From the Field: It's Not All About Me!

In Sacred Listening theory, Josh and Megan refer to the concept of “alignment.” Alignment is like an opening or a vibe that’s created between listener and speaker -- but it only happens when the listener engages in a way that respects the context of the sacred person.

As a chaplain, my training in listening came from Clinical Pastoral Education, or CPE, and the term we use to describe something like alignment is non judgmental presence. When we practice sacred listening in our training, we are challenged to remember this paradox: “It’s not about me. It’s all about me.”

“It’s not about me” reminds me that I am there to listen deeply, consider someone else’s words as their sacred truth, and allow those words to create the language through which I co-create meaning and offer care.

“It’s all about me” reminds me that, unless I know myself well, I am unlikely to silence my own voice and clear my judgments out of the way.

My work accompanying dementia patients on hospice offers me an incredibly pure and very challenging opportunity to create alignment and practice the paradox.

My patients cannot remember me, do not make “sense” to me, and cannot make “sense” of me. Many of them cannot even speak to me. Recognition, understanding, speech -- are these not the basics of all communication?

In fact, no. They are not. 

Because (join me in the chorus): it’s not all about me!

Those are my expectations, my preferences, my skills, and, well, my ability privilege. And if I insist on them, I disrespect the context of the sacred other. 

But, somehow, my patients never let me make any of those mistakes!

I remember my very first interaction with a patient with dementia. We met during my training. She stopped me in the hall and started talking in her way, which was not my way. Listening to her was like watching someone practice a piece of instrumental music. I don’t know anything about how to make music, but I love it. And so I watched this performer. And I listened to the sounds she made. I observed her facial expressions and how they interacted with the measures she was playing. I listened for the changes in rhythm, intensity, and tone. I mirrored her gestures and emotional registers in ways I hoped would communicate that I was present, deeply present with her.

I visit with her regularly now. She never remembers me, but she pulls me into the present right away, where memory isn’t necessary. And I settle in and listen for rhythm, intensity, and tone. I mirror her joy and provide comforting words when she seems anxious. I look to the sky when she does. I rub my hands across my arms to show her I, too, am enjoying the warmth of the sun.

At some point in our visits, she turns her head away slightly, then looks back at me with some side-eye and an impish grin. I don’t know what the joke is. It may even be on me. I’ll never know the setup or the punchline, but I feel her joy.

Just by aligning -- and without memory or words -- I have found my way into an inside joke with someone who communicates very differently from me! 

The thrill never gets old.

I can’t prove what my patients are experiencing in any way that a doctor or a court of law would accept. But in the language of my field, I would call it the movement of the Spirit, the beyond, the mystery.

When I am aligned with my patients with dementia, what passes between us -- without the aid of language, logic, or memory -- is pure Spirit. This is what these dear souls have; this is their context. With the brain and the rest of the body failing, the spirit is still moving, yearning to connect. 

And I am grateful to them for reminding me that, when the physical things we rely on fail, we still have so much because the image of God lives in presence.