Saturday, May 31, 2008

Time to Swarm

"The bees have swarmed again," I told Seda.
"What? How do you know?" she asked, incredulous.
"Because I looked into the backyard just as they left the Naboo hive. I watched them circle and drift upward, over the fence, and into the neighbor's tree."
"But, that's impossible!" she cried. "I just added a new box to the hive so they would have more room a week and a half ago!"
"Yes, but they had already built a new queen cell. She has been gestating since before you added the box, and when she hatched, they were ready and flew."


The human heart is not so unlike a colony of bees. The time to take flight intuitively known, kept secret and nurtured deep within to gestate into manifestation. Time to leave home as a young adult. Time to leave a job, a career. Time to leave a lover.

The whys and why nots of leaving shift across the landscape of our day as other parts of the heart, the colony, continue the work of the moment. But the egg has been laid. It is only (plus however much more) a matter of time.

We are often impatient. We know the egg has been laid. We wonder why and whether the wait. The gestation period as mysterious as all the inner workings of our hearts, set by some internal clock that sounds the alarm loud and clear on the day of departure. When will we be called to fly? How much more honey shall we bring to this hive?

Our work is our work is our work. Whether in this hive or the next, our efforts in this world are seamless. I doubt the bees waste their time in wondering. The growing up, the growing old, the growing present goes on and on.

And this I pray: that departures may be peaceable whether I am going or letting go. That I may stretch forth my arms to the sky as I did the day I saw that swarm depart and declare my letting go a gift to the world, so many efforts in nurturing sent forth to grow and prosper as they may.

Thursday, May 29, 2008

Joining the Song

Several times in the last week, I have heard from many voicing a single dilemma: how do we join into a song of connection when we notice that someone is moving forward with a project or activity that we suddenly want to inform so it can meet our needs as well?

On an interpersonal level, this is the "no" from a child or other intimate in my life. "No, I don't want to do what you asked me to do. I want to do my own thing." Where does this leave me?

On a community level, this is a project that has been long in the thoughtful birthing but taken to action by an individual who felt ready to begin. And now they have begun, isn't it their own project now? Where is there room for the rest of our community who may want to co-create in that space?

I know that there are infinite other manifestations of this awkward dilemma -- the yes within the no. It is archetypally significant in what it offers us personally and as a culture in its invitation to consider all needs while peace-making. This is cutting edge stuff.

If I hear only the "no" from my child without also listening to the needs my child is meeting by responding to my request in this way, then the live circuit between us is essentially shut off. I can no longer support my child in meeting his needs, nor can I receive his support in meeting mine. My energy turns inward to nurse the pain from that disconnect, and it will be some time before I am available to open myself to other possibilities to meet those needs.

If I hear my neighbor saying,"I will do the project this way because it meets my needs to do so," and I assume that my needs and our community's needs are no longer a consideration to them, then we are both left in isolation to determine our separate ways and means to support only ourselves. (Hmmm... political "parties?")

We are not meant to work alone.

Experientially, the greatest gift I have received from my bees is to watch and touch the fruit of their labor in all aspects, to take in the tightly woven web of the hive in community as a single entity. When one is highly alarmed, many rush from opposite quarters to sting. The queen is only a slave to the workers enslaved to her, and all are free, indentured servants by choice to the hive.

And this, perhaps, is what is most difficult to integrate: our free will with the will of others or the group. Joining becomes a letting go of our individual fears rooted in scarcity as we embrace the limitless possibilities available to us, assuming that our needs will be held in community. Our willingness to hear the yes in the no requires a trust that we can sing our truths into the choir again and again, the song ulitimately making room for incremental shifts in harmony, rhythm, and tune.

We are at a critical juncture in our time here on earth. If we cannot find that instinct within us to sing with each other, even after a "no" shifts the music, then we are in danger of ending the song altogether. We, as a culture, have come to think for ourselves, do for ourselves, acquire for ourselves, alone.

If we are to survive as a whole, it is because our resources and our power grows exponentially as we come together. The investment of our energy into independence is lost unless we also develop our capacity and willingness to sing with others, taking their needs in to hold as preciously as our own, turning a deaf ear to perceived separation.

Come. It is our moment to sing together.

Monday, May 26, 2008

Seeding Hope

All irrigation systems have been tested clear! A seven year-old girl from up the street helped me to lay out and attach the lines to 2 systems I built independently. Then we planted onions together. She and I discussed the many phases of plant life and growing food, fixing nitrogen and mulching. My passion landing as so many seeds scattered through our neighborhood on the wind. Her bright heart, talent, and skill taking root in our garden.

Companion planting at its finest.

Sunday, May 25, 2008

Young Sam's Sutra

One day at breakfast, Trinidad (7), Sam (5), and I found ourselves discussing what we thought to be difficult in life.

Trinidad said he had trouble with reading. For Sam, the challenge lie in skateboarding. I, with Mother License, pointed out that there are difficulties to face at every age. Even for me as a "grown up." My mind took to wandering around the emotional challenges of my life, the struggle to stay present, the longing for freedom in a broader perspective. What words could share these challenges with a child?

"Yeah," said Sam. "Like turning off the washing machine... when you're inside it."

And sometimes I am tempted to fancy myself wise. Imagine.

Friday, May 23, 2008

Darn Near Perfect Day

Yep. Today was it.

Pushing the envelope: I developed a new skill (thank you so much, Jack, for teaching and patience yesterday) that involved tools. I started at 7:30 a.m. testing drip tape and hooking up an irrigation system in my backyard garden. I've never touched so much as a hammer if I could help it, having been married to a terribly handy man for sixteen years. Gloria Steinem, my apologies. But I do make a dem fine cornbread.

Thinking: Hmm. An exploration of confusion in which I did not get lost. Decided that in the presence of opposing truths, I can peacefully hold them all, but live only my own. Walking this truth with my feet to earth is a living acceptance of my current best understanding of me in the all. Humility itself.

Looking hot: complete raingear and carharts with a red silk scarf and Ketchikan sneakers (Alaska rubber boots). Redefining sex appeal. Seconded by dear friends stopping by.

Connecting: A lovely long phone call with a friend from high school days who lives only blocks away and sent pics email of the garden I helped her install this spring. She is full of excitement and gardening plans. Other friends called in or showed up for brief visits while I worked -- such a treat that these dear ones know how much I hate to leave home in the spring and shift their paths to include mine.

Parenting: A loose definition. More enjoying than actual supervision. A twelve and seven year old from up the street joined us for the whole day. At lunch we took turns making strange noises and teaching each other how. A message from the nextdoor neighbor that Chicken Pox have arrived in the 'hood. Total mayhem reigned indoors while I continued with focus out of doors. The Cherry Poppin' Daddies blared (I checked in with the other kids' mom about her comfort with "inappropriate" lyrics), oranges were peeled, squeals of laughter echoed through the house, and when I finally came in, I found all four sitting quietly at the kitchen table with a live mouse in a clear plastic piggie bank dropping oats through the penny slot. "Wait! Let me get my skateboard!" called Sam.

And blessed focus: A whole day (minus 2 hours for lunch, prep, and clean up) gifted me to walk the line looking for leaks, blister my thumb and forefinger pressing in plastic parts, laugh hysterically at my own forgetfulness and everything else I could think of, look to the clouds measuring so many hours passed, and to be grateful, so very very grateful, for the fully perfect life I lead.

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

What I Was Afraid to Tell

So I read the Solvay book's treatise (OG gardening on Martha's Vineyard) about the benefits of urine as a fertilizer in the garden. Human urine, amongst others. The author points out, quite rationally, that we are simply dispatching with one of our greatest natural resources while using loads of energy to do so. I thought about that.

Being a garden addict, I have found myself more and more reluctant to go inside to pee. So now I eat, sleep and even pee in the garden. During the winter, it's a challenge to find a green screen. But now, spring is here, and the raspberry canes are three feet tall. Which is not quite tall enough. Hence, when I crouched next to them in a hidden pathway corner, I thought to myself that they themselves, could use the fertilizer.

I hid a blue bucket in the corner of my "sanctuary" garden and began to collect a sample for my own pilot program. I didn't tell anyone. Not even Seda. Frankly, I thought it was rather over the top and expected that my neighbors might really wonder (as in, "Yes! I fertilize with my own urine -- would you care for a salad with lunch?").

I shared the news very quietly by phone to my best girlfriend in town. She's known to be conservative on many points. "You're whispering this because you don't want your boys going around the garden, peeing randomly?" she asked.

"Oh no. I encourage that. I guess I don't want them to know about it so they won't put it into any new-fangled 'potion' that they offer as samples to the neighborhood."

She laughed. And I realized that I worried about both telling and not telling the kids about what I was up to.

Then, this morning, the universe gave me another gentle nudge. I overheard the boys talking about the younger's "job" to make a habitat for the latex frog they were having trouble sharing. Younger brother went outside and got busy. I sighed with relief and kept gardening; another conflict resolved without intervention.

Then I came around the corner and saw my blue bucket with stones and branches carefully arranged in the existing "pond."

I had some explaining to do.

Big Help

Yesterday, my three-year-old friend from across the street came over to help me mulch my garden. She wielded my digging fork while I tossed leaves into the barrow with a pitch fork.

"Wow!" I marveled. "Your body has to work about 5 times as hard as mine to get the same amount done. Is it hard for you?"

"No," she said with a shy smile. "I am a big help to my momma all the time."

"Are you?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. "I keep my fingers out of my nose."

"Really?" I failed to suppress a smile. "And that helps?"

"When we make cookies," she said.

Sunday, May 18, 2008

Harvest

When I was a young woman, "harvest" defined that inch between my hand and a living fruit to be taken from the vine. It was the payoff. The day of reckoning. All of that hard work...for this.

As a child, I did the dishes every night, cleaned the floors, picked up after and fed the dogs. I did what I was told. There was no joy in the effort. My housekeeping skills were impeccable, but I did not see them as a source of empowerment.

Today, I opened the hen house door, shovel in hand. "Hello, girls," I said. "It's time for the harvest." As I scraped their dried manure from the top of the nesting box, I found myself grateful for every crumb that fell into my wheelbarrow.

What a marvel, to find so much value in the droppings of a bird! Within an hour, the "white gold" found its way into my garden. Though the edible fruit was far from picking, a bed now stood prepared, my work complete.

What is completion, if not a harvest in itself? And every phase of the cycle, when worked with intention and awareness is a moment to pause, celebrate, and reflect. Fruit for the picking.

These opportunities abound in my life, do they not?

As a child, I did not see them. I was told to do my work and found myself a slave, blindfolded to the phases of each cycle I engaged in, polishing only pieces of the concentric rings without witnessing their seamless conjunctions. As an adult, I have found my power, and with it a vision that grants me each day a broader embrace of the infinite harvest in my life.

When I do the dishes, am I not harvesting the opportunity to eat again? The laundry becomes a shelter for my body cold, but poised on production. Unintentional plants in my garden path (some call them weeds) are the harvest for my rabbit's breakfast that I may harvest them the other end within a day or so. All of this nourishment, this connection to the earth, my sustenance and meaning only a reflection of what I can see in the cycle of harvest.

And finally, I bear witness to the notion that harvest is only the presence of mind to find completion in the moment. Harvest is a settling into the phase of Now. This is the gift of acceptance, celebrating what is with a heart open to connection with the All. Every moment we are in choice to find ourselves in power and see completion in the singular phase of the cycle before us. Meaning and grace may be assigned to each and every offering of our day.

If I can see chicken sh*@# this way... well, the possibilities are endless.

What Grows In Good Dirt

This week has marked a shift in my eldest son's development: he has become project oriented. I have to say that this new phase delights me no end. Sometimes I wonder how I've managed to be a focus-divided, careshowering mother for so long. As Trin helped me shovel 2 yards of compost out of the back of our neighbor's pickup, I sighed deeply to a small voice inside: "This...this is what I've been waiting for." (With the niggling embarrassment and sadness that I would not be entirely delighted with the present always, that I would "wait" for anything my children might or might not have to offer. And a smile of acceptance as well, for me in all my hopeful presentfutureness.)

It felt like an imminent drumroll, this determination that Trinidad suddenly showed around Working the Garden. I have fostered and supported his workplay for years: endless bug collection, weed transplanting, making and selling "good garden dirt" to neighbors, bizarre concoctions of "tea" to be fed to plants, chicken-catching, bee watching and rabbit shepherding.

As we shoveled, side by side, we talked about my work history (from age 5), growing independence, community-building, and his hopes and dreams for the future. We talked about his 2 foot square garden plot. We talked about how much we enjoyed each other's company.

The garden, he tells me, is a great place to grow.

For more on gardening with children, here's an article written by Nick Routledge and me that linked up to the Guardian blog last winter. I welcome any of your favorite "gardening w/kids" articles (links) and references, as I have had a personal request for them. http://www.seedambassadors.org/Mainpages/Guardian/familygardening.htm

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Calling Holidays

Today, with temperatures soaring and the children playing outside with such powerful inertia that all mothers were washed away (for the second day in a row) and forgot, simply forgot, to cook dinner... my neighborlady, Evelyn, and I declared it a holiday. Because we could. We had that power.

I know we have that power because today, after writing a post to this blog, the Universe took me by the hand of a child to my backyard where ("look! look!") my bees, 10,000 of them, were swarming for a new home. If I had not followed that child, I would have missed it. I swept them into a makeshift hive and served lunch. As we finished and prepared to bike across town for the kids to have a playdate while I grafted trees at a Community Nursery Raising (thank you, Nick, and all!), my youngest child said, "Oh, they're going out. All of them."

In minutes, the bees had swarmed in a dizzy massive cluster over the roof and across the street. The children were dressed. "Follow them!" I ordered, and we raced out the door, across yards and through alleys where we saw them light in a pine tree.

To the great entertainment of a construction team next door, we ran back and forth with ladders, beehives (2 deep this time; I think they determined the single Western insufficient), and veils to the heavy laden branch. I brushed them and received a few more stings for my impudence. Then I got clever (or perhaps I only listened to good guidance) and grabbed my pruning shears to take the branch off and lay it gently atop the open hive.

"That was awesome!" shouted a passerby. "It looked very scary there for a minute!"

I left a quick note for the residents upon whom I had assumed a trespass based on their groovy bumper stickers, ran back, dropped off the kids and made it to the grafting only 5 minutes late. A check on the bees 4 hours later showed them still in place.

So it was that Evelyn and I stood on the street corner watching sprinkler soaked blond children throw dirt at each other and we said, "Yes. A holiday. This day will be called 'Cloud Rising.' For all of the clouds that have risen today. (More than you know, said Evelyn.) The bees have named it."

And tomorrow? Tomorrow is a holiday, too. We couldn't resist. Tomorrow will be "Dam Breaking." So prepare yourself to open, let flow and heal. Prepare the channels you wish your flow to enter. Prepare yourself for the ride.

Paying Homage

Grief comes to me in waves, and in its waters, I visit the sacred. The sensation of that wave's approach is becoming more distinct to me as I grow older. It has a sound, a pressure rising, a hue that rushes before it into my day, across breakfast dishes and spilled milk. I feel it coming like a storm, and I find myself in choice to take cover or to open my heart to it, whole.

Today, in the opening, I discovered a fear I have harbored. Is the "letting go" of what is lost to me, the acceptance of what is passed, somehow permission for that sacred experience to dissipate, to be lost? This is what I fought today in rising tide.

I held that fear at storm. So much noise and rushing water. So much hope and pain dashed against the sides of human limitations. So much love. And it came to me that in this letting go is a taking in, a harboring of that which we care for as we watch it spring leaks and sink before our eyes. As the bulk of our care goes under, we swim deeper and deeper, according to our willingness to follow the beauty of it as it descends. We witness this world falling inwards to the tide of love rising in us. Our heart rises to hold what is larger than the world we live in. It rises to hold what has not only been fully alive to us in our memory, but even "alove" -- that ecstatic presence that binds us, unthinking, to the divine.

The letting go is a taking in, drinking deeply, integrating what has been beautiful so that we may be beautiful. It has nourished us. We are changed. We grow. The letting go is only the sensation of fully recognizing what is holy so that we may pay our homage to the source itself.

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

"Will you still love me...

...even when you're dead?" asks Sam.

"Even when I'm dead," I tell him.

"But you won't be able to think!" says Sam.

"That's why I know I can love you all the more."

Sunday, May 11, 2008

The Happiest Mothers Day

Wow! I have had not just a Mothers Day, but a Mothers Weekend.

I sent Seda on "Writers Retreat" -- 2 days in the home office with an evening of dancing between, all meals prepared, while I fielded the kids. (I get to take next weekend "off," away at trainings.) It was such a pleasure to contribute to her joy and focus.

Waking Saturday morning physically and emotionally exhausted from a trying week, I vowed to be gentle with myself and only do what I felt like doing: a little piano, dig a bit in the garden, play quietly with the kids.

The Universe held me with such care; the kids have needed only 2 interventions my part all weekend. Yes. That's right. I can count them. (Does this mean my Saturn is rising?) And. After playing with friends while I practiced piano and did household chores at a leisurely pace, they started digging up the lawn with me.

We set a goal -- very lofty -- to complete the dig (which I had guessed would take weeks) on Saturday and Sunday, then go to ice cream to celebrate. We all jumped in with a shovel. Soon 3-4 more children joined us. Trinidad focused intently on a strip that he wouldn't let anyone else touch, so proud was he to watch his own progress. Sam flitted in and out, but always entertained himself between until this afternoon at 4:00 when he asked who wanted to play "Go Fish." We dropped our shovels and sat in the dirt to play. Other children came and went, creating acrobatics and clown shows around the trenches dug.

At 5:00 tonight, I could hardly move another muscle. All of the lawn had been taken up, and the declumping of clods could wait 'til tomorrow. The neighbor handed me a beer. I split it with Seda, and at the end of my half, I was laughing hysterically. What a lightweight! Six city yard-debris garbage cans full (almost every one of our friends this end of the street). The plastic netting under the sod too much a danger to the chickens.

Such a lovely couple of days. My two favorite things: shared work with the kids and garden accomplishment. Huge celebration. Trinidad had to be called in at dark last night, so determined to dig. He must have put in eleven hours total, and moving nearly as fast as me. That must be worth a year of the "chores" that I don't require him to do. I will remember this.

The thrill of working toward a common challenging goal is something I would like to take from the experience. How can I incorporate this meaningful, measurable accomplishment into more aspects of our days? The connection, the conversation, the physical labor, the garden bed prepared... all so sweet. And the kids so confident in their abilities.

They are even determined to help me sculpt the beds and plant when we get the load of dirt in the next day or two. I'm delighted to imagine that I ain't seen nothin' yet....

Happy Mothers Day to my amazing Mom who raised me to laugh and leap at the moon, meeting challenge with sharp-tongued wit and gnarly grit. To my mother in law, who casts her eye toward the love idea of every insurmountable obstacle set in her path, drawing strength straight up from source. To my grandmother, who taught me to move and keep moving, always with a smile and in the company of friends.

And happy Mothers Day to every mother among you as well as those who are blessed to mother others' children, catch as catch can. May we all take the best from what we have known, create some more, give it forward, and forgive ourselves the rest at the end of the day.

Friday, May 9, 2008

Our Failure in the Garden

My friend, Mickyle Lamb, writes to me a question that he is considering deeply as he launches a business in gardening (Ecstatic Gardens can be reached at 541-9612). He is afraid that the two thrusts of purpose he is intuitively drawn to may not be, in some senses, compatible.

Here is the dilemma as I understand it: 1) support folks in creating and maintaining a lasagna-style mulch system garden bed "keyhole" style (almost circle shaped with a path in the middle; see Gaia's Garden) with the intent of making gardening "doable" and "successful" for those with little experience and/or time and 2) experiment with other additives such as biochar, mycelial inoculation, rock dust, etc., in combination, with the intent of adding as much richness and diversity to the soil as possible. The risk, as I see it, is "failure" in the garden.

The "failure," he expects, should not be great -- one nutrient or another not being as bioavailable. But secretly, I think, the question is: what if the client notices?

Here is a lesson from the garden: there is no contract or expectation that the earth will honor of its own free will. What is the relationship that you, as a contractor, seek with the earth to be in your integrity? What is the relationship you wish to promote in your clients as they "meet" the garden?

Our economy is potentially at odds with this course of experimentation and for good reason. Our cultural expectation of "what the Earth can do for us" reflects our transactional and monetary-based (time is money) rather than a need-based, giving economy which includes both short and long term needs of all species and the earth, to the best of our understanding.

My friend is right to be concerned. I will not answer to whether I think it is a "good" idea in terms of our current cultural-economic perspective; clearly risks are posed. But imagine the cutting-edge opportunity to shift awareness from packages of things we buy and add to the earth to a perspective that includes the earth itself in her many natural forms. Imagine if our commitment to gifting her stood unconditional of the short-term bounty she provides us, and our stewardship was not seen as specifically "ours" but one that includes and benefits our community.

For that is where I believe we must be headed. If that is not our hope, what is? My friend, are you willing to take the risk to deliver the gift of possible failure? To handhold a client through a crop gone down (they will, you know, whether you experiment or not; it's only our notion of "faulting" a cause that brings your concern) because that is part of the service you provide?

A midwife cannot promise a healthy baby. True wisdom is in letting go to support what simply is in the natural rhythm of things. The question is not, ultimately, to experiment or not experiment, but how to embrace the notion of "failure" in the garden. And Our Mother will teach us patience and share her abundance in depth and breadth.

Our hands must be in the earth, doing, in every moment possible to fulfill our part of the bargain, to live in balance. And this is the course I recommend. Do not wait for pocket books or theories to be tested. Live it with your hands. And the wisdom will be yours to share.

Wednesday, May 7, 2008

A Word From My Guru

At age 5, Sam listens intently to my description of the growth habit of comfrey. "If you try to dig it up and any little bit of the root gets left behind, it grows a new plant," I tell him.

"Mmm," he says. "So if you don't like where it's planted, you just have to use what you can of it and move on."

Dude.

Monday, May 5, 2008

Catch the Wave

It's 5:30 p.m. My parenting partner calls with a concerned follow up to gun shots in the neighborhood I reported hours earlier. I would like to reassure her all is well (and it is), but it's difficult to speak, much less hear. A child is at the door and she points out the twelve bales of insulation in my driveway that a dear friend delivered, salvaged, from a worksite. That must be put under cover immediately. But there is also the newly dead young turkey awaiting burial on the picnic table. Two 7 year-olds and two 5 year olds are taking turns digging the hole. Nearby, a three year old girl is playing house with a seven year old under the wooden racks of laundry I am hanging, roofed with a sheet. The girl who has just arrived joins them. One mother drives by on the street, looking at me questioningly -- is everything all right? I nod and wave to reassure, and yes, yes, I tell Seda, when the turkey is buried, the laundry hung, and the insulation in, things will be calmer. I pick a bird louse off my neck. Lucky me.

And I do mean that. I thought I had a lot on my plate working my way through college. Having my first newborn threw me into a sea of chaos that swirled me dizzy around that tiny human vortex. Now, here I am, in awe of chaos in order (I just meant to write "chaos and order," but, indeed, what I wrote first describes it better), and noting the rush in simply riding the wave.

To think, I'm still afloat to write about it!

Sunday, May 4, 2008

Big Hope

Well, here it is, folks: my Big Garden Hope.

Two and a half months ago, I started systematically mulching my garden beds with rabbit and chicken manure. I liked the "closed loop" of fertility, and it felt right, but only today have I begun to grasp where this could be leading. My current hypothesis:

*Regular manure mulch spreads will replace fertility and organic matter (combined with leaf mulching, and there is straw in the manure) to maintain bed fertility at a level that other fertilizer (outsourced) will be unnecessary.

*I will not have to DIG these beds (this is a hypothesis -- stay posted), protecting the microherds of bacteria and funghi as well as long-term tilth and fertility. All of that, and my ease as well.

*Because I will not be turning whole beds at a time to mix in compost or manure, I will be able to take out and add in individual plants year-round, relaxing my bed "planning" to a degree. For example, in one bed, there are a mix of young lettuce and swiss chard. The lettuce may go to seed in a month while the swiss chard goes on -- and could last until next winter. Now, I will not need to carefully dig around the chard and risk fertility for those or tear out the chard completely. I can just remove the lettuce and plant something else.

*As I am able to remove and add plants at my leisure, there is a natural movement toward integrating perennials and annuals (as I have been wanting to do for some time). It is a more balanced approach in terms of taking nutrients from the soil and, again, supporting the no-dig bent which will protect the natural processes that support the structure and life of the soil.

I don't know how the rest of you are doing it out there, and I'd love to hear. Post a comment if you have some wisdom to share (or maybe you've been doing this for a year or so and can tell me what's what).

Thursday, May 1, 2008

Setting sail

"If you want to build a ship, don't drum up the men to gather wood, divide the work and give orders. Instead, teach them to yearn for the vast and endless sea." --Antoine de St. Exupery

Last night, my ongoing parenting practice/support group (NVC) met and had a process about process meeting. Tension had arisen the week before, and we had worked through it on the spot, but it raised questions that I had not given time to before: what are our intentions as a group? What is the ratio of strategy to process they are wanting? How can I best support them?

I had been holding an assumption that we were NVC process-oriented, and indeed, the group concurred when asked to set a conscious intention. But something big happened for me, and the group feels it, too.

I have taken all of these folks through a 6-8 week series "introducing" NVC in the context of parenting, and each class was full of teaching and practice. In these "intermediate" classes, I have taken a more relaxed approach, modeling the practices of empathy and expression in the moment and in respect to role play using challenges in their lives. Needs were met for learning and support. Still, I have been aware -- and never moreso than in the tension that arose last week -- that empathy is still a skill that could use developing.

But how to teach it? It is my perception that empathy is a topic more spoken of than taught in the practical sense. Discussed at length -- the importance of, what it is not, what it might be.... But how to practice and coach it? This, I think, is the piece largely missing from my experience in learning. The very backbone of our practice is somehow in a place to delicate to reach with novice stumblings. How is brain surgery taught?

The native experience will hinge the next phase of my learning about teaching. Last night, we spent hours in determination of group intentions and clarity around how I might support them -- would they be willing to be coached only by me rather than by each other until we decide as a group otherwise? To question me around my coaching choices rather than each other? Are they willing to focus their empathy words on feelings and need language to support their vocabulary growth in these areas and their ability to listen "in giraffe?" So much clarity I sought, and they probably wondered why.

This is a turning point in my teaching. I want so much for parents to have the support they long for and our classes have given that, largely by my own modeling. I have taught them "to yearn for the vast and endless sea." Here, I see this work mirrored in my parenting. I have modeled for years this process, and I am content with the place it takes me in my heart in times of conflict within our family.

At the same time, in both the parenting group and my family, I am aware that in order for the participants to effectively hold each other (which they are now keen to do!), they would be supported by developing more skills. That will take work on their part. An agreement to be vulnerable with each other as they both give and receive empathy. Discomfort in pushing the envelope. Less ease. A constant building and leaning into the trust of our community. This shift in needs addressed within our group ultimately fueled my sense of urgency around clarity of entrustment and intent. I do not wish to take on this piece of work together as a group without their consent and support.

And now, we have it! I am ever-grateful for the push from spirit to stretch and grow to the next level, for the openness of our group (and my children, who have made this request, too, on another front) to delve into a deeper exploration of this process supporting our hearts toward compassion. I am feeling challenged by and excited about the work before us, and I do believe that given time, we will not only build a ship, but set sail in it together.