From Slosh to Shoals and Back Again, and Maybe Out of Hiding

Refreshing. 

Having someone accurately mirror how I come across in groups is refreshing. 

I’d never met her before this particular training which we were both assisting, and I was immediately drawn to her stealth and grace, as she delivered and retrieved the microphone, so participants’ questions could be heard in the large classroom, and to her humor and direct way of speaking her truth, in the morning meetings for all the assistants, during which we got the layout for the day’s activities, and our room assignments to support participants in triad work. 

What was built during our morning meetings was a huge container where it was safe to slosh around and be who we are, warts and all.

One of the six mornings, we twenty six assistants delved deeply into discussion of inclusivity within the Somatic Experiencing Trauma Institute as a whole, and within the microcosm of the one-hundred or so souls gathered at Mercy Center to finesse our skills to sit with folks healing from trauma. The warmth of authenticity radiated out from that discussion - reaching all the way into the classroom. Shift happened. What a delicious slosh held us all.

One of my take-aways from the discussion on inclusivity is this: To be inclusive is elusive. The isms we swim in in our culture are so pervasive that identifying the individual ism - race, gender equality, sexual identity, age, ability, or religion can be as difficult as for a fish to describe water. Steeping as we are in all the isms, we’re hard-pressed to see them, let alone name them within our own being. Often, it’s not until it is pointed out to us by members of oppressed groups that we can get a glimpse of understanding how we’ve been blinded by our own prejudice. 

Compassion follows understanding. 

Sister Corita Kent, of the Immaculate Heart Order, crafted a catchy calligraphed poster which I fondly remember hanging on the wall in my mother's house: To understand is to stand under, which is to look up to, which is a pretty good way to understand.

Another phrase I’ve heard and take to heart is: The only time to look down at someone is when we’re offering a hand up to her/him.

I’m as steeped in stupid isms as anyone else, and they’ve bothered me since I was a child. Empathically, when I was little, I began cultivating a practice of trying to understand other’s paths and walking in other’s shoes. I put spiders and critters who belong outside gently in their optimal environment instead of killing them. 

When an opportunity to protest a particular brand of injustice arose, I showed up. My 1960's involvement in marches and demonstrations included topics of getting us out of Viet Nam; integration - with CORE, SNCC, and the Black Panthers; women’s liberation - with N.O.W, Light Up the Night, and college organizations; child advocacy - with Para Los Niños; and issues of social justice - with Students for a Democratic Society. For SDS I translated documents into Spanish and traveled to sit-ins at the State Capitol in Sacramento. 

As a mom, I became fiercely protective of the those whose voices are discounted or unheard by government and corporate America. I championed a woman’s right to choose, and to select the type of family planning and birth assistance she would like - beyond the steam-roller institutional hospital version. I wrote letters to encourage congress to pass legislation demanding access for children, Little People, and folks who use wheel-chairs. 

Despite writer’s cramp, shoe leather worn away marching, and laryngitis from sharing my views via chants to the disenchanted, I don’t think any of it garnered the change in society of which we malcontents dreamed.

The conversation in the assistant’s meeting last week was heart-warming. It feels as if there’s a new guard picking up the torch(es). I feel hopeful again. Will we be able to turn the tide before climate change snuffs us? Quién sabe? Who knows? There’s always hope. It’s worth all effort put into the quest for justice.

The compassion piece seems most elusive to me when it regards myself. I was caught up short when, on a kindly assist of a ride home after the training, “refreshing assistant” named my faux deference and seemingly disempowered demeanor in the group dynamic. Yes, I was honored to be thought of as a wise elder among my fellow assistants and by the students. I also cringed, evidently visibly, when I was appreciated verbally for holding that space. Visibility hasn’t lost all the associations in my being with danger. I’m very uncomfortable with feeling seen... yet I persist in drawing attention to myself with silly jokes, laugh-inducing puns and odd-ball perspectives, and, oh, yes, this blog, and making a give-away of my music CDs.

The task seems to be to get over my small s self so I can let my big S Self shine through. I don’t relish being keel-hauled over the jagged shoals by my past, but it seems to be part of the burnishing process.

I feel gratitude to my colleague for her eloquent and direct descriptions of what she saw, and her insightful perceptions. What a blessing to be seen and have course correction offered so lovingly.

Off the shoals, back in the slosh, I can say it has been a joy to witness humans' growing capacity for being with one another, with natural ease and curiosity. 

We are one family. One tribe. Umbanda