[photo by Safiya @wildlight.creative]

What are we actually doing when we Circle? What exactly is formal relational practice? There are countless ways to answer that question.

Here are some different frames I offered to the participants in my recent immersion in Victoria.

1. It’s a way to identify the shape of our particular prison, and learn how to break out.

2. It’s a way to identify “countries” and cultures we have never visited, and learn how to visit them. (h/t Sofia-Jeanne and Kraye)

3. It’s a way to confront our “bigotries” – the things we think are, and aren’t, permissible – in order to expand the range of what we can be with. (again, h/t Sofia-Jeanne and Kraye)

4. It’s an individualistic “gym” where each person can do “reps” of different exercises and strengthen certain attentional and relational muscles.

5. It’s a meta-container for a variety of awareness practices.

6. It’s a state-shifting practice that doesn’t use drugs.

7. It’s a container for experiencing human groups as an ecology.

8. It’s a way to experience holy suffering.

9. It’s a way to experience holy love.

Let me expound a bit on some of these:

It’s a way to identify the shape of our particular prison, and learn how to break out. Relational practice offers us a chance to see the implicit “rules” we play by when we interact with others. Do you tend to give your attention to what’s happening externally, and forget to attend to yourself? Do you feel tense and boxed-in by your own strict social norms and “shoulds”? Does it feel hopelessly scary for you to say “no” to someone’s request? All of these are patterns that can be seen, experienced, and played with in the relational practice space.

It’s a way to identify “countries” and cultures we have never visited, and learn how to visit them. This is an idea I first heard rom my friend and teacher, Sofia-Jeanne Caring, quoting one of her teachers, Kraye Grymmont. The way I’ve understood this idea is that each person carries their own internal culture, and that therefore, each interaction we have is a kind of intercultural exchange. When we meet someone from a “different culture,” and find ourselves bumping up against unfamiliar language and norms, we can allow this intercultural frame to shower them (and ourselves) with curiosity and grace. Through practice, we glimpse the inner worlds of others; we “visit” these cultures and get to know them.

It’s a way to confront our “bigotries” – the things we think are, and aren’t, permissible – in order to expand the range of what we can be with. This one is especially cool, given the times of polarization we’re living in. Just being able to listen to each other without freaking out feels like a major developmental achievement. Relational practice is excellent cross-training for getting triggered by people who are doing things the “wrong” way, and discovering that we don’t have to hold on so tightly to our narrow sense of what’s acceptable interpersonally.

It’s an individualistic “gym” where each person can do “reps” of different exercises and strengthen certain attentional and relational muscles. Insight isn’t usually sufficient for change. We have to actually do something different, and feel that in our muscles and bones. It can be wonderful to have a space where we get to practice a new way of being – with people who are doing the same thing, and might forgive us more quickly when we inevitably stumble.

It’s a meta-container for a variety of awareness practices. Loving-kindness, open awareness, somatic noting, tonglen, “being love” … If you can do it on the meditation cushion, you can probably do (a modified version of) it in relational practice.

It’s a state-shifting practice that doesn’t use drugs. I have a lot of reverence for the psychedelic path, and have trained in the use of plant medicine to facilitate therapeutic work. I do find it amusing, though, how excited we get about psychedelics when we humans are actually powerfully psychoactive for each other. No chemicals necessary! Just gaze into someone’s eyes for ten minutes, and reality starts to bend. Circle practice makes use of the endogenous compounds in our body, and open us into some pretty serious neuroplasticity.

It’s a way to experience human groups as an ecology. Some of my favorite practice experiences have come when, in the midst of a surrendered leadership practice, the circle fractures. In that moment, it’s like a kettle has finally come to a boil. We go from order to chaos. From singularity to multiplicity. From a single conversation around a proverbial table to the raucous unpredictability of life itself. In the midst of this, my experience is often ecological: that person is the bird calling out from the treetops; those two are the foxes dashing through the underbrush; this one is the deer drinking quietly from a stream.

As for holy suffering and holy love: those are big enough to deserve their own post. Next time, I’ll share about how I’ve experienced each of these in formal practice.