“Listen to yourself…”

“Listen to yourself, and in that quietude you might hear the voice of God.”

Maya Angelou, beloved poet and author, said those words, and I believe her.

I love watching and listening to crows. They are believed to be one of the most intelligent animals. They construct and adeptly use tools. They commune and play together, and caw incessantly. Their aerial jousting provides them with exercise and pleasure, and to the bystander viewing their aerobatics—much amusement. They live long monogamous lives—perhaps these prolific black birds are on to something.

Crows live communal lives, but when I see them standing or perched alone they often tilt their heads, a movement I assume is designed to hear or see better, but what if in addition to fine tuning one of their senses they are listening to something else? Scientists believe they are keen observers of their surroundings, including human beings. Might they also be reflective, given to tilted-head moments of listening to their inner selves—brief periods when the demands and pleasures of the external world give way to crow-like quietude?

Mark Twain was an astute observer of the human race, but his observations emanated from the study of himself, a practice that required patience, and a shrewd “listening ear.” Though considered to be the “Lincoln of American Literature,” he was a complex man whose ability to see beneath pretense, and thereby riotously skewer mankind, had its origins in his self-study. Like the crow I suspect he often tilted his head to better hear the meanderings of his soul.

I don’t know of any reference to a meeting between Freud and Twain, but I’m guessing that they would have enjoyed each other’s company had such an encounter occurred. Freud believed that introspection aimed at elucidating the dark recesses of one’s soul would lead to the good life—one of meaning through work and relationships that make life better for ourselves and others. Like Mark Twain, Sigmund Freud was a prodigious writer, a practice that required extensive periods of listening to himself, and in that quietude discover truths about himself, that like his satirist counterpart, had profound application for mankind.

Maya Angelou believed: “There is no greater agony than being an untold story inside yourself.”

Finding a perch, a place or space of respite, wherein the necessary demands of life may be [momentarily] put aside, can be difficult. We may need to do more than tilt our heads this way and that to better take in the voice of God, our singular story, or the narrative of our respective souls.

Maya Angelou, Mark Twain, and Sigmund Freud were acute listeners and observers of themselves, and “wrote themselves empty,” but still had more to explore, discover, and write about.

We cannot release or embrace the voice and story unless we stop and listen to ourselves, and even then the cawing may drown out the inner self trying to be heard.

A poet extraordinaire, a brilliant satirist, and a dedicated student of man’s soul may guide, and encourage us to find a place of quietude, but so too can the crow perched in the Monterrey Pine, head tilted, looking back at us, and perhaps reflecting on all things internal and crow-like.

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