Human to Human

The Japanese Teacher, Do Hyun Choe writes:

Stillness is what creates love,
Movement is what creates life,
To be still,
Yet still moving —
That is everything!

Nice.

I got it from a Richard Rohr book, From Wild Man to Wise Man. Rohr encourages awareness in spirituality, particularly for men in this book.

Again, nice.

The photo is from a bike ride Sunday. Dana and I were crossing a bridge on our way back from a morning coffee. I saw the solo chair on this dock, still. I stopped my bike, my movement. Felt so drawn in.

I know I must have these kinds of places of stillness. As practice. They lift something in me. They settle something. In how I work with groups too.

It has also been important to me to feel movement. Yes, bike ride is a great pace for me. I also love the movement of ideas. Of words on paper. Of design for groups. Of colleagues and friends sorting the natural next.

For reflection.

This week I’ve been working with a colleague, prepping for a 3-day gathering that we will co-host in September. The first movements, the first connections of that group, will likely have large impact. There will be 100 people in the room.

As a facilitator I’ve learned that one of the first jobs is to create connection. That, so that presence is more palpable. I’ve also learned that it really helps to make that initial connection easy. I so often start with partner conversations. Little short ones with random partners, typically 2-3 minutes for each question. I do 4-5 of these so that in the first 15 minutes people already have 4-5 people they’ve made connection with.

For this upcoming gathering, I’ll likely ask the question — “What excites you about being part of this gathering?” It’s meant to activate an appreciative and anticipatory energy, which I know serves the group well. It’s easy. There’s no wrong answers. People often want to verbalize on this.

I’ll likely then ask a related question but of a much different flavor — “Is there a sorrow that you bring into this gathering?” This is a group that guides many people through grief and change. This question is meant to activate an authentic energy, which I know also serves the group well. This question insists a bit more thoughtfulness that people also want to verbalize.

And thus, we integrate. And create presence. In the small steps that begin. And in the narrative that will carry over the three days. I rarely think of integration as the thing we do for others. I often think of integration as the depth of field that we encourage together. When we have that, wow, learning and joy naturally follows.

Fun to think about it coming.

For a study group I’m in, one participant recently shared this poem below, The Call, by The Terma Collective.

The Call

what in your life
is calling you?

when all the noise
is silenced,
the meetings
adjourned,
the lists laid aside,
and the wild iris
blooms by itself
in the dark forest,
what still pulls
on your soul?

in the silence
between your
heartbeats
hides a summons.

do you hear it?

name it,
if you must,
or leave it
nameless,
but why pretend
it is not there?

I love how it points to what is there, whether named or not. There is a level of dignity in seeing summons.

It’s the work for so many of us in deep dives. And in venturing along the path of community and cooperation, punctuated by simple insights and practice.

I first ran across this Marge Piercy poem in my early days with Berkana. That was the 1990s. I can hear Meg’s voice reading it. I think it was at a seminar. Meg has brought the insight of poetry so often.

I love the invitation in this poem below. To claim the hunger that we have for “work that is real.” To call it out in others.

The work so often, in poetry, and in the facilitation I love, is to invite seeing what is profoundly meaningful, yet “common as mud.”

It’s the zoom call that reconnects learning in a network of people. It’s the staff meeting that insists a bit of the bigger story together. It is the boss that recognizes the fatigue and says, “that’s enough for today; let’s pick it up tomorrow.”

Enjoy reading.

To Be Of Use

The people I love the best
jump into work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
the black sleek heads of seals
bouncing like half-submerged balls.

I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,
who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,
who do what has to be done, again and again.

I want to be with people who submerge
in the task, who go into the fields to harvest
and work in a row and pass the bags along,
who are not parlor generals and field deserters
but move in a common rhythm
when the food must come in or the fire be put out.

The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
but you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.