The Boldest Devastation

A somatic practice · drawing on what we know about how animals discharge stress

Sometimes when we step into difficult territory, or carry a lot for a long time, the energy floods the system and settles as heaviness. It doesn’t always leave on its own. Sometimes you have to literally shake it out.

Watch a deer that has just escaped something. Once it is safe, it shakes — hard, all over, for several seconds — and then goes back to grazing as though nothing happened. Most mammals do this. The shaking discharges the mobilised energy the threat produced, so it doesn’t stay stuck in the body.

Humans have the same reflex, and we spend most of our lives overriding it. We hold still, we stay composed, we carry on. This is simply giving that reflex permission for a minute or two.

How it works

Stand up. Start with the hands — shake them out fast and loose, as if flicking water off. Let it travel up into the arms and shoulders. Add the legs, one at a time, then both. Then let the whole body join in: the ribs, the spine, the head, the jaw. Let it get untidy.

Make noise while you do it. A brrrrbrbrbrbrb, a raspberry, whatever comes out. The sillier the better — the sound adds vibration, and the silliness gives the body permission to stop being dignified about it. Being dignified is part of what keeps it stuck.

Go for thirty seconds to a couple of minutes. Then stop, stand still, and let your arms hang. Notice what’s happening — tingling, warmth, the breath finding its own rhythm. That pause afterwards is where the settling happens, so don’t rush past it.

Sit with this

• What do you notice in the stillness afterwards that wasn’t there before?
• Where in your body were you holding something you hadn’t noticed?

Do this at your own pace and stop whenever you want to — it is entirely self-led, and you are in charge of it throughout. Shake as vigorously or as gently as suits you; there is no correct amount. Some people find it brings up more than they expected. If that happens, stop, stand still, and let yourself be with whoever is nearby. In a group, model it yourself and go first — nobody shakes freely while being watched by someone standing still. 2–4 minutes.

A ritual for speaking what we carry for the world · Joanna Macy, Work That Reconnects

What it is

A circle with four objects laid inside it. People step in, one at a time, take up whichever object matches what they’re carrying, and speak — briefly, or not at all. Everyone else does nothing but receive it.

No cross-talk. No advice. No comfort. That last one is the whole design. When someone says something true about the state of the world, our reflex is to soften it — the hopeful counter-example, the hand on the arm. However kindly meant, it lands as that’s enough now, and they stop. The ritual removes the possibility, and in removing it makes something sayable that otherwise can’t be said.

What you need

Four objects, gathered from outside:

• A stone — fear. How the heart feels when it’s afraid: tight, hard.
• Dry leaves — sorrow, for what’s happening.
• A thick stick — anger. Held hard in both hands. Not raised, not swung.
• An empty bowl — emptiness. The hunger for what’s missing.
• A cushion at the centre — for anything that fits none of them.

A circle, packed close. Clear ground — no bags, no bottles, feet out of the space.

Before it starts

Name what each object holds. Then answer the question people are already holding: where is hope? The ground itself is hope. Nobody would be here without it.

Then name what’s underneath each one, before anyone enters. Sorrow is love in equal measure — we only mourn what we care for. Fear spoken aloud is courage. Anger comes from a passion for justice. And an empty bowl is space for what isn’t here yet. This matters at the start, not just the end. People need to know that what they’re carrying isn’t a defect before they can carry it in.

The guidelines

• One at a time, entering when they enter. Speak from one quadrant or move between them.
• Silence while holding an object is a complete offering. Come in more than once, or not at all.
• Keep it brief. The object holds the focus.
• The group’s only response, spoken not in unison: I hear you. Or I’m with you.
• What’s said here stays here — and isn’t referred to afterwards, even to the person who said it.
• Personal grief is as welcome as world grief. It’s all one thing.
• Your first language is welcome. So is speaking as another being, if you say that’s what you’re doing.
• Don’t reach out to comfort anyone.

The ritual

Dedicate it — to all beings, to the healing of the world. Open with a collective AH, the sound for what hasn’t yet been spoken. Then wait. Silences will be long. Sit inside them; the urge to fill one is nearly always the facilitator’s discomfort, not the group’s need. Warn people before the close, so anyone still deciding can move.

Closing

Honour what was spoken and the way it was held. Truth-telling is like oxygen — without it we go numb; with it, we come into our own authority. Name what’s underneath each object again. Same words. They land differently now.

A final AH. Then three bows: to the Earth, head and hands on the floor. To yourself, hands on heart. To each other, palm to palm. Then leave space. Tea, quiet, singing if it arises. A break, and something else together before anyone goes off alone.

Hold in mind: only run this with a group that has already touched its pain for the world — a song, Open Sentences, something first. Place it mid-day, never last thing. Take part yourself; a facilitator who seems untouched is modelling distance, not steadiness. Close at ninety minutes — people are gripped and don’t notice they’re exhausted. If someone loses their connection to the room: go over, touch lightly, invite a long out-breath, bring them to the soles of their feet. Who are you? Where are you right now?

Full facilitator guide — setup, framing, facilitator notes, and a section on whether to run it at all:

↓ Download as PDF   ·   ↓ Download as Word

From ch. 7 of Coming Back to Life by Joanna Macy & Molly Brown (New Society Publishers, 2014). Shared open-source; please credit the source. workthatreconnects.org