To See the World in a Grain of Sand

Consider part of William Blake’s mystical poem Auguries of Innocence, “To see the World in a Grain of Sand/And Heaven in a Wild Flower/Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand/And Eternity in an hour . . .”^[1] Perhaps the “sand” Blake refers to is ordinary beach sand found along the sea coasts of the earth, or maybe it is the sand in deserts, mountain ranges, marshes, or river beds. If we use our full listening capacities, we may notice the world within a grain of sand microscopically dissolving into infinity as suggested by the poem’s line, “. . . hold infinity in the palm of your hand . . .”^[2]

Blake’s poetry, written in the nineteenth century, aligns well with quantum physics. The human body (or any part of the earth–be that plant, rock, or animal) can be described in terms of smaller and smaller parts, from cells to molecules to atoms with electrons orbiting a nucleus, and ultimately to what appears to be mostly “empty space.” According to quantum physicist Amit Goswami, this space is filled with consciousness, and consciousness is infinite.^[3]

One can verify the infinite nature of consciousness by time-traveling to any place at any time. It is possible to shift consciousness from the place and time you are reading this now to a place and time in the past or future. By way of illustration, prolific researcher Stephen Schwartz presents compelling evidence-based research on remote viewing (time traveling with consciousness) to past, current, and future places.^[4]

I introduce grains of sand to my listening class by sprinkling bits of sand from the Whitehurst beach near campus into the palms of students’ hands at the beginning of class. I ask them to silently observe (listen to) the sand for a few minutes. Afterward, I invite students to share their experiences. Students notice the colors, the watery smell, the grittiness, the smallness, and the multitude of particles. I write Blake’s quote on the board and invite students to connect their experience with Blake’s words. They respond with insights about the micro containing the macro, and the ideas of fractals and holograms. These simple grains of sand invite students to begin listening to the earth.

Earthing-Grounding as a Listening Practice

Grains of sand are part of the earth. The soil is the container that nourishes and supports plant life. Without plant life rooted in the earth, all insect, animal, and human life would eventually perish. Researchers suggest that the earth is like an energy battery emitting a continual supply of free electrons.^[5] When a person’s skin touches  the earth, the body absorbs the earth’s electrons, balancing the human electric field and yielding a myriad of health benefits. This process is called “grounding” or “earthing”:

. . . electrons . . . give the Earth’s surface a natural, negative charge . . . fed by natural phenomena [like solar winds, rain, and lightning strikes] . . . maintaining contact with the ground allows your body to . . . become charged with these electrons . . . which in turn reduces electrical imbalances in the body and the oxidative free radicals involved in chronic inflammation and multiple diseases.^[6]

Grounding to the earth is good for your health. Thirteen empirical studies on the earthing phenomena are reported by researchers in peer-reviewed journals.^[7] This body of research demonstrates the positive effects of earthing on (for example) cardiovascular disease, emotional stress, autonomic tone, muscle soreness, inflammation, and blood oxygenation. Particularly compelling are the pre-post experiments that show, via colored infrared imaging, reduction of inflammation in muscles after earthing,^[8] and pre-post microscopic photos of the thinning and decoupling of red blood cells after earthing.^[9]

The theory and research evidence on “earthing” offers a unique way to listen to the earth.

Listening to the Air

The Feel of Air

Soft summer breezes tickle the cheeks and caress the hair . . . a stronger fall breeze energies the skin and tousles the hair . . . an aggressive winter wind bites clothing and dishevels the hair. These experiences suggest how the seasons can influence our listening to the air or wind element.

Thomas Berry in an interview with Derrick Jensen describes how the wind speaks and how we can listen:

A biting wind on a winter’s day tells the person of harshness and the challenge of existence . . . And the softness of a summer breeze tells us of the compassionate dimension of the universe . . . People say, ‘Oh, that’s poetic. That’s romantic.’ But it’s the most scientific thing there is . . . The wind tells us a lot of things, if we have the capacity to respond to it, to reflect on it.^[16]

While Berry does not use the word “listen” in his description of the wind, the quote implies many elements of listening. Listening is apparent in the sensory perceptions of the “biting wind” and “softness of a breeze.” There is listening in the interpretation of the two kinds of wind, one harsh and challenging and the other compassionate. And there is listening in the knowledge that the wind can tell us many things, that we can make meaning by listening to the wind.

Needing Air and Practicing Pranayama

Royal Navy Chief survival instructor Colin Towell reminds us of the survival rule of three. We can survive three weeks without food, three days without drinkable water, and three hours in a harsh environment (e.g., extreme heat or cold), but only three minutes without breathable air before we become unconscious.^[17] Air is the element we need most for our survival, and air is the most plentiful planetary element. Feeling air enter, fill, and exit the body with each inhalation and exhalation is a meditative listening practice found in many religious and spiritual traditions.^[18] In the Hindu Yogic tradition, the breath “. . . is symbolic of prana [breath], and pranayama [breath control] is understood as a method to extend and expand vital life force energy through the deliberate control of respiration.”^[19]

Pranayama is a breathing system for meditation and health. A review of eighteen controlled clinical trials on the impact of pranayama shows physiological and psychological health benefits.^[20]

How does it feel to listen to the air entering, filling, and leaving the body? We breathe in and out about twelve to fifteen times a minute (approximately 17,000 breaths a day), inhaling over 6000 gallons of air a day according to the American Lung Association.^[26] How many of those breaths are we consciously listening to? How deeply are we listening to our lungs working to oxygenate the body and export the carbon dioxide over the 1500 miles of airways in our lungs? While we don’t need to obsessively listen to our breathing, we can intentionally listen to our breathing during breaks from the routine of the day and appreciate the air, the gift of life.

Air Interconnections

Listening to the air can also heighten a sense of interconnection with “others.” Indoors, we often breathe in part of the air exhaled by others. What was inside of them literally becomes part of our physiology. As their breath metabolizes in our lungs, their physical life force flows into our bloodstream and eventually becomes part of our cells. In this sense, we are physically connected with individuals who share indoor spaces with us through the common air we breathe. So too, outside in nature, we breathe in the oxygen from the air that plants and trees provide, and we return carbon dioxide to the plants and trees that they absorb in a continuous cycle of life.^[27]

Awareness of the breath of air through attentive listening deepens our interconnection with self (inhaling air into our lungs and feeling the effects of oxygenation), others and nature (sharing the air with other beings, including humans, plants, and animals), and the Divine (the spiritual sense of air as the gift of life). Air is one of three requirements for creating fire (the other two being fuel and heat). I consider listening to the element of fire next.

Listening to Fire

Functions of Fire and Engagement with Fire

Fire cooks food, heats our homes, provides light, and is capable of destruction as in a house fire or an uncontrollable forest fire. These different functions of fire influence how we listen to fire.

I see a tiny reddish coal, made from working hard at a bow drill for several minutes, drop into a nest of kindling. Soft breaths on the coal in the kindling spark the coal into a flame. I place the flaming kindling beneath thin twigs and dry grass. The kindling slowly enflames the tepee of larger sticks I collected into a growing campfire. Hours later, after sunset, red, orange, and yellow embers glow in the fire pit. All my listening senses activate in this memory of creating fire. I relive the feeling of power in creating a hot lump of coal, the breath giving life to flame, the smell of pine burning, the taste of smoke, the crackling of the campfire, and the dancing flames and pulsing embers of the afterglow.

My memories of fire are not all positive. I also see our campervan engine aflame in the driveway as I stand helpless in the street, waiting for the firefighters to arrive. Here too, all my listening senses are active. But, the underlying feelings and interpretations are different. Dread replaces joyful relaxation, the disgusting smell of metal and electrical wires burning instead of the fragrant smell of pine, the sight of flames brings terror instead of happiness, and the sound of the blaze saddens my heart instead of the lively and joyful crackle and pop of the campfire.

By engaging all our listening capacities, fire provides a rich source of interpretations and meaning making. In my two short stories, happiness is associated with creating the campfire and grief corresponds to the loss of our campervan in the engine fire.

One simple activity for “listening to fire” is to create a controlled fire, anything from a candle flame to a campfire,^[28] and then listen. When listening to the fire, use all the senses, keenly observe, and generously interpret, reflect, and create meaning. What life lessons are symbolically contained in the fire?

Listening to the Sun

Turning from earthbound fires and looking up to the sky during a clear day, we observe the ultimate fire–the sun. All life on earth would cease were it not for the sun’s nourishing rays. A certain amount of sunshine is healthy for humans, but too much ultraviolet light from the sun can damage the body.^[29] Knowing the right amount of sunlight for our bodies is an exercise in listening discernment. Perhaps, if we are listening with attention, we can develop the capacity to know when enough sunshine and vitamin D are absorbed into our system.

Biologist Rupert Sheldrake describes the belief held by diverse cultures throughout history that the sun is a conscious being. Sheldrake notes that the sun’s pattern of electromagnetic activity is:

. . . vaster and more complex than the electromagnetic activity in our brains. Most scientists believe that the electromagnetic activity within our brains is the interface between body and mind. Likewise, the complex electromagnetic patterns of activity in and around the sun could be the interface between its body and mind.^[30]

Sheldrake’s hypothesis that both our brains and the sun share an electromagnetic interface between body and mind is intriguing. Further, changes in solar activity affect the, “. . . ionosphere and radio transmissions, and they modulate the frequency of lightning.”^[31] Given these solar effects, is it possible to sense, to listen to, these electromagnetic modulations from the sun? The question remains open to debate.

Given sufficient time, the sun evaporates most smaller bodies of water, including puddles, ponds, and lakes. Listening to the water is the next element I explore.

Listening to Water

Water can change form. Water can be gas, solid, or liquid, depending on temperature. Liquid water conforms to the shape of its container whether a lotus petal, teacup, iron pot, oak barrel, concrete swimming pool, mountain lake, or vast ocean. Water is ever-changing and adapting.

The ancient Tao Te Ching manuscript in chapter eight records, “. . . Water gives life to the ten thousand things and does not strive. It flows in places people reject, and so is like the Tao . . .”^[35] According to the Chinese sage Lao Tsu, the qualities of water number “ten thousand things.” All plant, animal, and human life needs water to survive. Humans are composed of sixty percent water by volume, varying between forty-five and seventy-five percent, depending on age, sex, weight, and height.^[36] Dehydration, from mild to severe, occurs when “. . . your body loses more fluid than it takes in and can no longer perform normal functions.”^[37] Mild dehydration includes symptoms like thirst, dark urine, dry skin, headaches, and muscle cramps while severe symptoms include very dry skin, rapid heartbeat and breathing, and dizziness and fainting.^[38]

Listening to our body’s water signals is body wisdom. Are you thirsty? Give yourself the gift of pure, clean, cool water. Is your urine dark? Drink sips of water over time until the color begins to clear. Do your muscles ache or you have a slight headache? You may need more water. These are simple and fundamental ways to listen to water. There are other more symbolic ways to listen to water.

Near the end of Herman Hesse’s novel Siddhartha,^[39] the main character Siddhartha settles into a way of life with a ferryman by a river. At one point, Siddhartha looks deeply into the river near the hut where they live:

The river looked at him with a thousand eyes . . . How he loved the river, how it charmed him, how grateful he was to it . . . he wanted to learn from it, to listen to it . . . whoever could understand this river . . . would also understand many other things . . .^[40]

When I sit beside our backyard koi pond with its small rock fountain, I listen to many of the “ten thousand things.” When approaching the pond, the sound of its fountain draws my attention as a focal point in the scenery. I find it mesmerizing to watch the sparkling stream of water bubbling out of the rocks, tumbling into the pond, and creating concentric rings on its surface. Sometimes, I am aware of the wet and dank smell of algae growing on the sides of the pond. Other times, the water interacts with the floating plants to create a more pleasing fragrance. But most often, the visual spectacle of dancing water absorbs my attention and inspires me with gratitude for water as a gift of life.