It seems that many of those around us are in similar places, with similar experiences. They are not all sweet. Some are painful, of waking up to being well and truly lost. But to be found, we must first be lost. So it is a good place to be. To be healed, the alcoholic must first acknowledge that he has a problem. To wake, requires to realize and acknowledge we were fast asleep. How many problems in this world would shift if more of us would wake to the possibility that we are lost. That we don’t know the way home.

As I write I can feel the sun on my face as it is entering my office, from across the fields, through the trees, the window, and onto my cheek. Caressing me, this morning. How can I not feel loved in a moment like this?

We wondered together, yesterday in our conversation, about our work in the world. We shared in particular moments of vitality and flow, those moments where we experience how it is when everything is in flow, when life is in harmony. When the mundane falls away – although for someone looking in, what we are up to might look mundane. Moments of play with the children, or deep connection as a group of friends jam together, song, dance, instruments, spirit all mingle to create pure magic. “This is it – this is the real thing!” we find ourselves thinking with surprise and excitement. And then everything else that our lives are made up of lands on top of it, and clutters, and gets in the way of staying open to this moment, and the flow that is and exists all around and through us; the flow that we shut off from, more often than not in our busy pre-occupied lives.

It was our sense that during this time, more of the people we know are accessing those experiences. And as I sit here this morning, and as I went to bed last night, and looked up at the starry skies, I realized that in a way my present experience is one of being called. And let us not worry so much about who is doing the calling. Sometimes as we try to be pragmatic about these things, we kill them, and shut them down.

So without going into too much analysis I can simply say that in the last few months I have been called into being more of who I am. I am being called into being me. It is quite a glorious place to be. At home in myself. At least for moments – and more and more of them.

I know what it is like to not be able to be myself. To have landed in a place where I feel that who I am is not appropriate. And then to begin to censor myself….. It is a lonely and painful place to be. So what a joy to begin to notice this beckoning to become more of me, and to dare to follow it.

I am being called into the forest. Quite literally through a longing and desire to spend more time with the trees, just as I am being called to work with the land, to put my hands in the soil, and to be part of nature as together we grow something here, in my garden.

I am being called to move my body – to dance! To play with meditative movement.

I am called back to sit on my cushion each morning, after years of young children distracting me from that basic practice.

I am called to write.

And to connect to people from that place of knowing that each one of us is a miracle to be discovered. In that perhaps we can remind each other of this, as we so often forget it. Many of us have never believed it. How then can we live our lives as though this were true?

I recognize how incredible my life will be if I learn to heed my calls. Not easy, not comfortable, not problem-free. No. But it will be Incredible. Joyful. Challenging. Gritty. Magical.

Being called and responding to the call are of course two different things.

If we never show up – our call will diminish, and eventually we won’t hear it anymore. I speak again from experience.

But if we begin to heed it, tentatively at first (you want me to leave my job?), increasingly more courageously, and then it becomes an intuitive muscle, that we hear much more clearly, and can begin to follow much more easily.

Perhaps I am no longer speaking entirely from experience, although I do have a sense that my listening, my intuitive sense of what I need, is growing stronger. It has not yet become easy to simply follow it. Old habits, and past lives get in the way. Time. Ideas about what I should be doing with my time, keep me from walking into the forest when I feel the need. I know deep down that good things would come from being out there more. From listening to what my deeper self knows to be good and true and nourishing – whatever that might be.

The more nourished, and clear and alive I am – the more I can offer my light and joy to others.

We wondered in our call yesterday, whether it is enough, at this time, to practicesimply being more fully human? Whether it is enough, in the words of my friend, to bring to every encounter our full presence and balance? What if that’s enough? What if that alone were enough?

We recognized that one of the deeper shifts that has occurred between now and ten years ago is that we no longer believe that at a fundamental level we are going to change anything. It’s not like we are going to fundamentally change the world  . That doesn’t mean we don’t work for the kinds of changes we long for in our world.  We do, every day we do. But we don’t work fuelled by a need for outcomes. Suffering and challenge is a part of the human condition. We may solve one challenge and bring on another. Or we may not even solve one, and still bring on another  . Of course the possibility exists, that we may rise to another level of consciousness and have a much different global order, in which much of what is today will no longer be acceptable, and yet even in that, we will have other challenges. So – it is not to say let us not strive for our dreams, especially those that come knocking through the window of our soul. By all means – But let us not become so caught by them that we kill ourselves in the process.

The world we are looking for, begins right here, with us. It is not a fixed destination that we are driving towards. In line with the work of Christopher Alexander, the quality of each step that we take today, will determine what actually unfolds. His work through the physical realm, has uncovered the basic building blocks of what he calls Wholeness, which holds a quality of aliveness inherent in it. Wholeness – and thus aliveness – must be present in each step of the design and process of forward movement, for it to be present in the final product (or building as is the work of Alexander). Wholeness cannot be in what we create, if it is not in the process of creation. Thus the future is not divorced from the present, the end cannot justify the means, if it is not carried out in the same spirit of that which we are seeking. As we dive whole-heartedly into our change initiatives, many of them are characterized by an absence of wholeness, an absence of balance, and an absence of sustainable vibrant aliveness. How then can we create that which we long for – if we are not learning to live it today?

Learning to live it today.

Fundamental building blocks – in my words now, not Alexander’s – are how we show up in our world, our presence; the quality of our engagement with others, and out of that the quality of what we can create with them.

In this I recognize that time in the forest, and in the garden, in making or enjoying music, or playing with my children, must be an integral part of the journey – for that is a part of the world I long for. One in which all of me can show up. I can no longer wait for the rest of my world or context to live and breathe this way. I can begin now in how I allow myself to  inhabit my world . And thankfully there is a part of me, a wild and wonderful part, that knows this intrinsically, and is beckoning, calling, drawing me into a richer world. A fuller world. A fuller me.

May you join me. May you join us

The United States has lost its sense of subtlety.

Or maybe it was never there to begin with. After all, we’ve always known that when it comes to humor, the Brits have far greater mastery of nuance and irony than we Americans with our screwball and slapstick appetites. But this inclination toward the obvious and unambiguous extends beyond humor. It is part of our daily experience, shaped and amplified by politics and the media. As small differences and distinctions pass through the public lens, they transform into grand polarities, blocking each other out of the light. We find ourselves perpetually choosing sides, picking winners, condemning losers and generally orienting around good-bad, right-wrong, on-off, in-out and anything else we can reduce into simple and opposing parts.

So as I hosted conversations about the distinctions in Walk Out Walk On, I discovered how easy it is for us to relate to these distinctions as polarities. Out with the heroic leader and in with the host! Let’s build resilience and abandon efficiency! Engaging in play is more effective than utilizing power!

But these distinctions aren’t polarities. They aren’t the ingredients of a brand new recipe for running healthy organizations and building resilient communities. The purpose of the distinctions is to shed light on our default behaviors—the ones we can’t see because they’re so deeply ingrained in our culture and environment—and to make visible a broader range of choices that exist on a continuum.

When we move from power to play or from intervention to friendship, we walk out of our identity as experts and walk on to relationships as fellow citizens, neighbors, family members. Choosing to turn our work into play is a radical act—but it doesn’t have to come at the expense of our expertise, our wisdom, our experience. There are even appropriate times to step forward with our most heroic selves—to solve the problem, save the day. Hosting is not the new Next Best Thing.

This is why what matters most is that we develop our muscle of discernment to help us choose our behaviors. The distinctions give us a spectrum of options; our discernment identifies where we should be in any given situation. In the case of Efficiency to Resilience, for example, we might use our muscle of discernment to recognize that when a situation is complex, unpredictable and emergent, we should design for resilience; when it is causal, linear and controllable, maximizing efficiency will work just fine.

Our real work, then, is to ask questions like, “What are the conditions under which I should play the hero? When the host? Which behavior is most called for now—intervention or friendship? Which energy should I bring in—power or play?” And so on.

Choosing sides may feel a lot more comfortable than confronting the never-ending complexity of discernment. But then again, so is being a couch potato. I like to think of this as developing a muscle because it isn’t a one-time act. Flexing our muscle of discernment is something we have to practice over and over again, preparing ourselves to meet each new situation with strength, agility and responsiveness.

Over time, it gets easier. We begin to notice patterns that call forth one kind of behavior or another. Here’s where we can help each other. What are you noticing about the conditions that call forth Heroism or Hosting? Power or Play? Efficiency or Resilience? Intervention or Friendship? Transacting or Gifting? Scaling Up or Scaling Across? Problem or Place?

This piece is inspired by a reading I did in 2011 with Angela Deutschmann,

and the journey that has followed since.

I just came back from a wonderful week in Europe, attending and co-facilitating the ALIA Europe Leadership Programme. If I am to be honest, as I was leaving Zimbabwe, it felt like a bit of a distraction to leave everything that was going on here, at home in Kufunda, but it turned out to be a week of deep connections, with others and myself. It was a sort of coming home away from home. Much of what I have been working on during the last weeks and months came into clearer perspective, being in a rich community of friends and fellow travelers on the journey of becoming more fully human, more fully me.

I returned home, after ALIA, to a house full of people, my family and friends who were visiting from South Africa with their kids. It was lovely to return home to a sense of community: Children running free and wild, dogs excited to see me, other kids visiting from the farm, and the trees, that are increasingly becoming a part of my felt sense of family and community, standing in their deep stillness as an anchor for me. They were calling me to come and greet them in the forest. It took a few days before I heeded the call, and yet it was only after this that I felt that I had truly returned home.

And so as I reflect on my last few days, I see that I have lived through – in a microcosm – the challenging balance that I am learning my way into in a bigger way. On paper it sounds simple and perhaps even quite easy. In reality I am finding it incredibly difficult.

It is this: To not forget myself in my relationships – to not devote more energy and attention to my relationships, than I devote to myself.

I realize I am writing in the negative. So let me turn it around. I am in a process of learning to honour my relationship with myself, and to nourish this. It includes my conversations with Life, my musings and ponderings, my connection with God, with the Trees, with the quiet voice inside me. It is tapping into and following my Joy, my Me.

I know that taking time to stay connected with myself makes me a much more interesting and wholesome person to hang out with, and yet – and yet when it comes down to it, I struggle to prioritise this most important relationship in my life – being a mother, a partner, a colleague, a friend seem to distract from my essential relationship with self. In the midst of the busyness of life it often feels a little selfish to attend to Marianne. And this was my experience this week of returning. Of wanting to go and spend a little time just with me, to touch in, to integrate – and yet initially not finding the clarity to simply claim it – even though I know that no-one would have resented it.

In a reading I did last year, this came up as a strong theme: Learning to put relationships in their rightful place. It appears that this is a area that girls more so than boys grow up struggling with. As we grow up we put on masks (all of us do) to fit more fully into the world. And many girls, it seems, pick a role that has at its essence (in its many different manifestations) to make relationships the point of life. We learn the art of pleasing, of making mom and dad happy, siblings, teachers. We learn to sense into what is wanted, needed, required of us, and we offer it happily, because it gives us a sense of belonging (and perhaps also to an extent because of a nurturing instinct). Most of us are very good at it, and yet, it is for many of us, or at least for me, also a defence mechanism. Instead of my true, full, wondrous (and sometimes wounded) self showing up – it is more often the self that has learnt the way of earning its worth and place in the world that is actively present. I show up geared towards making you happy. And that is not to say it is being manipulative. Until the reading I was not particularly conscious of this pattern of focusing on other, over myself.

However  the point of my life is not the quality of my relationships, at any point in time. Nor is it yours. This may seem somewhat startling, but let’s take it a little further. My message was simply this: If the quality of my relationships comes at a cost of my expressing my authentic self, then it is not worth it. My relationships cannot be more important than my joy, the longing of my heart, my freedom, my inner life and so on. If my relationships override these, they will come with a hint of resentment, of subtle strings attached (a need to be thanked and acknowledged for everything I am giving, because I give it instead of tending to myself).

And whilst this can be turned to seem profoundly selfish, the beautiful paradox that I know to be deeply true is that:

“When you put your relationships in their rightful place, they in fact get better. People can feel, even if they can’t articulate it, even if they can’t process it cognitively, even if it is subconscious, people can feel the weight of your expectations or hopes on what their relationship with you is meant to deliver.  It is a service to your loved ones to allow those relationships to be valuable, but not to dominate your life.  The quality of your relating with your loved ones will improve when they are not the most important part of existence to you.”

What a liberating invitation this is. And a little terrifying  . And how incredibly difficult to step into.

So here it is, I can choose to claim my full freedom, and in that be a richer member of my family and community. I have made this choice for myself, and in it I am learning each day just how difficult it is to let go of years of conditioning that have taught me that to be a ‘good girl’ I should put others first, even if I do so reluctantly and resentfully. I am learning the balance and the peace and the grace that comes from following my soul’s desire, even if I don’t do it all the time  . I am learning ever so slowly to cease to do from a place of should. To show up strong and clear and beautiful, because I am tending to myself. And sometimes I show up messy and confused (I am human after all), but at least with a sense of being in the right place for me – being on my journey, not yours.

It is like the oxygen masks on the plane – we must put them on ourselves first, and our children second. Not because we are selfish, but because we know that this is the way to care for others: To make sure we are okay first.

So this is the journey I am on. And I experienced this last week, having come home from a strong and important learning journey to Europe, to a house full of people, how hard it was for me to leave the wonderful madness of my family, and go out into the forest on my own. To listen to the needs of my soul. I figured it out eventually, but it took a good few days, of not really arriving because the choice for Me seemed like a radical one to make when I was surrounded by others.

It is early Sunday evening as I complete this. I am feeling gratitude for this journey that I am on; that many of us are on. I am beginning to have more and more lived experiences of the wisdom of tending to me.

It is when there is a fundamental imbalance between my soul’s priorities and my intellects’ (my shoulds for example) that I feel the stretch and tension. And it is when I am not tending to myself that I lose touch with the voice of my soul. “You will not really feel any difference between self, work, marriage, children when you are in deep connection with your Divine voice.” It feels a little like a new relationship, with an incredibly interesting, wise, witty person who I had no idea existed inside me. What an honour it is to be getting to know myself – My divine voice even  . We each have one.

How much time do we spend getting to know it? And to follow its wisdom for our life? Dare I follow my wisdom for my life? The release is in beginning to recognize that if I listen I can find my way.

I read this last week in an essay by Earl Shorris about America’s latest pathology, published in the December 2011 issue of Harper’s Magazine. For several years now, I’ve been in conversations with people about the nature of our society’s failing systems—be those schools, healthcare, food, energy, economy, and so on. For better or worse, I’ve had a chance to be in rooms where each and every one of these systems that our society depends upon has been criticized, mourned and raged against. We’ve wrestled with what to do. Should we provide hospice to these dying systems—offering palliative care to the terminally ill? (Such as treating obesity and diabetes rather than the industrial food system.) Should we struggle to revive them, perhaps with a transplant or bypass surgery? (Think TARP for our economy or No Child Left Behind and now Race to the Top for our schools.) Or should we move forward, focusing all our energy on creating new life, nurturing a small seed of what might someday become a healthy, mature system? (Heartfelt efforts to create local food systems, renewable energy and zero-waste living practices are growing but still a fraction of the scale needed to sustain our communities.)

I confess I’ve been biased in my thinking toward the latter (here are some videos that express that view). Let’s build the new! Pioneer uncharted territory! Focus on what’s possible rather than what’s so! In writing Walk Out Walk On, Meg Wheatley and I shared stories of people who were creating the world they wished for despite all evidence to the contrary—friends in Zimbabwe who doggedly declared abundance in the face of absolute scarcity, friends in Brazil who danced resignation into joy. My heart expands when I recall these experiences of walking out of fear and constraint and walking on to create, imagine, dream and build.

But I also know that breathing life into the new is insufficient.

I spent seven years looking forward, learning from people who are willing to dare to create a healthier, more resilient future. I’ve also spent seven years with my back turned on the diseased patient—one with whom I am so intimate that I don’t even recognize as part of me. And surely the society that we inhabit today lives in us, and we in it.

That raises a question for me about how much we can really support systemic change if we are unable to turn back and face our diseases, bearing witness to pain and suffering in our social body. When our action to change the world is fueled by anger, frustration or rage at the way things are, it risks being reactive, another aggressive response to disease—another bypass surgery. But when we can look at “the way it is” with compassion and grace—and really listen to and notice what’s needed—then perhaps we can find our way to the root source of the illness, to the ethics and values that we yearn to see expressed in our households, neighborhoods and nation.

I’m all for looking ahead to envision a brighter future. But I’m beginning to slow down in my race to fix things, acknowledging a deeper wisdom that is inviting me to let today’s suffering sink into my heart and guide my actions. I am learning that to be still is neither passive nor complacent. It is perhaps the place from which we’ll discover our greatest creativity and capacity to respond to society’s chronic problems.

As I walked down the path in front of the house to where it touches the corner of the streambed leading to the well – I faced death on my pathway. \A dead badger lay curled on the edge of the streambed and stopped me dead in my tracks.

Just before I took my walk, I had a short, impromtu skype chat about the importance of tending and protecting times of transition with care.  Somehow this was connected.

What was the Totem-meaning of Badger – and what did it mean that it now lay dead at the front of my home?  I knew badgers roamed the remas (streambeds) at night, along with the Boar.  Perhaps they had met and a fight ensued, who knows.

As I walked to the spring, the image was clearly etched in my mind.  On returning to the house I felt compelled to capture the image.  As I walked the same pathway, just to my right – now directly in front of the house – another image of death greeted me.  Our sweet Zimbabwean cow was laid upside down in the grass, with one foot bitten off.  Freddie?

Both these poignant images sent my mind in a spin.  What did they mean – at this time?

Certainly death seems to be present for many on multiple levels.  People I know speak of loved ones lost.  Many are also going through deep transitions at personal and professional levels, including increasing health issues that require careful tending.  Nations are too.  Systems are shifting towards this threshold too – some ready to die perhaps – but most not sensing it is their time quite yet.

Death is a part of life.  A natural evolutionary cycle of planetary existence.  And yet, why does death shock us so much that it stops us dead in our tracks?

I needed to understand the meaning of the Badger to see if the totem offered some insight.

I found a website and a quote by Goethe at the top of the page that struck me deeply: “those who are firm in will, mold the world to themselves.”

It also said: According to Native Americans, the sighting of badger tracks was very auspicious. Seeing badger tracks was a message that all things are possible when we tap into our inner creative powers.

The badger stops at nothing to get what it wants, and this is a lesson for us to be persistent in our pursuits. Specifically, those with the badger totem often attract this creature because he/she has difficulty finishing what is started. The badger will help with this aspect in life. You can call upon the stubborn, strong-willed nature of the badger to help you complete any project you start.

The badger is also fiercely independent and can be quite aggressive when threatened. This is a lesson for us to stand our ground and make our presence known when the situation calls for it. Although smaller in stature, the badger commands attention from friend and foe alike. We can do the same, but we must be mindful that we do so in a healthy, constructive manner.

[ ] Animal symbolism of the badger is: Determination, Eagerness, Strong will, Focus, Strategy, Tenacity, Defense, Protection, Independence, Confidence

The badger is connected to the earth, and therefore is a grounding totem for us. When we feel out of touch, or confused the badger can help us get rooted, and anchor us to what is important in our lives.

When the badger comes into our lives it is time for get busy with projects, speak up and ask for help if we need it in our lives. The badger is also a sign that it is time for us come out of hiding – it’s time for us to let the world know we are here, and we mean business!

Lastly, the symbolism of the badger also includes individuality. The badger is a unique creature, well equipped to meet all the challenges it faces. It lives its life quite effectively. And although its methods might seem unorthodox, the badger doesn’t care what the rest of the animal kingdom thinks about them. This is perhaps the greatest lesson the badger imparts to us. In short, the badger tell us to “walk your own path at your own pace.” Never mind what others may say. Have faith in your own abilities and know that you are well-equipped to take on whatever challenge faces you.”

Multiple messages to find meaning in…Walk your own Path at your own pace.  YES!  Perhaps the Badger this day was a warning…of what would happen if we did not.

But what about the Zimbabwean cow – that seemed to have somehow sacrificed herself?  I immediately thought of Africa and the people I knew and loved who had walked their own path, most certainly and ceremoniously their own way.  I wondered if something was perhaps happening real time in the country real, that unbeknownst to me, I was now being alerted to.  I hoped not, but must check

But today was also Tsiknopempti or “Burnt Thursday” marking the threshold a period of celebration and Carnival / Panagiri – inspired, in part from the Dionesian times where wild sacred rituals honoured the life-death-life cycle with.   Tsiknopempti was also marking the movement towards Lent and a time of conscious purification and reflection of what needed to be lived more into and that which perhaps needed to die…and our own honouring of the sacrifice that had been offered, and now Easter, the central feast in the Christian liturgical year being the ritual and religiously sacred time of honouring the life-death-life cycle of the human spirit.

After recent events in Athens, there has indeed been much burning – buildings, anger, passion, love.  Perhaps today was a day to mourn the losses once again – burn off that which was no longer needed – and begin to embrace all that had been forged in the flames.

The upturned cow was a powerful image of Death though – and also, for me, that many rituals at this time failed to honour the depth of the transitions they were there to represent – becoming empty rituals – ‘sacred cow’, with little or no service at all.

Perhaps these events and the practice of reconnecting to the roots and rituals of this Tsiknopempti day, was calling me to face some of the death that was happening in my own life too – and sense more deeply what was being released and to tend and protect the transitioning with this utmost care – by honoring it in ways that were sacred to me.

When we do come to the point of facing death – of any kind – be it thought-form, value, person, place, relationship, etc – it shocks us to our core.  Yet, as we embrace the death and start to move beyond this – there awaits the presence of Compassion, Universal love and a connection to knowing and insight only available from being stopped dead by death.

I knew I would continue ponder these icons that had graced my pathway this – and so in my own way, blessed them both – the badger and the Zimbabwean cow, thanking them that they had awakened much newness in me.

As after Death, there IS Life.

And in my final walk of the day – circling round to the rema and the badger – I noticed that it had been moved closer to the house.

Freddie?!

Ten years ago, I would not have invited nine people I had never met into my home at 9 PM on a Wednesday night. A year ago, I would not have “friended” someone I had never met in person. Day by day, my relationship to privacy, intimacy and social boundaries is slowly eroding. Much like the frog in boiling water, I am gradually adapting to the persistent incursions of social media into my daily life—and potentially destroying my brain in the process.

Or at least that’s one way to interpret the relationship between social tools and the mind, according to Nicholas Carr, whose book The Shallows I started reading a few weeks ago. Carr writes about the neuroplasticity of the brain, which describes how areas of our brain expand and contract the more and less we use them. As our culture’s tools shift from printed books to online media, we are becoming more skilled at scanning and skimming a dynamic ecosystem of information then we are at concentrating for long periods of time on just one thing.

I certainly feel that myself—I know how much harder it is these days for me to pay attention to just one book (I tend to read five to seven at a time), listen to just one speaker (the 20-minute TED Talk is about my max capacity) or to remember pretty much anything at all. What I’m not so sure about is whether this is a good thing or a bad thing. It’s certainly an emergent thing—that is, we cannot see the potential of this shift in the individual; it only reveals itself in the group. Meg Wheatley has been writing about this for years, explaining how a group is capable of behaviors that are not knowable when you study the individuals (you would never see the potential for building a tower in an individual termite). We live in a world of emergent properties, and right now, social media is generating a vortex of unpredictability. Some parts of our brain are growing and gaining new skills at the expense of other parts. Our relationship to privacy is shifting, as is our relationship to ownership, control, transparency, collective action, governance, ethics, the nation-state, and so on.

I’m not indifferent about these changes. Nor am I Pollyannaish about it all—I do not subscribe to the faith in evolutionary human consciousness that assumes whatever collective brain emerges will be better than the one that came before. Rather, I simply acknowledge that we, as a society, are deep into the journey of walking out of 20^th century ways of relating to one another, and walking on to a new paradigm that is impossible to wrap our minds around. Because it is still emerging.

So are we passive in the face of these waves of change? Just along for the social media ride? Perhaps not. In fact, I take great solace in the boiling frog allegory, which turns out, isn’t entirely true. Ultimately, there’s a critical thermal maxima (maximum temperature an animal can bear) before which the frog will do everything in its power to escape, rather than soporifically drift off to death.

Social media certainly seems to be heating things up. What would it look like for us to boldly leap out of our pot?

Bridging Now and Then
Holding
All that is still to be
And has Become
The Song
Sung with Heart-full breath
Beyond the Self
Blessings’ wealth

Life wishes for Trueness
For Newness
While Time turns its Face
To meet Love

 ~

Dare you step Dear
Into the Fire of your Heart’s Song
Sung Loud
Into Night’s Sky
Brilliant stars
Shining patterns
Mapped across Aeons Face

Lighting shrouded places
Lost In Mists
Thought to be
Gone for Good

~

Bridging Then and Now
How Time turns
To face a New so True
So Blue in Skies
That Dance
Towards the Horizons
Beckoning You

To Trace the Tides
That Turn and Yearn
Until you see what’s True
For you, for Now

~

Not judged as Better
But Shelter
For the Tides
To rise and fall
That Call the Ships
To return to Shore
Nestled, Settled
Until the dawn Awakens

And Beckons You
Once again
To venture
Into Bright Adventure

~

Photos by
Sarah Whiteley
Richard Moreham (Moon)
Kamyar Houbakht (Horizon)

~ Sarah Whiteley – 15 January, 2012 ~
A New World of Poems
~ The Order of Creation ~

A Book of Poems By Sarah Whiteley

]]> http://www.walkoutwalkon.net/2012/01/dare-to-step/feed/ 0 http://www.walkoutwalkon.net/2012/01/parallels/ http://www.walkoutwalkon.net/2012/01/parallels/#comments Sat, 14 Jan 2012 22:16:41 +0000 sarah http://www.walkoutwalkon.net/?p=2195 We – human Beings, humanity – are at a crossroads that holds profound choice. Do we go this way or that? Do we stay on the path we are on… or choose another? Do we let go, open up, walk out… walk on?

All are possible. All are choices. Yet what choice provides the greatest flow, the greatest service, the greatest potential? How do we discern? How do we find the courage to say YES – and move… in order to place ourselves well?

This poem speaks to some of the choices, I believe, we face.

Parallels running along the edges of Time
Travelling between the shores of the new World
And this one being transmuted
How will we transit?
By Swimming – or sinking?
The latter…if un-committing…
Come – the edge IS crumbling
What will WE choose?

Parallels running along the edges of Truth
Travelling between the shores of the new World
And this one being bridged
How will we tender?
By Loving – or Fearing?
The latter…if uncaring…
Come – the edge IS wavering
What will WE choose?

Parallels running along the edges of Trust
Travelling between the shores of the new World
And this one being trampled
How will we relate?
By Honoring – or Mis-deeding?
The latter…if non-believing…
Come – the edge IS creaking
What will WE choose?

Parallels running along the edges of Beauty
Travelling between the shores of the new World
And this one being neglected
How will we attend?
By Creating – or Negating?
The latter…if non-cultivating…
Come – the edge is captivating
What will WE choose?

Parallels running along the edges of Hope
Travelling between the shores of the new World
And this one being dreamed
How will we participate?
Joyfully…wantonly
The latter…if not wholeheartedly
Come – the edge is breathtaking
What will WE choose?

What will WE choose?

~ Sarah Whiteley – 14 January, 2012 ~
A New World of Poems
~ The Order of Creation ~

A Book of Poems By Sarah Whiteley

A few hours earlier at the evening’s General Assembly, a proposal was made to meet the City of Boston’s eviction demand with a dance party. The proposal’s champion called for protesters to “clean up our mess entirely” and “be the first Occupy to just ‘poof!’ and be gone like a gypsy squad.”

Hours later, the proposal still hadn’t passed the G.A.’s arduous decision-making process, but no matter. People were going to dance and celebrate anyway. For the time has come to play to change the world.

I’ve been thinking about the archetype of the Jester quite a bit lately. The Jester uses the energy of play to speak truth to power. Through his jokes and antics, he transmits wisdom in a way that is non-threatening and flies “below the radar.” In this way, the Jester is brilliantly subversive.

Over the past several months, we’ve heard story after story of Occupy’s non-violent protest being met by authorities with aggression and violence. It’s hard not to come to the conclusion that—in this country, at least—power is no longer deterred by non-violence alone. But play—now there’s something that’s got my attention. Play has the capacity for subversive action because power doesn’t take it seriously, doesn’t even recognize its presence. My friends at the Elos Institute in Brazil have known this for years, as they’ve crafted games that engage communities in playing to change the world—in the face of no permission or support from power and authority.

Power operates from the assumption that the answers exist out there—and only the experts have them. To get things done, you need people of power and influence to champion your cause. And nothing gets done right unless you’re in control. This is the worldview that expects Occupiers to point out their leaders, clarify their message and align their constituency.

Play offers a radically different set of assumptions. When we play, we create the space for the impossible to become possible. We set aside our resignation and our cynicism, and we engage in a constant process of discovery, experimentation, risk-taking and creation. We allow people to self-organize to follow their passions. Play invites each of us to dream and to imagine—and then to go out and build the world we dream of.

I wish the full dance party proposal had taken place. It would have been thrilling to see Occupy Boston go “Poof!” and then magically reappear in its next form—whatever that might be. Even so, it’s sufficient that last night so many people played together on the streets of Boston in service of the sobering and timely challenge that the Occupy movement raises about the degradation of citizenship and democracy in our communities.

May we continue to learn how to play to change the world.

“Don’t worry, we’re fast climbers!”

* * *

We had seen the forecast and knew we needed to get to the base of the ice climb early.

As a staff team of Outdoor educators, we were in training in the Scottish Highlands learning the winter arts of ice-climbing, skiing and winter mountaineering.  We were excited as this year – 1985 – held the best conditions for years.  Glistening, thick snow, cold conditions and bright blue skies.  We were blessed.

So here we were – journeying to the base of Oui Oui before dawn – a notorious ice-climb deep in the mountains of Glencoe.  Climbing ropes lassoed over shoulders, rucksacks filled with ice equipment – ice screws, belays, harnesses – and metal crampons – devices that had spikes on the bottom and the front of each – that would eventually be strapped tightly onto the base of each leather boot, plus ice axes strapped to the outside of each rucsac.

As a team, we had climbed in the Lake District – but Scottish climbs were another level altogether and would test our skills and courage to the limits.

* * *

At the base of the climb, we divided into teams of two’s and three’s – with accomplished lead climbers and less experienced – myself included – seconding.

We slowly and meticulously prepared the ground – uncoiling ropes, donning climbing hats, attaching the climbing equipment methodically to lead-climbers harnesses.  We were ready to scale the heights of this huge column of ice glistening in the early morning sunlight.

Slowly and sure-footedly, we started our ascent.  The tingling sounds of the tap-tap of the ice screws being placed deep into the ice to then clip the rope into a webbed strap and a metal karabina at the end, was interspersed with the light ice-showers that fell in response to our human interventions.  As the rope was threaded through, the climbers potential falling distance, lessened.  Without this safety line, either by ill-placed steps and the ice itself cracking – the climber would hit the ground.  Reducing the risk was a crucial part of the art.

All of us had practiced many times, including free-climbed in the Lake District – feeling the exhilaration of each trusted step, each move, each placement of axe or foot – reaching the top of less imposing climbs with the deep sense of elation.

Oui Oui was a long climb and three hours into our ascent we noticed small water rivulets running behind the cracks in the ice shield as the heat of the rising sun warmed the day.  At the same time, we saw another team of climbers making their way up the boulder field, clearly coming the base of this magnificent climb.

“It’s starting to melt…” one of our team called down to the three people starting their own preparations as we had, hours before.

“Don’t worry – we’re fast climbers!”

Our team increased our speed of movement, paying attention to technique, but equally, to the shifts and sounds in the ice.  Adrenaline flowed – sharpening our efforts – breathing precision into every placement of ‘gear’ – ropes tightened swiftly by the belayer – the safety rope holder that tracked the climbers every move.

Finally, we transitioned beyond the edge and stepped onto solid, rocky ground – tired, relieved and with a deep sense of our individual and collective accomplishment.

The other climbers started their ascent.  It was 11 am.

We traversed the edge of the huge cliff face and descended the steep pathway that circumnavigated the ice wall.  As we progressed further from our climb, we heard the familiar calls of the climber ascending and the belayer tucked behind a huge bolder,  anchored securely to prevent them being jettisoned into the air should the climber fall – but with a clear line of sight of the steady ascent and the tap-tap of the ice axe alongside the silent witnessing of the mountains.

Suddenly there was a deep, distant rumble and sheering shouts of anguish.

The bottom third of the huge column of ice was peeling away from the cliff face.  Our team spun round to see, in horror, the climber falling through the air – being hit by falling ice and ricocheting hard again and again against the rocks.  The human form was as fragile as a rag doll – as the ice rained down in shards, shattering on impact on the ground below.

The belayer and their team mate – tucked deep behind their safe boulder, tightened the rope hoping to prevent ground impact – yet fearing the worst.  They had to protect themselves and the other climber without visual contact, as they undoubtedly must come to their aid – so simply had to wait and suffer the deafening sounds of the ice fall and the cries of their friend.

Silence.

Our team re-grouped.  Those who had mountain medical training moved swiftly back up the boulder field – whilst others of us began to make swift progress to the nearest village to call out the mountain rescue team – a time before mobile connection.

Incredibly, the climber was still alive – yet receiving severe head injuries and several broken bones.

With immediate medical care in place – in time, the rescue team arrived – and the various climbing and rescue teams moved the injured climber, in one coherent unit down the mountain to safety – sharing the stretcher carrying – and, eventually returning to base camp, food and showers and a debrief.

Suffice to say, we went skiing during the coming days…until stepping once more into the shadows of an even bigger climb, No 6 Gully – soaring hundreds of meters high into the Scottish sunlight.  After hours of fear-raising climbing – and returning to the ground – I knew this would be my last ever ice climb.

* * *

How bold we are as human beings – believing that we have the ability to transcend conditions that clearly ask for a different response.

In this situation, the conditions were clearly shifting and council had offered its wisdom through direct experience – and knowing.

Yet they still decided to climb.  Why?

This memory re-appeared in recent weeks – and has been playing in my mind over time.  It was a dramatic example of moving beyond limits that Risk, himself would not recommend.  The most significant flaw was that Right Timing was not in alignment – and indeed, that the conditions increasingly unfavourable.

Instead of shifting to another pattern – in this case – moving to a less exposed or even shorter climb, the team decided to proceed with the one they intended.

How doggedly we proceed, when all the signs – the cracks in the ice – suggest another approach, and even aborting an intended pathway altogether.

How quickly we ignore Right Timing’s Knowing, Intuitions’ wisdom and Risk’s council – our own and other human beings?

What are we choosing to ignore – when all the signs suggest otherwise?  What do we believe we have the experience, expertise and courage to conquer?  What sound advice are we misreading – or ignoring completely.

How open are we to listening to the wisdom of others who have travelled the pathway before – and have certain knowing that it would be in our interests to adhere?

What are we ready to rescue – to bring down the mountain – to shelter – to allow more life to course through?

What are we ready to say “thank you – this is not mine to do…I have another path to walk” knowing that some might see this as uncourageous and bailing out.  Taking another route – and admitting this is not ours to do – is perhaps one of the most wise and courage acts of our times.

Where are the cracks in the ice that we need to notice at this time on the Planet – that ask for a more measured response?