Siddhartha listened. He was now nothing but a listener, completely concentrated on listening, completely empty. — Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha
It comes down to doing a bit of good and feeling good about doing so. – Anil Seth, professor of cognitive and computational neuroscience, asked about the meaning of life (The Guardian)
My husband is preparing our breakfast bowls of muesli to soak overnight. Mixed in with the oat flakes are diced prunes and apricots, thinly sliced fresh turmeric—his fingers are permanently stained yellow—and nuts, usually Brazil and walnuts, shaved into admirably fine flakes. Every night I hear the chop chop chop of the knife on the cutting board. Then he adds cinnamon, chia seeds, and a mix of ground flax, pumpkin, and sunflower seeds. He pours almond or coconut milk over this nutritious concoction and covers the bowls—his with the cutting board, mine (without the prunes) with a plate. He places my bowl on top of his and, at the end of the day, catching sight of this little sculpture on the wooden work surface—turned into a symbol of care and completion—I am filled with gratitude.
Carrying some wilted flowers, I enter the kitchen and find him in mid chop. The bins—compost, recycled, and landfill—are in a big drawer right in front of him. His taiji legs are firmly rooted—he has been teaching it for many years—and he is one-pointedly focused on his ritual. In order for me to pull out the drawer and dispose of the flowers, he would need to step backward. I hover next to him, waving the spent flowers and hoping that he will budge. No response. I nudge him with my hip and get a little, reluctant response, not enough to open the drawer wide enough. Only when I pull the drawer more forcefully, pushing it against his body, does he eventually get the message and give way. I don’t like doing that—it doesn’t feel very nonviolent.
We are both in an NVC (Nonviolent or Compassionate Communication) practice group. There are four easy-to-remember steps to communicating in a way that leads to connection: observation, feelings, needs, and requests. If I were to tackle this pattern of our slightly disconnecting communication in the kitchen, I would choose a moment when we are both relaxed and open to exploring the matter. Following the model in the formal way, I would say something like:
When I want to put something into the bin while you stand in front of it engaged with food preparation and you don’t move out of the way readily, I feel impatient and irritated. I want my presence to be seen and acknowledged, my intention to use the drawer responded to, and I have a need for ease.
For the final stage—request—I’d have a choice between asking for a particular action, i.e. “Would you please in future respond more quickly and step back half a meter?” or slow it all down, go more for connection than strategy and ask, “How is it hearing this? What is going on for you in these situations?” The latter has better outcomes for both people in my experience. He, in turn, will try to describe his experience and I may offer some empathetic guesses. “In these situations, do you feel annoyed and under pressure, and experience a need for continuity and completion?”
You may have noticed the conjunctive “I would say something” and wonder why, given that we both practice NVC, I haven’t actually done so. The reason is that this formulaic way of speaking can sound artificial and put the other person off. There are very good reasons for considering these four steps, which I have explored in a previous article.* They bring great clarity about what matters and avoid some of the pitfalls of ordinary speech, especially hidden blame. But the verbal expressions, if done by the book, can distract from the most important part of the game—an open-hearted engagement with the other person that is open to letting go of any preconceived outcome and instead steps into the unknown together, getting closer along the way. When we trust that fundamental openness, there may be new discoveries along the way about how to meet both parties’ needs. And more importantly than that, we let go of a preoccupation with our armored little selves and become more receptive to the richness and magic of these lived moments.
In our practice group, we are currently studying “Street NVC,” a way to apply the principles in ways that come across as natural. Following the suggestions of one of the trainers on the NVC academy, Diane Killian, we explore the fundamentals: listening with each cell of the body. Then tuning in to the feelings and needs of the other person as well as your own. The idea is that the words will flow naturally from this compassionate stance. Halfway through our practice session, we have a coffee-and-cake break with the instruction to maintain a continuity of this “NVC consciousness.” I can easily feel a little flustered as a hostess, frowning as I try to remember everyone’s drink preference and rushing the procedures involving kettle, cups, tea, coffee—which needs to be ground—and different kinds of milk, as well as cutting and serving the chocolate cake I made. So I welcome the invitation to carry the spirit of what boils down to open-hearted mindfulness into our kitchen, recognizing that, basically, I want to be generous and experience the joy of belonging to our little community. No need to rush anything or for everything to be perfect. I also value this explicit practice opportunity with my husband who offers to take care of making the coffee. The cutlery drawer, next to the bin drawer, is often another area of blocked energy flow. He stands in front of that drawer now, as I need to take out the cake server and he notices this! What a delight—and I am not saying this cynically. Now it takes some dexterity on his part to navigate the safe handling of the cafetiere together with the smooth concaving of the abdomen away from the drawer handle.
Following this practice session, there is a noticeable new dimension to our interactions in the kitchen, more awareness of each other—a closer listening to how we move through the space. Particularly when there is some music on the radio, we can break into spontaneous little improvisations, involving some excessive sliding of drawers and mischievous blocking and giving way to each other. There are ways to colloquialize NVC, and there are lists of alternative phrases, avoiding the stiffness of “I am feeling . . . because I am needing . . .” but what I am learning here has not so much to do with language or even thinking. It is more gestural, more to do with the body and all the senses, and an understanding that nonviolent communication is a multi-dimensional, poetic way of creating moments of shared meaning. With its emphasis on qualities of awareness associated with needs and values, NVC is one way to break the trance of habitual, semi-conscious living. Something opens up when we ask, “what matters here to the other person and to myself,” with radical curiosity, heart to heart. Completion, Continuity, Ease, Generosity, Being Seen, and Belonging—as we listen to the presence of such qualities, with all of ourselves, we also touch emptiness. We come a little closer to living in the spirit of the Heart Sutra, and I finish with this line from it, translated by our poet friend Linda France:
If I were a Bodhisattva, wise and Kind, I’d look into the lightness of things, and let it go this tightness.
* Connecting from the Wise and Compassionate Heart (BDG)
See more
What is the meaning of life? 15 possible answers – from a palliative care doctor, a Holocaust survivor, a jail inmate and more (The Guardian)
NVC academy
Related features from BDG
Satyagraha: Nonviolent Civil Resistance for Climate Justice
Shining a Compassionate Light on Violent Communication
Post-Election Conversations: Embodying Curiosity and Empathy, Resisting Polarization
Joy and Happiness
Buddhism as a “Glocalized” Religion in the Modern World
