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.
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 …
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 …
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 …
Comfort Oh, the comfort– the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person– having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all right out, just as they are, chaff and grain together; certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and then with the breath of kindness blow the rest away. –Dinah Maria Mulock Craik (1826-1887) Sweet to find that faithful hand in the space between me and the other. via easily amazed.