Author Archives: Shawndra Miller

Nonviolent Communication

Posted on by

Sometimes you hear about a thing over and over, until it seems mandatory to follow up. So it was with Nonviolent Communication (NVC), a process created by Marshall Rosenberg in the 1960s. First I learned that a yoga center offered NVC training sessions. Then I heard of a book group studying Rosenberg’s Nonviolent Communication: A Language of Life. Then a nonprofit’s director told me everyone in her organization is committed to NVC principles.

And this weekend, Trade School Indy offered an NVC class. All I needed to trade was a bundle of dried sage, which we have aplenty. That plus two hours on a Sunday afternoon seemed a reasonable investment. Off I went to finally check it out.

I learned that NVC is more than a nonthreatening communication style. It’s also a way of taking responsibility for yourself. As I practiced the formula (Observe, Feel, Need, Request) while role-playing a conflict, I sensed I was standing on solid ground. I hate confrontation, but NVC makes me view conflict as an opportunity to deepen relationships.

Communication Art Prize, by Fellowship of the Rich, via Flickr Commons

Communication Art, by Fellowship of the Rich, via Flickr Commons

Rather than asserting control over others through demands, manipulation, or bargaining, NVC is all about building connection over time. The idea is that we all have universal basic needs. Our feelings indicate whether these needs are met or unmet.

NVC “has been used between warring tribes and in war-torn countries; in schools, prisons, and corporations, in healthcare, social change, and government institutions; and in intimate personal relationships.” (Is there hope for the Central African Republic, where Muslims are fleeing “ethno-religious cleansing?”)

Mosque and church, by Jonathan Gill, via Flickr Commons

Mosque and church, by Jonathan Gill, via Flickr Commons

I may not be able to do anything about religious wars and other horrors, but I can create more peace in my daily interactions. Here is a (totally hypothetical) confrontation following NVC’s formula:

Observe: I notice there’s a used QTip on the back of the sofa. (Note the passive voice, a writer’s anathema! But useful in this instance, to neutralize the tone.)

Feel: I feel annoyed and disgusted. (Claiming my own feelings instead of the judgmental,“This is a gross habit. You are so inconsiderate!”)

Need: I need a clean environment, and I need consideration. (I’m struggling with how to state this. So much more satisfying to say, “I need you to not leave your medical waste out for me to find!” Any NVC ninjas in the house? Please coach me.)

Request: Would you be willing to throw your QTip away when you’re done?

In NVC’s highest expression, we request connection instead of a behavior change. “Could you tell me how you feel about this?” or “Would you be willing to spend a few minutes talking this through?” But I’ve cut to the chase above, while still (hopefully) avoiding triggering defensiveness in the hypothetical second party.

One of the women in the class called the method “disarming,” at least in role play. I’m curious to try it in real life. It seems to take a lot of hard thinking, even in the simplest of conflicts.

What about you: What tools have you found beneficial in creating peace and building connection?

A Loved World

Posted on by

I heard two interviews in the last few days with Elizabeth Kolbert, author of The Sixth Extinction: An Unnatural History. While listening to the Fresh Air interview I was making pizza. And I must have decided—or the part of my brain that can’t process too much scary information decided—that making pizza required all my faculties, because I kept zoning out.

But I did hear that 25 percent of all mammals on the earth are endangered, and 40 percent of amphibians.

Photo of critically endangered Panamanian Golden Frog By Tim Vickers [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Photo of critically endangered Panamanian Golden Frog By Tim Vickers [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

I did hear that the Great Barrier Reef is on track for full-scale collapse, and that we can expect the oceans to eventually look like “the underwater equivalent of a vacant lot.”

No asteroid is to blame this time. The driver for this extinction wave is humankind.

That’s a heavy load to bear, even if I knew it already. With our tailpipe emissions and our moving from continent to continent and our wildly inventive minds, we are rapidly bringing about the demise of millions of species.

The author makes the point that our impact on other species isn’t (always) intentionally malevolent. It’s the very nature of our speedy brains and dextrous hands. It’s the fact that, as Kolbert says, we don’t have to wait for evolution to create change. We just make a tool. Which makes life difficult for creatures that change at the pace of evolution.

What does this mean? I don’t know. It feels bleak. I like to take the long view, the esoteric/spiritual/energetic view that focuses on evolution of souls, a realm beyond the physical. Still, here on the physical plane, it’s a devastating trajectory.

Self-preservation requires that this knowledge fade in and out of my consciousness. I go about my days, doing what I do, worrying about small things. Then it’s like the moment my dad was diagnosed with inoperable, terminal cancer. Suddenly all that trivia fades in importance. I’m pierced by pain. A loved one, a loved world, is in jeopardy.

© Cinc212 | Dreamstime Stock Photos

© Cinc212 | Dreamstime Stock Photos

I don’t know what to do or say in the face of such hideous information. Just the fact of the dwindling numbers of monarch butterflies alone makes me want to weep.

I find myself wanting to check email, check Facebook, call a friend, watch the Olympics. To do anything but stay with this knowledge.

I can say that all things happen for a reason and everything is unfolding exactly as it should and we are holding the light whether we know it or not and we were always meant to get to this point—but is all that just a bandaid for unendurable grief and fear?

___

I wrote the words above last night. Today, I feel different, grateful, open. I took time to sit in love and awareness this morning. It seems the metaphor of a terminal diagnosis fits better than I first realized.

In the face of horrifying news, sometimes there is an opening to the sacred. Suddenly you savor life more than ever. You don’t take anything for granted. You give what you can. You do what you must. Your love expands.

Portal to the Wider World

Posted on by

“An environment-based education movement―at all levels of education―will help students realize that school isn’t supposed to be a polite form of incarceration, but a portal to the wider world.”

―Richard Louv, author of Last Child in the Woods: Saving Our Children from Nature-Deficit Disorder

A few weeks ago I had the chance to stop in on a special activity at Avon’s Hickory Elementary School. Jen Davies from Avon Outdoor Learning Center—a total rock star in the kids’ eyes—had come to talk minerals. By day’s end 120 children would make the connection between minerals and something they encounter every day, toothpaste.

In each hour-long session, Jen touched on Coke cans’ recyclability, Lunchables’ sodium content, Crest’s new products—and the broad appeal of minty-tasting toothpaste.

Discussing the sodium content of common foods.

Discussing the sodium content of common foods.

Throughout, Jen telegraphed the absolute awesomeness of minerals. These third-graders were right there with her.

This time of year, most of Jen’s work takes place in the classroom, but the Outdoor Learning Center is true to its name in every other season (and on some milder winter days).

Jen Davies leads a group of small learners on a winter outing to catch snowflakes and look at their shapes.

Jen Davies leads a group of small learners on a winter outing to catch snowflakes and look at their shapes. Photo courtesy of Avon OLC.

On seven acres belonging to the Avon School Corporation, students encounter the real-world stuff that makes science, math, and history come alive. Over 9,100 students, parents and faculty members visited the OLC in 2012-13, exploring two miles of trails and habitats spanning prairie, woodland, and wetland. A beehive and 7,000-square foot vegetable garden—tended by a garden club of 85 budding gardeners—offer further learning opportunities.

Back at Hickory Elementary, Jen divided the kids into groups and funneled them to one of four tables to make toothpaste. At one table they measured a half teaspoon calcium carbonate with a quarter teaspoon baking soda, according to the recipe. At the next, they could handle crystals, stones, and a Coke can in the “mineral museum.”

Geologist-in-the-making

Geologist-in-the-making

The final two stations were the most exciting: droppers to add the coloring and flavoring of their choice.

Adding flavoring with help from a volunteer.

Adding flavoring with help from a volunteer.

Would it be tutti-frutti, traditional mint, or maybe cherry, coco-lemon, or some other variation? And what color should it be? Tints of cherries, neon green, and ice blue bloomed in the paper cups.

blue

Blue proved to be a popular color.

Wrapping up, Jen told them, “Minerals are really cool—you might decide on a career using this, where you can do something like make toothpaste.”

When I spoke to her afterward about why she’s so passionate about her work, she told me she wants the children “to see themselves as part of this amazing whole.”

“We are all just circles within connections within circles. We need healthy soil and clean water and clean air to be able to thrive. The choices we make on a daily basis affect not only us but everything around us.”

Sadly, Avon OLC faced major budget cuts in 2011. Jen has been raising money and finding grants to pay her own salary. Late last year word went out that funding had dried up—without help, her position would be gone by this month. Since then several thousand dollars have been raised. It’s enough to keep her, for now, until the end of the school year, but the future is uncertain.

As Jen wrote me in an email, “It’s just so innovatively unusual for a public school district to have such a resource, we are giving it all we have to keep going.  When kids bring me their entire piggy bank, how can I not try everything I can think of?”

Several fundraisers are in the works to keep the center going. Visit the center’s site to see how you can help.

Update: After I posted this, Jen was awarded the 2013 Donald H. Lawson Award for Conservation Education from the Hendricks County Soil & Water Conservation District.

Viva Optimism

Posted on by
Art made by my spouse Judy for our first solar cooker

Art made by my spouse Judy for our first solar cooker

Optimism is a political act. Those who benefit from the status quo are perfectly happy for us to think nothing is going to get any better. In fact, these days, cynicism is obedience.

—Alex Steffen, The Bright Green City, The Sun Magazine

My Dad, Who Made the World Better, Take 3

Posted on by

Tomorrow, Feb. 2, used to be just Groundhog Day to me. Once I keyed into the seasonal festival days celebrated in ancient times, I knew Feb. 2 as Imbolc—a day to take a walk and look for the first signs of spring.

But now it’s forever associated with my dad, who left this world on Feb. 2, 2012. On that day the snowdrops bloomed and the sandhill cranes flew low. I like to think that his spirit took stock of those harbingers of spring—and that they released him to fly away.

It broke Dad’s heart to leave us, and he hated to leave all his wonderful volunteer work behind. Since his retirement he’d launched all kinds of projects. Possibly the hardest thing to give up was his connection with schoolchildren.

You can't see Dad but you can see how the kids looked at him.

You can’t see Dad but you can see how the kids looked at him.

It all started when he began tending the grounds of Cold Spring School, the environmental education magnet, just because it looked like somebody ought to.

Dad doing what came naturally.

Dad doing what came naturally.

Because he took an interest, he eventually found himself in stewardship of the school’s greenhouse. This was a dream come true for him. (I remember many times in my childhood, he would talk about his dream of putting up a greenhouse.) His passion made it easy to engage the classes who came in for units on seeds, soil, and other such things.

Dad showing grade schoolers the wonders of aloe in the greenhouse.

Dad showing grade schoolers the wonders of aloe in the greenhouse.

After he got sick, when confronted with kudos for his volunteering, Dad liked to say, “I was just having fun.”

Having fun on a wet day at Cold Spring School.

Having fun on a wet day at Cold Spring School.

Just looking at these photos again, I’m swamped with sadness.

No one can fill the void he left. But maybe by having our own brand of fun, we can each take up a tiny spot of it. As the days get imperceptibly longer, what can we bring to the earth, to each other?

Photos courtesy of Friends of Cold Spring School.

A Whole World Alive

Posted on by

I recently heard Michael Pollan speaking on NPR’s Science Friday show about research into plants’ intelligence. He revealed how mycelium (the vegetative part of fungus) figures into communications among the trees of a forest. (We learned about mycelium earlier in Peter McCoy’s guest post on radical mycology.)

Hyphae (branches of the mycelium) as seen under an overturned log. Photo by TheAlphaWolf (Own work), via Wikimedia Commons

Hyphae (branches of the mycelium) as seen under an overturned log. Photo by TheAlphaWolf (Own work), via Wikimedia Commons

Pollan said:

“The trees in a fir forest are networked, in a very complicated network, held together by the mycelium of mycorrhizal fungi, connect(ing) all the trees in a fir forest. A scientist in British Colombia named Suzanne Simard has studied this. She injects a fir tree with radioactive carbon isotopes, and then using a geiger counter and other devices follows the trail of that carbon.

And what she’s found is astounding! All the trees are connected. They use that network to send information, such as warnings of insect attack. They use that network to send nutrients to their offspring…They can even use that network to trade nutrients with other species…”

Isn’t that miraculous? And I suspect that—as the Wendell Berry quote in my previous post implied—everyone and everything, everywhere, might be invisibly interconnected in a similar way.

If this is true, what harms one, harms all. What uplifts one, uplifts all.

Is this possible? Perhaps. On an energetic level. What I’m talking about is rising above the zero sum game that’s so indoctrinated in us. Making space to see that without all of us being OK, none of us are OK.

We lack instruments fine enough to fully measure the energy field surrounding us (and surrounding every natural thing, every boulder and ant and trout and evergreen, every human and tulip and mountain). But I believe that through this field we have an impact on each other, on the whole of life, every moment we live, whether we know it or not.

It isn’t possible to live apart from each other. Not truly. The web of life knits us one to another, even if we are unaware of its strands.

Photo by Fir0002/Flagstaffotos, via Wikimedia Commons.

Photo by Fir0002/Flagstaffotos, via Wikimedia Commons.

The ancient sages say that if you pull one thread in the web, the others vibrate.

Quantum physics … the mycelium … the Internet even—all are outer manifestations of this esoteric truth.

For a while now I’ve taken a few moments every morning to ground myself, feeling and seeing my “roots” going deep into the earth. Lately I find myself connecting not just vertically but horizontally, under the earth’s surface, with the mycelium.

There’s a whole world alive under our feet that we don’t usually see. So it is with our energetic world.

“We Must Care About our Public Spaces”

Posted on by

As promised, here is a followup to last week’s post on the value of public art.

At Foundation East’s artist meet-and-greet I met Irvington resident Holly Combs. She’s half of the husband-and-wife duo who painted several traffic signal boxes around Irvington. While I was talking with her, a neighbor stopped to say that she honked and waved whenever she passed the couple working out in the cold on their boxes.

Holly thanked her, saying, “Do you know what it meant to us when people honked and waved? Yeah, it was cold but we didn’t feel it. When you’re joyful in what you do, you’re not even cold.” Then she handed us each a “You are beautiful” sticker.

That seems to sum up Holly, whose passion is obvious when she speaks of her various projects. For example, Street Styles. It’s a youth program she started that uses street art and graffiti as the foundation for exploring art fundamentals.

With her husband Dave, she also founded the Department of Public Words. DPW’s mission is to put uplifting messages in surprising places, all to tell people “they’re awesome, beautiful, worthy, and wonderful,” as Holly puts it.

They first tried it a few years back when the economy tanked and the Combs’ gallery and art magazine were hard hit.

Photo courtesy of Department of Public Words.

Photo courtesy of Department of Public Words

“When you lose everything, you’re fearless, thinking ‘I can do anything,’” Holly told me. She painted You Are Beautiful in block letters high on a prominent building in the Fountain Square neighborhood because it was a message she herself needed.

Since then they’ve put the same message on a building on East Tenth Street. I pass it often and it never fails to make me smile.

Photo courtesy of Department of Public Words

Photo courtesy of Department of Public Words

Sometimes I’ve walked my dog past the Combs’ house in summer (though I didn’t know it was theirs) to find You Are Beautiful scrawled in chalk on the sidewalk.

The You Are Beautiful campaign is part of a global initiative started by Matthew Hoffman (those stickers were the first manifestation). Right now the couple are raising money to continue inspiring people with positive words all over town.

With Street Styles, Holly works with youth in the juvenile justice system, many of whom have illegally painted graffiti. “I tell my juvenile offenders, ‘You go to jail for doing that and I get paid $100 an hour: who’s the boss?’” She brings the disenfranchised youth into the process of creating street art in hopes of channeling their desire for self-expression.

I asked Holly how she felt about the vandalized signal boxes, since one of theirs was targeted. “Yes, our box got paint poured on it. Just out of meanness. Sad. But I see public art as a conversation with the public,” she told me in a Facebook chat.

One of the Combs' traffic signal boxes. Photo by Vishant Shah.

One of the Combs’ traffic signal boxes. Photo by Vishant Shah.

The offenders in her program say that if a community doesn’t seem to care about a neighborhood, it’s seen as an invitation.

“(We) must care about our public spaces to help encourage others to care about them too. I always say, “Blank walls want me.’”

In fact, my neighborhood started the signal box project after a police officer spoke to our Crimewatch group about Crime Prevention Through Environmental Design (CPTED). Officer Shane Foley talked about CPTED’s landscaping and lighting design principles—and how modifying the built environment can deter criminals.

The group already had a history of litter cleanups and beautification efforts, and CPTED theory made a lot of sense. The traffic signal box art seemed a natural progression.

Another of the Combs' boxes. Photo by Vishant Shah.

Another of the Combs’ boxes. Photo by Vishant Shah.

These boxes belong to the whole community, and no setback is going to slow the public art movement now. With the help of a fundraising campaign, Vishant and cofounder Aaron Story plan to have all the boxes protected with a coat of clear coat by May.

Local artists, funders, and dreamers are invited to contact Foundation East about partnering on future eastside Indy public art projects.

Public Art Unites the Community

Posted on by

Public art is one of those things that’s more than the sum of its parts. Here in my neighborhood, the humble traffic signal box—a four-foot-tall aluminum cabinet that had never before registered on my radar—seems to be the start of something big.

In 2012 I was one of the volunteers painting Irvington’s first seven signal boxes as part of the Great Indy Cleanup.

These Colts cheerleaders helped us get the job done.

These Colts cheerleaders helped us get the job done. Photo by Heidi Unger.

Each design had been submitted by artists like Morgan Hauth, shown here putting finishing touches on one of her pieces.

Touching up

Morgan Hauth touching up. Photo by Heidi Unger.

By 2013, Foundation East, the brainchild of Vishant Shah and Aaron Story, had formed with a goal of transforming eastside Indy neighborhoods through public art. Building on the success of the traffic signal box project, the duo enlisted six artists to paint another round.

Oil painter Rita Spalding at work on one of her signal boxes.

Oil painter Rita Spalding at work on one of her signal boxes. Photo by Charmaine Edwards.

A total of 19 boxes now brighten the main thoroughfares of my community.

Sadly, some disrespectful souls targeted a couple of these landmarks. Two boxes were vandalized early Dec. 31, prompting outrage among neighbors. A third more recently had a bucket of paint splashed on it.

It’s infuriating, but I take my cue from Rita, who has more reason than anyone to be outraged—her luminous painting was among those defaced. She told the Indianapolis Star that morning, “I’m not angry. It just really makes me think about what’s going on in that kid’s life.”

Later that day she wiped off the graffiti. Several neighbors met her at the box to help out if needed, but it turned out to be easier than she expected, because she’d applied a layer of clear coat finish.

Foundation East founders Aaron and Vishant say the outcry shows how important these boxes have become. They invited the community to meet the artists and show their support this week.

I went to the gathering, finding it packed to the gills with neighbors eager to thank the artists and scribble their ideas on a white board. (Paint the water tower, build a vertical garden structure on the library lawn, install a sculpture on my street!)

Many also chipped in for a “clear coat fund” to give all the boxes the same treatment as Rita’s.

Homage to car culture

Homage to car culture, by Andrew Severns. Follow this artist at @severnscanon. Photo by Vishant Shah.

I talked to several residents there who mentioned Irvington’s history as a hub of creative and intellectual stimulation, with Butler University’s campus located here until 1928. In the 1920s and 30s, a group of acclaimed painters known simply as the Irvington Group drew national attention.

Apparently our neighborhood’s reputation as a quirky haven for eccentrics also dates back 100 years—Irvington is described in an October 1903 Indianapolis Star article as “the classic suburb which has an interesting way of turning up all kinds of freaks and strange things generally.”  (This was before the city grew to swallow up the suburb, but we retain our unique character.)

Signal box in Arctic Vortex aftermath

Erin Kelsch’s Signal box in Arctic Vortex aftermath. Photo by Vishant Shah.

Kathleen Angelone, owner of Bookmamas, says that’s exactly the kind of neighborhood she wants—and the art definitely adds to the vibe. “I think public art is vital to any community because it makes it beautiful. It denominates where the community is and gives it character.”

“And it is civilized. I want to live in a civilized community where people are interested in art and music and learning, not just their day to day jobs.”

Tribute to farm heritage

Dave and Holly Combs’ tribute to farm heritage. Photo by Vishant Shah.

Russian-born Svetlana, an oil painter, told me that public art played a role in her childhood desire to paint. “There are statues everywhere in Russia; you’re just surrounded by art,” she said. “That gave me a lot of creativity and imagination.”

Two years ago she moved to Irvington, where color is starting to pop in unexpected places. “I think it’s wonderful that there is art for people to view without going to a museum.”

Aaron and Vishant invite local artists, funders, and dreamers to contact them about partnering on future eastside Indy public art projects.

My next blog post will have more about the role of public art in placemaking, youth engagement, and crime prevention.

When Crisis Threatens

Posted on by

Thanks to a review in Permaculture Activist magazine, I found a little book called Small Stories, Big Changes: Agents of Change on the Frontlines of Sustainability. It’s a collection of inspiring voices from the community resilience movement. Each chapter is written by someone actively engaged in the world’s remaking.

Here’s a passage from the very first chapter that gives you a taste.

Goat milking, by V Becker, via flickr Commons

Goat milking, by V Becker, via flickr Commons

“(A) community of busy farmers, gardeners, goat-milkers, trail-builders, engineers, scientists, windmill climbers and solar installers…have led our society’s journey toward sustainability…

They are leaders because their excitement is stronger than their fear.

Logically, when crisis threatens we need to subdue our fear in order to take constructive action. But taking action also somehow diminishes our fear…Once we get busy we’re not as scared any more.

Perhaps we don’t control the forces changing our climate when we grow a few vegetables, but we do influence those forces, and I think the activity profoundly changes our perspective. The situation immediately seems more manageable when we begin to manage.”

—Bryan Welch, publisher of Mother Earth News

Photo by julochka, via flickr Commons

Photo by julochka, via flickr Commons

Have you found this to be true? I have, especially when I’ve gotten “the help of a few believers, supporters, and friends who light the way through the dark nights,” as David Orr describes elsewhere in the book. When I am at my lowest is usually when I’ve fallen away from hands-in-dirt activities for whatever reason, or when I’m feeling isolated. It’s easy to fall into this trap in winter especially.

But when I’m pulling together with neighbors to scheme a project or clean up my block or make a big batch of sauerkraut, I feel ready to face anything.

What about you? I’d love to hear about action you’ve taken—and how it impacts your anxiety level about the state of the world.