Monthly Archives: August 2023

2023 #Mycelium #35 Dialogue

Knee improving and no surgery required, for those who have been following along at home, has been a good reminder of the value and effectiveness of first aid and old-fashioned remedies of rest, ice, elevation, repeat.  In a time where sport stars injuries are dissected by the media, fans and surgeons, I think I had been spooked by preoccupation of sport in the psyche of our nation and it had seeped into my anxiety.  An interesting phenomenon for someone who doesn’t really follow much sport nor would have no idea about the health of any superstar’s knee, ACL or MCL.  And I found myself using sporting analogies when explaining the injury – I heard myself say “well if it had been an ACL I would be out for the season, but it’s just a small MCL tear and so only a couple of games and a bit of physio should do it.”  Where did this literacy come from?  Even in a post Matilda world I had no idea just how much the culture of the body sport in contrast the culture of the body politic has found its way into my language. It is all around me of course and as I’ve tried to eliminate war and battle metaphors from my language over the years, maybe sport has taken up some of that space? Being able to communicate one idea from a base of what is already shared knowledge helps the conversation to keep going and builds understanding.

I’ve had a conscious go at using metaphors from nature, as all the lessons seem to be there anyhow, for instance, nipping something in the bud (as opposed to chopping it off at the knees).  Mycelium being a grand way of demonstrating everything is connected and informed and deciphered by all the fibres that invisibly find their way to the surface to bring forth some fruit – some toxic and others edible.  I’ve talked about the toxicity of the no-alition indirectly and this is fed by deep, deep roots of racism, colonisation and fear. I don’t want to wake up on the morning after the referendum to be living in a country that has voted No. It really is time to right this wrong and write yes. 

Dean Parkin, who is heading the Yes campaign says that if every yes person convinces two maybes, then the vote will get across the line. So, I am on that quest to find the maybe’s who can be persuaded and conversation by conversation drawing out the fears and finding the way to build a bridge from their lives to yes.  This week I was at a community forum in my role as Mayor and I was asked if the referendum would cause a legal problem for landowners (aka rate payers)?  I was able to point to the coterie of eminent judges who have put out a statement about the legal advice and their confidence they have to be voting yes.  I don’t know if it swayed this person, but he did seem satisfied. This was in part perhaps to respect of my role as a community leader, and also deference to the role of the law in being a strong piece of our democratic foundations.  It was a curious question to get on a Monday night in a neighbourhood house Annual General Meeting! (I also got a question on the rates going up and if solar panels were going to be installed on more public spaces and where more electric vehicle charging stations are going to be located.) 

There is a body of work that shows it is dialogue and not discussion that is needed to foster safe conversations and to build a pathway towards understanding and consensus. It is this advice and knowledge originally canvassed by David Bohm which has guided me over recent years. So, when I read Davis’s work describing the processes used to create the Uluru Statement from the Heart, drawing on this process too, I was captivated.

Prof Davis Quarterly Essay of the Voice of Reason is a must read for anyone interested in a deep dive into how we got here and the incredible community engagement processes that generated the Uluru Statement from the heart. The mycelium of community, the respect for First People’s gerontocracy and the constraint of our legal systems, to say nothing of the facilitation and design process is world class and surely a model for others to follow in the future.  I’ve done a bit of work at scale over the years in consultation with communities seeking to form a position or come to decision and this is the best I’ve ever seen.  Taking time, listening, privileging the voices of the ancients – the land, waters, peoples – continually checking back on what has been heard being captured in a way that advances the dialogue is all there.

Decades before there was social media, Bohm was flagging:

In spite of this worldwide system of linkages, there is, at this very moment, a general feeling that communication is breaking down everywhere, on an unparalleled scale… What appears [in the media] is generally at best a collection of trivial and almost unrelated fragments, while at worst, it can often be a really harmful source of confusion and misinformation.

And he was defining the “problem of communication” as

Different groups … are not actually able to listen to each other. As a result, the very attempt to improve communication leads frequently to yet more confusion, and the consequent sense of frustration inclines people ever further toward aggression and violence, rather than toward mutual understanding and trust.

Taking Bohm’s advice on dialogue, I have often asked when facilitating, a question up front – what are we making together?  Because in the exchange in the place where we come together, we find something that joins us together and then we can create something new together, without losing anything of what we already have. This fixation of win:lose in communication is a real challenge in the often binary environment, and even though this national conversation is going to find a junction in the ballot box, while we get to that intersection we have the opportunity to dialogue to discover what we are making together – a more just, inclusive, respectful and creative nation. This will enable us to celebrate the deep, deep roots of First Peoples, and bring that learning into our nation’s foundations to set us all on a course where voice, treaty and truth, with the potential of breaking through to birth a new nation.

Prof Megan Davis, Logan Qld, September 2019

Myclieium 2023 #34 Catching up

Not very mobile, this week, after an injury to my left knee and I am waiting for results to come back to give some physiological interpretation to what I might have to do next. In the mean time resting and turning to other forms of connecting. I have been able to sit and read, read and sit, drink tea, answer calls and make some too. I have listened and done some decent reflection.

When I get moments to just sit in real time, I generally make the list of questions that are calling to me and leave them hanging. I don’t try to answer them. I let them be a thread and usually they find a way to lead me to some discovery, another set of questions or something beautiful to see or listen to.  Having my foot up, not driving has taken me to my poetry – no surprise there.  All the hidden wriggling of messages finding their way out of the darkness into the light.

The poetic mycelium connecting and threading pathways together to bring forth a fusion of thoughts and feelings when I make space. Not unlike the decay needed for fungi to grow and in doing their work new growth emerges.

The spores of thoughts floating around in my head, consciously and unconsciously swirling in a draft. Transported through the air, the spores are joined by tiny particles of images and thoughts. Eventually, they all make land fall on the fertile soil of a blank white page. Hind sights are a wonderful thing!

Three poems have come hurling at me and have held me this week:

Still Possible  David Whyte

Turas d’Anam  Micheal O Suilleabhain

Go to the limits of your longing   Rainer Maria Rilke

I have given myself permission to write a post that fuses thoughts, experiences and poetic prompts. A glimpse of what is in the undergrowth and of the mycelium connecting and making patterns.

1:  Monday morning

I start by reading David Whyte’s poem – Still Possible and I get choked up knowing he has hit the mark with his explanation of poetry as words for which we have no defences.

Morning light streaming and steaming through the windows of the café facing the street

A café appropriately named Manna.

I was nourished by an earthenware bowl hosting warm, comforting porridge laced with nuts, berries and dappled with rich textured peanut butter and a perfect temperature and balanced cup of coffee.

A communion of sustenance

As spiritual and whole-heartedly prepared as any experience of bread and wine in any chapel or cathedral on any Sunday.

Contemplating the epic hike of the day before inside Deep Creek

With aching bones, muscles, sinews and ligaments

Trying to find meaning from the probably fool hardy and certainly ambitious trek through bush, sand, streams, farmlands, contours that looked a lot less steep on the map, and crossings of cliffs and forges … all promising a simple country road at the end … tears appeared

Tears of gratitude to my fellow pilgrim ramblers

Tears of relief that my body managed to meet the many endurance moments required to ascend and descend

Tears for rewards not yet revealed.

On my knees

A hand held out and words lovingly crafted as reassurance to eek out some confidence from me to overcome my fears and the terrain.

More real than any invisible hand of God and yet it was the hand of a goddess worthy of her own throne in Olympus.

The call of encouragement, the words of wisdom

All waiting for me, all arriving to me

When I need to hear and see them.

Recognition of being held in such tender love, more tears arrive

A heart breaking realisation of how little of this love I allow myself to receive

It was quite a hike

So challenging, it broke open a part of me, emerging to be embraced.

2: Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday

I have been swept off my feet

A single step did it

Mouldering on the horizon

My left knee gave way

Hospital to rule out a break

No break

Rest. Ice. Crutches. Zoom.

Driver. Phone. Email. Teams.

Looking for meaning and cosmic instruction:

Pride comes before a fall – what am I feeling proud about? Is a fall imminent?

How might I rely on others?

Shall I notice what else needs to come into support if the knee doesn’t work

how might I hold myself more carefully and consciously as I move and take a step

Can I take inspiration from the Minister for Defence, Mackenzie Arnold

Be grateful for all that I have and the love and care that is shown to me from all the visible and invisible help.

Is there a step I don’t want to take?

Why am I falling on my knees?

I read a poem by Micheal O’Sulleabhain called Turas d’Anam that has the line

Often times the step backward lets the soul catch up

Another kind of ouch

Results are in

Not of the MRI, but of the heart.

Begin with the break, and let your soul catch up

So broken creates a break,

a pause,

a moment,

a liminal crest on the threshold,

an invitation to stay in the break,

not to crossover,

the tax to be paid is to the body

which wants lashings of soul food formed in the mist and breathed in at rest.

3: PS Friday

my touch deprivation ache, a cascade of hands are delivered to me

caressing my back for the tactile enjoyment of the Barbie pink cosy jumper meeting graduands in reassurance for their moment of recognition and acclaim.

Leading from the heart still works even when the knees don’t.

4: Saturday

Called for reinforcements

Oliver and Rilke turned up

Give me your hand seems to be a theme

Corroborating the evidence already accumulated

That hand is what you need when you have a crook knee

All kinds of hands and both of mine are still a bit wonky from new and existing injuries

Three out of four limbs weathered in climatic conditions both chronic and acute

My hand

Your hand

Our hands

The little hand grasped tightly for comfort and safe passage

The withered hand cased in a splint to get that oppositional thumb back to its rightful place

The slashed hand with fingers stitched, gnarled, nobbly, entering into a new phase of inability to unlock jars

The kind hand that extends to pull me up, pull me out, steady me

The hard hand that has the full force of testosterone as it approaches to meet another hand.

Lending a hand impermanence is staccato where I am already longing for more of a legato world.

A few more days for my soul to catch up.

A poet at rest – another layer in the landscape – Whyte July 2013, Ireland.

2023 Mycelium #33 Til it’s done

The ratings will show that once again women’s football has outstripped any code of any gender …. The Matilda’s have an entire nation behind them. I was exhausted and relieved as a spectator a long way from the ground, and I hope every single one of them can rest easy in the knowledge they did themselves proud. My thoughts went to all the trail blazer’s the women who had gone before them, the girls who had started playing with a round ball long before there was a crowd cheering them on, the mums and dads and coaches who kept turning up for them. 

This is how you grow a movement. The lessons are all there. Well organised, a game plan, training, training, training, and an indomitable spirit about what it means to get a result. In sport there are winners and losers – and that might even take you to a penalty shootout – when there is only you, a ball, a net, and a defender. The roar, or absence of a roar, won’t hold you. You will be held by your breath, your ability to be centred and still and your ability to back yourself knowing all the ones who have come before you have enabled you to be present at that moment in time.

None of us meet any quest on our own, we all walk in the footsteps of others, and it is our job to go a step further to make the path for the next generation. This group of women and their coaches and families have created a generational shift on the field and as a mindset.  I remember when they couldn’t get a sponsor, were calendar girls, brokered a financial deal as a union – they have paved the way on and off the field.

There are so many history making opportunities in our country at the moment, all building on the foundations of the past, and all resting of the shoulders of the ones showing up now in the present.  Twelve years ago when those early players posed nude to raise money for their Olympic campaign and get the brand Matilda’s out there I was so upset that they had to go to those lengths to get noticed and supported. I bought a calendar and never took it out of its package because I wanted to contribute to the team.

Screaming my head off at the team and holding my breath in the quarter final against France I shed a tear for all those women who went before. This is the mycelium of sport. The work that happens above and below the ground showing us all what is possible with tenacity, courage, and effort. My interest, or lack of interest, in sport is well known, but I am always a fan of teamwork, leadership, entrepreneurial endeavours and movement building. The Matilda’s have done all of that. They have an entire nation dripping in green and gold.

There were young boys, men, girls, women, and people of all ages sitting around me in a school hall watching on a giant screen see their national team go to the next level last night. I doubt anyone could imagine them not being celebrated for their sporting prowess, physical and mental toughness, and their extraordinary teamwork. Excellence is always inspiring, hard work always impressive and dreams coming true, always enthralling.

The lessons of the Matilda’s are the same lessons I see in the leadership of the Yes campaign and once the World Cup is over, I hope a nation united, will pour itself into the referendum. #tilitsdone

Source

2023 Mycelium #32 Intergenerational

Sitting across the table from me, overlooking a valley of vineyards and under a sky incapable of making up its mind whether it was still winter, sat two of the three generations of an academic genealogy. The third generation was sitting next to me. Person 1 had supervised Person 2’s PhD and Person 2 had supervised Person’s 3. A special kind of cadence was visible, a shared language, love of learning, respect, honour and grace. The clouds parted to let the warmth of the wintry sun meet the warmth and love of the shared space created so easily on this lazy Saturday afternoon.  These kind of connections I am privileged to witness, confirm my appreciation of the metaphoric mycelium that goes beyond the topsoil, reflected in some thought version of deep time.

Over and over again I find these moments.

At a community event on Friday night I am in a colonial hall marked by tradition and customs of times gone by, celebrating the generosity of a village’s volunteers. I am greeted by an old acquaintance who shares stories that connect past, present and future of both our lives entwined by the way we each express our shared commitment to community and service. There is witness to story, and even song, when a local musician plays a piece that I had been singing to myself earlier in the week … it isn’t that well known … and I feel the tug of time pulling me into a vortex of memories. How is it that everything is connected?

Hearing the news of the real possibility of a former US President being sent to gaol, while I am dealing with some of his fans and the imprimatur of his behaviours in our country as we begin to ramp up the campaign for YES in the referendum, seems like an inversion of the kind and gentle mycelium referred to earlier. We are in dark days, and days of glorious warmth and light, and days where the dominance of binary is over, yet it continues to haunt the way we work together.  Just like the clouds on Saturday afternoon, there are times of brightness and even heat, and times where we can tell more than a sprinkle of dampness is coming. Perhaps enough to make mould grow, and those spores have potential too for new life and renewal.

Digging deep into noticing the relationships of those at the aforementioned table, I am touched by having the opportunity to witness. Intergenerational moments are only possible when there has been enough time for a new generation to emerge. This phenomenon is also not binary. this is multidimensional, with a knowing that the initial deposit can be built upon, a new discovery, a novel interpretation of the same data, perhaps seeing something that was always there but naming it and framing it for the first time. Seams of thinking, strata of enquiry, like the ancient cliffs facing the Great Southern Ocean, I point out on the road home, are deep and wide. The conversations and connections have tracks leading to conscious and unconscious levels of knowing and understanding. The cliffs hide some of the ancient stories from the uninitiated, and while I share a fragment of one of the stories I notice that it is not mine to tell.  I suspect that is true for the three friends too. Fragments is all that can be on offer this day, however it doesn’t matter, as the mycelium is there and holds it altogether, whether they are at the same table or apart.

Amnesia is the precursor to loneliness and to appreciate our interconnectedness and understand all that holds us together is the only antidote to individualism. To be truly fit for the future, re-membering is necessary. We are all sitting at a table with generations all around us, sometimes we are lucky enough to see them in real time. 

And then there is the ancient three hundred year old redgum waiting for us at the next brewery we call into … yes all of creation is calling.

Goodieson Brewery, Sand Rd, McLaren Vale 5 August 2023