One day

One day, perhaps, we'll understand that we're not separate from one another.That you only get to be you because of me. And I only get to be me, because of you.And when we understand this, we'll also understand our profound capacity to bring out darkness, and dignity, in one another.We'll see that management practices that treat people as machines beget machines. That regarding employees, or citizens, as if they are untrustworthy breeds suspicion and alienation. That dealing with our loved ones with contempt breeds contempt. That when we don't listen to the stories and requests of others, they find other ways to get their needs met.And that the we who we become when we do all this is but a dark shadow of the we that we could be.

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We still have time to muster dignity, and graciousness, and courage

Yes, I admit it. In my pain and confusion and fear and hope and general agitation over what's happening in the political and social sphere this week, I've read far too many of the knee-jerk reactions that fill the press and the web. Some have been helpful, some have fuelled my anxiety but many - most I think - have been the work of but a few minutes or a few hours of thought, and have done little to deepen my understanding. Most of my reading has been an attempt to reassure myself, I realise, an unachievable project given the complexity of this moment.Which is why I am so grateful for the depth, nuance and care of Marilynne Robinson's writing, which I mentioned a few days ago. Today I have once again picked up her latest book 'The Givenness of Things' (published a few weeks before the election). I have so appreciated her willingness to write about US culture and society with a long view of history, with its cycles and currents, its upwellings and eddies, it setbacks and its upsets. Through it I have come to see what a narrow frame I've been bringing to my understanding of the election of Donald Trump to the US presidency. Robinson - if you're prepared to give her enough time and attention for her words to sink in - has so much to say that can help us to understand, that can support us in letting go of needing to know what is going to happen (as if we ever could!), and that can connect us again with our dignity and our hope.In the chapter I've read today, Awakening, she warns us of the dangers of these times:

'We have been reminded again lately how true it is that a small flame can cause a great fire. And that, to complete the allusion, the tongue is a flame.'

But she also warns us that we too easily make sense of events by what we think we know already, which inevitably leaves us with only a partial understanding:

'Americans are always looking for trends and projecting them forward to their extremest possible consequences, as if there were no correctives or countervailing forces. "The crack in the teacup opens / A lane to the land of the dead." But trends can be counted on to reverse themselves. I take much comfort from this fact... There is a truth that lies beyond our capacities. Our capacities are no standard or measure of truth, no ground of ethical understanding.'

Writing about the difference between a politics of ethics and a politics of identity (which all of us are liable to fall into when things get difficult), she says:

"Identity... appeals to a constellation of the worst human impulses. It is worse than ordinary tribalism because it assumes a more than virtuous us on one side, and on the other a them who are very doubtful indeed, who are, in fact, a threat to all we hold dear. Western civilization is notoriously inclined to idealize itself, so it is inclined as well to forget how recently it did and suffered enormities because it insisted on distinctions of just this kind."

And lastly, she reminds us that there is much we can do, wherever in the world we live:

"Recurrences, atavisms, are by no means uniquely, or even especially, an American phenomenon. What are we to do? Prayer would be appropriate, and reflection. We should take very seriously what the dreadful past can tell us about our blindnesses and our predilections... Since we have not yet burned the taper of earthly existence down to its end, we still have time to muster the dignity and graciousness and courage that are uniquely our gift... Each of us and all of us know what human beauty could look like. We could let it have its moment. Fine, but would this solve the world's problems? It might solve a good many of them, I think."

The Givenness of Things is a deeply intelligent and compassionate book, unafraid to be paradoxical and complex, with writing that is clear as a bell. And I think it's wonderful reading to help us make sense of these times.

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Jonathan Sacks on the Politics of Anger

I've been reading, a lot, over the past few days, and noticing how my mood swings as I read. Here, I read an article about the inevitability of the coming destruction, and I am afraid. There, I read that it's not going to be so bad, and that what is happening in our politics is just a downward blip on an upward trend, and I feel settled. Seeing this has helped remind me how changeable my feelings are, and how important it is that - whatever I'm feeling - to get to work on what needs to be done.What seems truest right now is that nobody knows what's going to happen, and of course we cannot know. Being afraid for too long doesn't help - it causes us to flee, or numb out, or freeze, or perhaps fight one another. We can instead admit that we don't know, that there's much at stake, and start to do whatever we can do to improve things. Sitting around, hoping our lives won't be affected and waiting to see how it turns out is surely an irresponsible strategy.Getting to work, even when we don't know how it's going to go.That's what hope is.Today I'd like to recommend that you read Rabbi Jonathan Sack's article from today's Daily Telegraph on the politics of anger, on paying attention to what's happening in our societies, and on what's called for in us in order to respond. As I've been writing these past few days, it seems to me one of our urgent tasks is to take active responsibility for the kind of society and economy we're creating. It's going to mean a lot more listening, much more speaking up, some difficult choices for all of us, much possibility, and our ongoing commitment to hope. For those of us who work in organisations, it's going to mean speaking up - starting now - so that we can be part of the change. Rabbi Sacks articulates this beautifully, and urgently, and his article is powerful call to action. Please read it.

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Taking responsibility for language

The impact of the US election result (and the EU referendum in the UK) is, of course, not limited just to changing who gets to pull the levers of power. In both cases the political result is accompanied by a shift in the language in which we all live. Quite suddenly, new forms of speaking and listening are coming to the fore, while others move to the background.In both countries it has quickly become much more acceptable to use harsh and violently discriminatory language - against minorities and against all those who disagree - in the public sphere, on the street, in our institutions. Simultaneously, certain kinds of speech have become less possible. This shift, of course, has been both modelled and encouraged by prominent political figures such as Donald Trump and Nigel Farage, and it has been amplified by press coverage and the now widely-reported 'echo chamber' of social media.But whatever politicians do, it's when our own ways of speaking with one another cheapen and coarsen in this way, and when it spreads into our communities and homes, our work and our casual social interactions, that the world changes. Actions that would not have been possible before become possible again, ordinary even. And as all this happens, we change too.As Marcus Zusack points out in his beautiful novel 'The Book Thief' - a passionate hymn to the power of language and silence to both destroy and to redeem - the profound and shocking shifts in German society during the dark times of Nazism were constructed first in words and only second in action. For most of my adult life I thought we had learned this, and that the horrors of two world wars had taught us the importance of a society that can largely take care of language and reason, even in the face of occasional lapses and challenges. Today, it seems to me that we need to learn it all over again.It won't do to imagine that the situation will get better by itself. It's going to take the purposeful day-to-day action of many of us to do this.Now is a time that we must renew our commitment to take care of language, cherish it, and restore its redemptive capacity. We have to work hard to protect the capacity of language to disclose truth and compassion, and not let it fall into a dangerous disrepair.It is going to take nothing less than each of us taking care of our own way of speaking and listening, our words and our silence. It's going to take us teaching our children how to stand apart from a public discourse which vilifies and demeans, which bends reason out of all recognition and tramples on dignity. It's going to mean us being vigilant about our own language and standing up daily (at work, on the bus) whenever language is used to wound and distort. And it's going to take from each of us - you and me - a daily and unending practice of defending the capacity of language to dignify and reveal, to connect and heal, and actively resisting its use to diminish and separate, to wound and make people afraid.

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Resources for these days

Some resources for these days in which the world looks so uncertain.(1) How we can respond to the US election resultA fabulous, wise 30 minute talk by Norman Fischer at Everyday Zen, which is actually part 7 of a series called 'Training in Compassion' but stands alone beautifully. What Norman has to say is both a reminder of our capacity to respond and a call to hope in that capacity right when we're least sure what to do.You can listen to the talk 'Keep the three inseparable' here, or pick it up on the Everyday Zen podcast (RSS or iTunes)(2) What to do when you're afraidIt's easy to be ruled by fear. Far better is to turn towards it - to have it rather than be had by it. Tich Nhat Hanh's excellent book Fear: Essential Wisdom for Getting Through the Storm teaches us how to do exactly that.(3) How to stand up for what's importantPowerful, fierce, compassionate words from my friend and colleague Joy Reichart, about how to find our strength when there's something important to be done, and how not to turn away.

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How I stay sane...

Walking, alone, for hours in the woodsLong, open hearted conversations with people who I care about, and who care about meWritingReading - especially that which evokes a deep connection with the human condition, or inspires awe and wonder at the universeMusicMeditation - a simple sitting, breath-following practice for 30 minutes to an hourHolding my childrenTeachingSpending time in communityBeing sure to not work all the timeAnd making sure that there are seasons in my life.  

The most important thing

Once again the feeling in my body is as it was the day after the UK referendum. Fear, and deep disappointment, and many imaginings (some wild, some not) about what is going to happen.So I have spent the morning walking, among tall trees and beside water. It's a practice that I rely on most to restore me to a sense of myself, and to a sense of my own capacity. And I've come to see (to be reminded, for I have seen this and forgotten this repeatedly) that there are at least two kinds of fear at play here.The first is fear for the world - in this instance what will come of electing to high office (and military command) a man who has done so much to inflame tensions, to foster hate and distrust, to demonise anyone who is 'other'. And the second fear is fear of myself - fear that I will not be able to respond, fear that I will not know what to do, fear that I will be overwhelmed.Seeing that makes it all the more important, I think, that I learn to be good at feeling fear (because fear is always a reminder of what is at stake and there is so much at stake here) rather than being ruled by it, and that I keep on learning to be good at finding my own capacity, and courage, and hope.Or, as Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav said over two centuries ago about the world and what's called for:All the world is a very narrow bridge.The most important thing is not to fear at all.Whatever will come now will come in large part because of what many people decide to do. Small actions, taken with others, become big actions. And this is going to mean many of us waking up, stepping outside the small horizon of our immediate concerns, and doing things. Actually doing things, rather than talking about it or hoping someone else will do something. It will mean actively helping one another, helping others beyond our circle, taking a stand every single time we encounter injustice or indignity or bigotry in politics or home or work, teaching ourselves, writing, speaking up, teaching each other, making art, asking big questions, thinking and feeling deeply.There is another Jewish principle that I think can be illuminating here - that of tikkun olam, or repair of the world. The premise? That the world is incomplete, broken, and has been for longer than any of us can remember. That it can be repaired, by our day to day actions, or neglected, in which case the tear in the fabric of the world increases. That repair is possible.It is this last part that I find so resonant today - just because so much is broken gives us no excuse to give up.Indeed it may well be the case that the rise of hate, disdain, ridicule, indignity, violence and indifference in the world is always an opportunity to learn how to better ourselves if we choose - how to be more adult, how to be less narcissistic in our concerns, how to become more active, compassionate, wise, organised, connected to one another and impassioned about life.I think we have an urgent responsibility to take up the practices that will have us be that in our homes, in our organisations, and in the wider world. And I think this can rightly be a cause for immense hope.And I am sure that we have to start, right away.

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Results

So now  we wait. And some time later today we'll know the result of this election that has many millions, in the US and outside, holding their breath.Crazily enough - and understandably enough - there is a part of me that is convinced that I can control how this goes. If I check the news often enough, if I screw up my eyes and wish enough, if I think hard enough, if I hold my breath for long enough, if I pray enough. I say this simply because I have indeed found myself doing all these things.  And not only is it clearly futile, it's also a source of great difficulty. When I'm in the grip of this story, which inflates both my power and my responsibility to extreme proportions, I'm also in the grip of resignation, frustration and despair. If I can't have it my way, the logic goes, I'm powerless and ought to be ashamed. And so I bounce between grandiosity and deflation, neither of which give me the best chance to be of use to the world.Which is why I think acceptance is so important. Tricky times may be on the way - have always been on the way. The world is going to go how the world is going to go, and it really is not in our power to change it. But acceptance is neither giving up nor tuning out. From knowing the true limits of our power, from ending our attempts to control what we cannot control, comes a new kind of power and responsibility. Instead of clinging on with a vice-like grip we can cultivate our capacity to respond with dignity, freedom and integrity. And, boy, we are going need all of these. And, while learning to be patient with our own difficulties, we can cultivate the capacity to attend, urgently, to the difficulties of others. Let's start with our own lives, and with those around us. And, yes, let's extend ourselves into the world so that we are not perpetuating cycles of fear, and denial, and mistrust. And let's know our limits, so we don't paralyse ourselves with how big the task is. And in the light of our limits let's each - and together - do what only we can do to repair what has already been torn asunder. 

The state of the world

I am coming to see that what I take to be the state of ‘the world’ is frequently a slew of silent assessments that have little to do with the world at large and everything to do with whether I feel accepted or rejected, welcomed or abandoned, moment by moment.

I am coming to see how often my sense of self is shaped by these assessments: I’m ok if accepted, deficient if abandoned. And that my actions, even the most subtle expressions that cross my face, are often an attempt to gain acceptance and avoid rejection.

I have started to closely observe the flow of emotions and bodily sensation when I’m talking with people and I can see that this too often follows the scheme. A tightening in the gut if there’s dissent, a racing of the heart if it seems I’m not understood, a gentle and settling calmness if my partner in conversation ‘gets it’ and is welcoming me home.

My self-assessments are often narrow and prone to error. I get to feel alive when I take myself to be accepted by others, and diminished when I take myself to be rejected. Neither of these often have much to do with other people's actual acceptance or rejection of me. They are more an ongoing acceptance or rejection of myself, by myself.

It may strike you that living in the midst of such a scaffold of assessments is a pale approximation of living fully in the world. It leaves out so much, particularly when the assessments themselves are inaccurate. But even when I'm right about how others see me it denies the full, rich, vibrant life that is possible when rejected and misunderstood. 

There are gifts in disturbance, in confusion, in disagreement, in screwing things up, in making a ruckus. There is life that comes from standing out, from being an annoyance, from having something fresh and challenging and different to say. The value of a human being has nothing to do with how we're seen.

The more I study this, the more I find the parts of me that are afraid, scared of being abandoned, hyper-vigilant to acceptance are just parts doing their very best to protect me. And that their narrow self-assessments, born of a much earlier time and place, cannot truthfully define a life, nor truly value a life.

And it is a great relief to discover that there are other parts that know and trust life much more deeply, that understand that I do not need protection, and are dedicated to my bringing myself ever more fully forward into the world while there is still time.

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Naming

How strange and beautiful names are.We know we are not our names. You and I are not a Justin or a Sue, a Peter or a Dan, a Zephaniah or a Helen, a Lucy or a Grace, even if that is what we have been called all our lives. Our names never capture us in our completeness, our wholeness, or our complexity.And yet we also know that our names are powerful. With them we can be referenced, talked about, called to account, questioned, criticised, recalled, honoured, resented, planned for, dignified and loved in ways that would not have been possible before human beings had names for one another.What we name becomes available to us. Naming brings us into relationship. Naming directly shapes who and what we'll notice and pay attention to. And naming shapes who and what we have to take care of, just as avoiding names shapes what we'll ignore.And this is why it's important we find out what we're resisting naming - in our families, organisations and politics. And why finding accurate names for what we're turning away from is a deep and necessary act of creativity, dignity, and responsibility for one another.

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