Listening in the Borderlands of the Human Heart!

Recently, I watched three films that stayed with me long after the screen went dark.

One, The Chord, explored the invisible threads that connect human lives.
Another, Hirja, followed a grandmother and granddaughter travelling together through the sacred chaos of the Hajj pilgrimage.
The third, Desert Angel,  told the story of a man who searches desert borderlands for migrants who have become lost.

The films were very different, yet they carried a common thread.

Each one was about people navigating uncertain territory.

The line that stayed with me came from the film Desert Angel.

The protagonist explained why he began searching for migrants in the desert between Mexico and USA

Not because of politics.

But because he could not bear the thought of a person dying alone out there without anyone knowing they had existed.

The loneliness of the lost.

That sentence stayed with me.

Because I suddenly recognised something about my own work: The Loneliness of the Unwitnessed Life

Many people live surrounded by others and yet carry thoughts they have never spoken aloud.

Not because they are dramatic thoughts.

But because there has never been a place where they could be shared without interruption, correction, or advice.

Over the years, I have come to see that this creates a quiet form of loneliness.

Not physical loneliness. But the loneliness of being unwitnessed.

This is the reason I continue to facilitate storytelling and deep listening circles.

In these circles something very simple happens.

One person speaks.

Others listen.

No fixing.
No advice.
No commentary.

Just presence.

And again and again I see the same transformation.

When a person realises that their inner life can be heard without being judged or analysed, something softens.

Their breathing changes.

Their shoulders drop.

Dignity returns.

Listening restores dignity — first to the person speaking, and often unexpectedly to the listener as well.

The Garden, the Circle, and the Grandmother

This week another small moment confirmed this understanding for me.

A friend who has been helping me repair my allotment garden had been sick for several weeks. He worried constantly about his mother in Iran, who had recently left Tehran because of bombings.

When he returned to finish painting the small house, I asked him how he felt after working.

He answered simply:

“Working in the kolonihave environment really made me feel better. Just being in a place you love can improve your mood.”

There was nothing dramatic about this exchange.

Yet it reminded me of something important.

Sometimes, the most healing thing we can offer another human being is not advice or solutions.

It is simply a place where they can breathe again.

A garden can do this.

A conversation can do this.

A listening circle can do this.

What I Am Learning About Love

While writing my current manuscript, I found myself returning to a simple question:

What is love?

Is it acceptance?

Is it understanding?

Is it the willingness to allow another person to follow their own path?

Perhaps love is not a feeling at all.

Perhaps it is a movement.

A movement away from judgment and toward understanding.

A movement away from fear and toward truth.

Over time, I have begun to see that love is also closely connected to listening.

When we truly listen, we stop trying to control another person’s story.

We allow them to exist fully in their own experience.

And in that moment something remarkable happens.

Two human beings meet without defence.

The Role of the Listening Grandmother

One of the films I watched recently — Hijra — portrays a grandmother guiding her granddaughter through unfamiliar territory.

The grandmother does not solve everything.

She does not control the journey.

But her presence provides orientation.

She reminds the younger generation where home is.

Not a physical home.

But an inner one.

As I grow older, I begin to understand that this may be the deeper role of elders in our communities.

Not to direct life.

But to hold spaces where truth can be spoken and dignity restored.

Returning to the Heart

In the final lines of the chapter I recently wrote about love, a sentence appeared that surprised me.

It said:

Love has been teaching me all along — through friendship, family, forgiveness — how to return to my own heart as the only true home.

Perhaps that is what listening ultimately does.

It helps us find our way back to ourselves.

And when we do that, we are no longer lost in the desert. 🥰