Back in November, I worked with my mate Teresa Posakony on a two day gathering the object of which was to work to apply brain science to policy questions on the prevention of adverse childhood experiences. On the first day I facilitated an Open Space event that brought together reserachers and brain scientists to discuss their findings and on the second day, we had panelists and Teresa ran a half day cafe to look at the implications of the research for policy making. I composed a poem at the end of the day.
As a part of the experience, we were shown a powerful video of the still face experiment, a test to see how infants respond when their care givers break the connection with them. It is very very powerful. Here it is:
Later in the day one of the panelists, Jennifer Rodriguez, referred to this video by saying that collectively, “society is the still face” when it comes to our children and youth.
That was the hook I needed for the poem, which was also informed by the words I saw and heard during the cafe. I read the poem and got a generous standing ovation.
Today I got an email from our clients which was sent by the researcher you see in the video, Dr. Ed. Tronick. Dr. Tronick was responding to our client, who sent him the poem and the recording of me reading it:
I really am quite moved by the poem and your comment about how much impact it has. When I began this work in my lab I had no idea that it might one day be so useful in getting children and families what they so desperately need. I love the poem – I will get it up in my office somewhere, especially what it brings together and the rhythm of it. Please tell Chris how much I appreciate it. It is just amazing. And more important than the SF or the poem is the work you and everyone at the conference are doing.
It is not enough to do work in the world without adding as much beauty as we can. The power resides in the songs, the poems, the images that we use to capture our collective experiences and to throw a light on how important they are to us as human beings.
Enjoy the harvest.
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October 19, 1990 in Peterborough, Ontario was a dark and cold autumn day with sleet falling and grim grey cloud. The only light at all was the fact that I met my beloved partner Caitlin Frost that day. Here is my anniversary poem for her.
On a sleet driven day
when the sky split into a million bits of darkness
and rained down on the groggy morning
I could never imagine
that what was falling
was me for you.
May you all know the love I have been lucky enough to be blessed with.
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It has become a standard practice for me now to make a slam poem from the words of opening or closing circles, as a way to reflect to a group something of it’s wholeness. These poems are completely improvised, using the words of the participants as material. There is a lot of reincorporation of people’s words in these poems which makes for a lovely reminder when I read it out and participants shift their awareness around the circle
A poem I wrote at the end of the Open Space for Transition Nelson. One of our participants brought her two chickens to the event to look after them while she was away from her house. On day two the chickens escaped, which explains one of the lines in this piece.
Practicality, courage
Where's the agenda?
Appreciative thanks
amazed it didn't tank
This scenario is a dream and it seems that
whatever happened, happened.
Woooo….
Gratitude is the attitude of rebirth
A reenergized connection, soft walk on the earth
Want to pass a torch but also linger on the porch of this
new house created by friendship
and the magic in the talk…
We gonna rock…
I'm already looking younger, cultivating the hunger
for transitioning, repositioning,
gestating and relating, digesting and reflecting
seeing what is born this morning
feeling what is important to raise
in these days of unity, community, in what is bigger than me.
I'm new to this place
but what a face you wear –
a community of angels who care.
It's open and I'm curious to see where it goes,
two feet, ten toes
I don't know, but somebody knows
and I feel direction, infection
a virus of creative work
the explosion of potential that stars from a spark,
light sparkling in the dark.
Thanks to the angels and the bees
and all that frees us to fly, respond to the calling
pick up those that are falling
and send them back in the air.
I'm more connected than ever before
walked through a door to a store full of knowledge and inspiration
full of awe at the creation of what's going on –
knowing that together I can be strong enough
to live off the grid, draw on my own power,
this is the hour!
Even the chickens have become free!
It's hard to do this alone,
to clear a field full of stones,
to live a peace that is co-owned
bring a bell to the young,
three deep breaths,
words that rest lightly on the tongue
and hold the terror of action,
the commitment to a fraction of change
to a group that can rearrange the best of what we have –
time, ideas, muffins –
strange resources for a movement, but sustenance is a must for sustainability
so that's good.
So in the shadows of locally hewn wood
in a place free of shoulds,
I acknowledge the work we have done
and the potential of what is to come
life springing from ash,
passion leading to action,
a rekindled fire that burns off
guilt and fear.
Inspired –
our future starts here.
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A poem by Ralph Copleman a longtime Open Space practitioner, posted this week on the OSLILST
The Days of Now
On the night before Now
we all clambored over
and greeted each other by the gateway.
Now came the first morning.
We opened for each other many conversations
and passed cups around the shining circle.
On the second of Now,
I could see a long way in people’s eyes
which cleared to let in the light.
On the third of Now,
everyone started dialing up tomorrows,
released laughter and embraced
every future Now with braided voices
and sweat-slicked arms.
Each night Now the sky
came down to join us,
like an animal testing the scents.
On the fourth of Now
we saw magic inside ourselves
and blew gently the embers in each other.
On the fifth day Now transformed
into pieces of hours and sounds.
There was baying and mirth
and sweet fresh rubbing of skin on skin.
The sixth of Now saw us
plain and fearful, thrilled and drawn
to each other in new forever dreams.
On the seventh of Now
we redrew all our lines,
filled all the hollows, as Now expected.
At last the night Now
draped velvet and quiet
as hushed we prepared our ascent.
This night is that night Now.
It has unquenchable questions
and the same different beginning.
On top of morning Now
and all through evening Now
we waxed and shined the circle again
sipped each other’s songs
and touched old and new alike.
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Forwarded to me by my colleague Ray Gordezky, with whom I am part of a team looking convening people around polar bears in Northern Labrador and Quebec.
The Moon Speaks of Polar Bears
Hailey Leithauser
Some things are better defined
by what they are not,
as when snow heaping the world
replaces the world, becoming
no longer a rooftop, no longer a narrow
gravel shoreline or road,
even in times, in places,
no longer the black breathing
of the sea.
In this way the polar bear
stealing her difficult, beautiful life
from the ridges
and drifts, the colorless
plateau around her,
teaches her young to hunt
by sliding her belly
flat along the frozen light,
blunting her cloudlike
respiration, covering
with one comic paw
the dark flesh of her nose,
so well suited to her artifice
that the oily
seals collecting the ice
are pulled by an intimate
landscape, soundless
and ravenous and white.