Friends say that I don’t talk much in a group the
opposite of what I do with my pen. They are correct... I don’t. Because I would
rather listen... observe... understand... learn. After all if you would listen
to them talking they might as well be saying your same thoughts on a chosen
subject. The diversity of the group assures me that at least one would mirror
my own perceptions or insight. So I need not eat up space which they would
gladly take over anyway.
You’ll always find a match, your match, with someone
out there... someone who would share your thoughts though maybe not exactly but
differently in a most interesting way. I like that because it affords me to
look at the same old things in a new way which I may not have explored on my
own.
Interestingly everybody is a story. The questions of
who-what-when-where-why-how unfold and are played with exact preciseness as in
a stage or screen play. One paying attention would know how it begins, continues,
and finally ends. If things go wrong somewhere in the story you simply go back
to the WWWWWH questions and pluck out the right question that could possibly
lead to the right answer.
And I have learned that paying attention to a person is
acknowledging that person’s right to life and everything which life creates
tailored to his uniqueness. Ignoring a person is something like pushing that
person back to nothingness, like pushing him back to a void which has this
unnerving knack of making him want to blend with it and finally he convinced
disappears into it.
Nobody is boring, maybe
bland, straight, worn and weary, unhappy, sad, lonely, frustrated,
disappointed, broken-hearted, fearful, confused, quietly miserable; too the
opposite positive side of that spectrum and perhaps even so much more
unpleasant things one may not even want to know. But that is just the stuff
stories are made of. And listening to their stories tells you one great thing
....... People, we are all the same basically where it matters most --- Being
human.
