by Tony Hemrix

LISTENING

On a spring day, the sorcerer and a young man walked lightly along a path, matching their steps to the breath of the forest. The silence between them was not empty, but a subtle understanding, a wordless dialogue in which every sound around them became a secret teaching. The air carried the indistinct melody of distant voices, the rustling of leaves, the call of unseen creatures.

“I wonder how long it took for birds to perfect their song,” said the young man, breaking the transparency of thought with a breath of curiosity.

The master did not reply. He let the silence settle between them again, like dew on the morning grass. Suddenly, a harsh cawing tore through the harmony of the air.

“But some birds must have skipped a few lessons,” the young man added with a smile, “and still screech freely to this day.”

The master paused for a moment, tilting his head slightly as if to better listen to that rough and off-key sound.

“Alas, if not for that shrill counterpoint,” he finally said, “how would we recover from the intoxication of what we admire? Wisdom does not stop at the sweetness of song but embraces even the discord. What we call contrast exists only in our ignorance.”

That evening, as the light withdrew, pierced by the window of his hut, the young man sat with an open heart. In the growing darkness, he listened to the solitary call of a crow. Its voice no longer seemed like a disturbance, but a chisel shaping the silence, like a beak polishing scattered coins in the other darkness. And in that moment, the disciple understood that every sound, even the harshest one, had its place in the harmony of the world.

And we too are called to practice true listening, which does not exclude but welcomes every voice, allowing it to resonate in the grand and harmonious variety of all things.