Give Peace A Chance?

Tragedy struck in our neighborhood on Tuesday. The dog that killed our cat two years ago (when she went into my neighbor's yard) escaped through a mysteriously opened gate at night and killed at least two other cats up the street. One couple rescued their cat at the scene, only to watch it die at the emergency veterinary hospital later that night.

In the morning, both families realized the identity of the dog and its owners. One family is close to the dog's family and felt their own grief magnify, particularly as the other couple, not tight with those on our end of the street, sent their energy into retaliation.

I went out to stand beside my neighbor and the angry couple as I expressed my sadness for us all. The couple turned and walked away, still shouting about civil suits and the wrongness they had witnessed. My neighbor turned to me as tears began to fall.

"I get it. I totally get it," she said. "That's the worst part. I'd be that angry if it were my cat. I just don't know what to do with my dog!"

The angry couple made a call to Animal Regulations and demanded that the dog be "put down." The dogs owners, one of them a twelve year old girl, grieved for the loss of their dog, the neighbors' beloved cats, and their own connection with community.

I offered empathy to myself, my neighbors, and my family. I witnessed all of our varying degrees of compassion and awareness as we coped with the big feelings coming through. Anger expressed in blame and shame found quick reflection with frustration at such "unacceptable" accusations. The work of it rocked us, and it rocks us still.

Here is my point: you can't just "give peace a chance." It's not waiting in the wings to be spoonfed to the right politicians, soldiers, or corporate leaders. I don't think it's even the dominant latent force in the universe that we can just "open ourselves to" when the time is right.

Peace is a commitment to take time to turn inwards when things on the outside fall apart. That commitment is like agreeing to feed a hungry baby, even when you are exhausted or starving. Seeking peace is a radical act of love for ourselves and the universe, and it is the hardest work we have to do. Most importantly, we must learn to recognize the opportunities for peace as they present themselves daily.

I think that our people are confused about peace. We march in rallies and write letters so that those who have the power to make peace can do so on our behalves. We will not get off the hook so easy.

Gandhi said, "Be the change you wish to see in the world." Those words do not represent the beginning of a ripple of change. They represent the ripple itself. If there is peace in the world, it happens at our dinner tables and on our city streets. It happens when we make a commitment to take responsibility for our feelings, to grieve and celebrate fully, without demands on others. It happens when we join hands, even in our pain, to work with what is.

Peace is acceptance. It's not always pretty or even hopeful. Sometimes it can be lonely. But if we find the space and support to nurture acceptance in community, then we can share the pain and lighten our load. We can build bridges and ease our way.

Peace is both power and responsibility.

Show, don't tell.

Building Up and Taking Down

The foundation has been poured. Smooth walls shine silver in the moonlight. My children are reading to each other aloud in their bedroom, and Seda sleeps behind me on the futon here in our living room. She has put in a full day.

The garage is being demolished. Trinidad learned how to pry siding from the exterior with a wrecking bar, pulling every nail. He marveled at the differences between our learning curves, practiced acceptance and perspective, and appreciated the notion of modest goals for beginners. I, myself, considered it my only goal to step through the threshold of the kitchen and into the backyard, a flat bar in my hand. Enough to conquer this insidious fear of building tools. Enough to begin work on the unfamiliar. I was not disappointed.

The last ten days have passed not quickly, but compactly. Each has been marked with the milestones of breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Our food has given me a road map, a way of traversing this project within my comfort zone. It has been good. Stew, grilled steaks, tamale pie, garden salads, strawberry milkshakes, tuna sandwiches... Every day we sweat the work of transition, of growing, and every day we celebrate around a table together, many helpings and many hands.

The blessings are spectacular. We have begun a new ritual at the start of our meal. We hold hands and someone says a word (love, community, gratitude, friends, etc.) that the rest of us take it in and then repeat, holding the living energy of that idea. The shared expression has proven to be a touching, connecting, and significant way to begin a meal. Humor has not been avoided. One evening, Trinidad said with great reverence, "Crap." We all repeated it with equal reverence, then laughed. Afterwards, I embraced the notion more fully. Why not pay our respects to that which we find difficult? So much learned and gained in the face of it. Yes, m'Lord, I am grateful.

Everything continues to fall into place effortlessly. The washing machine pipe broke today after I finished washing just about everything we own. The neighborhood children are home and available to play. The weather is cool, dry and beautiful. The entire contents of our garage and laundry room (before the annual declutter) is somehow integrated into the rest of the house or our tiny storage unit. We break bread together as a family and even with friends nightly. Our house is in order and Seda in bed by 10 most nights. As I write, I notice that the boys are now quiet, having put themselves to bed. I can't imagine how it all happens this way. I just show up.

We learn and grow, every one of us, on the job. The children are thrilled to discover construction and demolition. Seda kneels beside them explaining softly the hows and whys of each step. I am in awe of her total trust in their efforts and exploration. Trinidad struck with his sledge so rhythmically while I cooked tonight that I found myself singing to it. Sam cleans up, screws on nuts and washers, and even wields the four pound sledge himself. They spend hours each day engaged in whatever aspects of the work Seda can set them to. And somehow, she finds work for them every time they ask.

Lord, love, universal harmony, I am so grateful to be a part of this weave, so grateful to be amongst such bright souls and tender hearts. Grateful to have the everyday work of loving and growing. Grateful to know this path, if only for a moment. Thank you.

Supernormal

"Mom, I just loved that movie we watched at E's house. I wish Trinidad could watch it."

"To tell you the truth, Sam, I don't want you watching movies over there anymore. I did not like that movie, based on what you told me. [Coarse language, gratuitous violence, objectification of women....] I can understand that you probably have no idea why--"

"Oh, yes I do, Mom. I know why you don't like me to watch it."

"You do? Why?"

"Because they barely ever use words that I don't know."

"Oh."

Extranormal.

**

"This guy looked over the counter at me today, then he looked again, and when I didn't look up -- I was letting him have a good look without interrupting -- he decided that whatever it was, it was okay," Seda told me.

"You have a lot of power, Seda. Just your presence can be discomfiting."

She frowns.

"If you don't like that, stop blogging. That just puts your presence in writing. You've lived more about gender than most of us can imagine."

"Do you like me being abnormal?"

"Your motto before transition was 'Comfort the disturbed, disturb the comfortable.' You coined it. Careful what you wish for. I love you just the way you are."

Paranormal.

**
"This addition to the house will bring us to a 3 bedroom, 2 bathroom house with functional shop/storage space. I'm afraid, Seda. It's going to look so 'grown up.' Will we be normal?"

"Um, yeah. Two children, a maddy and mother with boyfriend, 26 (2) chickens, rabbits, and sometimes captive snakes and mice. I think we are not in danger."

Unnormal.

**
"Mom, I learned something valuable from all those movies I watched about people catching snakes!"

I'm sitting in the living room as Trinidad enters with a 2-foot long garter snake on a stick.

"This one bites, and see? I can pick him up safely with a stick. Just like in the movies!"

The snake falls to the floor, opens its jaws and hisses.

"What did you learn?" I ask.

"Woops."

**
Does it ever work like you see in the movies? I saw a bumper sticker today. It said, "Don't believe everything you think."

Maybe we're Supernormal.

Parenting With NVC, Understanding and Care

I have received a question from one of my workshop participants (Parenting From Your Heart with Nonviolent Communication) that they have agreed to allow me to post and answer on the blog. My response is not that of a certified trainer and is, as always, reflective of my own best understanding of NVC. Here is her question:

Without an understanding of child development, how can NVC be helpful?

Example: one mom wants to explain her needs around materialism to her 4 1/2 year old son and another mom is frustrated because her child wants to jump in puddles instead of walking straight to the parent's desired destination (distracted every 2 minutes)... but child is 2 1/2.

She says that she, "can see how empathy is appropriate [in both situations]. My concern is that I have seen moms NVC-ing children around the mom's needs not being met. I am relieved, refreshed and hopeful being in your class because I see that you are trying to teach about heart connections rather than giving a parent permission to meet their needs at the child's expense. I am concerned that the verbal processing with young ones around mom's or dad's needs not being met puts pressure on the child. I also see the beauty of authentically expressing disappointment, frustration or sadness in front of children. I want to make sure that my children don't feel responsible for my feelings or needs not being met.
For example:
My needs for order may not be realistic for the situation. My need for support shouldn't be placed on the child's shoulders. How does NVC deal with this so the child doesn't feel that responsibility?
I suppose that just being aware that I have a need for order and this is causing my grouchy feeling is a huge step in the right direction. Then being able to talk myself down by giving myself empathy and understanding. Without the NVC tools, some parents may not ever get this much self awareness."

Here is my answer:

I think that this question gets to the heart of the primary challenge we face in living NVC. Children will always bring this work to light faster than any other people in our lives, so the arena of parenting is an excellent one to practice and take note of this in.

I agree that empathy is the foremost support that NVC can offer -- first the parent giving themselves empathy, and, as they find the spaciousness, offering it silently or verbally to their children.

Then we must turn to the zen of NVC to address the next part of the question. You say, "I want to make sure that my children don't feel responsible for my feelings or needs not being met." First, a celebration of that awareness -- hurray! I have companionship with you there! How can we accomplish this?

I believe that the answer lies in our attachment to specific outcome and our ability to make a fast and effective request. Both require a fair degree of skill and will in the practice.

You use the example of your need for order: "It may not be realistic in the situation." What is not realistic? Your need or the strategy you are requesting? I would venture to say that your need is always realistic. You might be very clear about what strategy you think would meet that need (20 maids in 20 hours?), but at a loss as to how it could be met in your current environment where you and your children are the only ones at home. In this moment, grappling with a need that feels greater than what we can see an answer for, our options (as I see them) are:

*Do a Jackal count: Are the howls in our conscious or subconscious thoughts blaming our children for their laziness, messiness, etc.? Do a good listen without trying to change anything and decide how much space to give yourself for empathy before engaging with your kids on the topic accordingly.

*Self-empathy -- feel the pain of your unmet need of order. Anxiety, disappointment, sadness, frustration. How many layers of needs can we tease out? If that need for order were met, then what? A need for spaciousness, self-connection? A need for connection and fun? What are the feelings attached to each?

*Getting empathy in person or by phone from someone other than our children.

*After sitting with it awhile, do we have a broader scope of options to support us and our families in this dilemma? Has there been a shift? Are we experiencing more peace and acceptance? Is there clarity about whether and what we might request from our children or others?

If I am charged with judgment about my child's contribution to the disorderliness of my home and I express myself, even with observation-feeling-need-request about my frustration, it is likely that my child will feel the energy I would (perhaps unconsciously) like to saddle them with in bearing my pain. I don't want to hold it alone. It is easier to shove it off on someone else. The words, the tone, the energy translates.

It can also happen that I am fully owning my feelings and needs and express them accordingly as my child still takes responsibility. First, I must cultivate an acceptance that this could happen despite my best intentions (for a variety of reasons depending on where they are at this moment), and be in choice about whether and how to express.

In the latter case, a lightning-fast and effective request, especially a connective one (e.g. "Can we work together to find a way to meet both of our needs right now?") will be most likely to support the child's empowerment and clarity about what would contribute. You would be requesting them to take some action, not to sit with and potentially take on the nebulous darkness you dispel. They also find themselves supported in choice and invited to engage rather than to play a captive-passive role of receiving energy and information that they don't have the skills or maturity to cope with (particularly from a primary caregiver).

This question is one we would do well to consider deeply and practice daily in all of our dealings. What is the energy we express ourselves from? Is our reaching out a request or demand? What attachments do we have around it? How actively do we pursue acceptance of what is when our awareness of attachment is discovered?

In addition, I believe that we have the responsibility to learn what is developmentally expected in our children so that we are not surprised or bewildered (in addition to our sometime frustration) by the ways that they commonly seek to meet their needs. We can do this most easily by cultivating awareness in community with other children and their parents. Take an informal poll. What are the primary frustrations and delights you see at different phases of development? Caterpillars do not suck nectar from flowers and nor do butterflies eat the leaves.

The opportunity to find gold within us -- full presence and compassion -- is always alive, and the children in our lives put the heat to our making. Where else do we find the depth of care, passion, and responsibility to live in utmost integrity? Where else will we be questioned with such brutal honesty at our points of greatest challenge?

Alchemists, we are, every one.

I appreciate the opportunity to play with your question. I welcome any thoughts or points that require further clarity or discussion and plan to address them as time permits.

A Week of Posts....

I came to understand early on that my work in this remodel, beyond shovels and sledgehammers, is the work of empathy. I am grateful to have received that vision in clarity and calm and now my work is at hand, daily supporting us all in finding our strength and love in this building process.

Last week, the boys and I rented a UHaul pickup that we loaded time and again with lumber from our friend, David, and from the Home Depot. The latter we attacked like the hoodlums that we are, tearing down the aisles at top speed on a Tuesday morning, seeing how much air we could catch with the shopping cart. When we returned the pickup, we spent the afternoon riding the bus home and touring the scenic route just for the fun of it. What a delight to spend a few hours spinning and laughing!

The garden work also took precedence. I loaded 1/2 yard of compost into the back of my Volvo stationwagon and carted it off to the neighbors to plant another corn and bean field. I turned and planted three beds with tomatoes, peppers and green beans. I weeded, watered, and mulched. The winter garden at Ben's place we slashed to the roots to make room for a quick cover crop. Compost piles built, manure moved, the earth rose through my fingertips and grounded me with her energy and insight.

At one point, I felt exhausted and worried considering how much there was to plant and dig within the next two weeks. I needed a day off to rest, I told myself. I had pushed just a bit harder in the digging than I could recover from easily, especially on my moon cycle. But the garage contents would have to be moved and the wall taken down before the concrete poured in two weeks. When would I rest?

These were my thoughts as my hands shook wet laundry and hung it to dry. Now, came the answer. Rest now. I inhaled deeply and smiled. A pair of underwear. Ah, that is all. A sock. Yes. Here is my rest. And so I hung laundry and only hung laundry for fifteen minutes. The last piece went up and my strength and joy restored at once. I am grateful for the lesson.

The weekend before, we dug almost 300 square feet of footing, 18" deep -- nine hours a day at the shovel 'til finished. Seda and I discussed world history with such fervor that the hole swallowed us effortlessly. We have worked side by side for seventeen years now. Our romance has long since crumbled and blown with the wind, but the one mindedness of our partnership stands naked like bedrock between us. When she inched the excavator across a narrow landbridge, I sharply begged her to retreat. Half an hour later, I fell sobbing into her arms for what we've lost and what we've held through this transition. These are old bones.

The boys spent those days and much of the week floating in and out of the building site with friends, carrying lumber, popsicles, and books to read. They run half-wild in the neighborhood, accepting sun screen and food from other mothers hands with trust and appreciation. The last children in at night, they are rooted to their own set of possibilities, independence imminent.

On Saturday, I led an NVC workshop in Portland, gone for the day. At seven o'clock at night, I took in the piles on piles of laundry, miscellaneous toys, clothes, seeds, and projects that had layered themselves in the house as I labored a week outdoors. I asked Trinidad when he could help me clean up. "Well, actually, mom... I had other plans," he told me.

I needed empathy. As the boys played badmitton at the neighbors, I called a friend. My worries poured out about the timing of our project, my desire to live in joy, my needs for efficiency and more than anything, connection and teamwork. In fifteen minutes (hard to take in the chaos of my home), I wound down to the core of what I could see: a week of work I engaged in with almost no interruption from the kids. A week they entertained themselves without screeens, and here was the mess to prove it.

I smiled. It is my joy to contribute back to them this way. I picked up the house in short order and hugged both of my sweaty children as they came in with the moon. They thanked me profusely as they do daily for all of my work. I heartfully thanked them for their efforts. This is the path I set out to find. Deep gratitude to the universe for keeping my footfalls true.

The next day, a dear friend and her family came to help us move the garage and take down the wall. The work was slow to get rolling. We were not completely prepared, and this fact shifted many outcomes. I found myself not resisting at all, but easily moving to give Ben empathy for the fact that he, too, had come to help in a short window and now had no time left. The empathy wound around to other frustrations and mournings as I witnessed it calmly, making space for us all to grow, individually and in relationship. He sighed over and over, melting into the carseat as I hung off the car window, feet planted in the street.

This is my work, I thought. This is what I'm here for. I felt so grateful to have found the strength to ask for empathy myself the night before, to have grounded myself in compassion, that I might offer it to others. The time it all took felt meaningless as the space opened wide for all possibilities.

There is a hole in the wall now. Seda swung the sledgehammer like she meant it, and the concrete shook. Eight kids from the neighborhood took front row seats with lollipops and shouted commentary over the fence to others. I cut a bouquet to send home with our friends who brought food, hands, and hearts to this work. My intentions for the day -- fun and connection -- manifested.

I am so grateful to be present here at the foundation.