Posts tagged with "knoydart"

Natural Change – Steps in Personal Learning

A few weeks now since we were on the Knoydart experience but I am happy to say that the effect is still with me and I am enjoying my periods of silence.

The solo was and is still a very powerful motivator for change in a individual. Came across interesting quote this week ;

“Silence is the absolute poise or balance of body, mind and spirit. The man who preserves his selfhood is ever calm and unshaken by the storms of existence … What are the fruits of silence? They are self-control, true courage or endurance, patience, dignity and reverence. Silence is the cornerstone of character.”

~Ohiyesa, Santee Sioux~

Making the story real

The introduction kick starts the process, the communications start and then the Induction meeting happens and suddenly the story becomes real for us all and its a move into learning a new style of leadership change with an open mind. The arrival was exceptional as it was probably one of the hottest days we had…blue skies and calm seas and Knoydart in all its glory. The settling in afternoon at the Old Byre period was good and let us become accustomed to our surroundings and we were given an introduction to the format of the coming week, a welcome meal and sound nights sleep.

The morning was an introduction to the tepee and the challenge of seeking out objects that took our attention and to reflect on them from our point of view. Interesting when we started to look at Maslow’s Hierarchy and where we were fitting in. A steady climb followed in the afternoon up one of the hills, fighting with bracken and pot holes, and getting us ready for the ” solo” day we had a period of time on our own to feel what it was like. the work of a spider in weaving its web is truly amazing and one can see how it inspired Robert the Bruce..The prep talk followed that evening and all rules and safety were covered. The ” solo” is simiar to the Indian / Aboriginal passage into adult life and one which we had many years ago when you left school and entered the world of work at a very early age to work in the fields, factories or mines.

Signs, portents….and hedgehogs

Knoydart is a week in the past and already it feels slightly unreal.  The hideous cold that mugged me on the journey home has finally gone but the email backlog remains.  

But Knoydart hasn’t really left me; I’m thinking about things a bit more, wonder about the significance of things a bit more and exploring what’s in my head a little more often. 

In our final sessions in Knoydart we talked about making meaning out of the things we see and experience.  Dave had said that may people who do workshops like this experience strange things when they get home.  I smiled wryly and thought “yeh, some people”. 

Then I opened the front door and found the hedgehog on my doorstep.  I live in suburbia, surrounded by concrete and tarmac.  Around here hedgehogs are sad, flat things you see on the dual carriageway that leads out of town; they don’t usually knock at the door.  It’s also pretty clear that my unexpected guest is in trouble; wobbling around in circles, much smaller than he should be at this time of year.  I think, “Mother Nature knows best, don’t interfere, leave it alone”.  That particular thought lasts a nanosecond before it is booted out by the thought, “aye right, if humans hadn’t tarmaced over nature, that hedgehog would be fat and hibernating by now”. 

So a cardboard box, sawdust and shredded newspaper have been assembled.  Kitchen scales have been sheepishly borrowed from a neighbor to confirm our guest is less then the 650g needed to survive hibernation.  And the cat is sulking as her meaty chunks and crunchies are offered to the interloper.

Two days later I’ve reverted to being ten years old.  I know I should respect him as a fellow living thing, but damn, being cute is an effective survival strategy!  ‘Mr Prickles’ as he’s now known, is no longer hypothermic and he’s putting on weight, but sadly he can’t stay.  Our house isn’t really suitable for long term hedgehog care so I’ve sponsored a hedgehog pen at the SSPCA wildlife rescue centre and they will be collecting him tomorrow.

 I resist the urge to wave as the blue van drives off but I ‘m left wondering, what does this all mean?

Soul-O

I have a story to tell, it is in 49 parts:

1.      I am more afraid than I expect when I leave.  It is too dark to see the lay of the land.

2.      I soon realise that I will never get to where I want to go and so I settle on here – a grassy knoll by a tidal inlet that flows to the sea.

3.      My place is imperfect.  As the day breaks I see that I am too close to a footpath (Knoydart in a Knutshell) and I can see the rooftops of two dwellings.  Over the day people pass; two ladies speaking German, a family with four small children, Penny the beagle has two walks today.  I so wanted to be more remote.

4.      My sleeping bag is my best friend.

5.      I sleep on an off for what feels like a long time.  I am very comfortable.

6.      I wonder if I will be able to commit to my imperfect place for the whole day.

7.      I spend time thinking about my pursuit of perfection.

8.      I ask if I am in the right place…nothing!  I resolve to commit to my place.

9.      I decide to create a circle of contemplation.  It will be 10m in diameter.  I will mark it with stones.  I choose quartz after making peppermint sparks with Morag last night.

10. I carry 125 stones from the riverbed.

11. I sleep again in my marked place.

12. I am woken by a strange knocking sound; a kind of ‘gloop, gloop’.  It is the water against the bank – the tide is coming in.  It has risen a lot while I have slept.  I move my ground mat and my sleeping bag to the top of my circle of stones.

13. I feel vaguely stupid.  I recognise my inexperience.  I am a learner.

14. Wide-awake, I listen to the chatter in my head.  I wait for it to quieten.

15. The drizzle comes.  I get into my survival bag.  The drizzle stops.  I fold my survival bag and find that it won’t go back into its original pack.  Once it’s out there, there’s no putting it back!

16. The sounds are magnified.

17. I hear them building ‘affordable housing for Knoydart’.

18. I hear two gunshots reverberate around the hills.  I see the image of the stag being dismembered in the game larder yesterday.

19. It’s the dry leaves that make the most deafening sound as they crash to the ground.

20. The rutting stags roar relentlessly.

21. As I circle for the 21^st time, I cry for my father.  He died in my 21^st year and I feel present in that distant time.  Dad feels very close here.

22. The tide has gone right out.  The landscape has completely changed.  It has revealed itself.

23. I realise that I am here to experience the turn of the tide.  I will wait.

24. I paint the view.  It is a poor painting but I commit to it.

25. It seems so simple; go out when day breaks, come home when night falls.  Why is it so hard to do the simple things?

26. My sleeping bag is still my best friend.

27. The day is uneventful, a little mundane and truly amazing.

28. I imagine creating rituals to help me ‘let go’ but settle on watching the receding tide – a ritual not of my making.  My ritual is to be still and watch.

29. I write in my journal.  I try to be in a stream of consciousness.  I write too much.  I stop writing.

30. I think about my friend and his present pain – his pain is very close to me now.

31. I consider my silty pond.  I wonder if I am in a constant state of stirring, never allowing the silt to settle?  Today I try to let the silt sink slowly to the bottom.

32. I trust this process.

33. I trust this process because I feel I am walking in the footsteps of a much older tradition.  I value this connection with the past.

34. This is a BIG thing to do.

35. I wonder what we have gained since the industrial revolution?

36. I go for a pee.  There’s an empty can of Tennents in the gorse bush.  Here for God’s sake, even here!

37. The greyness of the day makes it difficult to discern the earth turning.

38. I am still in the same place.  I have made a commitment.  I feel strong.

39. Funny how solo could be soul-o.

40. I think of my sister and her new solo time.  I wonder how she is.

41. The difficulties of earlier I now see as resistance – resistance – resistance.  I’m glad this has melted away.

42. I feel I could stay all night.

43. I think today has been my transition from one phase to the next.  Nothing remarkable has happened, I haven’t seen a golden eagle, I haven’t seen a stag, I haven’t cried with loneliness or fear but I have designated this day.  It is a good day to designate.  I name this day as the gentle ebb of one phase of being into acceptance of my next phase of being.

44. The geese fly over reminding me of home.  I remember my first blog.  I think of finding my way back from a distant place.  I think of finding my way back to myself.

45. The landscape turns monochrome.

46. Dawn and dusk are bookends and today they are a mirror image.

47. I walk around my circle of stones 49 times.  I give thanks for each year as I travel.  I leave.

48. The tipi glows like a beacon.  Emotion catches my throat as I approach the threshold.  I feel strong.  The tears surprise me.  I feel the strength of being back in the group.  I feel very held in this moment.

49. This morning, walking towards the tipi in silence, the landscape feels different.  No longer just my ‘view’, I have lived here – for a while.

That’s my story.

The hunter home from the hill

We have been blessed by cloudless blue skies and autumn sunshine since we arrived in Knoydart. Settled weather for the unsettling process. Today has been a day of highs and lows, lightness and darkness; the beauty of the place and our various expressions of fragility; the warmth of the sun and the emotional shadowplay.  Round the campfire, sprawled on the beach, and from our hard won positions on the hillside: checking in, making meaning, being heard, embracing silence. And Knoydart, impassive, unchanging witness to both the low vibrational peace generated by our short solo experience and the strident jubilation of the hunting horn. And the hunters home from the hill.

starting out

After a few weeks of not knowing what would be happening or what we would be doing on the first away week, we are now here in a beautiful place away from cities, people, motorways…….

The solo day is tomorrow but for once I have no plans of what to do but only where to go – along the coast rather than inland.  Still to decide whether to fast or not or whether to take a camera or paper or really what to do.

The thought of having no technology, even a watch is very strange.  Over the past few years technology has crept up on us all mobile phones, broadband, internet, hdtv, digital cameras……..  To not have any of that in this environment means that you have to live in the moment and gradually accept that there is no need to take the phone with you if you cannot get a signal.

The solo day will take that a step further – no conversation – no watches either – so no knowledge of what time it is except for the sun in the sky.

The solo day was overcast and so not much help from the sun.  I had decided to set out early and go along the coast and spend time alone watching the sea and life pass by.  I brought my camera (as I had decided that it was not technology) and penknife (to carve some wood for my son) and some paper and pencils to write and draw (badly).

Spending a day alone or not talking to anyone was not that bad however on retuning it was very strange not being able to talk to anyone, to find out what others had done or to share what had happened.

That would come the next day.

Stirring the Silt

At our orientation day Dave talks about life being like a pond and how we can go through life without disturbing the silt if we choose to.  Or, we can muddy the waters by stirring up the silt with a stick, which prevents it from settling on the bottom for a while.  He says the Natural Change process offers that stick – it’s an invitation.  It’s up to us what we do with the stick – we can stir gently at the top of the pond trying to disturb nothing or we can take the stick and give the silt a good old deep stir!

By way of an explanation of the emotional demands the Knoydart week may hold for me, I tell my students about the pond.  It strikes me as I offer the analogy, that the process of the CPP* degree programme asks the students to do a lot of stirring of their own and they are vaguely amused at the thought of me on my own emotional journey.

I consider my mature pond.  I think it has been well planted over the years but I also allow myself to consider that I may have a sediment or silt problem that has accumulated over time.

As I leave the building on the Friday before Knoydart, I pass a student who smiles broadly and says, ‘Bye and good luck with the stick!’

*BA Contemporary Performance Practice

Is it necessary to tell people you’re not dead?

If you found a pale, motionless body lying in a secluded wood, wrapped in a survival bag, would the fact it had a sign on it saying “I’m not dead” really help?

This is just one of the thoughts that wandered through my head while lying beneath the stand of alder trees that became my solo spot.  The sight of a woman in the distance dancing madly is funny, the sight of a body lying motionless might actually scare someone.  Wondering what is the best thing to do to avoid scaring the natives and triggering false alarm embarrassment, I decide that a sign probably wouldn’t help.  Beside, it feels spookily like tempting fate.

As the wind blows, autumn leaves flutter down, falling on my face.  I begin to wonder what it would be like to lie here forever, slowly being covered by leaves, dissipating outwards, becoming part of the living entity that is a forest floor.  I idly speculate on what the world would look like if you could take away everything but the life that inhabits it.  I imagine it would look like an intricate, sparkling silver web; each life forming a knot in the threads, constantly raveling and unraveling.  My cold feet demand my attention again and I think fondly of warm slippers and sticky toffee pudding.

I move, I sit, I doze, I write and I sketch.  The day seems long but dusk falls sooner than I expect.

Solo spot from a distance…

Photo by Ken Cunningham