Some offerings, from my heart, as drops in the ocean.
Saturday 20th – Sunday 21st January 2024: Loving Life, Welcoming Grief. A space for grief and love. With Jeremy Thres and myself.
Council Journey A new Council Journey starts January 6th (Saturdays, two places still available).
A Council Way into our Full Humanity New dates for Council, until end of January.
Right now, I don’t know how to write, how to share any of the things I want to write and share. So I ask myself… what do I need to let go of in order to be fully present?
There are thirty eight ongoing wars today. Or fifty five, if you include armed conflicts where fewer than one hundred people died a direct, violent death in a current or past calendar year. Or twenty, if you only include those with “at least 100, and fewer than 1,000, direct, violent deaths in a current or past calendar year“. All neatly put in boxes, in tables that I can sort by seven different variables. Wow, is this war voyeurism? Am I a war creep?
I struggle to find Rojava on the list. I see no mention of the dozens of recent air strikes by the Turkish military in retaliation for soldiers killed fighting against the Kurdistan Workers Party (PKK) in northern Iraq. I first got to know about Rojava while learning about their women-led governance systems, restorative justice, and people’s assemblies.
I guess it takes time to process all the numbers… I guess we get busy with the big numbers, with our limited resources, or the belief thereof.
The numbers end up numbing me. Is it really possible, four hundred fifty seven deaths in the war in Gaza in 2024? In this 2024 that has not even finished its second day?
In my immense and unearned priviledge of war voyeur, sitting in the incomprehensible and welcome safety of Edinburgh, I want to let go of war, of violence, of unnatural death. I want to let go of it not as in not knowing of it. I want it off this world.
But war, violence, unnatural death is part of what is happening, right now. And I believe that I don’t need to even read the media, run after threads, receive news or—much worse—the silence from friends and loved ones in the Wounded Crescent, in Hong Kong, in Korea, in Mexico, Venezuela, Colombia, in Rojava and in Turkey, in Uganda, Kenya, in the United States… and so many other places. I believe that the whole world, the rocks, the water, the trees the birds the worms the seeds the fire, they all know it. Our bones know it. The moon knows it.
So I won’t let go of it.
I do wish us all a good 2024. I try to do it without a grimace, to fully touch that deep wish for a possibility I know exists. It does. I wish us a year where more hearts open, where they open before taking decisions, before plowing the fields, before killing the soils, before grabbing the land, before remotely striking a hospital, a school, a wasteland, a house sheltering others fighting for their beliefs, before pulling the trigger. I wish us a year with more hugs, more singing, more loving, more laughing.
I wish us a year with stronger backs so that we can soften our front and perceive the world.
Strong back, soft front
I’ve learned of new beginnings in so many different ways… about the possibility of a change in direction, of a renewal and deepening of direction. The idea that our past can inform us but need not determine how we walk. That the mistakes and the successes we carry with us are not enough to fully define who we’ll be in this moment, and the next, and the next. For me, that means not only that I have space for change but also that I need to keep on practising—whatever it is I want to be or do, I need to keep on connecting with it, getting intimate with it, nourishing my relationship with it.
For me, it is about strengthening my back so that I can keep my front soft. So that I can bear witness and open my heart to things as they are…
Meeting the grace and the grief of the world with compassion.
For me, compassion has never meant pity or weakness, being lovely or even agreeing with someone. I like to imagine that word as com-passion, being able to feel the suffering of another being. I’ve always felt that compassion requires courage, as being with someone’s suffering, being able to witness their suffering and endure it is probably what I find most difficult in life. Compassion for me means to keep the equanimity necessary to not rush to change, to not succumb to the urge to fix, to dissolve, to “make good”. All that rushing to “save” often comes from my inability to be with the discomfort of another’s pain. And it comes from fear rather than love.
For me, compassion is about holding the space for true transformation and healing, something that often requires going through pain, through grief, through discomfort. And no, I’m not advocating for hurting others, for relishing in pain, or making pain “good”… I guess compassion, true, skillful compassion requires an intimacy with discernment. A letting go of attachment to my own assumptions of what’s best, of attachment to “good” or “bad”.
A practice of sensing what sources my action and my being, of opening to the possibility of regeneration and trust in life.
Fortunately, all this doesn’t mean that I need to be a passive spectator. On the contrary, I feel that being compassionate makes me part of what’s happening in a way that problem solving can’t. And thus allows me to fully participate in transformation, letting go of the belief that I can control life, that I “know what’s best” for anything else than myself…
This Discernment… that is something I crave for. And I’ve touched it… I know it… It lives in me—and, I’m sure, in everyone. When I practise it, when I gift myself the making time for practice, I feel it more and more. That practice, for me, is what strengthens my back.
My dear teacher Joan Jiko Halifax—from whom I learned about strong back, soft front—writes in her book Being with Dying:
“All too often our so-called strength comes from fear, not love; instead of having a strong back, many of us have a defended front shielding a weak spine. In other words, we walk around brittle and defensive, trying to conceal our lack of confidence. If we strengthen our backs, metaphorically speaking, and develop a spine that’s flexible but sturdy, then we can risk having a front that’s soft and open, representing choiceless compassion. The place in your body where these two meet strong back and soft front—is the brave, tender ground in which to root our caring deeply.
How can we give and accept care with strong-back, soft-front compassion, moving past fear into a place of genuine tenderness? I believe it comes about when we can be truly transparent, seeing the world clearly—and letting the world see into us.”
Yes, I too believe that we need to and can be truly transparent and let the world see into us: for me the only way to see the world clearly. I believe that the place where strong back and soft front meet is also my heart. My heart, where the wing of grace and the wing of grief also meet.
What a magnificent, beautiful, place.
Offerings
All the offerings you find in these pages are coming from my heart, and are practices that I’ve found good for it. Practices that not only strengthen my back, but keep my spine supple, and allow for my heart to remain open. Even, especially in these times of such intense horror and despair, of such intense solidarity and beauty.
Grief Tending – Loving Life, Welcoming Grief
This is a two-day grief journey on-line, held by Jeremy Thres and myself. Being able to join from your own place has some important merits: no need to travel, allowing you to easily care for yourself, more easily being able to retreat if you feel it’s too much… And inviting you to build your own ritual space, to connect with that beauty, that intention, in a deep, intimate and personal way. It is different, yes. And it is powerful, too.
“This is a rare opportunity to do some work on healing your own pain – I find that it surprises me each time I go, and often brings me a great sense of relief and healing. You might go somewhere deep and things might flow. There will probably be tears but there could also be laughter, joy, and a deep sense of connection and trust. I love this work and have found it incredibly beneficial, each time I’ve attended. One of the things I most love about it is that it is so welcoming of everyone, no matter what their circumstances. It doesn’t matter whether you cry or not, or whether you feel numb or angry or scared, or heartbroken – you are met and you are seen and you are welcomed. It’s beautiful and tender and healing.” — A.H., previous participant.
Dates:
2024 – January, Saturday 20th (13:00 – 20:30 UK time please check your local time here) and Sunday 21st (13:00 – 18:00 UK UK time please check your local time here)
On-line sessions are no longer than two hours, with hour-long breaks between. Here’s the schedule. If you need more information on the timings, please do get in touch.
You can find more information by following this link, Or go straight to the booking form.
And more Grief and Grace Tending spaces here.
Council Journeys
These are five-week journeys with the Way of Council, where we travel as a small group, deepening our intimacy with this practice. We will meet once a week for a two-hour session, where we get to try different variations and settings, and go through iterations of the way we speak, the way we listen. There are invitations for practice in between the live sessions, and time to let the forms really sink into and percolate through our body and mind. You also have the opportunity to learn more about the history and practices of the Way of Council, as I will offer some (brief) story-telling about that in every session.
“This has been a breathtaking and tender experience that reminds me of the art of being human. I may cry, I may feel like dancing, and anything in between, but all of me is welcome. I get to be reminded of my own beauty and witness the beauty in others in their presence and their stories. This journey reminds me of how simple yet deeply satisfying and healing just being together can be, how beautiful the human experience can be.” — T.H., 2023 journey participant.
Dates:
Five Saturdays 09h00 – 11h00 (UTC, please check your local time), starting January 6th 2024 and running until February 3rd 2024
You can find more information by following this link, Or go straight to the booking form.
Council Way into our Full Humanity
These one and a half hour sessions are a place to come and taste the space of Council, and are suited for any level of experience. Sometimes once is what you need, sometimes they become a place of refuge, or connection. They’re offered at different times and days of the week in the hope of bringing together an ever-changing flow of peoples, ages, stories…
“It genuinely creates space for our full humanity – each of us with all our histories and stories, perceptions and assumptions; the opportunity to hold them up into the light and look at them from different angles as prompted by other humans. To learn from our similarities and differences.” — K.D., coming to these councils since 2021
Find all the information and ongoing dates here. Or go straight to the booking form.
Other Offerings around the Great Unravelling…
I feel we’re unravelling the rusty cranes of our governance through a more regenerative flow of resources. The Turning that comes from the unravelling… through that place where Love and Grief meet… I try to get more intimate with the possibilities of Healthy Human Cultures… if you want a space tailored to your community, group, project, let me know.
Are you interested in Regenerative Funding Governance? Do get in touch, I’d love to invite you to our Co-creative Space.
Howl's Moving Castle 