On Asking
And staying still long enough to listen for an answer
Hi, Friend.
I’m in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, as a guest artist alongside Ashley C. Ford and Fatima Asghar. The three of us are here for a literary salon with GoodWorld Journeys, and we’re leading morning sessions on craft, doing a lot of writing with participants, and enjoying evening sessions that are readings and conversations about the creative life. It’s been an incredible adventure—and my kids are both here with me for a week and a half!—and I’ve been soaking up the wisdom of others here. That’s one of my favorite parts about meeting other writers and artists: hearing about their process, their challenges, their perspectives.
I feel so lucky to be in this beautiful place learning from these beautiful writers.
Last night, Fatima read from their gorgeous, brand-new book of poems, Daughter of the Mountains, and then Ashley and I interviewed them. Fati said so many important things—necessary things—about being an artist that I wish I’d had pen and paper to write it all down. I might be asking some of the salon participants and the GoodWorld Journeys team to share their notes!
At one point, Fatima said something about the role of prayer in their process: how they would ask for wisdom or assistance, to understand what was in the way, and how they learned to be still enough to listen and notice answers arriving. I’m not a religious person, but I am someone who thinks there is more to the world than what we can see and easily comprehend. Fati talked about how in our busy, go-go-go lives, we might be asking for help—from God, or spirit, or our ancestors—but then not staying still and quiet long enough to receive an answer.
That struck me. I think I speak to the air plenty—as close as I get to prayer—and am often thinking out loud, or talking to myself, about what is wrong, or hard, or uncertain. But then what? I’m off and running again, checking emails, driving the kids around, working on this or that project, scrolling my phone and sending reels to my friends, folding yet another load of laundry…
You get the picture.
If you whisper to someone, doesn't it make sense to stay quiet and wait for them to whisper back? If you tap someone gently on the shoulder, don’t you wait for them to turn towards you?
Patience and stillness is needed. Patience and stillness and deep attention.
I still believe in “keep moving.” I mean, I’m a single mother supporting my family with writing, so you know I understand how to hustle! But Fatima reminded me of something I needed to remember: that taking time to be still, to listen to my own inner voice and to listen for any wisdom coming my way, is essential. So I’m giving myself permission to slow down, and even stop for a while.
Bear with me here, but do you remember that Shel Silverstein book The Missing Piece? It was a book I read to both of my children over and over when they were small. There’s a circle with a pie-shaped piece missing out of it, and it rolls along slowly through the book, singing a little song about looking for its missing piece.
The circle doesn’t roll very quickly because it’s not perfectly round, so along the way, butterflies land on it, and it gets to stop and notice things on its journey. The circle tries out many different pieces through the book, but none is a perfect fit—until one is. And when the circle finds its missing piece it’s overjoyed, and speeds along, singing, but then realizes something: It’s missing everything else! It can’t enjoy the journey in the same way. No butterflies can land on it. So the piece must come out again, because life is better at a slower pace.
(As an aside, I always thought this book would be a good divorce gift. Take from that what you will.)
My intention for the rest of the year is to roll slowly—to slow down, to ask the questions I need answered, and to stay still and quiet long enough for the answers to find me. To listen hard. My experience tells me that sometimes the answers to difficult questions are whispered, and I don’t want to miss them.
Let’s listen together?
Take good care—
Maggie
There's a question that pops up repeatedly in one of my favorite podcasts, Wild Card: What do you do in your life that feels most like prayer? It's a very moving question for me. It invites a wider view of how we ask, or entreat, or appeal to all that is bigger than us, which is very much an individual, spiritual exercise rather than a religious one, I think. Also, if you want that practice to have some heft to it, it requires some personal emotional investment. (When you fling something out from you, it needs some weight to fly, yes?) It can't just be rote.
Anyway! When I hear that question I always think about something one of my best teachers told me when I was growing up as a Quaker: the "art" of silent Quaker meeting was taking that split second after you ask a question-- before you start answering it inside your own head, or barreling ahead as if you've gotten an answer already, that moment of pure openness and receptivity, that deep, deep listening-- and make it last for an entire hour.
I still can't make it that long, but I've realized my answer to that Wild Card question is listening. When I set myself and my busy, busy mind aside and really listen, that is the most prayerful thing I ever do.
As an aside, there are Quakers who say that the whole point of silent worship is to learn to listen so well that you become someone who is always listening-- during every conversation, every song, in line at the DMV. I'm not sure I'll *ever* get there, but it's a worthy aspiration.
Needed this today. Thank you, Maggie💙