The story of this world will go on…each one of us is in that story, every single one of us is a character in it, and whether we like it or not, we’re going to be playing a part in how it all works out. I wonder, then, if you might ask yourself the question I ask myself in dark times: Are you hiding in despair, waiting for the witch to find you or the wolf to eat you – or are you looking up for the glimmer of starlight that’s always shining beyond the dark canopy above you? Do we let the story happen to us, or do we look for ways of moving it forward, of trusting that we have a part to play? ~Sharon Blackie
Dear Springhouse community,
I have always loved a good story – a fairytale or old proverb. When I was a child, I used to carry around a big book with golden writing on the cover full of old tales. Cinderella was my favorite – particularly the pumpkin that turned into the carriage. In my thirties and forties, I was part of a fairytale group led by a Jungian analyst I knew. I learned so much about myself and life from those women and old stories.
Recently, I have been telling the Inuit tale of the Skeleton Woman in our Springhouse adult programs. I have tussled with this tale for many years, and, to this day, I continue to learn from it. It teaches us about the consequences of avoidance and points us in the direction of regeneration and hope. I wanted to share it with you all and then share a few thoughts I have when I think about this story as it relates to creating culture by changing education. But first, here’s the story:
Once upon a time, there was a fisherman who lived in a small village by the water. It was cold where he lived, and this fisherman was very lonely and hungry. One day, he decided to head out to an inlet to fish. He had heard this water was haunted, but because he was tired and lonely and hungry, he set out hoping to catch something for dinner.
He paddled his kayak out to the center of the inlet, untangled his line, and threw his bone hook deep into the dark, cold waters. He waited patiently, as fishermen do, until he felt a strong tug on his line — so strong that he knew this would be not only enough for his dinner that evening but possibly enough for the whole village. He began to pull up his line slowly, and, much to his surprise, the fisherman’s bone hook had caught onto the ribcage of the Skeleton Woman, who had been on the floor of this inlet for many, many years – too many to count. She had long yellow teeth that clung to the side of his kayak, sea worms coming out of her eye sockets, and sea urchins sprouting from her skull like hair. She was screaming wildly, and, of course, the fisherman was terrified.
He began to paddle very quickly back to shore, but, since the skeleton woman was tangled in the line, as he paddled she followed, racing across the water on her tiptoes. He made it to shore and ran as fast as he could back to his skin hut. He huddled quietly in the dark, cold corner of his hut, shivering with fear. He waited a while — long enough that he thought that the Skeleton Woman was no longer a threat. He began to light a small fire to warm himself. As he did, by the dim light, he could see across from him the Skeleton Woman.
She was a jumbled mess of bones, and, as the fisherman looked at her this time, he felt not terror, but compassion. He moved toward her and began to sing softly as he untangled her bones. After a while, he was quite tired, so he climbed underneath his skin blanket and fell fast asleep.
The Skeleton Woman watched the man as he slept, and sometimes when we sleep a small tear will fall out of our eyes. We don’t know why this happens, but it does, and it happened to the fisherman. The Skeleton Woman was thirsty, so she moved closer and began to drink his tears. As she drank, she slowly slipped her hand onto his chest, pulling out the fisherman’s heart. She began to bang that heart like a drum, and, as she did, she sang a song. “Flesh! Flesh! Flesh!” the Skeleton Woman sang, and slowly her body began to take shape — long black hair flowing from her head, flesh filling in through her bones. The woman then slipped under the blanket with the fisherman, where they tangled together all night.
Come morning, the two headed out the skin hut together. The people say that the two headed out on a long journey together, and, because of the friends the Skeleton Woman made under the sea, the fisherman and the woman never went hungry again. And that is the end of the story — or the beginning, depending on how you look at it.
The culture we are living in is unsustainable – orienting around practices like limitless growth, consumerism, and individualism, to name a few. In her book, We Want to Do More than Survive: Abolitionist Teaching and the Pursuit of Educational Freedom, Dr. Bettina Love writes that our schools are a reflection of our society. The current Western educational model privileges linearity, preservation over creativity, and uniformity. The unsustainable values that this model perpetuates are now globally pervasive. From this design, practices emerge like standardized testing that promotes norming, a lack of critical thinking and adaptability, and uninspired learning environments that drain educators and learners. Further consequences exist like a disconnection between learners and their communities, few practices that foster healthy identity formation, and teaching methodologies that further disrespect the individual, no matter the age or position. This current model can be slow to change, with innovations that address the symptoms of a faulty foundation rather than the stifling principles at the center of the design.
Managing the symptoms of the current conventional educational paradigm will only take us so far. As we know, the Skeleton Woman and the fisherman had to go through a lot to walk off into the sunset together so that they were both sustained, connected, and ready to travel on. They had to go deep to come out well. As Dr. Love points out, schools are a reflection of unsustainable practices buried deep within our larger culture. If we are willing to go deeper than the symptoms, schools could be sites for cultural regeneration – communities that could lead the way into new (yet ancient, in many cases) ways of designing culture. To steward forth vitality where there is lack of it requires both facing what is dying underneath the surface (like in the cold waters where the Skeleton Woman lived) while also having faith in what is possible. Designing something new, or living into the solution amidst the challenge, is where the problem and possibility meet. This intersection is complex and rigorous and requires that we stay very close to the central identity, or purpose, of the design itself.
The story of the Skeleton Woman tells us that we must go deep – get at the heart of things – to make sustainable change. This can be scary and unexpected, much like we saw with the fisherman when he met the Skeleton Woman. What we pull up from the deep, or the truth that emerges when we get closer to the center, often requires a lot of courage and compassion to face. The way we educate young people is based on a design that is too small for what they, and their communities, are capable of. It has been this way for a long time, and there are many who have written for decades about this problem. When potential lies unattended at the bottom of the sea for many years, like the Skeleton Woman, it gets scared and angry and definitely haunts the waters, so to speak. We see so many symptoms of how the current educational paradigm is not tending very well to the potential of our young people and the communities they live in. This paradigm, born from the myth of separation, has been around for so long and is bigger than any one school, teacher, or administrator. This is one reason why this problem is so hard to move toward – there is no one in particular to hold accountable and there is not just one solution. The restoration needed now invites us to untangle the Skeleton Woman with compassion and see what she has in store for us when it comes to learning and growing together.
We need people who are willing to go into the deep water, pull the Skeleton Woman out of the dark (often unknowingly), and point the center of educational design in a more sustainable and vital direction. We do this like the fisherman by facing our fears, catching our breath, warming up by the fire, and untangling and singing to the neglected bones. We can sing to the brokenness of our culture through our schools. I know this to be true because we are doing it now. Springhouse puts life at the center of its design. As an intergenerational learning community, we practice the shared values of connection, individuality, resiliency, creativity, integrity, and trust to grow dispositions needed to contribute to the cultural renewal needed at this time. Through our community practices and curriculum, we aspire to be more loving, authentic, determined, hopeful, honest, committed, and confident people — no matter our age.
The tale of the Skeleton Woman teaches us that regeneration requires courage, compassion, and creativity. We need each other. Springhouse exists to untangle and sing to the Skeleton Woman, buried at the bottom of a very dysfunctional design, to see where she wants to lead us. We are here to face what is difficult, to grieve the consequences of an unsustainable system, to bang the drum of compassion and purpose, and, like the Skeleton Woman, sing flesh back to what was almost dead. We are here to do this together, one day at a time, in a way that respects the individuality of our community and the communities we partner with.
There are many ways to join us in this story. You can partner with us, come to a community meal, or join our intergenerational K-12 school. Know that whatever ways you contribute, you are deeply appreciated.
Gratefully,
Jenny
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