It sounds loud, like a million little drum sticks…

I live with 2 adult men, who from time to time, talk to me.

One annoying habit has been that one of those men attempts to speak with me through doors closed or ajar, walls and even different floors of the house. Instead of walking into my space and seeing if I’m available to listen, the ‘conversation’ often starts elsewhere. That is, it starts for him in his head from another space, when I might be reading, writing, listening to the radio or music, thinking, doing a task that requires my full attention… ah… you get the picture. For me, it doesn’t start until we’re face to face, though, every now and then I get sucked into responding to that first ‘call for attention’ with ‘I can’t hear you’ or ‘what was that?’. Urgh.

About 10 days ago, my right ear became blocked.

Over the ensuing days, it became painful, and right now, it’s still blocked but no longer hurts.

I’ve found myself saying ‘Sorry, I can’t hear you’ or ‘what was that’ all the time lately. It’s driving me crazy because I’m not hearing well and it’s frustrating because my family man has not adapted at all to the well-known challenge I’m experiencing!

‘I’m finding this difficult and you must be too?’ ‘Can you please come closer?’ and [when walking the dog] ‘Can you perhaps walk and talk with me on my left side?’

10 long days.

There’s one time in the day when I experience something completely different.

Under the shower the right side of my head can hear every little droplet of water landing… it sounds loud, like a million little drum sticks, no not ice-screams, tapping in a chaotic chorus. It reminds me of being a young child again with heightened senses, standing in the rain, hearing and feeling everything so clearly for the first time; excitedly jumping up and down in puddles, singing and squealing joyfully. There’s such a vibrancy and an urgency, calling me to pay attention… impossible not to, really, because it’s so raucous in there. It’s so, exaggerated!

Under the same shower the left side of my head doesn’t really hear anything in an expanded way. I can feel the warm water coursing over my skull, wetting my hair, dripping off my nose. I hear the water outside of me, bursting through the large shower head above and splashing on the walls and floor. Inside my left ear, though, is silence. It feels peaceful and calm. If feels ‘normal’.

As I eat my soup this lunchtime, I’m wondering what it is I’m supposed to learn here.

It feels like I’ve suddenly got access to two different worlds… one comfortable and immediate that can be interrupted without warning… one blocked and distant yet easily unlocked in a state of relaxation.

As I chew the vegies and chicken, I’m aware that in one ear I hear them loudly breaking down in my mouth and the soup sloshing like a washing machine mid cycle. However, as I take a spoon of broth and swallow it in a gulp, I hear nothing from the other side; it’s like a void or a padded room without any reverb.

Again, what do I make this mean?

I suppose I can marvel at the human capacity to be able to look at too opposite realities and admit that both are true.

I suppose I could take sides and admit that I’d prefer a ‘normal’ hearing function in both ears and this would make my life a lot more comfortable.

I suppose, if I did that, I’d be missing out on this exquisite experience of sound I’ve never been privy to as an adult!

I suppose, by choosing to allow my blocked ear to run its course [and yes by the way, I am truly hoping the ear drops help], I might acknowledge that to be more present, to listen in more ways than one, to hear my life experienced differently, might actually bring an insight unexpected and profound.

My feeling is that this has not yet run its course.

My commitment to my right ear, and to my left, is to pay attention to what you have to communicate to me. I will challenge the outside noises if they add no value. I will surrender again to the bliss of the blocked ear opening in ways unexpected.