts” in the back yard.  And there was playing football and basketball in the street without coaching or supervision from adults; we chose up our own teams, made out own rules, and had to work through all disagreements on our own.  Later, in high school, I became a real student of my chosen sport of gymnastics and worked tirelessly at it and with great joy. Because our coach didn’t know much and wasn’t good with people I basically coached myself. I assessed my own strengths and weaknesses and created strategies for improving. I read books and magazines, and talked to older people who knew more than I did for advice and tips. I carefully observed people who excelled at what I wanted to excel with.   There was room for a huge amount of freedom, creativity, and initiative.  

Obviously, the standard school experience was not like this. School activities did not seem to have any point to them: participles and gerunds, learning state capitols, frog anatomy.  I remember asking myself “Will it make any difference whether I learn this stuff or not?”  The answer was always “No,” and my motivation suffered as a result.

The stuff I was being asked to learn mostly felt like being asked to memorize a page in the Los Angeles phone book.  I simply couldn’t make myself do it—no creativity, no initiative, no reason to learn it, not connected to my life in any way at all.  So another probing question to ask myself:  “What things would have excited me in school?”: Plenty!  I would have been excited to know how to understand and work with my thoughts and emotions, how to understand other people, get in touch with and question my basic assumptions about life, learn how to work with conflict, investigate the big questions in life—what is the meaning of life, does God exist, where does knowledge come from, what is the right way to behave? Though I disliked school, I actually loved learning!!! Particularly, things that would open up my world and my experience and help me navigate life

All this stuff was in there, in me, the whole time.  All that was needed to bring it out was a skillful Socratic “midwife”

Of course my counselor, Mr. Evans, would have found all these perceptions totally out of touch with reality.  Mr. Evans thought he knew (the school aways thinks it knows) what must happen in school. And when you are not doing well in school, the school never thinks that school needs to change, it's always you who needs to change.

Mr. Evans would not have been moved by these insights and the school would not have changed, but with a better “midwife” I would have discovered what was wrong and that in turn would have greatly reduced my suffering and also helped me to better navigate the school situation.

From a Buddhist perspective, what I needed was a practitioner of mindfulness and deep listening to bring forth the knowledge that was already in me. Such a person would be fully present (mindful) and therefore able to listen deeply and draw out what was within me.

Deep listening is actually part of mindful speech, one of the key components of the Buddha’s Eightfold Path.  Deep listening involves listening for the words but also the pauses, tone of voice, breathing, posture, and feelings that are there. It is a completely open and receptive state in which there is no personal agenda, no judgment, no blame, no hurrying, no arguing, no advice giving, no trying to look good by saying something wise or clever or smart. When you are listening deeply you are also aware of your own mind and thoughts, and as a result you are able to choose to speak only words that might help the other person to see their own internal “stuff” more clearly.  This awareness of your own mind also allows you to know when you have reached the end of your ability to listen this way, and then letting the other person know that you need to stop for the time being. 

This kind of listening is related to the practice of a wu wei in Taoism (See “The Way and It’s Power,” posted October 20, 2023).  There is no forcing or trying to make something happen, there is just a state of great receptivity, presence, and the desire to understand.

 

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