One (Patient) Moment to Create Peace

Does your mind move as fast as mine, when you’re in conversation with someone?

Often, I think I know what the other person is going to say.  I’m impatient, waiting from them to just get it out. 

What if we could be more patient with one another? What if we could slow down and simply listen when someone was talking? What if we could not be so sure we knew what they were about to say? We might be offering the unexpected, and even find it ourselves: a little more peace.

Let’s unpack this a little bit today.

Transcript

Hi everyone, it’s Judi Cohen and this is Wake Up Call #319, on September 30th. Sorry about using the old title in today’s reminder email. The title of today’s talk is, One (Patient) Moment to Create Peace. I’m beaming in from the home of the Lenape peoples, who I learned treasured this island, which they called Manhattan.

We’ve been looking at the Dhammapada, and let’s keep going. Today let’s move forward to Chapter 8, which is called “Thousands.” An odd name, but it’s called Thousands as a reminder, that there are just a few ways to wake up – something for everyone but still, just a few basics – and that a thousand additional things, or a thousand opposite things, won’t be onward leading. But one good deed, one patient encounter, one deeply connected moment, just might be.

The first three verses of the Thousands say,

Better than a thousand meaningless statements is one meaningful word; which, having been heard, brings peace.

Better than a thousand meaningless verses is one meaningful line of verse which, having been heard, brings peace.

Better than reciting a hundred meaningless verses is one line of teaching, which, having been heard, brings peace.

One meaningful word, verse, line of teaching, having been heard, brings peace. What does this mean? 

I’ve been thinking about this in terms of wise communication. When I’ve thought about wise communication in the past, I’ve thought in terms of tone more than brevity or poignancy. I’ve thought about the way we speak to each other more than what we say or how powerful, and healing, one well-placed word can be. 

I’ve come to the inquiry, especially in connection with these verses, that I wonder if patience is the key. Patience is one of the paramitas or perfections of the mind/heart, along with generosity, ethics, diligence, concentration, and wisdom. These aren’t qualities we actually “perfect,” since nothing is perfect. But they’re qualities that, at least for me, when I forget them, I feel like I’m stumbling in the dark. 

What I know about patience, is that patience connects me to other humans. I like to think of patience as like being with my 3-year old granddaughter. When she’s visiting, and she’s chattering away, I’m listening not just because she’s so cute, but also for understanding, so I can get her the drink or the towel or the cookie she’s telling me she wants. I’m kneeling down, so I can hear her better. There’s no thought of “hurry up” or “I get it already, I don’t need you to repeat yourself.” It’s silly even to think that way. Whatever she’s about to tell me, I’m primed for it to be adorable, and delightful. Or for her to be sad or lonely or fearful, which is also not a problem: In that case I have all the time in the world to hear how it is for this little three-year-old being, and to care, and to see if I can help. 

When I talk with grownups, and especially lawyers when I was practicing and in the middle of conflict, honestly I didn’t communicate this way. Mostly I knew what the other person was about to say, or I thought I did; mostly I was interested in getting them to spit it out so I could do whatever was next. I wasn’t primed for delight, or amusement. I wasn’t listening to see how I could make things better for them.

I’m very curious about this phrase, “better than a thousand meaningless statements is one meaningful word; better than a thousand meaningless verses is one line of verse; better than one hundred meaningless verses is one line of dharma… which, having been heard, brings peace.”

When my granddaughter finally, triumphantly, comes up with enough words, or the one right word, and everyone understands, and there’s a kind of Yay! In the room. When we all get just what she’s saying, it really does bring a kind of peace. Especially if peace is freedom from suffering, there is a moment in listening carefully, to her, listening mindfully, to her, and then finally understanding, that brings this incredibly joyful peace: peace from the concern that I’m missing something she needs, wanting to help and don’t know how, caring but not seeing the way forward.

And so I wonder. We struggle with our words. Maybe you’ll disagree because if you pick up a motion you just wrote, or you find an important email you sent,  you’ll see it’s quite well-written. But is it the first draft? If it’s mine it’s more like the 100th draft for sure (a topic for another talk). And so in that 100th draft, in the actual, filed, motion, there’s quite good, quite persuasive, language. There may even be one or two meaningful words. And when the reader reads them, meaning when they “have been heard,” maybe they bring peace. 

They may not bring peace in the sense that they get what they want. But they may bring peace in the sense that the reader fully gets what I’m asking for. There’s a relief – ah, I see, here’s what’s being requested. Or here’s one line, in the very long “verse” that is this motion, and it’s clear. Or if it’s yours and you’re in court or you’re in a meeting and now you’re “reciting,” and of all the things you say, one line is crystal clear. And dyanu, that’s enough. There is peace as in peace of mind, which in this case is like saying there is clarity. With language, when we write in one clear line or verse, or when we recite one clear line, and someone really hears it, they can relax when just the meaning is clear. There can really be a kind of peace. 

But beneath this, at the heart of the matter, it seems to me, resides the territory of patience. Can I cultivate enough patience to say what I have to say in just a few words? Can I speak without holding the floor with conjunctions that I hook onto the ends of my sentences to signal that I’m not done, I’m still reciting here? 

Can I be patient with my own process and also with the listener? Can I speak, write, and listen for understanding? Can slow down enough to make space for my colleague to also slow down, so that our communication is spacious, patient, and by virtue of both of those, wiser? 

Better than a thousand meaningless statements is one meaningful word, or verse, or teaching; which, having been heard, brings peace.

Let’s sit.