The boy was about five years old. He was unable to perform a cartwheel in front of a spontaneous tourist crowd of about 400 people. He had volunteered along with two other young people, a girl and boy about age eight, to stand before a Venice beach, California crowd of tourists from around the world. None of the young people knew what they would be asked. They were offered $20 each for volunteering to do something.... a something they did not know in advance. .
With the background of beach and ocean, the hundreds of women, children and men stood in awe of the setting and what might happen. Everyone smiling in anticipation. Three children volunteered to stand in the middle of all this, without knowing what they would be asked to do. Two boys and one
girl all between age five and eight. After some comedic performance by the facilitators, the children were asked to do a Cartwheel.
The girl did a partial cartwheel. The next boy did a little less of one. The third little one, about five, froze in place. He could not do a cartwheel, or a partial one and was frozen in place. He could not move.
One of the young gymnastic type men, rather than pressure the boy, or encourage him further, simply walked over to him, gently, with the boy's permission, picked him up and helped him do a cartwheel, standing in place. He did it with compassion, kindness and respect for the little boy.
As I stood at the edge of the crowd circle, and seeing how they spoke with and treated the boy, I cried inside and outside. The crowd applauded and yelled, "yes." That little boy was me, and probably most young children who had been pressured, judged and embarrassed for falling short of expectations, believing themselves wrong. My body released a tension I did not know existed since childhood. The boy was OK just as he was, and who he was. No embarrassment, pressure or shame.
Wednesday, November 9, 2016
Saturday, October 22, 2016
SOCIAL JUSTICE FOR CHILDREN
Children everywhere of all sizes,
genders, ages and colors, need fairness, equal respect, compassion,
inclusion and total equality within the family, the community and the
world.
I'm
a child. I know what I am doing. I know who I am. Follow me. See
me. Find me in you. Really, find me in you. I am the voice of the
universal child. My voice is
your voice, the one hidden by beliefs not your own. Beliefs that seem
so familiar and natural, yet, are often not the beliefs you had when a
little person.
Being a child is a universal story. It is a human story, no matter the color of your skin, or religion, nor part of the world you live in. Being a child has nothing to do with age, height, weight or where you live. Children emerge into this world, not only innocent, but a living example of what all of us busy, hurried, smart phoned, Facebooked, big people can access and live out again------freeing ourselves from physical and emotional symptoms requiring medications, diagnoses and believing we are never quite good enough.
Would our minds take a rest? Would our need to compare, judge, blame and
feel alone, or separate exist in the
same way? Schools, books, workshop trainers and psychology people
could be transformed into the practice of listening well, caring,
transcending the need for punishment, rules, regulations and defined expectations of others, especially children.
today, now, this moment, I and we can speak to children and see them exactly as we would like to be seen. Exactly. We do not need to raise children. We need to Be with them. To be continued.
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Wednesday, September 21, 2016
BEYOND TOO SENSITIVE
You can't be too sensitive. Not really. The phrase "too sensitive" has often been said in judgmental, blaming and make wrong terms, creating adults believing that when they "feel" something others do
not feel, they must be wrong, and "too sensitive."
Consider that being sensitive, or "exquisitely" sensitive or aware, is a gift, a skill that allows you
or children to feel and see
not feel, they must be wrong, and "too sensitive."
Consider that being sensitive, or "exquisitely" sensitive or aware, is a gift, a skill that allows you
or children to feel and see
BEHIND THE COUCH: APPRECIATION
I'd been facilitating and teaching small and large groups for many years. My intent was always to help people rediscover their authentic self before social and cultural expectations seeped in. On one particular occasion, I stood before about 60 people,and "directed" and facilitated a 15 minute unrehearsed skit, with many of the audience members reading parts I had written for them without their knowledge. Before handing out the written "parts," I received their permission for this, about to be, unknown event. My role was moderator and "introducer."
Within the first minute, laughter filled the room. Genuine, sixty-person honest laughter. I continued my role as moderator as others read their previously unseen words.
For fifteen minutes, my words and my humor, read by others, created a room full of joy and uncontrolled laughter. Several people were on the floor laughing and in tears. When the last person spoke, people stood and wildly applauded for several minutes. Genuine appreciaion.
The appreciation was for me and what I had written. The energy of applause directed in my direction, brought out the little boy in me, forcing me to step back behind a couch, crouch down to hide my embarrassment, and handle the acknowledgment. I felt completely shy, embarrassed and vulnerable .
Had my body been free to cry, I would have, easily. I would have cried out of being seen, loved and knowing I had a wondrous impact on 60 people. Another layer of self-judgment was released from my body. I knew it.
And, I knew it was OK for me to respond in an honest way. To be honestly shy. I was feeling, beyond my learned beliefs, of what I should do in front of others. I was free. It was a conscious beginning.
Within the first minute, laughter filled the room. Genuine, sixty-person honest laughter. I continued my role as moderator as others read their previously unseen words.
For fifteen minutes, my words and my humor, read by others, created a room full of joy and uncontrolled laughter. Several people were on the floor laughing and in tears. When the last person spoke, people stood and wildly applauded for several minutes. Genuine appreciaion.
The appreciation was for me and what I had written. The energy of applause directed in my direction, brought out the little boy in me, forcing me to step back behind a couch, crouch down to hide my embarrassment, and handle the acknowledgment. I felt completely shy, embarrassed and vulnerable .
Had my body been free to cry, I would have, easily. I would have cried out of being seen, loved and knowing I had a wondrous impact on 60 people. Another layer of self-judgment was released from my body. I knew it.
And, I knew it was OK for me to respond in an honest way. To be honestly shy. I was feeling, beyond my learned beliefs, of what I should do in front of others. I was free. It was a conscious beginning.
Saturday, June 4, 2016
STOP TALKING AND FEEL
I do believe I have yet to tell you what Michael did at Howard University in Washington, D.C. In 1999, I suggested to Michael that he attend this ten-day World Work conference. I borrowed money and found my way there. Along with 400 women, men and young children from around the world, many from warring countries, people of many colors, religions, with some there because unknown others paid for them to attend. I got to sit among them. Wealthy people, others with no money, just the clothes they wore.
Not only sit, but instinctively walk quietly outside around the perimeter of the roof, covering and protecting the gymnasium-size room inside. I paced the perimeter, as people inside released and expressed their frustration, anger, hostility, hurt and love.. I was aware that I was holding the space for others inside, to release and express what needed to come through and out. As I walked slowly on the perimeter, I noticed Michael directly across from me, maybe 200 feet away, walking at the same pace.. We did not speak. We knew.
Later, when inside, I listened and witnessed the anger, hurt and love freely come through. People waving their fists, screaming, yelling, crying, blaming. The only rule was no violence. No violence. It was difficult to hear of all the injustice, yet I was grateful I got to hear it and bare witness.
This went on for 10 days. Ten days. On the last day, amidst the rage and tears and non-violence, Michael my friend who had never done anything like this before, and who for nine days, quietly listened and felt, raised his 6' 4" black frame up, and in this huge hall filled with 400 others, walked intentionally and directly into the center of the room: "Stop talking and feel," he screamed out. "Stop talking and feel."
His words came from another dimension. A force in and beyond him. Instantly, the room went totally silent. A stunned silence. A minute later, all that could be heard was wailing, crying, sobbing, and silence of words. Michael simply stood in the center of the room, his own tears flowing. Four hundred children, women and men slowly moved towards the center. Sobbing, crying and relief led the way. No more words. Only hugging and the embracing of each other. Four hundred people, few having known each other hours earlier.
Then silence.
A healing had taken place.
A connection for everyone.
No more teaching or lectures or workshops. No more teaching, lectures or workshops.
Soon, Michael walked into the hall and sat down in a simple chair, alone, aware and unaware of what he had just brought.
I walked out and sat next to him quietly.
"I can't believe it," he said quietly as he looked down.
People from inside the room, came to him and
held him, thanked him and stood quietly.
Michael was back in his body, almost embarrassed at his impact.
Back in Santa Cruz, California, days later, Michael shared how his actions surprised him. He wondered if he could continue his life, holding that kind of influence in the world with others. .
He felt touched, yet the everyday world seemed so distant from what he had just experienced. He wondered if that action was enough and could be sustained.
It was as though there was or is a voice inside that says, "Is that enough? Can you sustain that awareness
and impact on others? Are you now done? Am i enough?" To me, he is and was the same Michael that dropped an atomic bomb of peace. Only once was required. Just once.
Not only sit, but instinctively walk quietly outside around the perimeter of the roof, covering and protecting the gymnasium-size room inside. I paced the perimeter, as people inside released and expressed their frustration, anger, hostility, hurt and love.. I was aware that I was holding the space for others inside, to release and express what needed to come through and out. As I walked slowly on the perimeter, I noticed Michael directly across from me, maybe 200 feet away, walking at the same pace.. We did not speak. We knew.
Later, when inside, I listened and witnessed the anger, hurt and love freely come through. People waving their fists, screaming, yelling, crying, blaming. The only rule was no violence. No violence. It was difficult to hear of all the injustice, yet I was grateful I got to hear it and bare witness.
This went on for 10 days. Ten days. On the last day, amidst the rage and tears and non-violence, Michael my friend who had never done anything like this before, and who for nine days, quietly listened and felt, raised his 6' 4" black frame up, and in this huge hall filled with 400 others, walked intentionally and directly into the center of the room: "Stop talking and feel," he screamed out. "Stop talking and feel."
His words came from another dimension. A force in and beyond him. Instantly, the room went totally silent. A stunned silence. A minute later, all that could be heard was wailing, crying, sobbing, and silence of words. Michael simply stood in the center of the room, his own tears flowing. Four hundred children, women and men slowly moved towards the center. Sobbing, crying and relief led the way. No more words. Only hugging and the embracing of each other. Four hundred people, few having known each other hours earlier.
Then silence.
A healing had taken place.
A connection for everyone.
No more teaching or lectures or workshops. No more teaching, lectures or workshops.
Soon, Michael walked into the hall and sat down in a simple chair, alone, aware and unaware of what he had just brought.
I walked out and sat next to him quietly.
"I can't believe it," he said quietly as he looked down.
People from inside the room, came to him and
held him, thanked him and stood quietly.
Michael was back in his body, almost embarrassed at his impact.
Back in Santa Cruz, California, days later, Michael shared how his actions surprised him. He wondered if he could continue his life, holding that kind of influence in the world with others. .
He felt touched, yet the everyday world seemed so distant from what he had just experienced. He wondered if that action was enough and could be sustained.
It was as though there was or is a voice inside that says, "Is that enough? Can you sustain that awareness
and impact on others? Are you now done? Am i enough?" To me, he is and was the same Michael that dropped an atomic bomb of peace. Only once was required. Just once.
Thursday, May 26, 2016
POWER OF WOMEN: LIFE
The mother of our son leaned her bare back against my chest, as the mid-wife encouraged the little being within her to come forward, to be born into this warm home setting surrounded by a forest of redwoods.
I was asked to support and cushion her as she leaned into me strongly, allowing the little person to work her or his way out. Feeling the strength, power, and willingness of a woman giving birth, brought tears to my once dry eyes. Tears that carried the awe and wonder of a child being born, a being from another world.
I had to be, and was, totally present, "out of my mind," and responsive to what was taking place in front of me. The room around us held the mid-wife and four other human being friends, friends who were able to be silent witness, and supportive in their naturally quiet way.
From my perspective, the birth process seemed to be only minutes, yet probably much longer. Doesn't matter. As "he" emerged silently, without tears, his cord dangling loosely behind him, I was asked to lay on my back, shirtless, on an open massage table a few feet away.
Unknown as to why, I followed the instructions. Within moments, his minutes-old warm body was placed face down on my bare chest, his moist head just under my chin. I could only feel. I had no words. The feelings had no name. I lay quietly as the little being, (eventually to receive a name three years later), lay contentedly and silently on my body, resting. For this male body, mine, I felt beyond close to him, yet I had not yet seem his face nor whole body. I felt him. Just him.
I realized he had just emerged from another body, another dimension. All of the awe and wonder of birth brought an awakening within me. I started to feel the power, intention and willingness of women to consciously bring another body through them, be responsible for the life of that being, and, for some, know that is what women can do, and for some, what they are to do with the gift and willingness to consciously give birth. The gift of purpose ingrained.
As a curtain might open on a movie theater stage, revealing yet to be seen images, I started to see, for the first time, women as a bringer of life, a life force, an essential reason for earth to exist. Old patterns of beliefs and being with women began to soften. Yet, the remnants of judgments and beliefs I had learned through decades and cultural centuries, continued to live in my bones and body, only to eventually, and gradually be revealed and freed up as the little being allowed me to embrace, hug and kiss him. His innocence, playfulness, and ability to take very little seriously, freed me up from all the beliefs I had learned.......beliefs not my own.
To this day, 22 years later, I get to be with him daily. I get to see what being in the world, but not of it, is like. I get to re-find myself, discover the little being I was when I emerged from my mother.
I was asked to support and cushion her as she leaned into me strongly, allowing the little person to work her or his way out. Feeling the strength, power, and willingness of a woman giving birth, brought tears to my once dry eyes. Tears that carried the awe and wonder of a child being born, a being from another world.
I had to be, and was, totally present, "out of my mind," and responsive to what was taking place in front of me. The room around us held the mid-wife and four other human being friends, friends who were able to be silent witness, and supportive in their naturally quiet way.
From my perspective, the birth process seemed to be only minutes, yet probably much longer. Doesn't matter. As "he" emerged silently, without tears, his cord dangling loosely behind him, I was asked to lay on my back, shirtless, on an open massage table a few feet away.
Unknown as to why, I followed the instructions. Within moments, his minutes-old warm body was placed face down on my bare chest, his moist head just under my chin. I could only feel. I had no words. The feelings had no name. I lay quietly as the little being, (eventually to receive a name three years later), lay contentedly and silently on my body, resting. For this male body, mine, I felt beyond close to him, yet I had not yet seem his face nor whole body. I felt him. Just him.
I realized he had just emerged from another body, another dimension. All of the awe and wonder of birth brought an awakening within me. I started to feel the power, intention and willingness of women to consciously bring another body through them, be responsible for the life of that being, and, for some, know that is what women can do, and for some, what they are to do with the gift and willingness to consciously give birth. The gift of purpose ingrained.
As a curtain might open on a movie theater stage, revealing yet to be seen images, I started to see, for the first time, women as a bringer of life, a life force, an essential reason for earth to exist. Old patterns of beliefs and being with women began to soften. Yet, the remnants of judgments and beliefs I had learned through decades and cultural centuries, continued to live in my bones and body, only to eventually, and gradually be revealed and freed up as the little being allowed me to embrace, hug and kiss him. His innocence, playfulness, and ability to take very little seriously, freed me up from all the beliefs I had learned.......beliefs not my own.
To this day, 22 years later, I get to be with him daily. I get to see what being in the world, but not of it, is like. I get to re-find myself, discover the little being I was when I emerged from my mother.
Friday, May 13, 2016
Tuesday, April 26, 2016
WORLD AS A SCHOOL
If I knew I had 10 minutes to live, and I had no concern for being judged, criticized or being marginalized and made wrong by others, what would I want to say, publicly, out loud, freely? I mean after I have hugged and kissed and said goodbye to all those close to me, what would I want to say about life?
I’ll pretend I have only ten minutes now. So, I say this: “Find a creative, loving, kind, open, respectful way to teach children the things they want to know more about. Delete the hierarchy of rank and authority between children and adults. Just let that overseer authority go. Transform school buildings to meeting rooms for creative and uncreative people in the community to gather and offer to children exactly what they
want to learn.
Get rid of tests and grades and all those tools that require fear, competition, and comparison – separating me from you, and by their very nature, imply children need to be coerced to learn, explore and wonder about things. Make available to all children, experiences, people and teachings that hold the world open, that inspire and transcend all perceived limits.
If it is skateboarding, help them build one from scratch. Help them make a cartoon book. A video movie. A tree house. A real house. Let them be around adults that meet them equally, are kind, have a sense of humor, and can hug freely. Take a long bike trip. Allow reading to come naturally as it will. Reading and math aren't difficult. Handling the fear, tension and beliefs about reading and math are.
I’d add, “Go to another country, another neighborhood, another person whose color and language is different, and say hi. Just say hi.
I’ll pretend I have only ten minutes now. So, I say this: “Find a creative, loving, kind, open, respectful way to teach children the things they want to know more about. Delete the hierarchy of rank and authority between children and adults. Just let that overseer authority go. Transform school buildings to meeting rooms for creative and uncreative people in the community to gather and offer to children exactly what they
want to learn.
Get rid of tests and grades and all those tools that require fear, competition, and comparison – separating me from you, and by their very nature, imply children need to be coerced to learn, explore and wonder about things. Make available to all children, experiences, people and teachings that hold the world open, that inspire and transcend all perceived limits.
If it is skateboarding, help them build one from scratch. Help them make a cartoon book. A video movie. A tree house. A real house. Let them be around adults that meet them equally, are kind, have a sense of humor, and can hug freely. Take a long bike trip. Allow reading to come naturally as it will. Reading and math aren't difficult. Handling the fear, tension and beliefs about reading and math are.
I’d add, “Go to another country, another neighborhood, another person whose color and language is different, and say hi. Just say hi.
I WONDERED WHY I WOULDN'T
When I was in the sixth grade, growing up in Los Angeles, I once asked the teacher a question. I didn't think it was a special question, or anything anyone wouldn't think of.
I had been sitting in classrooms since kindergarten, sometimes six-hours a day, for six years, which adds up to about 6,500 hours. Each year, at some point, I would hear from some adult person that I was being prepared for the real world. I never really knew what that meant, nor did I seem to care. It was just a phrase uttered every so often by some taller person.
I had been sitting in classrooms since kindergarten, sometimes six-hours a day, for six years, which adds up to about 6,500 hours. Each year, at some point, I would hear from some adult person that I was being prepared for the real world. I never really knew what that meant, nor did I seem to care. It was just a phrase uttered every so often by some taller person.
One day, and in front of the entire class, I innocently asked the teacher, Ms.Thurber, "If we are always being prepared for the real world, what is this now? Are the past six years not real? Does the real world start after I am 18?" A few of the other kids muttered under their breath, "Yeah, yeah."
Ms. Thurber's face appeared to turn a light red. I remember her giving me a long response, as she led me down the hall to the principal's office.....where she suggested I needed to see a counselor. The principal, Mr. Rose wondered why I would ask such a question. I wondered why I wouldn't.
Ms. Thurber's face appeared to turn a light red. I remember her giving me a long response, as she led me down the hall to the principal's office.....where she suggested I needed to see a counselor. The principal, Mr. Rose wondered why I would ask such a question. I wondered why I wouldn't.
Tuesday, April 19, 2016
CORPORATE REALNESS
I was on the phone with a Verizon customer service person. My questions were met with scripted responses and corporate language. I paused a minute to calm myself and drop into my body, so to speak.
I noticed my own tension and softened into it. I wanted to be present rather than reactive, or in a word conflict. After a minute or two, we continued our back and forth conversation. I knew I was done with continuing to dialogue with this person, and I did not want to "make him wrong."
I decided to politely disconnect with Alex, the representative, and call back later to find someone else to offer a solution. "Alex," I said, "I am going to stop now and go with my son to have some food."
"You're with your son?" he replied. "I haven't seen my son in three years." I was startled by his personal
words. My heart came alive. I paused, then asked, "Where is your son?" "He's on a mission," Alex
replied. I paused some more. "I assume he is on a military mission, or a missionary somewhere."
"He has been a missionary in Asia for three years."
"You miss him," I said.
"Yes."
"Thank you for being with me on the phone Alex. You are a good person to have met. Thank you
for being so kind and real. I will go now, feeling at home inside, thanks to you." "Me too," he replied..
"Shalom," he said.
"Shalom" I replied.
We ended the call.
I noticed my own tension and softened into it. I wanted to be present rather than reactive, or in a word conflict. After a minute or two, we continued our back and forth conversation. I knew I was done with continuing to dialogue with this person, and I did not want to "make him wrong."
I decided to politely disconnect with Alex, the representative, and call back later to find someone else to offer a solution. "Alex," I said, "I am going to stop now and go with my son to have some food."
"You're with your son?" he replied. "I haven't seen my son in three years." I was startled by his personal
words. My heart came alive. I paused, then asked, "Where is your son?" "He's on a mission," Alex
replied. I paused some more. "I assume he is on a military mission, or a missionary somewhere."
"He has been a missionary in Asia for three years."
"You miss him," I said.
"Yes."
"Thank you for being with me on the phone Alex. You are a good person to have met. Thank you
for being so kind and real. I will go now, feeling at home inside, thanks to you." "Me too," he replied..
"Shalom," he said.
"Shalom" I replied.
We ended the call.
Thursday, February 18, 2016
JUSTICE AND FAIRNESS FOR CHILDREN: beyond parenting
Children are one of the last groups in the world to require the support and awareness of the adult world to be seen and treated as complete human beings, whole at birth, exquisitely sensitive. I was a "children" once and I always sensed when the adults around me were with me, not at me.
Sexism and racism are easily described. I'm thinkin' no label at all for young people, or younger people. When I was a little human, as early as two years of age, I, like most younger people, could sense and feel when the big people around me
Sexism and racism are easily described. I'm thinkin' no label at all for young people, or younger people. When I was a little human, as early as two years of age, I, like most younger people, could sense and feel when the big people around me
BLENDED COLORS
A seven-year-old African American boy was sitting across from his white mom, just a few feet away from me, in a coffee shop. They were engaged in serious conversation. She was listening intently, completely present with him, as his hands animated his words. They faced each other directly, their eyes in constant contact.
I saw no age difference. I imagined what he or any child must feel like when an adult person, parent or not, is honestly present, and wants to be. She was not only listening, she was hearing him with her eyes as well. She cared about what he was saying. No hurry. No rushing. No
busyness....just her presence in his world...and his presence in her
world. She even leaned forward a bit to be closer to him.
At first, I simply appreciated seeing the blended color family being with each other. Then my attention shifted to how their eyes met....how the mother was so completely engaged with her son and his animated way of telling her a story. She was genuinely with him completely; her body posture suggesting she wanted to be exactly where she was.
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