A Pathway To Sharing
The dictionary tells us that a bridge is “a structure carrying a pathway or roadway over a depression or obstacle.” Life is full of obstacles and depressions, problems and challenges. For me, the key is to recognize that the pathway or roadway is heading in a specific direction, and the traveler on this roadway has an intent to get some place. So those who build bridges must be aware of the traveler’s intent and want to support this movement to their desired destination.
When we choose to build bridges, we are building them, in part, for someone to arrive at safe and respectful relational spaces, where they can gain greater understanding and clarity. These special relational spaces are hubs for people to work better with other people. They are relationship centric spaces where deeper understanding can be created, explored, and shared.
Sharing our stories and listening to stories in these special spaces gives us “the capacity to situate oneself in a changing environment with a sense of direction and purpose and at the same time develop an ability to see and move with the unexpected,” explains John Paul Lederach in his book, The Moral Imagination: The Art and Soul of Building Peace (Oxford University Press, 2005). As he explains, people in these spaces can see “forward, backward, and sideways.” And in part that is the goal when engaging in the story telling and listening process.
Yet, the challenge to being present, not quiet, during story telling and the subsequent sharing does not go away even in the best of relationship centric spaces. For when we hear each other’s stories, Bishop Michael Curry reminds us, “You behave differently, hear them differently, react from a different place. It’s so much harder to hate when someone has shown you their heart.” I think the key point of his message is that when we engage in story telling and listening we are open to being changed, if not transformed, by the process. Whether we are the story teller or the listener, we as individuals are changed by the sharing, and our relationship with others is changed, too.
As Bishop Michael Curry continues, “Our stories are the song of our souls, and there is healing and hope when we hear them and share them.” This level of healing and hope are always present in the story telling process. We can not control it, and we can not force it to happen. The healing and hope that takes place is an outcome when the space and the pathway to the space is safe, respectful, and supportive.
Our choice in these unique spaces is to be fully present, non judgmental, and patient with the story telling process. Because once we do this, we grasp something that Michelle Obama recently wrote, “Our hopes can be greater than our fears.” And our healing can take place on multiple levels, mind, body, heart, and spirit. Story telling is a bridge that carries us over obstacles to a new and better places, plus new and better pathways to a more positive future for one and all.
Keep Vigil During Challenging Times
Recognizing the power and importance of story telling, and the bridges it creates during the sharing, and after the sharing, we must keep vigil over these special spaces during challenging times. We can not take them for granted, and we can not expect them to always be there if we do not create and maintain them. For they are “islands of sanity in the midst of a raging destructive sea,” referencing a Margret Wheatley phrase.
Now, the word “vigil” is not commonly used in the lexicon of most people. It is an old term and often references a very different mindset. The dictionary defines vigil as “a period of keeping awake during the time usually spent sleeping,” and “a remembrance of someone who has died.” The dictionary also states that a vigil “serves to offer spiritual and religious relief” during the passing of a loved one. The final definition is “a period of time where someone is quiet and in prayer.”
For me, the combination of the afore mentioned definitions point to the importance of maintaining our focus and attention on these special relational centric spaces. Rather than “sleeping,” i.e. taking them for granted and not maintaining their unique position for story telling, we need to remember their importance and recognize that over time they can generate spiritual and religious respite and relief. And when stories are told within them, they can generate insights and inner clarity plus an opportunity to be present and in quiet reflection about our individual and collective life journeys.
When we create these special places where we are standing on holy ground, listening and sharing, and when we build bridges to them and from them, we open ourselves up to life being more genuine and fulfilling. As the author Joseph Chilton Pearce once wrote, “here we meet people who are not so much grappling with the unknown as they are moving their knowns into their unknowns.” And stories build important bridges in this process. For they are constantly moving us out of solitude and fragmentation, and into a more wholesome and connected way of living.
© Geery Howe 2024
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