The Art of Noticing: Listening from the Bones
There’s an ancient language we were born fluent in — the language of the body, the subtle currents beneath words, the quiet knowing that pulses beneath the noise of the world. But somewhere along the way, life teaches us to stop listening.“Don’t cry.”
“It’s okay, calm down.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“You’ll get over it.”These words are ways we are soothed or calmed when things get big, but they ask us to quiet the body’s wisdom — to ignore the tremors beneath our skin, to smother the wild voice inside. At its core we are learning to stop trusting ourselves. And then there’s the hum of the city, the ticking clocks, the screens glowing in every room, distractions pulling us further from that wordless, wild place inside.
Why Does This Matter?
This quieting of our primal senses disconnects us from the wisdom that guides our decisions, our relationships, and our purpose. When we stop listening to our bodies, we lose a vital source of truth and grounding. Relearning to notice is foundational for deeper presence, authentic leadership, and transformational change — the core of my coaching work with leaders and seekers who want to embody their fullest potential.I remember the first time I noticed my sensing was being asked to quiet — a childhood moment when my tears were dismissed, my fear tucked away with an attempt to soothe my anguish. Yet deeper still, my body remembered. It knew where water gathered in the desert or sensed a storm before it came. It felt the shift in the wind, the smell, the pulse of the earth beneath my feet, long after words told me to look away.In this culture, feelings are taught, shaped, and tucked neatly away. We learn what’s acceptable, what to share, what to bury. What was once an open landscape of senses becomes an illiterate landscape, a small fenced yard with invisible walls.“Be strong.” “Don’t be so sensitive.” “Use your head.” “Think about it.”
These voices echo in the background , a chorus telling us to hold still, to control, to numb.But that language of the body hasn’t disappeared. It waits. In the way the wind brushes your skin, a scent that pulls you back to a moment long gone, the way your breath shortens or your gut tightens before you speak your truth, or how your chest softens when you finally let it out. The way something primal comes alive when you smell and hear running water — not long ago, there was a time when we had to live within walking distance of clean, safe drinking water. This wisdom still lives within us.A Story from Coaching
One client, Sarah, came to me feeling disconnected from herself and overwhelmed by the demands of leadership. She described feeling “numb” and like she was “just going through the motions.” Through guided awareness of her body’s subtle signals, noticing tension, breath, and even the sensations in her feet, she began to reclaim a sense of presence and trust. This embodied noticing opened new pathways for decision-making and deeper connection with her team. Her transformation didn’t come from thinking harder, or doing more, but from listening more closely, to herself and the world around her.When did you first notice your natural way of sensing was asked to quiet?
What voices asked you to stop feeling, stop noticing, stop being wild inside?
Years later, away from the noise, I found that wild knowing again — in the deserts of Baja Mexico, the quiet forests of Mammoth, the vastness of the national parks of the West. There, I relearned the art of noticing — the slow, wordless practice of being present, of trusting without needing to name or control.A Moment of Return to the Body That Broke Me Open
This is very personal yet feels rather important as it was the moment it all shifted for me. I was in the middle of a conversation I couldn’t hold together.It was with my job — or maybe more accurately, with the version of myself I had become inside it. The one who kept performing, producing, showing up without pause. A long, drawn-out unraveling, where the questions I had been avoiding finally rose to the surface.I remember standing in the kitchen, gripping the edge of the sink. I had just opened my laptop — heart pounding, inbox full, calendar stacked. And then the question hit. Not from a colleague or client, but from somewhere quieter, deeper:“What do you want?”
Simple. On the surface. But the moment it came, something primal in my body recoiled. My mouth opened. Nothing came out.And then came the heat.
Not anger. Not shame.
Deeper than that — a wave from the center of my chest that rose like fire through my throat, into my face. My heart pounded so loudly I couldn’t hear anything else. My hands trembled. My vision narrowed.I sat down. Or maybe collapsed.And that’s when I felt it — not just the exhaustion, but the grief underneath the exhaustion.
A kind of ancient sorrow I didn’t know I’d been holding.
My knees buckled inside me. I slid to the floor.And there it was: my body, uncloaked.
Everything I had overridden in order to hold it all together came flooding through.The way I had bypassed myself in moments of pressure.
The way I shut down fatigue with caffeine and urgency.
The way I silenced myself and still led, still produced, still powered through.But now, the body had pulled the emergency brake.
It had said, enough.That moment didn’t fix everything. But it changed something irreversible in me.Because for the first time in years, I didn’t try to get back up.I stayed there — shaking on the floor — listening.
Not to the story. Not to the fear.
But to the heat in my face, the cracking in my chest, the wild pulse in my gut.I noticed where I clenched. Where I gave way.
I felt the ground hold me.
I let my bones speak louder than my mind.That night, something shifted.I stopped pretending I didn’t know what I needed.
And I began to trust that listening — real, body-wired, bone-deep listening — was not just sacred.It was survival.And it became the way back.The way back to the senses.
To presence.
To the truth my body never stopped whispering.The Five Senses — Sacred Invitations
Noticing is more than seeing or hearing. It’s a sacred dialogue with the world — an invitation whispered through our senses to slow down and come home. Too often we process and make meaning before we even ask, “What am I noticing?” and “What is it telling me?”Sight: What am I truly seeing right now, beyond judgment or story? Can I let my eyes rest on color, shape, and movement — simply as they are?Hearing: What is the texture and rhythm of sound around me, beyond words and meaning? Can I feel the rise and fall, the silence between sounds, the hidden music?Touch: How does the world feel against my skin — the temperature, pressure, vibration? Can I soften into sensation, receiving without pushing or pulling?Smell: What stories do scents whisper without language? Can a breeze carry memory or mystery that words cannot capture?Taste: How does my body respond to flavors and sensations, before meaning takes hold? Can I notice the body’s response, simple and immediate?
Each sense is a doorway, a sacred invitation to be present, to soften, to open, to listen without expectation or explanation. The body remembers these invitations even when the mind forgets.What do you notice right now, simply by opening your senses?
These senses rely on information from the outside world, but there are deeper, inner senses too. Senses that guide us from within, sensing our body’s position, energy, balance, and the invisible threads that connect us to ourselves and others. These inner senses offer a rich landscape of knowing, waiting quietly beneath the surface.The Body Is Not Separate From the Earth
When we awaken the senses, we aren’t just noticing ourselves — we’re entering a deeper relationship with the world. The wind that touches your skin is the same current that moves the trees. The rhythm of your breath echoes the tides. The scent of rain, the sound of birdsong, the warmth of stone — these aren’t external details. They are part of your body’s knowing.To notice your body is to notice the Earth.
To come home to your senses is to come home to the world.We were never meant to do this alone, indoors, disconnected. Our inner landscape and outer landscape mirror each other — always in dialogue, always tracking.The Inner Senses — The Body as Guide
Beyond the five gateways of the world lies a deeper knowing, senses that root us not outward, but inward, guiding us through the terrain of our own bodies and presence of the wild inside.Proprioception (Spatial Awareness): Where is my body in space? How do I move through this moment? Can I feel the shape of myself, the subtle shifts in weight and balance, the dance between tension and release?Interoception (Somatic Awareness): What is happening inside, the rhythm of my heartbeat, the rise and fall of breath, the stirrings of digestion? Can I listen to these quiet signals, often drowned out by noise and haste?Vestibuloception (Balance): How balanced and oriented do I feel? Is there a steady center beneath the shifting chaos?Energy & Presence: What moods, currents, or unseen fields ripple through and around me? Can I sense the pulse of my own life force, the invisible web connecting me to this moment?Chronoception (Sense of Time): How do I feel the flow of time within me? Does time stretch wide, or rush by unnoticed? Can I move with its rhythm instead of against it?Noetic Awareness: That felt truth that lives before words form, a knowing deeper than logic, an unspoken wisdom held in stillness.Imaginal Perception: Inner images, symbols, and visions rising from the quiet places within, guides on the path of noticing.Relational Perception: The invisible threads connecting us to others, to the earth, to the cosmos — sensing the web of relationships beyond what is seen.Intuition: That subtle compass guiding beyond intellect, a whisper calling us toward what cannot yet be named.
These inner senses are an ancient map, a guide through the wild, unknown landscape inside.Have you paused long enough to listen?
What might happen if you invited these deeper senses to lead you today?
Noticing How We Notice
There is a layer beneath sensing itself, noticing noticing.
The way we pay attention, the quality and texture of our focus.
The subtle shifts that happen when we slow down, soften, and become curious about how we are curious.Have you ever watched the movement of your own attention?
Noticing how it darts or lingers, how it pulls or lets go?
This meta-awareness is a doorway — an opening that expands presence and invites new insight.Try this now:Sit quietly.Breathe naturally.Notice your breath without trying to change it.Feel the weight of your body where it meets the ground or the chair.Listen to the sounds around you — not as distractions or noise, but as textures and rhythms.Observe how your mind moves between moments. What draws your attention? What slips away?
There is no need to fix or judge.
Simply notice the noticing.What patterns arise in your attention?
Are there places it resists or rushes?
What happens if you soften around those places?This practice is an apprenticeship in curiosity and tenderness.
It invites us to stay with what we feel, what we sense, without needing to change it.
To trust the process of unfolding, moment by moment.The Practice
This is not about rushing to answers or fixing what feels broken.
It’s about curiosity — a gentle leaning in.
A willingness to sit with what you feel, without needing to change it.Grounding in the Body
Feel your feet on the ground. Notice the connection between your feet and the earth.
Sense the weight of your body where it meets the chair or floor.Scan your body gently from head to toe, noticing any tension, softness, or movement.
Attuning to the Breath
Bring your attention to your breath.Notice the natural rhythm without trying to control it.Feel how your chest or belly moves with each inhale and exhale.Observe any subtle changes as you simply watch.
Listening to the World
Close your eyes if it helps.Listen to the sounds around you without labeling or judging them.Notice the layers of sound — near and far, loud and soft, continuous and fleeting.Allow yourself to become curious about the texture of sound itself.
Exploring Inner Awareness
Tune into your inner senses.Where does your body rest in space right now?How balanced do you feel?What subtle sensations arise inside — heartbeat, energy shifts, emotions?Notice without needing to analyze or fix.
Questioning with Curiosity
Gently ask yourself: What am I noticing right now?What wants my attention but I’ve been ignoring?How does my body respond to this moment?Allow questions to open space rather than close it.
Each step is an invitation — to slow down, to soften, to return home.
You don’t have to do it perfectly.
You just have to begin.An Invitation
What have you been sensing but not allowing yourself to hear?
What parts of you have been asked to quiet down — to stop feeling, stop noticing, stop being wild inside?
What might happen if you began to listen from your bones — from the deepest, oldest places within you?
The art of noticing is not a skill to master, but a way to come home.
A return to yourself, your body, your truth.
It is already there, waiting quietly beneath the noise.Take your bare feet outside. Let them touch soil. Close your eyes and listen until something you’ve forgotten starts to remember you. If you’re lucky, the wind will speak. If you’re brave, you’ll understand nothing, keep listening anyway.Begin again tomorrow.