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The Talking Stick

Today I’m picking up the talking stick.

In a little while, it will go to someone else–maybe you.

In the warmth of the campfire, we can tell our secrets. We can share our dreams. There while holding the stick, we cannot be argued with, interrupted, or ridiculed.

The talking stick gives us time and a platform to say our piece.

Others may disagree with our statements, that’s okay, they will have their turn.

After a while, we see each other for who we are—we are The Wisdom Seekers.

You know that the talking stick is a Native American practice. It’s a physical item, a decorated stick that gives the one holding it the right to talk. The others do not interrupt, make snide comments, or argue. After the first speaker is complete, the stick passes to the next person who wishes to use it.

I saw the stick lying on the floor this morning, vibrating as as though it had been electrofied.

Yet, as I, with a quivering hand, picked up the stick, I wondered if the group would throw me out. I feared ridicule and laughter. You don’t know what you’re talking about, some might say. You’re crazy, says another.

Wait, you will have your turn.

I know that there is a truth buried deep within me from old times, from ancient cultures, from present teachers, and from my own experience.

We have to share what we have gained from the privilege of living on this beautiful planet.  (If you don’t value this planet, watch “This Strange Rock,” on Netflix, and see how our earth is daily fighting for us.)

Our duty is to teach what we know and to counter the negative bias that permeates all of us as human beings.

Take what you will from sthe following pages. Add your own, and know that I love you,

Joyce

“And what would you do,” the Master said unto the multitude, “If God spoke directly to your face and said, “I COMMAND THAT YOU BE HAPPY IN THE WORLD AS LONG AS YOU LIVE,” What would you do then?”

And the multitude was silent, not a voice, not a sound ws heard upon the hhillsides, across the valleys where they stood.”

–Richard Bach, Illusions

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