Remembering Self-Care: An Interview with Ian Elliott - Shiatsu Therapist, Yoga Instructor & Awesome Humyn

Pascal and I just finished our Spring teaching at Ryerson. In April we quickly wrap up the winter semester and plunge directly into facilitating “intensive courses” – a whole semester condensed into one very long week.  This spring we taught 4 intensives in 5 weeks.  We absolutely love this format, but by the fourth Friday we are completely exhausted.

During the intensives I struggle to hold on to my healthy practices of self-care.  Ten plus hours in the classroom everyday makes it difficult to fit in moments where I consciously rejuvenate myself.  Sometimes the thought of hauling my butt to the yoga mat is too much to even consider.  More caffeine becomes my substitute.  

This is when I really need to be reminded to invest in my well-being.  Looking around and seeing others choosing healthy practices and self-care is essential.  Even if I can’t find time for a yoga session, a Shiatsu treatment or a salad, observing someone else make those self-supporting decisions acts as gentle reminder that gifting myself with moments of self-care is both important and valuable. 

Ian Elliott:
Shiatsu Therapist,
Yoga Instructor & Awesome Humyn

This Spring Ian Elliott has been that example for me.  Ian is our local Shiatsu therapist and yoga instructor (recently accepted into teacher training at Octopus Garden!).  When our student load reached a 160 students this Spring, Ian was the person that reminded me that whenever I get back to the mat is a good time to get back to the mat.  When my body started complaining about too much time at my keyboard, Ian reminded me to stretch, to rest, to take breaks and to breathe. 

Because we all need folks like Ian in our lives, I decided that an e-interview was the best way to share this treasure of a humyn-being with you.  I hope our conversation below gives you one more person to recall when a gentle reminder to practice self-care is just what you need.  

****

First of all, congratulations on being accepted into Yoga Teacher Certification at Octopus Garden!  I just watched your IndieGoGo video and it touches on your life before yoga.  What did life look like for you then?

My childhood wasn't a particularly stable one - my parents divorced when I was quite young and the person my mother remarried suffered from alcohol addiction. I entered adulthood having little notion as to what gifts I possessed, nor how I could put them to use to both help others and to sustain myself.  I worked high-pressure, low-wage jobs that rarely suited my personality, smoked three-quarters of a pack of cigarettes daily, and was sliding toward alcoholism myself.  It certainly wasn't all doom and gloom - there were some happy moments in there, and somehow, I always maintained an outer semblance of good health, but on the inside I was falling apart.  Still, there was always some part of me that was trying to solve this inner puzzle.  I knew that real, sustained happiness is what was being sought, but I had few examples to learn from and no idea how to find it within myself.

Finding those examples outside of ourselves is essential and you certainly act as one of those examples for me.  I'm curious what drew you to practice yoga?

In 2003, I had what I like to call an emotional "breakthrough" (as opposed to "breakdown").  My life as I knew it came crashing down, and I had no choice but to rebuild it from the ground up - a healthy tree requires strong, deep roots.  Within the year, I'd begun to learn how to meditate.  In 2005, I attended my first 10-day Vipassana course, where attendees spend up to 10 hours per day in silent meditation.  When I returned to the city, I realized that my body needed something more - I was constantly aching in one place or another and had a lower back that would go out on me if I sneezed or coughed too hard.  At the time, I was living in Scarborough and working downtown.  My favourite place to spend time was (and often still is) in Kensington Market.  I noticed that there was a yoga studio at Augusta and Oxford named "Pure Intent" (sadly, now closed), and finally, one fateful day, I decided to go in and inquire about classes.  There certainly wasn't any burning desire to practice at the time, just a cautious curiosity.

It's refreshing to hear that there was no major epiphany or lightening bolt, just a growing desire to feel better in your body and the courage to walk into a yoga class.  What was that very first yoga session like? Do you remember how it felt?

My first class was a Restorative session, using lots of props: bolsters, blankets, straps and even folding chairs.  I remember that as my instructor, the late Jenna Morrison, asked us to focus on our breath, my body immediately began to release long-held stores of tension.  My mind was still filled with insecurities; having something to prove, wanting to be the best in the room, even though all we were doing was laying on over-sized pillows and breathing!  I also remember that despite my insecurities and accompanying attitude - or more likely, because of them - I was made to feel like the work I was doing was the most important work in the room.  That's a secret I learned from Jenna - every student should be made to feel that way about their practice!

It's a secret you've learned well!  I remember my first one-on-one yoga session with you. I was nervous, even though we'd already known each other for a few years, because there were no other students to hide behind.  But I quickly relaxed.  It did feel like I was doing really important work on that mat regardless of all my grunts and groans.  After practicing with you for the almost a year now, I can honestly say you're a fabulous teacher.  Which makes me curious as to why you want to pursue Yoga Teacher Certification?

I'm hungry for knowledge!  I view yoga as a lifelong study, which means I will always remain a student (in Zen this is called Shoshin, or "beginner's mind").  Better student = better teacher.  I'm also excited for the opportunities that certification will create for me.  While there are many accomplished, non-certified instructors out there, accreditation, especially from a reputable, respected school, opens a lot of doors.  One of my goals is to eventually host retreats outside of the hustle and bustle of the city, somewhere quiet and rural.  While that may be some years away, certification feels like a natural and logical part of that progression.

We should chat about the retreat idea in the future.  Hosting retreats is one of our down-the-road dreams and I can easily envision your teaching style translating well to a rural setting.  Of course, as your student I have my own perceptions of your approach to teaching (calm, balanced and gentle come to mind).  How do you understand and describe your approach to teaching?

I endeavour to teach with all of the joy, compassion and care that I've instilled in myself through various holistic practices.  

When I began yoga, I was anxious and in pain.  I carried a lot of fear, and fear causes the body and mind to exist in a contracted state.  From a teacher's perspective, this was actually a great start point.  It made it much easier for me to relate to the various conditions students bring to practice.  Very few people come to me saying, "I feel amazing, please teach me yoga!"   In class, we work toward the opposite of fear, which is expansiveness.  When fear is set aside, trust and an open heart take its place, and one can't help but want to explore this new found expansiveness through practice.

It doesn't matter if it's physical, emotional or spiritual balance that's being sought, as long as some benefit is derived from practice.  My hope is that students will take whatever it is that they gain from their time on the mat, out into their day-to-day lives.  This is the essence of yoga.

How true!  After a session on the mat I feel bigger and far less restricted in multiple ways.  It's a glorious feeling, and yet sometimes I opt out of the hard work of yoga and just lay down for a Shiatsu treatment.  I always appreciate that I can request either yoga or shiatsu and know there's no judgement coming from you.  How do you see your yoga practice intersecting with your work as a Shiatsu Therapist?

This is an area I am constantly researching!  With my shiatsu training, knowing where the meridians (the body's energetic circuitry, so to speak) run, I'm constantly aware of the internal benefits of a regular yoga practice - how certain poses are beneficial to certain organs, how you can take an active role in correcting imbalances in your body, the style and pace of practice that's best for any given day, time of year, etc.  Many of my shiatsu clients have become yoga students, having caught on to the fact that the two are mutually beneficial.

I'm also very fortunate that Scott Davis, one of the program directors at Octopus Garden (where I'll be completing my teacher training), is also a licensed acupuncturist who for some time has been finding many interesting ways to connect the two modalities.  Last summer with Scott, I completed a 5-day intensive that linked Traditional Chinese Medicine's 5-Element Theory with yoga, and I'm eagerly anticipating further exploration of this vast field of knowledge.

Speaking of constant research...I'm always searching for a better understanding of how exactly can we create and cultivate peace in our world: what actions can we take, words can we use and decisions can we make?  This is my on-going research into "peacing for peace".  Can you offer us any insights? How do you peace for peace?

I peace for peace by assisting people from all walks of life, in finding health and maintaining that vital connection to their own inner peace.  It's pretty hectic out there, so it helps to be happy and calm on the inside.

Interested in connecting with Ian? Click below!

(Full Disclosure: No one at Peace Flag House ever receives any reimbursements, gifts or kick-backs for our kind words.  We do accept good karma.)

From the Outside Looking In: From the Inside Looking Out

The nausea washed over me just before I clicked the "publish" button. I reminded myself that vomiting on the keyboard would be gross.

My recent post on compassion fatigue and martyrdom pulled the curtain back on a few of my less-than sparkly thoughts and feelings. It pushed me to drop my party face; that shiny, polished, put-together image that I like to trot out in public situations. Publishing that post was terrifying and had all my slimy green monsters of self-doubt yelling at a piercing decibel "STOP! Or you'll PUKE!".

I posted anyways. And my keyboard is fine.

My green monsters of self-doubt were silenced by the waves of positive and affirming feedback from friends and strangers. I soaked in the loving vibes and ego-booting compliments for three glorious weeks.

The other day Patricia, an insightful womyn and thoughtful nurse, mentioned to me a subtle theme she had noticed in her own thinking as she responded to my post. Now that it is week four and I have gently returned to earth after a stint amongst the clouds, I could heard it too. It was emerging in a number of comments like this one:

"I had no idea you felt that way! You are always so patient and together. I thought it was just me that felt frazzled and cranky."

Sound familiar? Have you ever looked at someone, their work, their accomplishments, their relationships, and thought with awe (and perhaps a little bit of spite), "They have it all together and I'm a hurricane of procrastination, exhaustion and inner turmoil"?

I sure have.

Gazing at people I admire I believe in their party face. From the outside looking in, I accept that their public self is their true, complete, pulled-together, daily self. I watch with amazement as they seemingly float through life and I tell myself that their reality, unlike mine, must be soaked in enlightenment.

In contrast, I know my own internal world in gritty detail, with all of its petty thoughts and shaky self doubt. I see my own faults with exacting clarity and from the inside looking out, I assume that everyone else can also see my wobbly self confidence and crabby attitudes.

I call this thinking outside in - inside out. The whole process only takes a moment, but in its wake I am often left paralyzed, believing that I'll never measure up in comparison to everyone else. 

It's this outside in - inside out comparison that Patricia and I were hearing underneath the compliments. Over the last three weeks I've seen too many people offer me lovely words and then sigh, look into the distance and visibly deflate under the pressure of this comparison.
 
This comparison is a nasty mind trick we're playing on ourselves. We can only ever know someone else from the outside, where we enjoy a panoramic view of a person, based solely upon what they choose to share with us. The sticky details of their lives are blurry and some parts, the ones many of us carefully tuck out of sight, are lost to the haze of distance.

In contrast, we always know ourselves from the inside, including all the up-close details of each crusty bad mood and surly thought. These two perspectives are created by vastly different sets of information, yet we mistakenly equate our long distance view of someone else with our zoomed in perspective of ourselves. It's like comparing a rose bush with a single flower: only at close proximity can we see the thorns.

If we're all crumbling beneath the weight of outside in - inside out thinking, who's going to get on with work of making peace a verb? Believing that our distanced view of someone is accurate and comparing ourselves to this glossy perspective is dangerous. We smooth over each others' struggles, while harshly judging ourselves. It fools us into believing that we are hopelessly lacking. We loose faith in our capacities. Sighing deeply, we step back and leave the work to someone else.  

Let's make a deal. I will keep sharing posts like this, despite the nausea and risk to my keyboard, that pull back my party face and gives you a glimpse of my icky green monsters of self doubt.
In return, we all have to practice naming outside in - inside out thinking when it starts to crush us and we have to practice remembering that behind every shiny, admirable person there is a real humyn struggling through moments of frustration, irritation and exhaustion just like we are.

I don't think the world needs more glossed-over heroes.
We need more real people that wrestle with all the sticky, humyn details of living.

We need us.

  

The One Where I Drop the F-Bomb

Quietly Inside, 2013, Sarah Jean

February is the Wednesday of Winter. We're stuck in seemingly unending snowbanks, struggling to remember what the colour green looks like and waiting for the next weather alert to be issued.

The snow is certainly getting to me but the worst part of the past week has been my overall sense of not giving a fuck about anything.

I know. I just threw down an F-bomb (and it wasn't F for feminist).

KC  listened quietly as I cried over our coffees at Crema on Sunday. Oh yes, I cried publicly. Mostly about an endless feeling of falling behind, my stalled energy for community engagement and a sense of teeth-grating frustration over-riding my once abundant empathy and compassion. I felt tired, fatigued and hopeless.

The folks at the table next to us retreated across the room.

KC is an incredible listener and deeply insightful friend. She had many thoughtful questions, but two words in particular stood out: Compassion Fatigue.

According to Compassion Fatigue Solutions, Compassion Fatigue "refers to the profound emotional and physical erosion that takes place when helpers are unable to refuel and regenerate". The empathy and compassion required of people in supporting roles can become the emotional "cost of caring" when time and space are not sufficiently available to regain a sense of inner balance and energy.

From The Declassified Adoptee

That sounded familiar.

As an educator, particularly a social justice educator, people often honour me with their stories, trusting me as a safe space for disclosure. As an activist, even an activist focused on creating positive social change, I read, watch and analyze material on social injustices, trauma and oppression daily. In time, I start to loose my ability to see the balance of positive and negative in the world around me.

My skewed perspective seems to translate into a pattern of self-sacrifice. I start to work late, goading myself to get just one more thing done. I get up early, immediately thinking "Go! Go! Go!". I reject making time for fun, feeling guilty if I take a break from "caring". I put off doing the things that rejuvenate me. I keep saying Yes. I keep listening and supporting even when I feel overwhelmed. I keep going, unable to admit I need a break because I want to be a "good" person.

This is very embarrassing to write. I hear my honest emotional and physical erosion behind those words, but I also hear threads of self-importance. I can see my desire to offer support slipping into a form martyrdom, where I sacrifice myself on the alter of social change and community engagement, telling myself that I must do this work or it won't get done. It's like an internal version of Smokey the Bear pointing his paw at me, saying "Only YOU can stop homophobia, oppression, racism, sexism, gender violence, etc., etc., etc.".

The worst part is that I know Compassion Fatigue exists and I know listening to another person's pain can take a toll. I know that I will get tired and that I will need a break. I know this yet I don't put in place ways of supporting myself and I ignore self-care. It's here that martyrdom rears its slobbery head.

Martyrdom is an incredibly seductive mind trap. I feel so important when I'm running around "helping" and "caring". That quiet little assumption that everything rests upon ME makes it so easy to spin tales about how I MUST keep giving because SO MANY people depend upon me. It lets me believe that if I took a break the world would surely fall into a (worse) pit of despair. Despite the pressure these assumptions place on me, that feeling of self-importance is addictive.

Since coffee with KC I've taken some time to rest, paint and knit. The dishes have piled up a bit, there are dust bunnies in the corners and some phone calls have gone unanswered. A few days of breathing room have given me enough perspective to see that for me Compassion Fatigue quickly leads to martyrdom and martyrs aren't particularly useful. Deep, dark circles under my eyes and a cranky, tired Sarah Jean does not bring positive change to our world.

In fact, the many ages of successful humyn existence that have unfolded without my direct involvement suggests my assumption of self-importance may not be, ahem, accurate. This little reality check indicates that I could indeed safely take a break from changing the world without cataclysmic disaster. In fact, it appears that we all could take some time out to rest and rejuvenate.

I'm hoping this post can help me, and maybe us, keep this perspective in mind as I trudge through the remainder of the winter.

From Radical Self Care

 

Nice is Nice

"Nice is nice," was Sue's signature phrase. As a teenager I would groan a little and roll my eyes. I did not want to be nice, nor did I feel particularly nice. But because I respected her, I would smile and through my gritted teeth I would try to speak nicely.

Last month Pascal and I started teaching a new semester of our class on Homelessness at Ryerson University. I am nervous at the beginning of each new semester and with every new group, but this semester my anxiety was particularly high. I was nervous, scared and standing all alone in front of a room full of strangers.

In these moments of stress I have to admit that I'm tempted to be rather cranky. I don't want anyone to know how scared I feel. I don't want anyone to know that I feel like an imposter. I want to hide these paralyzing feelings behind a few sarcastic comments and a snarky tone. It is so tempting.

But, nice is nice.

It has taken me awhile to realize that Sue's words weren't a silly gimmick to convince crabby teenagers like myself to play nicely.  Our words have the power cut us down or build us up in a single moment. Neurological research is demonstrating that words, such as those slung in situations of emotional abuse or with the intention to hurt, impact how our brains develop and have lasting ramifications into adulthood. Hurtful words trigger the same pain response in the brain as physical hurt - we do feel the sting of words as "real" pain. How we speak to one another has a far greater impact on our brains and well-being than simply hurt feelings.

In the classroom 45 blank and bored faces were staring back at me, waiting for information or knowledge or something mildly entertaining. Sue's voice nudged me: nice is nice.


Sigh...

I took a deep breath, introduced myself and promptly said "I'm scared." I shared with them how afraid I was to be the teacher, to be in front of a group of strangers, wanting them to like me. I was honest and (gasp!) vulnerable.  I even told them that I was sharing all of this because a wise womyn told me that "nice is nice". I was terrified and I was nice.

And remarkably so were they. Sure there were a few eye rolls and perhaps a slight groan, but 45 blank, bored faced magically turned into 45 smiling faces. All it took was some nice.

It's taken me years but I think I finally get it. Sue knows how powerful our words are and she consciously uses her words to peace for peace. She builds peacefulness within herself and her community. And she has patiently waited for me to figure this out for myself.

Nice is nice.
Yes, it is.

Activism is just another way of singing along.

We lost Pete Seeger this week.  He had a few years on me and I admittedly wasn't even a twinkle in my mother's eye while he was tangling with Congress and being blacklisted from television performances. His life is somewhat historical to me, but not his music. The music remains vital and relevant.

Pascal and I keep a copy of Rise Up Singing in the car for long trips and good friends.  Pascal is a wonderful singer and l am not. We still manage to meet in the middle and sing ourselves into smiling. I think the joy of singing along is one of the best lessons Pete brought to us. He encouraged us to connect with our communities and neighbours, working with one another to build the world we want.  

He taught us that activism is just another way of singing along. 

Today We Remember that Peace is a Verb

Nelson Mandela,

A Lifetime of Peacing for Peace

 

and

 

All the Wimmin Who Have Lost Their Lives to Gender-Based Violence

December 6, 2013

Canada's National Day of Remembrance & Action on Violence Against Women

 

May we remember that peace is a verb.

 

 

 

 



Security is Cultivated, Not Enforced

Frank Meyers. (Photograph by Cole Garside)

This is Frank Meyers.  He has refused to give up his land for Joint Task Force 2 (JTF 2), the Canadian military's counter-terrorism force.  JTF 2 is receiving a $240 million training facility at CFB Trenton that will sit on 990 acres of Quinte West farm land.  Meyers is 85 years old and his family had been on the farm since King George III granted the land to his Loyalist forefather, Captain John Walden Meyers, over 2 centuries ago.  For 6 years he said no to selling his land and now he's being expropriated by the federal government.

What is this story about?

Let's set aside for the moment the crassness of expropriating a senior citizen, the disregard for productive agricultural land and the dismissal of history from a government that couldn't stop glorifying the 100th anniversary of the War of 1812.  As well as the 11 other land owners that have already (reluctantly) signed over their land, providing JTF 2 with approximately 900 acres to work with, begging the question: why strong-arm an elderly gentleman over 90-odd acres?

Now what is this story about?

Meyers' struggle to save his family's farm pulls into view a fear circulating in Canada that easily outweighs both logic and decency.  

JTF 2's website names our collective fear very clearly: "As the events of 11 September 2001 have shown, the threat of terrorism comes from an elusive, sophisticated and determined enemy. In order to maintain an edge in this operational environment, JTF 2 is continuously developing new capabilities, technologies, and tactics". 

We fear a vague enemy, loosely defined as "terrorists".  They are said to be gaining tactical and technical advantage, targeting our undefined common interests and directly threatening our individual safety.  The only solution acknowledged by the Canadian Government is to respond in kind: we must also become a greater militarized threat, remaining at "the forefront of tactics and technology to give us the advantage over our enemies".  In the effort to become our enemies' enemy we will calmly invest half a billion dollars in military development, put 990 acres of agricultural land out of food production and take away an elderly man's home. 

This may be the only solution discussed, but it is not the only solution available.

Imagine for a moment what Canada would look like if we confronted terrorism outside of the limitations of an "eye for an eye" ideology.

Rather than security certificates, Canada would address the unrelenting poverty and income polarization that make the Golden Dawn and Al Shabaab options for the desperate.

Rather than social assistant rates that force recipients to choose between rent and food, Canada would invest in food security for everyone.

Rather than overcrowded emergency shelters and crumbling social housing, Canada would invest in affordable housing.

Rather than student's graduating with debilitating debt, Canada would invest in free post-secondary education.

National security is only tenuously maintained by ever-larger weaponry.  By stepping outside of the militarization framework Canada could work towards long-term safety and security by investing in people, both at home and abroad. 

We learned this process after WWII.  The slaughter and terror of the early 20th century had given us insight.  We looked down the road of continued violence and turned back, choosing instead to invest in one another.  We participated in developing the United Nations, The Universal Declaration of Humyn Rights and our national social security programs.  For a brief historical moment we learned that responding to threats with military violence only created a cycle of escalating destruction.

Sadly we forgot, somewhere between then and now, that security is cultivated, not enforced.

Frank Meyers' story is about fear and force.
But it certainly doesn't have to be.

That Takes Ovaries!

I was procrastinating on Facebook the other day when the phrase This Is What a Feminist Looks Like caught my eye.   A young womyn in the US had participated in her university's feminist action campaign by posting a photo of herself on Facebook holding a sign reading "this is what a feminist looks like".

Someone had stolen her photo and re-posted her picture as this:

When Facebook refused to take down the picture, stating that having her photo stolen did not violate her privacy rights, the womyn's response was this:

And this: We Are What Feminists Look Like  - a tumblr asking folks to submit their pictures showing the multiple faces of feminism.

Damn Right!

The consensus around the house is that this young womyn encompasses the meaning of courage.  Despite the meanness of the meme, she wasn't stopped or silenced.  In fact, the meanness made her voice of resistance even louder.  She didn't lash out, try to find the individual responsible for this piece of feminist and fat bashing and name them a bad person.  And she didn't take down her photo, hide her face and allow the meanness to limit her response.  Instead, she continued to "dare to be fat and feminist in public".  She was creative and clever.  She looked for the essence of the issue, misogynist fat bashing, and then she invited the rest of the world to join her in responding with "kick ass feminist activism".  Check out the tumblr...it's filling up.  I'm in awe.

I could say that this Wonder Womyn has balls, but that would be a disservice to her internal strength and power.  She's got ovaries.  Contrary to popular mythology, strength and power aren't demonstrated by "balls" (the two most sensitive pieces of body hanging between the two largest muscles).  Strength takes ovaries - an internal commitment to nurturing a better future, regardless of the meanness of today.  Power takes ovaries - the dedication to work for that better future despite the insults and threats of the external world.

So what does a feminist look like?
Like strength.
Like power.
Like her.

James, Feminist Extraordinaire.

Pascal, the Fabulous Feminist.

Sarah Jean,
 Feminist avec Spinning Wheel.

Suspicions Confirmed: Humyns are Supportive and Caring

Mural in Athens, Greece. (photo Sarah Jean Harrison)

The Neighbours United for Inclusion Community BBQ on September 14th confirmed a few of my suspicions about humanity.  Although we like to keep it quiet, us humyns are just waiting for a moment to spring into action and shower each other with love and support.  I saw this with my own eyes on Saturday when 300+ neighbours and friends came out to support our belief in LGBTQ inclusion.

Anecdotal you say?  What about Syria?  What about Egypt?  What about the Washington Navy Yard and bullying and drone missiles and hate crimes?  All real.  But not necessarily accurate.

People hide a little secret underneath their stand-offish demeanor and don't-involve-me attitudes.  Behind all that reserve most of us are waiting like an excited five year old for a moment to emerge where we can leap in to support someone else.

How can I make such a claim?
By studying disasters. 

Hostage Crisis, Nairobi, Kenya 2013 - Stay home in fear?  Hide out inside? Not in Nairobi where people are streaming into the city to donate blood, bring food, make tea and sing to one another.  The crisis continues but "everybody has someone else taking care of them".

 

Hurricane Katrina, New Orleans, 2005 - Despite the inaccurate rumours of roving gangs and looting, people (locally and globally) rushed in to help organize food, shelter, boats, mold scrubbing, rebuilds, clothing and volunteers.  Pascal was a part of leading a class from Ryerson University to New Orleans, focusing on rebuilding homes in the Lower Ninth Ward and St. Bernard Parish.

Black Out on the Eastern Seaboard, 2003 - Chaos in the streets? Random smash and grabs?  Nope.  But a lot of neighbourhood BBQs and potlucks, checking in on elderly community members and staring at the milky way.

When we face disaster our immediate response is not chaos and greedy self-preservation.  Instead we rush to help one another.  Rebecca Solnit's, A Paradise Built In Hell, documents instance after instance of people reacting to disaster with support and love.  Her research challenges that nasty rumour that humyns are brutish and cruel; the reality is that we jump in to help every time.

But here's the trick: we have to understand exactly what we can do to help.  We need to see where
to act and what to do.  If we can't see a space to enter the situation then we are likely to stand aside and remain passive to the most horrific of situations.  During a disaster, that opportunity to see where we can be of support is clear; get water, cook food, build shelter, get to safety, dig for survivors, treat wounds, attend a BBQ, fly a Rainbow flag.  When we are given the opportunity (accidentally or intentionally) to act out our capacity for kindness and support, we will bound into action.

Disaster + Clear Opportunity to Help = People Respond with Support

It happened in our neighbourhood.  Peace FIag House and our neighbours had (a small) disaster of slashed tires, stolen flags and hate graffiti.   We dreamed up a community BBQ as a response.  The magic formula was in place: disaster + clear opportunity to help = people respond with support.  The response for the two weeks leading up to the BBQ was person after person jumping in to help: services, time, work, labour, food and items all freely given.

Add it to the list of how fabulous we can be to one another.

We have many examples thrown at us depicting how beastly and terrifying we are to each other.  But I think this horrific behaviour is the exception, not the rule.  Our consistently supportive reaction to disasters indicates that our first humyn compulsion is to care for each other.

Perhaps peacing for peace isn't as difficult as we may think.