Sometime in July:
My mother, my sister, my daughters and I were sitting on a porch talking when we decided somewhat spontaneously to consult the Runes about our various life issues. In turn, each of us concentrated on a current situation of our life, reached into the bag, felt around until one of the little clay tablets felt right to us, pulled it out and placed it on the table. Then we read the corresponding text out loud and proceeded to analyze it collectively. The miracles of selective perception and empathy kicked in and we came to a crystallized statement on what attitude would help each of us to move on in the world. It was . . . amazing.
Daughter 2 got a new idea on how to extricate herself from the melodramatic rivalries among her teenage girlfriends.
Daughter 1, who was conflicted about her imminent move out of our house to a new apartment and new life, was told that ‘Now is a time of separating paths’ and ‘to not be bound by old conditioning, by old authorities’. She took a picture of the text and plans to frame it and hang it in her new bedroom.
Mom, a woman born two weeks before the 1929 Stock Market crash and subsequent Depression, was hesitant to ‘splurge’ on redecorating her apartment in the way that would make her happy. The runes told her to go for it and we all agreed enthusiastically.
Sister, who skipped her turn, having been disappointed by earlier messages done in solitude, has since admitted that it might have been better to consult the runes in the company of four empathetic female relatives who love her.
And me? I thought about all of the conflicts of the previous school year as I pulled out my rune. It was ‘Laguz’. Alternative names: ‘Flow. Water. That Which Conducts’. ’It told me to go back to trusting my instincts, to pull back, and to concentrate on ‘the receptive side of my warrior nature’. It said to me that I don’t have to fight anymore. I had done enough.
I carried the attitude with me into the first day of work and, sure enough, the place had a whole new feel to it. My energy was back. Coworkers were noticeably more attentive to one another; there were fewer interruptions and digressions. Sticky topics that might raise tensions were assiduously avoided. We were disciplined and productive. The year got off to a smooth start.
Fast forward to Monday afternoon:
The meeting was going on forever. And once again, we had drifted off onto a subject irrelevant to objective – which was to prepare a one hour presentation of our pedagogical principles for a parents’ forum on Saturday. This was the second meeting. The first one was four hours long and had gotten us nowhere near an end result. Which was why we were all sitting together again for a second attempt.
At some point we began listing all of the professional development courses and seminars we had done in the past ten years. Someone mentioned ‘GfK’ which stands for ‘Gewaltfreie Kommunikation’ (nonviolent communication). I remembered that the term was being thrown around a lot when I first came to the school. It was a course some of the teachers and parents had done in the year before my arrival. In those early days, I slowly figured out that it was the source of a few curious phrases people in the school liked to use. ‘I feel I am not being heard’ was my particular favorite. It was also the reason most of our meetings had a certain group therapy feel to them. Why they often started in silence, with the participants looking within themselves, reflecting, and then stating in turn ‘how they were there’. The final block of this course took place during my first year, but because I had not been there for all the previous sessions, I didn’t attend it.
Eight years later – at this interminable Monday meeting – someone add ‘GfK’ to the list on the flipchart and I murmured ‘That was before my time’.
‘NO IT WASN’T!’ my neighbor to the right blurted out.
I just glanced at him and then turned back to the discussion of the others which had moved on. I had no intention of engaging. Seconds later my attention was forced back to the neighbor because he was jabbing his finger into my arm.
‘YOU JUST MANAGED TO GET YOURSELF OUT OF IT!’ he said.
The accusatory tone of his voice could not be overheard. I looked at my arm where he had poked me and then into his face for a second. I am fairly sure my irritation was obvious because he seemed to startle. I just shook my head a little and went back to listening to the other discussion. My peripheral vision registered an uncomfortable smile and I think there was a little laugh – as if to say it was all meant as a joke. My instincts told me to just tune him out from then on. Eventually, the meeting ended, but not until after a date and time for Meeting #3 had been arranged.
It took me quite a while to realize the utter irony of the situation.
An earlier version of me would have spent hours ruminating, trying to come up with the perfect retort after the fact. Something about his need for a refresher course in aggression-free communication. Or maybe questioning if this was a demonstration of what he had learned there?
Instead, I channeled Laguz. I was water and conducted that aggression through and out of me. It flowed from the point of the finger jabbing up to my voice, circumventing my heart, and came out as almost humorous dinner table conversation. It flowed down through my fingertips, into words on a screen, soon to be jettisoned out into the ether.
Meeting #3 today finally brought concrete and final results. In a return to the new normal, it was a careful and civilized affair.