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Tag Archives: Parker Palmer

Cutting Loose

Only four students attended today. These students struggle with school for various reasons. I think it is because they are cast aside by adults. They want adults in their lives to set boundaries and be real. I asked a student what he had learned after we completed a Math question together. He responded you are always right, meaning me. I made a mistake in my calculations. We laughed. I told another student I did not like Math when I went to school either. When adults lighten up and are genuine they make an impact on children who need help.

William Stafford reminded us to be genuinely human, cut loose, and have fun. Parker Palmer suggested: “Teachers live on the most vulnerable intersection of public and private life.” Yes, we are vulnerable , but children and adolescents smell the disingenuous when we are not authentic.

Sometimes from sorrow, for no reason,
you sing. For no reason, you accept
the way of being lost, cutting loose
from all else and electing a world
where you go where you want to.

Arbitrary, a sound comes, a reminder
that a steady center is holding
all else. If you listen, that sound
will tell you where it is and you
can slide your way past trouble.

Certain twisted monsters
always bar the path — but that’s when
you get going best, glad to be lost,
learning how real it is
here on earth, again and again.

Of Mere Being

Wallace Stevens wrote this beautiful reminder that we each have work to do. I recall something Jon Kabat-Zinn said: “Find a Job with a capital J. Stop doing someone else’s work. Find work that makes you complete.” I paraphrase here. It is easier to be fully present as fulfilled persons.

Thomas Merton and Parker Palmer wrote about the common roots of voice and vocation. I find meaning and completion in the work I do. Somehow, I make the world a better place. As I find my voice, my being made whole and any holes in that being filled. I understand the meaning  of my life’s song  with perhaps no clear meaning to anyone else.

The palm at the end of the mind,
Beyond the last thought, rises
In the bronze distance.

A gold-feathered bird
Sings in the palm, without human meaning,
Without human feeling, a foreign song.

You know then that it is not the reason
That makes us happy or unhappy.
The bird sings. Its feathers shine.

The palm stands on the edge of space.
The wind moves slowly in the branches.
The bird’s fire-fangled feathers dangle down.

Human Hearts and Spirits

I had another great day at Teacher’s Convention. Made another contact for my dissertation process. It is quite interesting the willingness of people to help.

Harry Russ who provides the blog wrote this beautiful poem. I finished reading Margaret Wheatley‘s book, So Far From Home. She referred several times to human hearts and their capacity for love and kindness. Parker Palmer, in his book Healing the Heart of Democracy, referred to the heart being able to hold so much. Harry’s Russ’ poem reminded me of their writing and I think he is on to something: the heart and the spirit combined have incredible capacity.

“Nobody has ever measured, not even poets, how much the human heart can hold.” Zelda Fitzgerald

…But if I might be so bold
While I don’t know the exact amount
From what I have found
I believe
The human spirit
Can store
Even more

For the Children

I began reading Meg Wheatley’s book So Far From Home. Similar to Parker Palmer, she uses poetry to bring her message to life. She quoted Gary Snyder at one point and I recognized it from a retreat I attended. Her point is we live in a world of relationships and not just science. When I look at the sadness of our world, the constant conflict in it, and the violence, I can only wonder if it is a result of loneliness and separation we experience? I will ponder that during my Sabbath.

The rising hills, the slopes,
of statistics
lie before us.
the steep climb
of everything, going up,
up, as we all
go down.

In the next century
or the one beyond that,
they say,
are valleys, pastures,
we can meet there in peace
if we make it.

To climb these coming crests
one word to you, to
you and your children:

stay together
learn the flowers
go light

Be Alive

I enjoy the counter cultural nature of Parker Palmer’s writing and the concepts in the Art of Hosting. I write about Parker‘s work often and he describes the listening we need to do to our inner teacher and others as counter cultural. When we invite people into conversation, listen deeply, and ask questions which shake our certainty about the world the same applies.

Today, I walked to the top of Cates Hill here on Bowen Island. It was spectacular. A colleague took this picture as I was writing. Notice I am on high ground and wearing sandals. I got up there of my accord

Perched pensively

Pencil in hand;

My senses alive

I awake–

Aware.

Sounds flow,

A breeze caresses,

Sunlight bathes,

Peaceful moments–

I bask in each.

Teaching on the Margins

Last week, I wrote Mojo Gathers Momentum. A gift of my journey to Bainbridge was the realization I had lost the belief I was a good teacher. I have never believed this was my place to speak to that. There is a certain humility a teacher should have and extends beyond patting myself on the back. What I do know and recognize is I am different teacher. I have modeled my approach after teachers I believed operated on the margins and accepted that is their place. It was a place that they could do more good for students and the communities we live in.

false security

when hidden

yet, fully surrounded–

paradox of my humanness.

stand out

reveal blemishes

make them obvious

revel in them.

great teachers

found comfort on the margins

not hidden in the crowd

stepped out with pride.

humanness lived;

so fully

it reveals imperfections

for I am human, after all.

Gentle Rain

I wind down the week and head into Sabbath. It is odd to say and write those words, because I have celebrated Sabbath since my arrival at Bainsbridge. When I come to a courage retreat, I enter into a covenant, at least with myself, that I slow down, talk less, and listen more deeply to others and myself. The great thing is this is the norm here. Time is purposely and purposefully set aside to share in small groups, listen and be fully present for each other, reflect in our  corners, and find our way back to the joyful circle of kindred spirits. It is unlike any other conference, workshop, or training I take. The focus is on opening up creative space and that requires different being present. It is a space of vulnerability and solidarity, of coming together to find ourselves coming home.

I meditated this morning and sat inside the main hall. It was raining which I understand is often the case in Seattle at this time of the year.

We sat inside the drum;

A small group

I heard rain overhead

Its song reverent

A gentle tap on the roof

Occasional increases in tempo

More rhythm in that fresh moment.

Perhaps, as gusts of wind shake trees–

Fresh dreams

Break us free from reverie

Together, we embark

Explorers

Perhaps, even pirates.

From golden hearts

Gentle invitations sent

And received.

Whatever, each chooses;

Wherever, each walks;

Remember–

We do it together

Joyously, in community

We carry a little of each other on this journey.

Last year, after the sudden and tragic passing of a young woman we met several years ago, I recounted a Buddhist understanding passed on by Senryu Suzuki and Thich Nhat Hanh. Each person we greet on life’s journey leaves an indelible imprint on us. We only need to stand or sit quietly and listen and like a wind and gentle rain voices are heard again and again in the silence of that moment.

Story Told is One Heard

It is the end of incredibly long and rewarding day. I thought I would try write a poem and I hope it works OK. I want to share about the retreat here and the questions are great. Deep listening is a necessity. What that might look like in other settings is a challenge to explain, so I hope to let that idea percolate over the next couple of days.

Your courage is your truth;

It reveals your story

So necessary to tell

And be heard.

Listen carefully

Words tell a story;

Only shared

With deep listening.

Today, listen differently

Hear words anew;

Sacred space shared;

Human love fully recognized.

Take Courage, Friends

I had an extraordinary and tiring day, but it is a tiredness born out of satisfaction. I received many gifts today and over the next little while it offers me much grist for the mill as a creative space emerges and words flow from it.

When I arrived in my room, I found two small gifts. One is a token with the word Courage engraved on it. The other a short passage by Wayne Arnason called Take Courage, Friends. As I strive to live in community and share with other people I need to recognize community, unlike teams, brings both sorrow and success in many forms.

The way is often hard, the path is never clear,

And the stakes are very high.

Take courage.

For deep down, there is another truth:

You are not alone.

On the Other Side of the Door

Jeff Moss wrote this poem. I like it because over the past few months I allowed myself to be on the side of the door. I was with people I wanted to be with each day.

The next few days will be crazy. I am away, as I mentioned before and am not sure if I will be able to post. I look forward to the time with others who believe spirituality can and does play a role in leadership. When I embrace that thought, I am a different me–kinder, gentler, and genuine.

On the other side of the door
I can be a different me,
As smart and as brave and as funny or strong
As a person could want to be.
There’s nothing too hard for me to do,
There’s no place I can’t explore
Because everything can happen
On the other side of the door

On the other side of the door
I don’t have to go alone.
If you come, too, we can sail tall ships
And fly where the wind has flown.
And wherever we go, it is almost sure
We’ll find what we’re looking for
Because everything can happen
On the other side of the door.

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