David Whyte & Growing Up

 

Although it happened about 10 years ago, I can picture vividly in my mind this scene: the poet David Whyte is speaking at a weekend retreat. The audience hangs on every word, murmuring  and sighing with admiration and even adulation after each point made, each idea shared.

While I too found both the depth of David Whyte’s insights and the poetic way he communicates spell-binding—and still do—I  also found myself both disappointed in, and intrigued by, the audience’s response. I also found myself intrigued and impressed by David’s nonverbal response to the audience.

The audience’s continuous “oohing and ahhing” over everything he said, reminded me of the star struck interviewer fawning over their movie star interviewee, leaning in, laughing enthusiastically  at mediocre quips and nodding their heads vigorously to acknowledge the import of the star’s comments.

It reminded me of a media star presenting at a conference I spoke at years ago, and how the audience “oohed and ahhed” over the platitudes she shared as if they were ground breaking revelations, and laughed uproariously over tired and inappropriate jokes that, if delivered by a “regular” person, would have been met with disapproving stares.

The audience’s response, embarrassingly so, reminded me of how I have been that person a few times in my life when conversing with someone famous. I have been that person putting myself in the “child sitting at the foot of the teacher” position, seeking to ingratiate myself.

Their response reminded me of how we give our power away when we too eagerly look to some authority to think for us and to provide us with their wisdom, rather than seek our own wisdom. Their response reminded me of how we are often looking for someone else to speak the words and share the controversial thoughts  that we dare not.

What was more interesting, though, was David Whyte’s response.

Obviously what I believe I saw was only my interpretation, but what I thought I saw on his face was disappointment. There was no basking in the adulation like some applause addicts, soaking up the guru worship. Instead, his face spoke:

“Don’t hang on my every word. Don’t make yourself small and me big and all knowing. Don’t look to me for your answers or to speak your truth for you. I am just a catalyst here to invite you to discover your truths and to speak them in your voice.”

Whether or not he actually was thinking this is irrelevant, because I believe it’s an important message.

For far too long have “average people” looked to the few for guidance and for truth, subordinating their innate wisdom to the apparent wisdom of “experts”. For too long, “average people” have sought to bypass the hard work required to look inward for one’s own understandings, instead seeking an off-the-shelf answer from an “expert.”

And for far too long, we have looked to other, seemingly braver souls to speak the truths we have dared not speak.

By doing this, we live as children, not adults.

After that retreat, I wrote—almost transcribed—lines based on the above experience that formed my first fledgling attempt at a poem. I then put it away. While I had written a fair amount of professional articles by that time, I had certainly never tried my hand at poetry, and so sharing it felt too vulnerable. Over the years, I would take it out and rework it, until finally this year I decided to share it.

Here it is:

 

Your Answers, Not Mine

 

(an Ode to David Whyte)

 

Hushed silence

rapt attention

Silence broken only,

by sighs of realization

joined with admiration.

 

Awakenings wrapped

in awe.

An awe unrequested,

nor even desired.

 

My words are nothing more

than invitations

to you.

 

To enter your silence

To embrace your mystery

To speak your truth

 

Not to admire my words.

Not to bow down

before my ideas.

Nor to await

my next revelation.

For in these times,

adults can no longer be as children,

sitting cross-legged,

at the feet of their teacher,

awaiting instruction,

seeking direction.

 

Our world can no longer wait.

It leans in, silent

listening for your voice,

rapt in anticipation,

 

for you now,

to speak your truth.