As my grandmother was aging, at a point when she could really only go outside with a walker and physical assistance, I recall visits where we would lunch at a local NYC diner. She would ask me things about my life, about school, about my friends, about my studies, and she would marvel at the complexity of the world in which I lived. (This was 1984, so we can only imagine what she would say about our world today!)
What I recall most poignantly is the way she would pay attention, seeming to hang on every word, and the way she made me feel safe, and loved, loved no matter what I would say, no matter what I had to share. I never felt judged. No matter what she thought about the details of my escapades, she would listen closely, look me in the eye, and continue to pursue an understanding of my life.
She provided a container, a space where I could see myself more clearly and grow as direct result of how she was holding me.
“Be the container for the group – be larger than the largest disturbance in the room.”
– William Isaacs
When groups heat and fracture, our containers need to strengthen, so that we can better support what is wanting to come to light. Other times the container in the room is so strong that we might be enveloped in its power, and therefore our ability to show up increases because the room is holding us, in a way, as my grandmother held me so well years ago.
When my grandmother, somewhat hard of hearing and surely with many of her own personal concerns, was completely able to show up for me, I was completely able to show up for her. I could be more vulnerable, because I felt safe. She brought out the purest part of me by how gracefully she held me in her own heart.
Love, as a base note, is the ore, and order, of the container.
It is simply this: How we hold each other in our hearts, that is the container, that is what we can offer to each other, across any boundary.
Directly relates to Attending