I’m in the longest stretch I’ve had in the last two and one half years of not posting on this blog. It’s only a month, but I can feel the hunger in my fingers. I can feel the grown cue of ideas that have come, rested a while, and then left. Or of some that just cooked in me in a different way through oodles of conversations with people.
It’s been a full stretch of travel, working with groups, teaching, and learning in public. Wonderful bits with really amazing partners and participants that have occupied me from early mornings well past sun-setted evenings. I’ve been to Whidbey Island, teaching The Circle Way with Amanda Fenton. It’s one of my favorite places in the world. Then further with Amanda and Penny Hamilton to Australia to introduce more of The Circle Way to a community services organization and others so honest in their hunger for deliberate containers of connection. Then immediately upon my return to Minnesota to teach and offer Circle, Song, and Ceremony with Quanita Roberson and Barbara McAfee, bringing forward a new offering.
What great pairs and trios to be a part of! Sometimes in the profound and broad narratives of humanity — how we human beings are, after long drought, requenching our way back to story, context, voice, song, ritual, and wisdom together. Sometimes the satisfying moments with my teaching companions have been in the simple ahas that come over a bite of left over pad thai at the end of the day. “I loved the way that ____ came alive today.” Or, “Wasn’t that a great question that _____ asked!”
It is a gift to host. It is a gift to be hosted. It is a gift to reshape paradigms of teaching that encourage ourselves and others to go together.
Among the many bits that will no doubt continue to unfold within my awareness, or begged from within to be shared more broadly, here’s a gem from the gathering that concluded just yesterday. It is original song from Barbara McAfee, “I Wish That I Could Show You.” The group of 26 of us sang it a few times over the weekend. It’s quite a thing to be touched deeply, and dare to find any words to share moments of aliveness. Thanks Barbara — and all.
