No surprise, no larger room was arranged for our second meeting of the semester. The principal assured me: ‘Next time!’ So, 14 pupils and I entered the small Relaxation Room. When I looked at the circle of those seated on the bean bag chairs, it was clear that there were some new participants.
“Three are away!” I was told as I counted the faces.
17! I thought.
I registered the notion (15 was the limit in these Grade 8 workshops), then I welcomed them and checked the homework. “Who managed to do the ‘Taste the soup – eyes closed or open’ assignment?” Some had. Eyes had been closed. Eyes had been opened. Some claimed that no soup had appeared on their previous week’s menu, and therefore they couldn’t say.
Yet, the idea was offered, that we are all different and that we were all embarking on a discovery of ourselves.
Their previous week’s offerings concerned their expectations of our workshop. This week, we were going to put it in a visual form. The exercise was to take paper and pastels, trace their own hands, write within that space a word that encapsulated what they expected or wanted to learn and then somewhere on the page, to sign their names.
Most of the kids were happy to take out pastels and draw. After a while, one girl got an idea and asked to go get some leaves from outside. She continued a beautiful design.
N, from the previous semester used a green pastel, drew very quickly and handed it in. I reminded him of the instructions since he hadn’t written anything to do with what I’d requested. A second time he submitted his work, forgetting to sign his name. Then he added a portrait/ caricature of a face, claiming that this is someone he doesn’t like and how that face just ‘came to him’.
Little did I know that it was a pointed jibe at a new girl in the class, and only later did I discover how long a history they’d had.
Meanwhile, back in my delusional land of all’s well, pupils finished their work, handed it in for me to look at, bringing us to the time for sharing. If they felt so compelled, if they chose, it was an opportunity to offer insights or statements about what they had drawn. I told them that whatever was said, our work was not to judge, but to examine how we responded. Our work was about ourselves. It was not easy but our task was to focus on our own reactions. And we went round the circle.
When it was N’s turn, he pointedly looked at the inspiration for his caricature and began a fast slur of sentences that caused her face to contract and her hands to clench. The other kids told him to be quiet. “N, N! That’s enough”. He stopped midway. I looked at Y, the target. “Are you okay?” She nodded. I reminded him that the exercise was about ourselves, our expectation. Our work was on ourselves, to study our own responses, not others.
N looked at me and asked if I wanted him to leave. Touchy situations – how he jumped to conclusions about what I was thinking – (not the first time). I asked him if he heard me say that? I told him that I wanted him to work on himself and to respect the others in the room. Was he capable of doing so? He said yes.
I told them all it was time to come back to their breath. I held the Tibetan Singing Bowl, inviting them to listen to the sound, noticing their breathing. When they could no longer hear the bowl, to raise their finger.
Then we resumed our sharing circle. We eventually heard from O, the girl with the leaf – how her feelings about the work here brought her to the realization that leaves were the best representation of what she hoped to learn. Her work was beautiful. I said so, and then looked around. ‘What rule did I break just now?’ ‘You judged her work!’ ‘Yes’, I said. ‘Very good!’. Let’s continue.
We did. Once their work was collected, we sat to collect our attention once more. I took the Singing Bowl and invited them to open their eyes, only closing them when they ceased to hear the sound.
Tibetan Singing Bowl
Class Relax 