Hills and trees and houses are frosted with a thick marshmallow frosting of snow that dumped on us last night. The neighborhood is peaceful this morning, put into temporary time-out by Mother Nature. Everything is soft and quiet, no one is jumping up to do their Saturday chores and run out to Walmart. I think we mostly enjoy the forced opportunity to turn off the "go" switch.
So far the only activity of note has been at the several bird feeders hanging outside our window. Always a hot spot, today it's getting even more action, given the limited meal choices imposed by the snowy landscape. Yellow-bellied and downy woodpeckers feast on suet; the brilliant red cardinal stands out in relief against the black and white canvas of the yards below.
The harmonious buffet is suddenly disrupted by a few blackbirds that decide to start a brawl over the suet. Everyone flees the incursion and heads to a nearby copse to wait for the bullies to move on to other territory. There are no diplomats sent to broker a shared agreement; no avian Marshall Rosenberg is dispatched to build a bridge of empathy through communication. The language is clear and not negotiable: the weaker species yield to brute strength and aggressive force--it's just the way it is.
There are plenty of examples in the natural world--happily provided to us in real time via YouTube--of compassion and care among seemingly natural adversaries; the lamb does, on occasion, lie down with the lion--or at least the kitten. The anomaly fascinates and delights us, perhaps with the possibility that even the most primal programming can be overcome with instincts of empathy, nurture and play. Biologists, and social scientists of all stripes continue the debate over whether such models are tenable as examples for homo sapiens to emulate. Read more on one such theory in Frans de Waals book: The Age of Empathy: Nature's Lessons for a Kinder Society.
I am admittedly drawn to inquire and explore the issue of conflict among humans, the more "evolved" species. I want to believe that our human-ness gives us the capacity to act differently, despite the complexities, emotional power and biological legacy of survival that can become triggered when we engaged in even the most quotidian of disagreements.
The thought brings me back to the whole reason I started this blog, Listening for a Change: to ask questions, to venture into the territory of transformation. I am no intrepid explorer--a strange internal brew of something like anxiety mixed with hope prods me forward, usually when I want to run or look the other way.
For me the exploration starts with questions: How can conflict be constructive, rather than destructive? What are the tools we need to transform conflict into greater intimacy, trust, and fulfillment? How do we repair and reconcile relationships that have been severed through betrayal and abuse, even misunderstanding. What does it look like to forgive and to heal? Big stuff. I feel overwhelmed just writing it!
I don't know the answers, but often "I don't know" is a good map to use. I do know that my sweetheart and I are no longer a couple and that parting is painful. A friend and I are in a strained conversation about differing needs. A remark made by someone at lunch "pinched", and I retreated. There's no getting away from it or skipping over it. The way out is through. Hopefully we get to the other side without inflicting more wounds, without having amends to make, by forgiving and being forgiven.
Meanwhile, the hillside is filling with kids and dogs and sleds. Time takes time, healing can be slow going. And a good dose of fun can't hurt either.
So far the only activity of note has been at the several bird feeders hanging outside our window. Always a hot spot, today it's getting even more action, given the limited meal choices imposed by the snowy landscape. Yellow-bellied and downy woodpeckers feast on suet; the brilliant red cardinal stands out in relief against the black and white canvas of the yards below.
The harmonious buffet is suddenly disrupted by a few blackbirds that decide to start a brawl over the suet. Everyone flees the incursion and heads to a nearby copse to wait for the bullies to move on to other territory. There are no diplomats sent to broker a shared agreement; no avian Marshall Rosenberg is dispatched to build a bridge of empathy through communication. The language is clear and not negotiable: the weaker species yield to brute strength and aggressive force--it's just the way it is.
There are plenty of examples in the natural world--happily provided to us in real time via YouTube--of compassion and care among seemingly natural adversaries; the lamb does, on occasion, lie down with the lion--or at least the kitten. The anomaly fascinates and delights us, perhaps with the possibility that even the most primal programming can be overcome with instincts of empathy, nurture and play. Biologists, and social scientists of all stripes continue the debate over whether such models are tenable as examples for homo sapiens to emulate. Read more on one such theory in Frans de Waals book: The Age of Empathy: Nature's Lessons for a Kinder Society.
I am admittedly drawn to inquire and explore the issue of conflict among humans, the more "evolved" species. I want to believe that our human-ness gives us the capacity to act differently, despite the complexities, emotional power and biological legacy of survival that can become triggered when we engaged in even the most quotidian of disagreements.
The thought brings me back to the whole reason I started this blog, Listening for a Change: to ask questions, to venture into the territory of transformation. I am no intrepid explorer--a strange internal brew of something like anxiety mixed with hope prods me forward, usually when I want to run or look the other way.
For me the exploration starts with questions: How can conflict be constructive, rather than destructive? What are the tools we need to transform conflict into greater intimacy, trust, and fulfillment? How do we repair and reconcile relationships that have been severed through betrayal and abuse, even misunderstanding. What does it look like to forgive and to heal? Big stuff. I feel overwhelmed just writing it!
I don't know the answers, but often "I don't know" is a good map to use. I do know that my sweetheart and I are no longer a couple and that parting is painful. A friend and I are in a strained conversation about differing needs. A remark made by someone at lunch "pinched", and I retreated. There's no getting away from it or skipping over it. The way out is through. Hopefully we get to the other side without inflicting more wounds, without having amends to make, by forgiving and being forgiven.
Meanwhile, the hillside is filling with kids and dogs and sleds. Time takes time, healing can be slow going. And a good dose of fun can't hurt either.
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