The seasoned participants leave it at that.  It’s simple.  Well, okay, maybe not so simple.  There are heavy issues to address.  We have a polished facilitator who basically serves to guide the discussion.  I like her.  She is young.  The only real protocol that seems to exist is the general respect paid to each person and there is no time clock.  Speak.  We will all regard one another’s circumstance with interest.  The man to the left of me shared some manifestation of psychic phenomena he was experiencing.  Voices.  Hmm…voices.  To him, a mixed bag, sometimes disconcerting but interesting at the same time.  The group is not critical of his disclosure, on the contrary, we listen intently because we know there is something in his message for all of us.  The man across from me is battling the inherent difficulties of sharing living quarters with his stubborn 90 year-old mother.  Extremely taxing.  His head remained down as he spoke.  A woman who had a “professional” group demeanor offered few words but I suspect she was just warming up.  A man to my right hadn’t spoken yet by the time I had to leave early to go to work.  I look forward to his contribution, so, maybe next time.

There will be a next time.  I have decided this is an hour worth keeping in my schedule.  People in all levels of the kind of discomforts that trouble our spirit and our mind and which hold the potential to derail us…permanently.  I am not shy, at least not in the conventional sense.  I like talk.  Maybe this is a vestige of my at-home days with little ones.  We gather to learn and offer feedback and insight.  And I talk.  Talk is valued here in group.  A nod to listening — equally valued.  There is a certain sameness to all of us. Group.

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