There we were. 15 weeks of asking how to create “Ecologies of Care.” 15 weeks of video taping care sessions, readings, in-class fish bowl exercises, video examples and one-on-ones. 15 weeks exploring the question of how to help people and how to know when we are helping people and when we are projecting onto people. 15 weeks of tension, break downs, break ups, break opens and break throughs.
Our final class. The professor, Rev. Dr. Kathleen Greider starts with her delicious stare across the room inviting any last questions. I mean, after all, what more could you want to ask after 15 weeks? We have one minute left. Last chance.
A single hand raises. She recognizes the hand.
“Uh, so… this might sound strange but…. How do we help people?”
The class laughs in solidarity at the request for more clarity on a topic we’ve been studying for 15 weeks. After all, there is a saying in this community—before you can construct, you must deconstruct. And some of us? Well some of us were less Cathedral and more… legos.
She leans over the podium, removing her glasses. We are breathless. Waiting. Guru on the podium top, oh ye with dry erase marker, what is it that you know.
She states calmly: “Know yourself. Know yourself, very, very well.”
And so it is with the divine. From my Unitarian Universalist reading of the Judeo-Christian Genesis, we are imagined from a God who leaned over the edge, and, before any dictation or brooding or breathing or experiencing or dialoging with that great, tehomic depth is struck—for to lean over the waters is to see your own face upon them.
Know yourself. Know yourself well.
Like a child leans over to see their own face in a Southern Californian swimming pool or the mother bear, who stands in the alpine stream waiting for the salmon beneath the waters to leap– or the ways each of us does when we walk by the store front windows and we catch ourselves, even if but for a moment, struck by the sight of our own embodiment, our own being on the street—to create we are first confronted with our own creation. To create, God is confronted with the mirror of creation. God is confronted with God’s self. Before this God could create, she had to be confronted by her own being.
Now, this isn’t tehomic-depths navel-gazing. I’m not talking pop psychology or the cult of self-care. This isn’t that divine mystery taking a selfie to post on Facebook. This is the confrontation, that world-inducing reality when we are forced to see ourselves as the starting place of the holy task.
I’m grateful for the story of a God who stayed with God’s self. Not doubting the worthiness of her procalamation. Not doubting the dignity she could bring singing over the waters. As children of non-profits and social movements and churches rife with misconduct and as students of a school hungry to figure out what religion and church means to this world so desperate for change and healing today—I am grateful.
I am grateful for the reminder that before there was the word, there was the recognition of worth.
May CST know herself. May our faith movements, our social justice movements know themselves. And may we know ourselves.
Very, very well.
A reflection written for the final Baccalaureate Service at Claremont School of Theology, May 2014 on Genesis 1.
Help us buy 1 acre in 1 month before Earth Day 2014!
Dear Friends and Family,
What would you do if less than 1% of people who were like you could find employment?
For nearly 10 years, my close friend Karthik has been asking that question. He has served as the director of Baby Sarah’s Home Orphanage in Pondicherry, Tamil Nadu, India—a nationally-recognized community for children who have been orphaned due to intellectual or physical disabilities. During his time there and during my time as the Executive Learner at CLP, Karthik and I worked alongside Indian young adult leaders to do intentional, inclusive leadership programming for youth from his orphanage and surrounding communities.
After 10 years, Karthik has watched the children of his community grow up into adults who have few options for sustainable, life-giving employment as they aged out of the orphanage. Nationwide, less than 1% of people with different physical or intellectual abilities in India receive viable employment. This community makes up nearly 31 million people in India’s population.
After nearly 10 years of this, he had an idea.
His idea is SRISTI—a word in Sanskrit that means “creation”—and the new name for his innovative venture into life-giving, regenerative and inclusive community. With his team of fellow social workers and youth from his orphanage who are now adults, Karthik has began the purchase of nearly nine acres of farm land in Tamil Nadu, South India with one plan—a safe, inclusive, ecologically sustainable and financially secure community for all people, of all ages and all abilities to live out their entire lives.
This vision, Sristi Village, is a creation of love and passion. There are no communities like this in South India that combine the principles of ecological sustainability, intentional community and social justice for the marginalized due to ability—and Karthik is using his passion and innovation in permaculture (sustainable and regenerative design) and youth-led participation to make it happen.
After years of planning this and talking to me about this over coffee, he is doing it. He left his job, moved into a small office near the available land, and started sharing his vision with friends—and people immediately jumped on board. He found the land—nine acres with nearly 50 mango trees, a water source on site and plenty of space to grow. A European foundation already made the commitment of 30,000 Euro to help him get the purchase started.
Unfortunately, due to international regulations between international non-profits, this money has been stalled—leaving Karthik empty-handed and half way through building relationships with the landowners as he begins to design and prepare the site to begin. To completely secure the purchase of this incredible land and to build good will with the landowner, Sristi needs a minimum of $13,300.
Luckily, individual citizens can help.
What Karthik is doing is truly innovative—and Karthik is a leader in his field. After a January 2014 visit to India, my best friend and colleague Daniel Francis and I saw a way to support this powerful vision—Daniel has provided several hours of permaculture design consultation and Daniel and I have committed to each raising $2,200 before Earth Day on April 22, 2014.
Luckily, an anonymous donor has offered to MATCH our money—for every $100 Daniel and I each raise, this donor will add an extra $100 until up to $2,200.
To join our Facebook event and spread the word, click here!
We really believe that these two people can raise $2200 each before Earth Day on April 22nd—and with a really wide web of friends and fellow believers we can buy one acre of land in one month towards the creation of Sristi.
(Image: Gratitude Practice at Quail Springs Permaculture Farm’s Sustainable Vocations 2012)
Jaipur, India – January 9, 2014
Daniel and I were scheduled to lead a workshop this week at a Jain conference on nonviolence and sustainability. Our workshop would be held on the second full day of the conference, after long and exhausting hours of podium and panel-based lectures and presentations.
The night of our workshop, we located our small room in the basement of the center, loaded our short Powerpoint of photos, and began moving the conference-style seating into a circle– much to the alarm of the audio visual assistants. As people entered, we smiled, introduced ourselves and welcomed them. Even a Tibetan monk came to attend, a man who had once served alongside His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama. We knew we had done something right.
As a result of last-minute planning and a desire for all workshops to be represented, another organization walked in—we were now supposed to share the one-and-a-half hour time slot with new partners. Their presentation would be on Oki do Yoga and Meiso Shiatsu. Ours on authentic youth leadership for culture repair. To make matters more complicated, our shiatsu friends spoke predominantly Italian—a whole group had come (25+ people) from Italy in support of their Master teacher, Yahiro, who had a long-established relationship with this Jain community.
It quickly appeared our room would not be large enough to accommodate.
“We need to lay down…” said the leader of the workshop, in broken Italian, “… this is a practice-oriented workshop.” Of course, Daniel and I felt the same way about ours. Maybe this could be resolved after all.
However, we noted the 25+ concerned and disappointed looks on the faces of the Italians that had followed him to the workshop space and quickly discerned that it was unfit for their workshop plans.
The organizers of the conference soon appeared. We were to shift to a new space. Daniel and I grabbed our belongings and our power point and made the announcement.
As we arrived in the new space, we were informed we needed to shift to another new space. We gathered our belongings again, making our way through an uncovered dirt lot to a large, drafty room in the basement where sounds of construction made their way in from overhead.
This room satisfied the Italian group, many of whom quickly laid out mats and invited the workshop attendees, approximately 45+ people at this point, to lay down on their backs. Their workshop would be an experiential one, with Italian therapists and students of Shiatsu Yoga offering short treatments to conference-goers. People giddily laid down—including Daniel—to receive a treatment from a number of the kind, Italian faces that sat waiting on the ground.
Twenty minutes in to the workshop time and the organizers pulled me aside whispering, “Would you like to go back to the other room for your workshop and just split the two up?”
Of course not.
I was steaming. The monk took a chair in the corner to watch. So did I. I was frustrated by the moving and going, the re-arranging, the Powerpoint that would go unseen by poor planning. I felt my frustration gurgle within me, wishing I didn’t feel angry, wanting to push it away. I didn’t want to be touched.
I sat and watched near the monk and other individuals unable to lay on the ground. With gentle kindness, people began holding the hand and head and backs of those on the ground before them, listening to the Italian instructions from their leader. Instructed to feel for the beat of the heart and imagine with loving kindness the life that they now held, the room became relaxed, despite the ever-constant sound of construction just beyond the concrete wall.
In the kind, healing stillness, one person fell asleep, gently snoring. I was gestured at by the therapist-student, Pradeep, to take her place for the final five minutes.
I reluctantly lay down, hesitant to give up my stiffness. With deep intentionality, Pradeep holds my head, placing pressure on my forehead with warm hands. The Italian instructor asks the students to imagine each of us with a radiating light. I feel that intention from Pradeep. The pressure from my forehead, releases. I felt grateful to be released from it, despite my reluctance.
Upon completion of their session, the instructor and the translator (his fellow practitioner and wife), looked to Daniel and I to use the remaining twenty minutes of the allotted time to proceed with our workshop.
Daniel and I knew: this was no time for a workshop on culture repair. This was a time for culture repair.
At our request, the 45+ people circled up, seated on the ground. With assistance in translation to Italian, we spoke briefly on the way of Gratitude Practice in our work in the USA—that it was not about credentials, leadership role or obligation—but about feeling deeply what one was grateful for in that moment. That was all. Nothing to prove, nothing to impress, no one you are obligated to “thank”—just what authentically brings us gratitude in that moment. And—most importantly—there is always time for it: this is the one thing that does not not get sacrificed on the altar of our rush, limitations or time restrictions.
Around the circle we went. One by one, people offering gratitude. It was the first time in the entire conference that each voice was asked to speak. Beyond podiums or workshop leaders, professional credentials or critical questions—it was simply people saying their name and offering up what was making them grateful in the moment.
Some cried. Some laughed. Some spoke Italian, Hindi or English. No one needed to translate.
The Tibetan monk, previously perched on a chair in the back of the room observing, now inched his chair to the circle, just before it was time for him to speak. He offered his gratitude for the seen and unseen people involved in this moment, for the unknowable “phenomenon” of this life.
Other people were grateful their daughters were with them on this trip to India. To be around like-minded or like-visioned folk. Some were grateful to say what they were grateful for. At the end, people hugged one another, having shared a session of both—intentional, embodied touch and heartfelt gratitude, there was an authentic sense of having connected through experience. We didn’t need to “talk” about what Gratitude means or what it can do for building connection, we simply needed to practice it.
Hear this: Gratitude is a good practice, and a deceptively simple one: every voice is heard and every voice is from the heart. And it is always worth the time.
My mother had excitedly bought a ticket for herself (in the front row!) and invited my husband and I along—we sat up in the nose bleed seats with the commitment to drag my mom off Nash if flirting began (a long-standing joke between my Da, Mom, husband and I). All in all, my mom is still married to my Da.
But, more importantly, what actually happened at the McCallum Theatre with Graham Nash?
Two words: cognitive dissonance.
Nash opened up the concert with a 1,000+ audience of folks predominantly in the age bracket of 40- to 60-years-old. These are the folks who jammed to his music during the Vietnam War, knew exactly what he was talking about when he begged folks to come to Chicago for the Democratic National Convention and understood why we should be concerned about college students being shot in Ohio. They remember and they knew what was going on—possibly active, at least concerned, in the politics of their generation.
Now, here is Nash of 2013: he isn’t going to sing about the Vietnam War. He isn’t only going to sing about Ohio or Chicago—he is going to sing about the politics of the day: from fieldworker human rights to protections for whistle blowers to the self-immolation of Tibetan Buddhists in China. What raised the greatest stir (and resulted in people openly walking out) was his frank response to the trial of Bradley Manning as a result of his providing Wikileaks information about the realities of war in Afghanistan and Iraq.
Upon singing a song that called for protection for whistleblowers, the audience member who “exchanged words” yelled: “HE SHOULD BE HANGED!”
At which point, Nash calmly replied, guitar in hand: “What if he was your son?”
And then, as some audience members walked out and others cheered amidst the “boos” Nash calmly smiled, “Come on now, it’s only a song.”
This is cognitive dissonance: when an audience member buys a ticket to a Graham Nash concert because they “like the music—but not the politics”, and they forget it was always a critique against war and unjust politics (which included a remark about Obama’s presidency), and they sit there, in their seats, not understanding why Nash can’t just sing the “good old music” they used to agree with… or did they?
Cognitive dissonance is when you thought you were a hip guy who lived out in the desert, understood “struggle,” listened to the great classic and folk rock artists of your generation’s turmoil… but can’t hang with the turmoil of the present day. Its when you thought music was neutral and purely for your entertainment, and realized it was charged, pointed and possibly prophetic– demanding that you do something as a result of hearing it. I mean, really, the audacity of the artist!
More responses from the online audience– two from religious higher education:
Yes, please, “grow up” and stop with this political change and activism crap. I mean, the message of 70’s (and Jesus) was great and all, but haven’t you been socialized to obey the media and the government by now? Jeeze. Get a real job, Nash, and plan for your retirement. Who needs your human rights message anyways.
So, in honor of Nash: I was worried for you in the beginning of the show, wondering aloud to my husband, “Does he know what city, hell, what county, he is in?” and left grateful for an example of authentic music-making that stayed relevant and didn’t fear the few that will always walk out when something doesn’t line up with their reality. That is what music does at it’s best.
Many of us who live in this community– and who are spiritual, religious and everything else– attended your show and were grateful for it.
My colleague, Daniel and I will be going to India in January 2014 to present at a Jain Concerence in Rajasthan. The conference is the 8th International Conference on Peace and Nonviolent Action (ICPNA). This year’s theme is “Towards a Nonviolent Future: Seeking Realistic Models of Peaceful Co-existence and Sustainability.” It is hosted by the Anuvrat Global Organization.
This year’s theme looks at the intersection of sustainability and non-violence. Daniel and I are looking towards sharing what youth mentoring, leadership and organizing has meant in the context of nature connection and the Cultural Repair Movement in California.
I’m new to this concept– but I think I’ve been part of the movement for awhile, especially among those who see activism as wholeness, as living out lives that, in the words of Ivan Illich, are “alive enough to be shared.” Even in creating this blog, inspired from my Public Scholar Activism course at Claremont School of Theology, my professor was assisting me in making more concrete what it exactly I wanted to speak to. Her suggestion has grown on me: it is about people learning to put the oxygen mask on themselves first, before they try to “help” someone else.
Cultural repair isn’t about self-centered people getting high on their own oxygen masks, but it is about remembering what it was like when we were living more grounded lives– the culture itself was the greatest source of oxygen, our communities, work, families weren’t places to escape from or left us depleted but places that nourished us.
Cultural repair speaks to that aching hunger to return to … something. Something that feels like it is in our memories, something that we catch glimpses of at pot lucks of compassionate friends, circles of allies or sweet moments when our work feels like a creative process that brings more life to ourselves and the world. It reminds us that there are natural cycles that pattern the natural world, and we, as part of that, have cycles, processes and ways of being that we have neglected– the importance of inspiration, the role of focused work, the rejuvenation of timeless siestas and playfulness, nourishing food and the role of story-telling around the fire under a night sky. These things are not luxuries, these are spiritual necessities– deep within us we are aching to return to this memory of well-being.
This movement, most often associated with the work of Jon Young and the Eight Shields Model, is not just about deep ecology and nature-connection– it is also about personal transformation and social justice. In the words of Young, it is about “optimizing the human operating system.”
Can you imagine an organization or faith community or campaign that leaves you feeling more alive than when you joined it? Where the process of gathering is as important as the potential “products”– the voting rights maintained, land conserved, unjust laws repealed are enhanced by the community of intention and care that worked towards them? Where we paid attention to the design of our gatherings, our meeting spaces, our meals, our personal lives and yearnings? Where we started and ended in gratitude?
That is cultural repair. It is about repairing our culture to be naturally healing, sustaining and life giving.
So, Daniel and I are off to India with these questions: what does this movement mean in social justice? What does social justice have to teach this movement? What does this say of the spirit? Further– how does the movement frame itself in a way that includes or excludes different communities of people? When this knowledge is recognized as coming from brown and black bodies (much emphasis is placed on the wisdom from the bushmen communities of the Kalahari to the wisdom of council in indigenous North and South America), yet few folks of color are present at workshops, what does this say of the need to re-design, re-learn and listen more deeply ahead as we acknowledge the classism, racism and exclusion of our environmental movements?
The Jain community of North India will be dynamic conversation partners in this effort. Jainism is well-recognized for its emphatic focus on the life of all beings and the inherent, explicit interconnectedness of all life– physically and karmically. Furthermore, the Jain concept of anekantavada or “non-onesidedness”/”many-sidedness”, has much to say to the adversarial antagonism of movements for justice that claim absolute truth or prescriptive answers to complex realities.
Our proposals are below– and we are hungry for feedback: what does a movement like this raise for you? Where have you experienced work and life that is “alive enough to be shared” and what made it that way?
Presentation Title: “Bird Song and the Listening Spirit: Growing the Movement for Cultural Repair”
Summary: In the United States, fragmented movements for ecological and social justice face language of scarce resources and adversarial needs—as social justice movements work diligently for the rights of human beings, ecological justice movements give voice to the inherent aliveness of nature and warning to our self-destruction. Both models, however, often lack the spiritual tools and self-reflection to sustain themselves in the midst of financial, social and political strains and embedded injustice in our society. An inclusive approach to the Cultural Repair movement is a response to this hunger for what sustains us by including earth- and human-connection and fueling (through living) in regenerative ecological communities of care. This paper will examine these philosophical foundations, current manifestations, opportunities and challenges for growing the movement to repair our world.
Workshop/Experiential Learning Segment: “Children and Youth: Our Radical Teachers in the Movement for Cultural Repair”
Summary: In Southern California, social and ecological justice activists have come together in common movements to provide learning spaces for diverse youth to reflect, connect, dialogue and take action in healing their community, ecologically and socially. These best practices are part of larger movements, returning to indigenous and ancient wisdom, that engage people in reconnecting to the earth, to themselves and to their own spirits through outdoor activities and community living. This workshop will share (and practice) some of these best methods in case studies from California in which youth and children serve as leaders and teachers in re-discovering what keeps them, and us, alive.
A Manifesto (To Manifest, Change, Adapt, Challenge, Question and Engage)
For those who do not believe volunteers and staff should (always) sacrifice their lives for “the cause.” For those who want to upset the belief that activism is external. For those who want to upset the belief that “Gandhi” and “MLK” and “Dorothy Day” should be our go-to pinnacles of activism. Who ache to overturn the idea that activism comes from altruism. Who want to acknowledge the woundedness activists bring to the work and perpetuate in their organizations and on each other. Who want to upset the belief that time spent in reflection, gratitude or care detracts from the urgency of “the work.” Who want to argue that reflection, gratitude and care are the work and what sustains the work. Who want to upset models of change that fall back on fear and adversarial politics to rouse “support” and “energy” and who want to piss off those who profess to practice activism from within the isolation of privilege.
Who want to connect people who hunger for an activism of wholeness. Who want to ask the deeper questions about why they are activated that go beyond models of sacrifice, perfection/redemption and obligation. Who want to connect people who operate out of their gifts and not out of their (un)conscious wounds. Who want to connect to activists that are wounded and asking questions about it—and how we perpetuate it. Who want to connect with other people who are practicing the world they are activists for, naming the mishaps, sharing the flaws and dialoguing about what is and is not keeping us alive as human beings who live in communities and in families and in relationships. The practitioners. The seekers. The lovers.
This is a site for those who want to co-lead and co-convene. Who want to lead and be led by people who unfold into knowing who they are as they become, who strive to know their wounds, who strive to know their gifts and who help others by practicing wholeness themselves.Who want to lead with other leaders who speak in an authentic voice, knowing the differences between them and not pretending to have the same experience but who carry a common belief—it matters what we’ve experienced, it matters how we’ve been wounded, it matters what our gifts are and it matters how we live and organize in the world.
This is the work. This is a space to practice self-reflection and curiousity. To seek out models of living and working that sustain and generate more life (rather than burn out).
It is possiblefor our organizations to leave us more alive than when we entered.