It might sound a little clichéd that a men's council group got onto talking about fathers and fatherhood within the first few gatherings, but the experience and shared stories created a deeper sense of trust and connection.
I have felt a lighter, persistent positivity in the last four weeks since joining the circle council. I feel like my mind is clearer, like I'm able to engage with greater delight in tasks, experiences and relationships.
With that in mind, I felt sudden a rattle of agitation when our council leader, after we'd checked in, invited us to share our pain or joy of father relationships. As is consistent with council circle, we were to share our own story and avoid comment on each others. He also reminded us to listen from the heart to each other and speak spontaneously when our opportunity came.
I had to work had to apply these principles during the other members first few experiences because I felt a weight of the pain that I've tended to avoid acknowledging. The pain of the past is usually dealt with through attempted ambivalence and shelving frustrations. I pushed them from my mind to give attention to the other narratives, which were a mixture of positives and negatives.
The talking stone felt a little heavier than usual as I hefted it in my hand after it had been passed to me. I spoke in a passionate rush of frustration, disappointment and distance. I shed tears and spoke vehemently.
After an emotional few minutes of tirade and anxiety that I might cause the same hurt to my own children, I finished and listened to the other stories of both proximity and distance.
After each sharing our truth, we held hands in silence, eyes closed, acknowledging each others openness and honesty. A member of the group then offered a blessing of appreciation for our fathers, and in particular a recognition that we were loved by them; that despite our disillusion, that our fathers had acted with the best of intentions and that they had done their best with the abilities and limitations they brought with them.
As I'd been listening to the stories that came after mine I had felt a space open in my mind. As people spoke of the small acts, habits and characteristics of their fathers that they appreciated, I felt myself willing to be kinder, more generous.
We are taught to avoid the word "but" in our stories. When we express a perspective or experience and then say "but" to segue into the next section, we diminish or undermine that which has been said previous to it.
Instead, we say "and..."
After our moment of unity and acknowledgment, I took the opportunity to speak further and said:
"I am a fan of the saying, 'writing crystallises thought.' Perhaps speaking spontaneously, leanly and emotionally, to a trusted ear does the same thing. Everything that I said remains a reality and a definite experience. As I articulated my pain and allowed to bubble up out of me, it felt like I was freeing a space in my mind or spirit or soul... whatever you consider that consciousness to be. As I spoke my pain, I realised how emotional space it was occupying. Sharing it released it, or at least reduced it and freed up space for compassion and appreciation and a more positive perspective.
What I shared earlier is a truth... and... expressing them has made room to notice others. Who I am and what I appreciate about myself are, in part, things I can also take time to see and appreciate in my father.
He is, in ways, not self-conscious and doesn't worry what people think of him, a characteristic I deeply appreciate in myself.
He is willing to say sorry, an act I also value and can do comfortably.
I love to entertain an audience, a delight I also see in my father.
I have an appreciate for people, for diversity of cultures, for the earth, for nature, for art... which are all perspectives that I recognise in my father too."
As with previous weeks, I feel a deep and abiding peace.
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