THE RABBIT LISTENED: Could We?

Whatever joyful thoughts and inspirations this time of year calls to mind for you (Passover? Resurrection? Spring bulbs? Longer days of sunlight?) I'd imagine that rabbits play some role in those thoughts. New births abound, tiny nests of bunnies are uncovered when gardening, and pint-sized, transparent-eared little buns nibble at grass or dandelions. Right? 

Store shelves abound with chocolate rabbits while comic strips feature parents biting the ears off the chocolate bunnies in their kids' Easter baskets. [Side survey: when you receive a chocolate rabbit, do you bite the ears off first? f\Feel free to confess in the comments!]

What does all this have to do with picture books? Well, I found an Easter card picturing three chocolate bunnies on the cover, and the middle one with missing its ears. The inside text said that two out of three rabbits HEARD it would be a wonderful Easter. It's a funny card and I was pleased to find it. After I mailed it, though, my thoughts followed a "rabbit hole" about missing ears and not hearing and relying on habits rather than thinking or listening in the moment.

DIAL BOOKS, 2018

That led me back to a book that I featured some years ago about dealing with grief, THE RABBIT LISTENED, written and illustrated by Cori Doerrfeld.  As the cover indicates, this is a story of comforting, with a focus on the power of listening. 

When the child's play-project collapses, they view it as a tragedy. Various efforts to "make it better" are offered by caring others. Adults will recognize themselves in the words of advice, familiar phrases that fail to recognize what is really needed. 

Examples are things we too often say to others in our lives; 

You can make another.

At least you've learned something.

You have other toys to play with.

or even the dreaded...

This is not such a big deal.

I didn't put quotes around the above lines because I paraphrased, writing the gist of what the text stated. Characters were reverting to past practice and patterns without pausing to see what was really needed.

Each seemed to have lost their "emotional ears", making assumptions or rushing in to reduce tension and pain. At times, though, quite often actually, what is most needed is simply someone to sit with us while we fully experiencel our pain. 

The rabbit does that. No words. No verbal reassurances. Simply being there, as near and as accepting as possible. As I wrote in a prior post, "this little book offers a universe of wisdom. It opens with utterly appealing scenes, introducing a character, Taylor, about whom we instantly care."

"After failed attempts, Rabbit arrives. As the title says, Rabbit Listened, recognizing and absorbing Taylor's raw emotions. Rabbit's only role is to be present. To offer comfort without expectation or exit. Only then can Taylor (who could be a boy or a girl) try out various reactions, move through stages of grief, and work through the pain of loss until it is resolved. As comforting as this book may prove to be for young audiences, it should be considered an advanced course in human outreach for those of us with the "fixer" impulse."

Those missing rabbit ears on a seasonal card had me reflecting on the degree to which our larger society seems to operating on assumptions and default reactions. Not only in politics, but in technology-anxiety, environmental concerns, and more. So often I hear familiar phrases and reactions in conversation from entirely different people in a wide array of ages and settings. All seem calm and caring, but that edge of repetition concerns me. Many times such talk elicits some nods or "hmm" and the topic shifts. Perhaps we'd all do better in many circumstances to reflect back before offering even "safe" reactions or thoughts. 

For myself, I'm hoping to reflect back and listen more. "Tell me more about what you think" or "Tell us why you say that" or ??? What I want is to make myself THINK, and LISTEN, and be open to how others feel. I'm more convinced than ever that some of the most deeply-held opinions are actually a reflection of deeply felt tensions or worries or fears. Perhaps if I allow others to share some of that, I could simply listen. Perhaps it might ease their sense of isolation or fear of being attacked. I don't have to agree or disagree, just let them feel heard. 

At least I can try. And I plan to do so.

That is my plan for a new beginning to this season of growth and renewal.

May your own seasons be filled with listening.