I'm working on Zeke's book as I type this. As I was sifting through hundreds of images, spinning on his story about this bird who wants to stand up for himself, I came across this image of the last few minutes of our workshop. I'm not sure what we were talking about, in the second the shutter released and captured the gestures, but the body language suggests some vulnerability on his end and a curiosity on mine.
(Suddenly, I have to swallow and blink a few times. Amazing how quickly those things are triggered.) ;))
Lots of emotions in me, on my sleeve, close to my eyes during this month. This world... filled with children making sense of things, on their own, with the normal things of growing up, becoming, learning to stand on their feet... I'm fascinated by the everydayness of the human experience and just how dynamic it can be when we intersect with someone different from us in almost every single way.
What does it do when we're *really* in a space of acknowledging one another? Would the shootings persist? Would the doors remain locked, or might they be propped open—even more? Would our self-interests melt, like couldn't-eat-fast-enough-ice-cream, if we were able to see the OTHER in their vulnerability?
I'm right there with you on this—making sense of it everyday, with all the other everyday-ers. I'm hoping for more opportunities to acknowledge that OTHER by tabling my own experiences in order to listen and sit across from theirs.
All love. All ways.