Being Sensible

Psychologists talk about a common human trait called salience bias.¹ Without a conscious decision to be mindful of something in particular (and a lot of training), our brains will default to focusing on whatever are the biggest, brightest, and loudest things around us. And when there isn’t anything particularly big, bright, or loud, or when everything is, we often find ourselves lost in our own thoughts, forgetting to pay any attention to the world around us at all.

Even with awareness and full access to all of our senses, the truth is that we don’t use them all equally. Our sense of sight usually reigns supreme, and there’s a deep disconnect with our other senses. What is meant to be a powerful source of information gathering such as our sense of hearing instead lies mostly dormant, and we become deaf to the world. Often, only the loudest sounds make it into our conscious mind. Car horns, barking dogs, alarm clocks, or ringing phones will grab our attention, even when we are not seeking them out.

This living on sensory autopilot robs us of the riches available from our full suite of senses. Imagine looking around and seeing only the biggest and brightest objects. How impoverished the world would be. Imagine all the subtlety you would miss and how hard it would be to make sense of things. Yet, isn’t this how most of us experience the world of touch, smell, taste, and sound? How often do we really stop and smell the roses, feel a light summer rain, or truly be present for the complexity of taste and texture in a single bite of food?

Life is enriched through the intimacy we make when we inquire into all of our senses. Imagine the possibilities of connection if your fingertips alone could distinguish the bark of a young willow tree from an old one. Imagine how your time outside might be different if you could feel the emotions in the calls of the robins, chickadees, or jays as they connect with their mates, or sense in their calls worry about an approaching predator. What would it be like to notice your own feelings in the moment as you experience the ebb and flow of the wind on your skin and the murmuring of the wind as it travels through the canopies of trees overhead?

One evening many years ago, with a plan to meet a friend, I found myself standing alone in the woods at the end of a short driveway as night fell and the sky grew darker. With him not home and no way to reach out, I did what we always did in those days before cell phones and Wi-Fi. I waited. The absence of the moon made it a particularly dark night, and while my eyes adjusted a little, I still found myself in close to full darkness. Without the ability to see, I found my sense of hearing become more fully alive. Standing there, I tuned into the drone of cicadas and occasionally distant sounds of cars passing by on a large highway. Allowing my eyes to close completely and listening closer, I could make out individual insects calling among the masses.

As I rested against the trunk of a large tree, I suddenly realized I was hearing a soft but distinct sound of water flowing. Pulling back in surprise from the tree’s trunk, the sound of water vanished. Leaning in again, my ear pressed close to the bark, I could hear once more water distinctly flowing. As if in response to what seemed almost crazy to me, I found myself smiling and laughing aloud at the experience. It was a perfectly dry night and certainly no obvious explanation as to what was happening. I would lean in, and there was the water. I moved away, and the sound faded.

For a moment I thought I was somehow hearing the water moving through the tree itself, flowing up or down from roots to leaves. As I listened closer though, I decided that what I was hearing sounded like the flow of water in a stream. I found that only one side of the tree offered me a door into this mystery of sound. Working my way around the trunk of the tree, all other sides were “quiet” when I listened. In the dark I began to look slowly around, and then I remembered that across the street and down in a small ravine there indeed was a stream. Standing beside the tree I couldn’t hear the stream at all, but when I leaned right into the trunk of this large old tree it was clear as day. The sound waves created by the movement of water were present, but my ear drums needed the assistance of the tree to reflect them and help me listen closer.

In our day-to-day lives, as we begin to mindfully tune into our senses, we notice there is much to take in. In time, through this awareness training and our heightened access to the sensory information all around, we will develop the muscles of each of our senses and learn to “read between the lines.” We become more adept at seeing and interpreting what is happening in the world and the lives around us. As we connect in this way, empathy and compassion grow in us naturally. There is less “other” and more “us.”

Being sensible—using all of our senses—means listening within as well as out. It’s important to practice this deep listening on the landscape of our inner lives. At first you may notice that stressful thoughts and experiences are our primary focus, the place we unconsciously give most of our attention and energy. To begin with, we can simply honor that and begin inquiring into what it is that those feelings most want us to know. How are they trying to help us? Then we can move beyond the dominant noises to what is present in the quiet spaces, the spaces between the loudest sounds. What is the texture of what we are feeling? Where do we usually look, and what are we missing?

Whatever we find provides us the opportunity to open with kindness and to be gentle with what is present. The practice is to let go of the judging mind and instead tune into your body, in the moment, with whatever is arising. Especially when unwanted or undesired feelings and thoughts are discovered, you have arrived at the perfect place to practice self-compassion.

Try: Visual artists are trained in the meaning and importance of negative space, or the area between the objects in the artwork. Similarly, music depends on the quiet spaces between the notes. Let your senses, too, become the doorway to experiencing the world around you with the heightened quality of an artist’s eye.

Find a place to sit for a time out of doors. Listen out into the world around you. Notice what draws your attention, and simply let your awareness rest there for a moment. When you are ready, allow your attention to drift to the next sound and rest there as well. Now, listen again between these sounds for the quietest sounds you can hear. Imagine your senses stretched out for miles across the landscape. What is the farthest sound you can hear?

Now, gather your awareness back close to you once more. What are the sounds immediately around you? Perhaps you can hear your own breathing, the rumble of your belly or the rustling of your clothes. Take a few more minutes and let your awareness be naturally drawn from close to far on the landscape and everywhere in between. Each time you land on some sound, scent, or sensation, notice it and then listen and look to the right and left of it. And listen within yourself as you take in the world around you. Where are these senses being felt in your own body and spirit? Use this practice often to take in what is present in the spaces in between.