Thursday, December 8, 2011

walk on

p. 134

enter Manish

great vision of interdependence...

meg and Deborah write..
it's 8am, 3pm, 6pm, it doesn't matter..
community alive with the connectedness of interdependency
of doing things that matter.. to you.. because of and for and with.... others


very fitting with a reread of @venessameimis's post on that physical space... like the web

http://emergentbydesign.com/2011/11/09/superhero-school-an-epicenter-for-disruptive-innovation/

ESP new comments..

on observing those spaces...
imagine spending less on classroom management, tests, curricula, and more on live spaces of permission to be.

the city is a fascinating and alluring place...
let's play there...


Manish on swaraj

Berkana on twitter: @berkanainst
Deborah Friezen on twitter: @dfrieze


 Deborah Frieze 

"Play has the capacity for subversive action because power doesn’t take it seriously, doesn’t recognize its presence":


 Deborah Frieze 

Envisioning Community as the Answer. I'll be interviewed on Voice America Business on 12/12 at 11 AM EST. Listen live:.

The story would end there, except that Pancho's strength resided beyond his body.  "It was excruciating pain," Pancho recalls.  Perhaps the police officer picked on Pancho because of his small and skinny frame, but the outer force is no match for Pancho's inner might.  The injustice is obvious, but Pancho knew that the officer is not to blame.  In a completely unrehearsed move of raw compassion, Pancho, with all the love in his heart, looks directly into the police officer’s eyes, and says, "Brother, I forgive you.  I am not doing this for me, I am not doing this for you.  I am doing it for your children and the children of your children."  The overflowing love coming from the heart of this man on a nine-day fast is unmistakable.  This is not the kind of encounter that police are trained in.  Seeing his confusion, Pancho steps up his empathy and changes the topic.  Looking at the last name on his badge, he asks for the officer's first name.  And addressing him as a family member, he says, "Brother, let me guess, you must like Mexican food."  [Awkward pause.] "Yes."  "Well, I know this place in San Francisco that has the best carnitas and fajitas and quesadillas, and I tell you what, when I get done with this and you get done with this, I'd like to break my fast with you. What do you say?"
The police officer is completely flabbergasted, his humanity irrevocably invoked. He accepts the invitation!  Dropping eye contact gently, he then walks around Pancho and voluntarily loosens his handcuffs.  In silence.  By now, all of Pancho's comrades -- twelve of them -- are also in handcuffs, so the officer then goes around to loosen everyone else's handcuffs too.


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