Conversations For Transformation: Essays Inspired By The Ideas Of Werner Erhard

Conversations For Transformation

Essays By Laurence Platt

Inspired By The Ideas Of Werner Erhard

And More

A Man Who's All There

Exertec Health and Fitness Center, Napa, California, USA

November 28, 2015

"I finally figured out why this is so riveting: it's Larry King interviewing a man who's all there." ... Laurence Platt watching Larry King interviewing Werner Erhard

This essay, A Man Who's All There, is the one thousand one hundredth in this Conversations For Transformation internet series. That doesn't mean anything. It's just what's so.

It is also is the twenty eighth in the complete group of Experiences Of A Friend (click here for the open group Experiences Of A Friend II):

so far, in that order.

Perhaps the best way for me to begin describing what's it's like to be totally and completely listened (an experience which is actually quite rare) is to share first what it's like to be not listened (a much more common experience).

<aside>

The grammatically syntactically correct way to refer to listening ie the way my school marms taught me, is to say something like "I listen to you" and "You listen to me" - the preposition "to" is deployed.

The trouble with saying it that way is when I listen to you, you're over there, and I'm over here. "I listen to you" has directionality across distance. That's not listening. It may be hearing ... but it's not listening.

When I listen you, on the other hand, you're over there, and in my listening I'm over there too with you. "I listen you", unlike "I listen to you", has congruence.

Hearing is automatic. Listening requires intentionality.

<un-aside>

As an example of what it's like to be not listened, I'm speaking and sharing, both of which require being vulnerable and open if I'm going to really communicate ... and the person with whom I'm speaking is disruptive, changes the subject randomly, fidgets, and often interjects non sequiturs. It's more than she's simply distracted: it's if I were to just stop speaking altogether mid-sentence, I'm clear she wouldn't even notice. There's no chance to get into communication - and even less chance to experience it. Everything's reduced to making noise at each other, and chit-chat.

It's almost impossible for me to stay fully present in conversations like those. The person currently talking is simply whoever won the conch (or the speaker's stick), having forced out the other(s) by talking over them or shouting them down. That's what it is to be not listened.

When he listens, on the other hand, it's something truly awesome to behold and marvelous to experience and to be in the presence of. It's inspiring to be in its orbit. It's truly a gift. And the thing is he always listens / he's always listening such that whenever I'm around him, his listening is congruent with who I really am. I don't know anyone else quite like him, a man who's all there. And while his is the kind of listening everyone knows is possible, being around it (at least for the first time) is strangely disconcerting (perhaps because it's a function of being both new and rare).

It's not that he simply doesn't talk over me: it's that who he really is always listens me. It's a truly rare quality, one which ongoingly impacts and empowers everything I do and am capable of doing and could do in the future. If he did nothing but listen ie if listening was the only thing he ever did, the way he listens would rock people's worlds. When he listens me, there's space for my conversations to create and soar, for me to share authentically without battling to be heard, and for me to be open and vulnerable (which happen to be the perfect conditions in which real communication can occur and thrive) ... so I learn what it takes to be this way, to re-create it, and to become practiced at it.

He doesn't change the subject on a capricious whim ever. He doesn't fidget, interject non sequiturs, or get distracted. And if he does interrupt me (as he will do, every once in a while), it's actually to make a laser-precise contribution which links back to something valuable I said earlier which I glossed over, yet which ought to be further expanded instead because it's worth being further expanded. In other words, when he listens me, I can be fully, totally, completely myself - 100% present.

It's this quality of what I'm calling his listening (which is a function of his being ie which is a function of who he is really) that occurs for me as his full, total, complete, 100% presence. So it's only natural that anyone who's around him will inherit (by osmosis) the access to being fully, totally, completely 100% present. It's a natural consequence of ie it's a correlation of being around a man who's all there, that everyone gains access to being all there also. What's interesting to me is although being all there is an experience which is actually quite rare, it's immediately recognizable around him.

So where does this immediate recognition come from (since it's rareness implies it can't be commonly explained in terms of being already familiar with it)? I assert it comes from our natural knowing ie it comes from being already aware of who we really are (even subliminally), and so we're also naturally aware of who we are in another - even subliminally.

It calls for a certain bravery ie it demands a certain courage, a certain verve to stay around a man who's all there, simply because (if you tell the truth about it) the areas of your life where you're not being all there yourself (ie the areas of your life in which you're not being fully present and authentic), will get shown up around him for what they are, leaving you with the undeniable choice to drop them ... or to drag their tiredness around with you for a little while longer. You're OK either way in my book ie you're OK whichever you choose ... and ... we all know choosing to drop them takes guts, and is the bigger choice.

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