Intro: Dr. Alexis Pauline Gumbs listens for a living: the mission of her work is to “create infinite ways to facilitate listening.” The renowned black feminist scholar and poet shared with us how she approaches listening to herself/body/spirit, to artistic inspiration and to others during her November 7th “"Necessary as Water": Queer Black Ceremony and the Depth of Listening” workshop. She also facilitated a listening “Oracle Circle” for audience members. Gallant Zhuangli, a Barnard College senior and oral history enthusiast, was inspired to lead an “Oracle Circle” of her own in an effort to better understand and reflect on Dr. Gumbs’ innovative listening practices.

“There’s no sound, and it’s ok,” Alexis Pauline Gumbs mused during her Oral History presentation. She planned to show us an excerpt from her Mobile Homecoming documentary; the film recapped hers and her partner Sangodare’s experience gleaning wisdom from black LGBTQ elders across the United States. The videoclip depicts a sort of ritualistic embodiment of the pair honoring their forebears. The footage shows Gumbs and Sangodare as they perform in the living room of two black LGBTQ elders. The older folks lounge on a well-worn couch; they look on, mildly bemused, as Sangodare beats a drum and Alexis improvises a dance in front of them.

The audience waited as Gumbs fiddled with the volume. She shrugged her shoulders after a moment and began the clip anyway. We silently appreciated her soundless, living room dance moves. Afterwards, Gumbs revealed to us that it was the first time she ever watched herself dance without music. “There’s no sound and it’s ok,” she reiterated. “That’s how it was supposed to be.”

This easy acceptance of “the way things happen” is what struck me most about Alexis Gumbs’ presentation and her tranquil demeanor. Gumbs listens for a living: the mission of her work is to “create infinite ways to facilitate listening.” She shared with us how she approaches listening to herself/body/spirit, to artistic inspiration and to others. Gumbs also encouraged us to self-assess our own listening efforts via several guided exercises.

We “intentionally committed ourselves” to listening to others in the room during Gumbs’ three-step “Oracle Circle.” We first dedicated our listening ceremony participation to someone. Gumbs then asked that we introduce ourselves to another audience member; we explained to them our own recent progress in listening. Our partners responded to our reflections by describing to us something they once learned from the person to whom they dedicated their Oracle Circle practice. We were, according to Gumbs, “tapping into a portal of vernacular and irreverent wisdom.” Subsequent Oracle Circle steps included customizing a haiku poem as well as inaugurating a dance move for our listening partners.

The numerous logistical elements of this process may seem odd. Certainly, the whole thing initially sounded a bit kooky to me. I assure you, however, that the exercise was fulfilling. Although unsettling at first, listening closely to a stranger became gratifyingly intimate. My audience partner and I discussed why engaged listening is important; we agreed that we value being “seen and understood.” Gumbs had us reconvene as a group to reflect on the experience. Other listening pairs were similarly moved by the ceremony of listening. “You’re forced to be present,” appreciated one person. You get “real-life spirit advice column vibes,” said another. One participant read to us the haiku poem he wrote inspired by his son; he expressed delight when, a moment later, his son texted him a seemingly-out-of-the-blue photograph. Gumbs smiled, nodding sagely. The “protocol of spirit will align,” she concluded.

Ever enjoy something so much that you wish all of your favorite people were there to savor the moment too? This recurring desire to recreate experience is, of course, what draws me to storytelling.

After Alexis Gumbs’ presentation, I decided to facilitate an Oracle Circle amongst friends. I felt a certain degree of accountability to Gumbs and intended to reproduce her listening style accurately. I wanted to create a comfortable, listening-conducive space: I vacuumed and arranged cushions on the floor; turned on a string of dimly lit multicolored lanterns; brewed cups of tea for each guest. I then reread notes that I took during the workshop and memorized several key Alexis Gumbs facilitation phrases.

The workshop facilitation was challenging despite my best preparation efforts. To begin with, it became apparent that – unlike Alexis Gumbs’ intentional and committed workshop participants - my friends participated mostly as a favor to me. I also contended with their bedtime grumpiness. A few invited listeners arrived late, so it was eleven pm by the time we began. “When do we start?” asked the others. “Yeah, when does the Oracle show up?”

Fortunately, my bedroom congregates humored me once I explained the ceremony purpose and each steps’ instructions. I did my best to channel my inner Gumbs tranquility. I used her language, urging my friends to: “Be brave with me in a way that feels right to you.” I told them: “Read your poem; trust your poem.” They split off into pairs and shared what I hoped and imagined were satisfying moments of mutual listening comprehension.

I asked everyone to reconvene after Step Three (the dance gesture) and reflect on the experience. People answered less readily than they did during Gumbs’ workshop. One friend finally spoke up. “It was…” she ventured, “difficult.”

This took me aback. Difficult? It was not supposed to be difficult. The listening ceremony was meant to be effortless, seamless… listening-conducive! 

“I think you posed it differently,” said my friend Amanda Ong. Amanda is an oral history classmate and also attended Gumbs’ workshop. I invited her to my own Oracle Circle as a kind of secondhand observer. “We were just supposed to share what we learned from whoever we dedicated the circle to-” Amanda was right. My instructions made it seem as though the advice we conveyed needed to relate directly to our partners’ listening reflections. Gumbs’ directions were open-ended. The beauty of the exchanges, during her workshop, lay in the surprising realization that the “listening progress reflection” and the “lesson learned” anecdotal responses seemed to end up speaking to one another regardless.

“I changed my person,” another friend piped up. “I didn’t know my teacher well enough to imagine how she would react.” “Me too,” said another person. As it turned out, most participants changed who they dedicated the circle to for the sake of brainstorming the “correct” advice.

My friends agreed that the rest of the ceremony of listening went well. “That was the only thing that felt different,” Amanda assured me. Nonetheless, the fact that many felt a need to change their dedicatees disappointed me. I consider myself a storyteller; I was frustrated that my retelling fell short.

…

“Thinking about [listening] in simple ways can clarify what is meaningful to you,” Alexis Gumbs told us. As I reflected on my ceremony of listening successes and pitfalls after my friends left, I remembered Gumbs’ last piece of advice and decided to simplify my thinking. It was okay if my Oracle Circle did not replicate Gumbs’ Oracle Circle exactly. Perhaps this was the lesson I needed to glean from her practice. I was not retelling a story verbatim; I was listening anew. I remembered Alexis Gumbs’ easy acceptance of “the way things happen.” My friends changed who they dedicated the circle to in the moment. I shrugged my shoulders. So what? Maybe that’s how it was supposed to be.

Gallant Zhuangli (she/her) is a senior at Barnard College, majoring in history and minoring in French. She aims to complete her senior thesis on transcultural, commemorative genres of representation, concerning Pacific War “Comfort Women.”

This post represents the opinion of the author, and not of OHMA.