General Learning • Tenneson Woolf

December 7, 2016

Coming Into Relationship With That Creature In The Corner

Tomorrow Kinde Nebeker and I begin a three-session series on Engaging Shadow. Exploring shadow in self. Engaging shadow in groups. Evolving shadow in leadership. We will be a group of 12-14, meeting for three evenings, all within eight days total. The gift of some depth together in the month of December, which can often be lost to the pressures of commercialism.

With this series upon us, this means that the last couple of weeks for me have been about noticing the teachings I like to share and some of the exercises I’d like to create. There’s that one on projection — yah, that would be good. There’s that one on blind spots — yah, that would be good too. I like it best when design “arrives” to me. When it comes to me rather than me chasing it. Kinde is a good partner in this dynamic, encouraging it and calling that out in herself too.

My short list of first ideas quickly became a full whiteboard of smushed notes and inspirations. One of those inspirations was the simple image that helps me invoke and invite coming into relationship with shadow. Not fixing it. Not making it go away. Being in relationship with it. In my image, I’m in a large room, about 20 feet by 20 feet. It has thick, stone walls. It is underground, with only a tiny window through which daylight can shine. It is a dirt floor. In the corner of this room is a creature. In my image, it is a grand lion, a great cat. I can’t really ever see the lion, and for many years, haven’t even known that it was there. But now, I’m becoming aware of it. The lion is something I fear. Its presence is something I want to deny. The lion is both majestic and scary.

This series with Kinde and the others that will join is largely about coming into relationship with that creature, that lion in the corner. Coming to know that it is there. Coming to know more about what awakens that lion. Coming to learn a bit about approaching it, or welcoming it to approach me. Maybe coming to laugh with it a bit, and learn to scratch it’s ears in delight. This series is about all of that with something powerful, yet largely unseen. It may take more than three evenings, that’s true, but most good, essential things do, don’t they.

December 6, 2016

Irresistible

yurt-in-snow

This image is irresistible to me. I snapped it on my phone two days ago.

The place is Bowen Island, where there is rarely snow. More specifically, through these snow covered trees, is a yurt at Brian Hoover’s property. The framed structure is entry. The yurt itself, behind the entry, is 20 feet in diameter.

The context at one layer is, the beauty of winter. Winter Wonderland. Trees draped in snow. Cold, crisp air. Soft padding feet on fresh snow. I am grateful that I have many experiences of winter beauty. It helps to have snow pants, a good coat, gloves, and a snow hat to cover your ears.

The context at another layer is men’s retreat. That yurt, and that land, held 11 of us in song, dance, story, dialogue, and silence for three days spread over four. Men sharing wonder. And wounds. And beauty. And jokes. And shadows. And fears. And creating ritual.

That too, is wonderland. That too, is irresistible.

December 5, 2016

Steady Work

I had a kind of aha experience this weekend, gathered in a four day men’s retreat called Soultime. It’s worth noting that in this retreat there is nothing that we need to produce. Not a plan. Not a project implementation schedule. Instead it is a collection of good men, eleven of us, in a lot of figurative hunting in the forest that is soul. Men learning together — through exploring, sharing dream fragments, listening to story, eating, cooking, cleaning, singing, dancing, silence — well this is highly productive.

I was joking with one of the guys as he was doing dishes. I wanted to compliment him in a playful way. “As my Grandpa used to say, if you keep this up, we’ll get you on steady.” It was mostly just fun to say. We laughed together and I got to remember my Grandpa, Billie Gould, who passed away last year at 98 years old.

I got to thinking, “steady work” was a big thing for my Grandpa. He lived through the great depression of the 30s and 40s. He had a sixth grade education, and a family. Steady work meant providing for family. It meant meals on the table. It meant wood for the stove. Steady work was security.

Steady work is important to me also. A part of the aha is realizing that I carry some of the anxieties my Grandpa had. My circumstances are far different than his. Funny how genetics can carry fears through generations, embedding emotions when there is no or little direct experience, right.

I learned on the weekend that steady still feels important. It just looks different that it did for Grandpa. Steady is being willing to challenge thoughts and assumptions that no longer fit an evolving world. Steady is practices of kindness, simplicity, courage to remain honest enough to acknowledge mystery.

Steady work. A job well done. I want this too. Need it. Maybe, like many of us. Steady presencing and clarity in self as regular practice.

Thank you Soultime brothers, friends. For dishes and friendship that remind me of a new kind of steady and why it matters so much to me.

December 1, 2016

Quaker Lessons for a Catholic Girl

Sister Sarah Hennessy is a person I met in the early 2010s, while working with her religious order. As you will see from her blog post, she was raised a Quaker, yet became a Franciscan Sister of Perpetual Adoration. I loved her line, “…traded hush puppies for cheese curds.” Sarah writes periodically in Messy Jesus Business — isn’t that the most honest titling ever. Below is an excerpt from a recent post — she had me at “speak only if the words improve the silence.” Check her full post.

And consider the relationship of silence to wise being together in groups. I know it is on my mind, and in my heart always, changing how I facilitate groups.

Speak only if the words improve upon the silence

The Quaker (officially the Society of Friends) meeting I grew up in was unprogrammed, meaning that our worship service was an hour of silence. During that silence if you felt a “leading” you could speak. Maybe you would share an insight you had that week, a thought on a piece of Scripture, or even sing a song. In any case, there should be a deep prompting that the words you are going to say are worth breaking the holy silence we are all gathered in.

This seems to me a good habit for every day, but especially for Advent. Have I gotten lost already in the Christmas season or am I silently preparing in expectant waiting? Am I speaking from my heart, from a deeper sense of life-giving hope?