Living With Heart: Hearts Never Tell

by CANDACE A CROFT, Ph.D.

© 2012 Candace A. Croft

Copyright laws prevent the any reproduction of this column, either in part or in total, without the written consent of and/or credit to the author.

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I felt the tap-tap-tapping on my arm, signaling his need for my attention.

“Candace.”

“Candace.”

“Candace.”

Donning a smile, I turned to face him. “Yes, Tom. What is it?”

“I need to tell you something.”

“Are you going to tell me something about you or someone else?”

Tom thought carefully, chewing his bottom lip as he did. I could see the ideas wrestling across the floor of his mind: Should he tell the truth and be turned away or should he lie and gain my ear, if only temporarily. Truth won out.

Tom looked down at his shoes and said, softly, “Someone else.”

When his eyes met mine, I simply lifted an eyebrow with a sympathetic smile. Tom turned and went back to his day.

Donna recently had been sent to timeout. Now, she sought an audience with me. “Ken isn’t following the rules. He’s trying to tell us what to do.”

“I can’t hear you.”

She increased her volume and repeated. “Ken is making up his own rules.”

“I still cannot hear you.”

She dialed up the volume even more. KEN IS TELLING US WHAT TO DO!”

I had learned a long time before that when Donna accused others of asserting their power, it was because her own kingdom was threatened. When I didn’t respond, she stared at me dumbfounded.

“You can whisper or scream, but the result is the same: I am unable to hear you when you speak to me about someone else.”

It was a daily litany I had begun years before with toddlers in my care. A litany of lunacy. Pointing fingers and telling tales about others seemed to be a human behavior easily and early learned. It also seemed to be hardy weed, not quickly extinguished from the behavioral repertoire.

They say you never hear the one that hits you. That is not entirely true. His shrieks shot through the air with all the finesse of a NORAD alert.

“Candace! Candace!”

I felt the perfectly aimed headache stab into my head before he reached me.

“Yes?”

“Angie is being mean.”

I held up my hand, signaling him to stop. “Is Angie hurt?”

“No.”

“Is she bleeding?”

“No.”

“Is she in danger?”

“No, but...”

“Is she putting you in danger?”

“No.”

“Is she hurting you?”

“No.”

“You are going to tell me something about someone else, not you, right?”

His exasperation turned to resignation as he said, “Yes,” and walked away.

Are you going to tell me something about you or someone else? It had become one of the most effective mantras in maintaining peace in my world.



I learned to stifle tattlers by asking that question. As I frequently state, “If I don’t know something first hand, I don’t know it at all.” I believe each of us has a personal responsibility to discover life for self. I do my imperfect best to reject second-hand opinions and beliefs (as well as third, fourth, and fifth-hand reports) as a lazy, mindless, and frequently inaccurate way of learning about the world.

In our advanced civilization, anyone can say anything it seems. I have worked in organizations where the rumour d’jour is not only accepted as fact, but human resource professionals actually encourage the transmission of gossip as a gold standard for conducting business. I have witnessed the law interpreted to support gossip, even though a person’s livelihood was placed in jeopardy. I have watched as political leaders have utilized the telling of tales as a winning strategy. Whole industries, like media as entertainment, have been founded upon the telling of tales. Lack of first-hand knowledge results in a harsh, impersonal world where the focus of discovery gallops off in the wrong direction. From iterative paraphrasing based on second, third, or more greatly removed reports, our understanding of the world becomes a childhood game of telephone with its rapid deterioration of the truth.

I have never known the telling of tales to serve a good end. Even when supporters of tales state that everything worked out for the best when their victims moved on to better things, I know that the ends do not justify the means. I can guarantee that, whether or not one believes in karma, these things have an uncanny way of circling back around, sometimes in the most unexpected and strangest of ways.

Each person’s life is the unfolding of a narrative, a myth in the making. Let me clarify: Each of us will relate the stories of our days to others and, in doing so, include characters involved in particular scenes as part of our first-hand narrative. Telling one’s personal story is natural and healthy. The focus of the story is on self. Constructing narrative is how we make sense of life and give meaning to our way in the world.

Upon every sacred process falls a shadow. Gossip is the shadow side of life’s story. When a listener receives another’s life story without the benefit of first-hand experience, it is compassionate to provide an understanding ear, certainly. This assists the narrator in making sense of the experience. But, if the receiver then becomes a relater, she engages in the telling of tales, capiche?

As seekers of enlightenment for greater soul perfection, each of us is vulnerable to shifting focus away from self and the telling of tales. When we are mindful about our daily performance, we stand a better chance of withstanding the temptation and meeting the challenge to live a storyline with lovingkindness, compassion, and wisdom.

To be mindful of telling tales, one first has to understand the behavior. Telling tales almost always is executed from a place of fear, pain, and suffering. Poisoned, our senses of justice, humanity and amusement become tainted. Hatred is a common suspect in the telling of tales. When hatred poisons a person, it deludes us into believing the best offense is a good defense against pain and suffering. The tattler, who sees others as a source or potential source of suffering, seeks to hurt them before they can cause greater pain. The person may or may not be consciously aware of their need to make another suffer. Regardless, by exerting power over another in this way, the tattler is deluded into believing they are empowered. As with all delusions, the telling of tales may alleviate pain in the short-term, but ultimately is an ineffective defense. It does not reduce suffering. Quite the opposite. Simply put, as we approach others with hatred and suffering, we make it easier for them to see us with hatred and return that energy to us, now intensified.

If you find that you are about to tell tales, stop, take a deep breath to clear the waters of your mind, and shift your awareness away from the other and back to self. Acknowledge the suffering that underlies your desire to tell tales. If you are feeling hatred toward another, admit it. We all have shadow sides. Running and hiding from them is anything but enlightening. Admit where you are feeling pain, how it feels, the thoughts that arise from it, and how it distorts your vision of self and others. Ask what it tells you about being you. Learn what it has to teach you, then, let it go. Admit the pain, but do not act upon it from fear and hatred.

A narrative life is the basis of a mindful performance. Weaving the story of our lives in context with the tragicomedies of others gives depth, richness, and meaning to our days. When threads of rumor are included in the telling, meaning becomes skewed and our lives are stretched out of shape. This season, we might all be better served if each of us, before speaking, would ask, am I about to tell something about me or someone else? All things being equal—no one is in imminent danger or acting illegally—if the answer is the latter, it is not your story to tell. In that case, silence is almost always the mindful choice.

Did I mention that the scene at the beginning of this column occurred, not with toddlers, but with grown-ups in a place of business?

“Are you going to tell me something about you or someone else?” It is a healthy, mindful check to routinely establish with all children, whether they are three years old, 33, or 103. Tell your narrative without telling tales and you will—

KEEP YOUR HEARTLIGHT SHINING™

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Although this column may be inspired in part by true incidents, it is a work of fiction and does not depict any real person or event. Any resemblance to acutal persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.