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<DIV><EM><FONT face=Garamond color=#800080 size=4>Thank you, Harrison - we are
all touched and enriched by knowing you and the truth, honor and integrity that
you carry within your soul. I AM passing your message on to my own
discussion list and to the VOSonVOS online environment.</FONT></EM></DIV>
<DIV><EM><FONT face=Garamond color=#800080 size=4></FONT></EM> </DIV>
<DIV><EM><FONT face=Garamond color=#800080 size=4>Blessings and much
gratitude,</FONT></EM></DIV>
<DIV><EM><FONT face=Garamond color=#800080 size=4>Toni
Petrinovich</FONT></EM></DIV>
<DIV><EM><FONT face=Garamond color=#800080 size=4><A
href="http://www.sacredspaceswa.com">www.sacredspaceswa.com</A></FONT></EM></DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<BLOCKQUOTE dir=ltr
style="PADDING-RIGHT: 0px; PADDING-LEFT: 5px; MARGIN-LEFT: 5px; BORDER-LEFT: #800080 2px solid; MARGIN-RIGHT: 0px">
<DIV style="FONT: 10pt arial">----- Original Message ----- </DIV>
<DIV
style="BACKGROUND: #e4e4e4; FONT: 10pt arial; font-color: black"><B>From:</B>
<A title=owenhh@mindspring.com href="mailto:owenhh@mindspring.com">Harrison
Owen</A> </DIV>
<DIV style="FONT: 10pt arial"><B>To:</B> <A
title=OSLIST@LISTSERV.BOISESTATE.EDU
href="mailto:OSLIST@LISTSERV.BOISESTATE.EDU">OSLIST@LISTSERV.BOISESTATE.EDU</A>
</DIV>
<DIV style="FONT: 10pt arial"><B>Sent:</B> Tuesday, June 11, 2002 8:09
AM</DIV>
<DIV style="FONT: 10pt arial"><B>Subject:</B> A Report from the Field -- Very
Long</DIV>
<DIV><BR></DIV><FONT face="Arial, Helvetica" size=4>Report from the Field...
Continued<BR><BR><I>Note – I have written this as my story, for after all it
is the only one I can tell. The details of the discussion remain with the
participants as they requested. My learning was profound, and I share my
experience so that we may learn together. I look forward to our further
discussion. <BR></I>
<DIV
align=center>******************************************<BR><BR><BR></DIV>Fifty
Palestinians and Israelis gathered in Rome to talk about themselves, their
future, and the possibilities of peace. They met in Open Space.<BR><BR>Two
days before the opening of the gathering, yet another “incident” took place. I
do not know the details, and they really don't matter, but in a moment the
possibility of the convergence in Rome hung on a thread. The Israeli
government moved on Ramallah and only by very quick actions were the delegates
from that city moved to Jerusalem a day early so that they could make the
trip. Once in Rome, all 50 came to the Centro Dionsyia – a marvelous 500 year
old villa which over looks the Basilica of St. Peters. We thought to meet in a
large pavilion located in the gardens, but upon arrival the rains came too.
Not just a little rain but sheets and torrents, dark clouds, high winds,
thunder, lightening.<BR><BR>The dripping participants moved inside the villa
for the opening ceremonies, but the time was late, and they were tired, some
having been on their feet for 24 hours. So the opening remarks by the Italian
minister for the Middle East were put to the side, as were the greetings from
the conference organizers. We began with some powerful comments by Nada, a
Serbian who has been working ceaselessly in that troubled part of the world.
How to deal with your anger, pain and despair -- all spoken from the heart and
from experience. We ate and went to bed.<BR><BR>The next morning 50
Palestinians and Israelis sat in a circle under the pavilion. I opened the
space asking each person to look around the circle and notice the people. It
was quite a group. Not just your standard peacenics – but people from the
right and the left politically and religiously.<BR><BR>I began by saying that
I had come because I cared for my friends in Palestine and Israel, and also
for myself and my children. And although the people in that circle may feel
themselves isolated and alone in their own private Hell with their own
agonizing story, that story was also the story of our world. Like it or not
they were in the hot crucible of the future of humankind. The future of all of
us is being created in that strange place known as the Holy Land, even as it
has been for millennia. So I cared, but I was also on the edge of despair or
beyond. I could not think of any way out. The issues were so deep and
intractable that movement appeared denied. Space was closed. But still I came,
and still I cared – as I presumed was true for each of them as
well.<BR><BR>When the present is closed, and the future confused, sometimes
the past can be helpful, and I recalled a time 10 years ago when I happened to
be in South Africa as Mandela was released from prison. We did an Open space
then in Capetown, and people sat in a circle fearing a future that appeared
all too dark and bloody. Over the several years following Mandela’s release,
as I came and went, my friends in the US and Europe would ask me what I
thought about the possibilities. To their surprise and mine too, I said I
thought that South Africa would make it. Not without problems for sure, but
they would make it. When asked why, I responded that there were two things I
know about every South African I knew. They all loved their land with
something approaching mystic intensity. And secondly, they all loved to sing.
I felt that people who loved their land and loved to sing would find the way,
as they seem to be doing. I knew that each person sitting in that circle in
Rome also loved their land. They too loved to sing. Maybe we would find a way.
But that way would not be easy, having many dark and fearful places. But we
could not avoid the dark, or we would never see the light. We had to go deep.
Each one of us must make that journey by ourselves, but it always helps to
have a friend. So I invited them to find a friend, best of all a new friend,
and don’t forget to sing. And so we started.<BR><BR>The open circle quickly
filled with people posting issues. In 20 min flat, the work for the next two
days was on the wall. It was not a pretty picture, and hard work in abundance
lay ahead, but we were under way. All day long, in the usual way of Open
Space, the conversation continued. Sessions convened and dispersed. The
details of those conversations are known only to the participants, but sitting
in that space, I felt an incredible flow of passion and desire, hope and
exasperation, fear and no small amount of trembling. It was all coming out.
But as we came to the end of the day, there was a peace which did not exclude
conflict, but somehow transcended it. We gathered in the circle for Evening
news. An olive tree had given me a branch for our talking stick. And we
shared. 50 Palestinians and Israelis sitting in a circle, passing an olive
branch each to the other.<BR><BR>The next morning broke clear. Not a cloud in
the sky. The warm Italian Sun gave energy to the place, and we began again.
New issues were posted, conversations commenced, but there was an edge. It
seemed that on this day we would go into those dark and frightful places that
had perhaps been visited before, but now it would go deeply. To set the tone,
one of our number noted that there had been yet more killing in that land they
called home. As the morning progressed, the clouds came, and by noon the Sun
was completely hidden. A cool breeze brought a chill. Over the afternoon, it
became darker and colder in stark contrast to the heat and intensity of the
conversations. By late afternoon, I found myself sitting on a banks of steps
in front of the villa between two large groups in heated debate. I could hear
some of the words, but didn’t need to listen in order to catch the tones of
anger, despair, fear, frustration – all came rolling towards me like a heavy
surf – acid discontent and pain. It was deep and it went
deeper.<BR><BR>Shortly after 5 pm, I rang the Temple Bells signaling Evening
News. Nobody was listening, and the waves of pain and fear rolled on. There
was nothing to do, but simply be there with it all. After all this was why we
came together.<BR><BR>Sometime later – I do not know exactly when – the
conversation ceased only to be replaced with an awesome silence. For practical
reasons, it was not possible to return to the pavilion for Evening News,
instead we gathered in a garden, sitting formally in white lawn chairs. The
circle was no bigger or smaller than previously – but the distance between us
all was huge. It appeared almost as the Theater of the Absurd, surreal and
menacing. Dark clouds, chilled air, white chairs, green grass, somber people.
I passed the talking stick – an olive branch – wondering whether it would
simply wilt in the atmosphere. Most people simply passed it along without
saying a word. Many of those who spoke noted the difference between that
moment and the evening before. Some voiced a feeling that all of us had.
Yesterday had been but an illusion, a phantasm, a terrible ironic dream which
would haunt us even as it disappeared. Evening News was over, and the group
scattered, some walking alone – others with a friend or two. It was very
quiet.<BR><BR>That night, after a meal I would hardly touch, I went to my
room, which was located just to one side of our pavilion where once again we
would meet in the morning. The pavilion was lighted all through the night
illuminating a silent circle of 50 chairs. And over the top of the pavilion, I
could see the dome of St. Peter’s bathed in floodlights standing silently as
it had for centuries. If I slept that night, I can’t remember. I do not know
what the others felt as they wrestled with the night, but I knew waves of fear
and anger, fear and desperation. What had started as a glimmer of hope just
two days before now seemed but a haunting, ironic nightmare.<BR><BR>And yet
through it all I knew that the hope had been real, the space had been open, we
had seen some light. But all of that had been followed by a forbidding
darkness which threatened, or perhaps had succeeded – in quenching the light.
It became clear that the end to our story was a matter of our choosing. We
could see only light quenched by darkness and choose to live in that darkness.
Or we could see that it was only because we had known the light and hope that
we had been able to go deeply into the darkness. And so we could carry both
the light and the darkness and continue the journey with a friend(s) –
remembering to sing. Our choice. Some words from Rumi, the Suffi poet came to
my mind. “There is a field, beyond right thinking and wrong thinking. I will
meet you there.”<BR><BR>The night ended and the dawn broke, and once again we
were sitting in a circle. 50 Palestinians and Israelis, on our final day
together. I opened the circle with a few words. Exactly what they were,
I can’t remember – but something like... We have known some hope and light
together. We have entered into the darkness. This is a day of choosing. I
propose that we take the next hour to be with our selves and/or talk with our
friends. In one hour, I will ring the bells. Those who wish to return to our
circle, please do so. Those who find that they cannot come back – for whatever
reason, know that their choice is honored and respected. Then I said the words
of Rumi one more time. “There is a field beyond right thinking and wrong
thinking. I will meet you there.” And I left.<BR><BR>Over the hour, I walked
the grounds, past the olive trees, down the many paths, pausing to gaze at the
looming Basilica of St Peters. Strangely silent. Strangely comforting. Others
were around, but I spoke to no one, and no one spoke to me. As the hour
ended, I passed an olive tree. It gave me a fresh branch. I started ringing
the bell and slowly returned to the circle of 50 chairs, not having a clue as
to what might happen next. <BR><BR>I was surprised to see all the chairs full.
My words were few – something like – We have known the light and walked in the
darkness. And where are you my friends? Where are you going, and what are you
going to do? I passed the fresh olive branch to my right.<BR><BR>For the next
several hours, people spoke, one at a time...with respect. As the hours past,
people came and went as they needed, but the always returned. There were tears
and laughter. New projects were announced, and old ones revisited. Commitments
were made to continue, and the roughness of the journey ahead acknowledged. On
this last day we had been joined by a special guest, the head of the Islamic
community in Rome. And after all had spoken, I invited him to speak. He was
introduced by David Rosen, a leading Orthodox Rabbi from Jerusalem. As I
remember his words were something like, “The Koran teaches us that to kill one
person is to kill us all. And to save one person is to save the world. We must
take whatever steps we can.” When he finished, there was absolute silence, and
I asked the group to stand, and one more time look into the eyes of each of
their fellows. It was a long look. And then I asked that they turn in place so
that each person faced outwards to all points of the compass. I wished them
well on their journey, and asked that they remember, when they felt lonely and
discouraged, that there was much love and respect behind them, at least at
this moment. The circle broke. We had lunch.<BR><BR>The afternoon was an
incredible flow of informal discussions, moments of reflection, relaxation.
Diner came, musicians from Palestine and Israel performed, people danced. And
in the morning busses and taxis departed. I returned from Rome last night, and
this morning I read that more have been killed. The struggle goes on, but I do
not think it is hopeless. At the very least we all have a
choice.<BR><BR>Harrison
<BR><BR><BR><BR><X-TAB> </X-TAB><X-TAB> </X-TAB><X-TAB> </X-TAB><X-TAB> </X-TAB><BR></FONT><X-SIGSEP>
<P></X-SIGSEP>
<DIV align=center>Harrison Owen<BR>7808 River Falls Drive<BR>Potomac, MD 20854
USA<BR>phone 301-365-2093<BR>Open Space Training <A
href="http://www.openspaceworld.com/"
eudora="autourl">www.openspaceworld.com</A> <BR>Open Space Institute <A
href="http://www.openspaceworld.org/"
eudora="autourl">www.openspaceworld.org</A><BR>Personal website <A
href="http://mywebpages.comcast.net/hhowen/index.htm"
eudora="autourl">http://mywebpages.comcast.net/hhowen/index.htm</A><BR><BR><FONT
color=#0000ff><U>OSLIST@LISTSERV.BOISESTATE.EDU<BR></U></FONT>To subscribe,
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href="http://listserv.boisestate.edu/archives/oslist.html"
eudora="autourl"><FONT
color=#0000ff><U>http://listserv.boisestate.edu/archives/oslist.html</A><BR><BR><BR><BR></FONT></U></DIV></BLOCKQUOTE></BODY></HTML>