Author: Steph

Came one day, to the town that was not too big and not too small, a gathering of folk known as the Babylonians. Came they with supplies, curiousity, and a great will to learn.

They came to learn of the days of 2030. Believed they still that resilience looked rather like a pyramid, though they could easily see how it could be toppled if one below became too mobile, or one on top exerted too much pressure.

One said he would one day be a rich man, whilst others spoke of marriage, children, and fine clothing, and another spoke of freedom and adventure.

To the storyteller of the town that was not too big and not too small they had come to together weave a story web to see how it was they would be in the future soon to be.

Soon, in the realm of Image Ination, built they a city, GreenCity, and a village not far off, EcoVille. It seemed the women preferred city life, maybe because it was more familiar to them, and the men a smaller place, perhaps because there were more opportunities to be had to make a fortune as an entrepreneur.

Of challenges they had a few, each settlement something different, till the time of the flood, which came first to EcoVille and thereafter to GreenCity. T’was the flood that really showed the Babylonians that it is not upon pyramids that resilience is built, but upon goodwill, good neighbours, and good relationships.

The climate it did change, as all knew it was wont to do, at the end of an age, and rain storms came to their land.

When floods came to EcoVille there was one of their number whom they had nicknamed FlowerPower, who saved the day. Twas a man they had before sometimes laughed at for he was able to represent poverty so well they could not ignore it. Came the crisis though, and FlowerPower had just the skills required; together the people of EcoVille were able to build a dam under his expert guidance. With this they were able to save their village from drowning, and harness the extra water for power.

When the rain storms caused flooding to reach GreenCity too they called out to their neighbours for help, and the EcoVillians sent FlowerPower, who worked with them too to build a dam.

T’was soon after this that the peoples of the two settlements came together to celebrate with a gathering, all that had happened to them in the years leading up to the floods that preceded 2030.

Told the peoples their stories, of how they had fared during the long years of separation, when one challenge had preceded another, and all had been too concerned with surviving to have much contact with even their closest neighbours.

The people of the city told a tale of slowing down, little by little, though first they had grown in size. New people had arrived, migrated their way. The inhabitants of GreenCity were a kind and compassionate sort, many women sat up on their council. They organised a meeting to create new ideas and organized new projects to share. They built houses for all of their new people.

It was at this point, when all were nicely settled in that the city became overrun with foxes. It was a great dilemma for such a peaceable people. To allow them all the run of the city they could not, but to kill them off was just too inhumane. To the neighbouring village they turned, knowing the country folk were sure to have the answers to such a challenge, and sure enough they did; for they counted hunting as one of their skills, and offered to hunt down those red brown pests once and for all. But the people of GreenCity were distraught; how could they live with themselves with the death of all those foxes upon their consciences?

At last harmony was found; t’was agreed that some of the foxes must indeed be culled, to bring the numbers down to a manageable quota, but that an area in the centre of the wood in the centre of their fair green city should be given over to their bushy tailed visitors. Live and let live, said they, no matter our differences, for one never knows when diversity will be the solution. And so it was that GreenCity became famed throughout the land for its green wooded areas full of wildlife and flowers, and its fashionably dressed people in their splendid scarves of reddish brown fox fur tails.

Whilst GreenCity was concerned with very practical matters of all its visitors who wanted to stay, the inhabitants of EcoVille were busily creating a new communication network, for the internet had crashed in definitely. It is thought that they reinstated postmen and much fun was to be had as the younger members learnt the joy of a letter on the mat.

Meanwhile in GreenCity the last supermarket had closed its doors. It was not the tragedy many suspect it might be. By now, with the practise they had had keeping their fox population to manageable numbers, many of the inhabitants knew how to hunt, and not only that, they had turned many of their fields over to vegetable growing and there were amongst them those skilled in breadmaking, and since the city had its own spring, all of these activities were easily supported. Enough milk, cheese and meat they produced from the animals they kept.

EcoVille, being in the countryside, did not seem to have the challenge of food the city dwellers were facing. Instead, they were faced with a problem of people power, or should we say, lack of it. It turned out, that in a village, being small, all hands were needed to get all the jobs done, but not all were so eager. There were those who needed to talk about how they were feeling, in these changing times, and before they could contribute they needed to talk. A meetings centre was constructed where regular gatherings were held, especially for the purpose of airing feelings, and once this was addressed, things between the people began to get easier in the little village.

Just in time …for it was becoming really important to recycle and reuse as much as possible, and Mr Recicole dreamt up a way of the village being able to trade with other places. With his expert recycling skills he was able to teach the others enough to open a recycling factory, built with the aid of his good friend and colleague Mr Cashman, who paid for all the building work to be completed.

No sooner had this venture become established when along came the floods and all other work stopped for a while until the now famous Flower Power Dams had been built.

As the EcoVillians were leaning to build their first dam, power cuts were affecting the people of GreenCity. Fortunately they had been a very aware city and had many solar panels already upon their roof tops, and a wind powered generator did they count amongst their prized possessions, so essential services continued. Meanwhile the inhabitants were discovering the joys of having more time on their hands, for with less energy to go around, they were having to make up their own entertainment. It is said that they sang and danced long in to the nights, and that many a new artist was discovered amongst their midst as painting became a pastime where before people has sat before screens for hour after hour.

As life in the city slowed down, and the people rediscovered the pleasures of a slower pace of life, the inhabitants of EcoVille were still working hard. They had acquired a community farm and were busy turning it into a forest of local trees they could harvest for the production of all kinds of useful things.

So busy were they that they found they had quite neglected their winter firewood and as the nights drew in they found no logs for their fires, for all were wet from the rain storms. Undetered by this setback, into the polytunnels went the wood, to dry out for the next year, whilst they thanked their forward planning nature and heated their homes with the help of solar panels and wind powered generators.

Again some of the villagers’ entrepreneurial nature caused rifts in the settlement. Some complained that things were moving just too quickly, what with Mr Cashman injecting money into all the new business enterprises that would ensure the village’s future success and Mr Recicole constantly having ideas for new ventures. Whatever shall we do, bemoaned the unhappy people, what with some who move quickly by nature and others of a gentler more laidback inclination? From the future the message was received; the skills of all must be valued, for there is a time for all things, and each one of us is perfectly equipped for one such of those times, and we never know when one or other will be called upon to serve, so let each do what is his or her passion, and let none judge another, but let a time of work for you be a time of rest for some, and be ready to rest when it is others whose skills are called upon, for all must have rest and play, for what is life if it be full of toil, and what use your work anyway if it is not that which you love best of all.

And then it came to pass that the by now famed floods threatened GreenCity and those that were skilled and so inclined went off to assist their neighbours.

As the tales of 2030 were shared the Babylonians soon realised that the story of the future was wholly in their hands, and that their decisions counted. Their story web had taught them that the skills of each were needed, and that choosing what to do by the things that make us feel happy is very simple indeed, and more, that when we choose in this way, everybody wins, there is no need for competition, war, or hoarding.

The future read, the Babylonians sat down to a feast of ham and eggs, all parcelled in bread, and wrapped around by shiny silver foil.

“Recycle it” called out She of Ethical Stance, and each square of shiny silver foil was carefully smoothed, folded and put away, for next time.

One more merry band of young time travellers has safely crossed the Sea of Image Ination into the future, and returned, to tell their tale, of how the future is safe, in their hands.

Once, in a time that was, and was not, a time of Transition, there were three settlements, in a wooded area in the southern Hams not so very far from the famed town that was not too big and not too small.

 

The first settlement to form took it upon themselves to include the pathway as part of their territory, for they said, a toll could perhaps one day be charged, to bring income into their community.

Later two more settlements sprung up; one lower down the hill, on the road to the market place, and one higher up, on the top of the hill, in a wooded glade.

 

The people of the lower settlement were in general a young people, they built swings, and quickly established their shelters, and they delighted in clothes of the brightest of hues, and costumes that remembered styles of old. Dashing were the young men, with robes and turbans, and bright young faces. They became known, over time, as the Stylists.

Picture pending parental permission

The people in the middle named their settlement Crown Land, for they had a princess, the Princess Edda, who wore a crown of pastel shades, golden sparkles upon her cheeks, and who spoke the language of those parts better than any other in her community, except perhaps for her advisor, an older man, who also cared for those who needed support in the community.

With time it was inevitable that the people of the lower settlement should have cause to meet the people of Crown Land. Times became challenging, and trade with other places was becoming more expensive. The Stylists went off to see if they could negotiate with their nearest neighbours.

 

The Stylists, maybe because of their youthful exuberance and their liking for carrying fine wooden spears, did not meet with a friendly reception from the Crownlanders. Rather, a wooden gate did they find, blocking the way forward, and the townsfolk stood at their side of their finely constructed gate, and drove a hard bargain. To come and trade with us, a toll must you pay.

 

Well, the Stylists liked this not. In the spirit of good neighbourliness it was not, and with youthful passion, stormed the gates with their spears.

 

For some time to come relations between the two settlements were not friendly with unexpected assaults on Crown Land happening by day and by night. Crownlanders were not fair traders, declared the Stylists.

 

Within the borders of Crownland, however, the tale was another. Their neighbours were warlike, said they. They were constantly having to defend their gates against assault.

The Princess Edda was graceful in her reception of the Storyteller, took her on a visit of the territory and the fine green castle that afforded the royal family with peace from the multitudes when things were stressful, and from where she commanded her subjects do her will, with “if you so please”s quite unexpected from one in her position.

 

Came a young woman, suddenly, breathless like a young hunted gazelle. Escaped from the Stylists, said she. The trouble was, for folk like her, from the settlement at the top of the hill, to get to market meant passing by the community of Stylists, and they were become ever more warlike with each day that passed.

 

It turned out that the people from the top of the hill had come to an arrangement with the Crownlanders for payment of the toll. For in their pleasant grove was much fine building material; long thin flexible lengths of the most attractive wood. With this had they traded free passage through the territory of their neighbours, and now the two were in alliance, and the menfolk of their community had joined with Crown Land in the wars that had ensued with the fierce Stylists.

 

In the grove at the top of the hill peace radiated as if no ill feeling had ever passed through the minds of the womenfolk living there whilst their menfolk defended their place from ever being disturbed. Signs of the activity that had begun before the wars were evident; a beautiful dome shaped construction covered over with fine silks of the brightest of hue lay half finished to the side of the main square, where the women folk sat in council, and dealt with the challenges that came day by day for with each foray to the market for supplies, news came of what was happening in their world, and find solutions they would.

 

Peaceful Grove was a veritable haven of quiet presence. Nature was abundant, birds could be heard, the air was soft and warm, and the people welcomed visitors gladly. Occasionally a little excitement broke the tranquillity; the menfolk back briefly from the wars, the arrival of the ones who had braved their lives on a trip to the market, and the sharing of the news, and the council that then formed to decide what was to be done.

 

The tale of Peaceful Grove began not so pacifically. The people there remember, back when, before they had moved to Peaceful Grove, how it had been that their people had not been so harmonious; one person kept wanting to take charge and organize everyone without listening to others’ opinions. The people organized a meeting to talk over the problem. They had beer and music, and all was well.

 

After the move to Peaceful Grove refugees from the war had come to their settlement. They were made warmly welcome. They were immediately introduced to the trade system, and the community agreements. They were given free beer, and asked to tell of themselves their stories.

 

Time went by, and there was a really wet autumn and all the logs for the fuel got wet. The townsfolk moved all the wood into their polytunnel to dry and in the meantime they heated their homes with the energy they had generated from the small precious stock of oil they had and the solar panels on their roof tops.

 

During the time of the wars it became important to them to think about how they could celebrate when somebody became a teenager. It was decided to have a great big party with music. Drums were built out of the local wood. The new teenager would be given beer, and presented with his own scarf; a brightly coloured garment to be worn when he went out of the settlement to visit others.

 

Meanwhile, Crown Land had become deserted. Nobody knew whence the people had gone. Some say that there were some who knew; but none were telling. It was rumoured that their princess had been abducted, and that the townsfolk had gone out to rescue her, but no one knew for sure if this was true. At the lower settlement signs of determined activity could be spied. The Stylists were packing up.

 

“What’s happening?”

“We’re leaving” declared their Elder. “This is not a good place for a community to settle; we are too close to the market place. Everyone has to pass by here, and we are not left in peace”

Picture pending parental permission

 

The Storyteller journeyed through the woods with the Stylists. They were a sad people. They still wore their brightly coloured garments, but on their faces their vitality was gone. With great enthusiasm had they approached their neighbours, to trade, and with great sorrow had they learnt that not everyone’s idea of the truth is the same. When they had tried to defend their truth, fair trade, they had been shut out, and branded villains by all and sundry.

 

Through the woods they trudged, till they came upon a place that was to their liking, on the very edge of the known world. Pretty soon to their name they were true, and with the rising of prices, they stopped making garments from oil based products, and instead grew hemp and fashioned their beautiful costumes from that instead. They began to recover their spirits as they concentrated on the well being of their own community without trying to trade with the others.

 

High above them, in Peaceful Grove, the council had decided to spend money on one new thing for the community. They decided to complete their community round house, so that they could meet and celebrate together with other communities.

 

During this time though, some people kept insisting on taking on more projects than that group had time to do properly, and then they would complain about getting burnt out. It was decided to make a work schedule and spread all the work equally. Meetings were held about the work, and each person was expected to take responsibility for themselves.

 

Then a block of High Rise flats became empty, and it was decided to make them available for any new community members that arrived, but not until they had all had a make over and were beautifully interior designed. A film studio was put in the building too, and vegetables were grown on its roof.

 

By this time in our tale less and less things were being imported from other countries, and Peaceful Grove extended their field space, and started to preserve fruit. They found that they were consuming less and saving a lot.

 

Further down the hill the inhabitants of Crown Land were taking it easy after the tribulations of the war. Nobody knew what other challenges they had faced, but all could see that the princess and her people were glad they did not have to fight any longer. They had taken down their castle walls, and were lying down together in the sunshine, relaxing in the knowledge that they would not be attacked. The gates had long gone, destroyed in the war.

 

Down in the glade of the Stylists, a new bright blue structure had gone up, and beneath it, some of the warrior folk were reclining, resting in their new found peace, glad to be far away from other peoples.

Some of their people, however, were to be found on their bellies, crawling along through the undergrowth, on route, the Journeyman was heard to say, to kidnap the Princess Edda…

 

And then the bells rang out for 2030. A new year was born, and as was the custom in those times, all the peoples of all the settlements set out to the market place, together, to hear the tales of the past year, to wonder at the trials and tribulations through which neighbours had passed, to learn from one another’s experiences, to resolve conflicts, or not, and to celebrate those who had achieved great things. The scroll of the history of Peaceful Grove, who had quietly beavered away working on their local challenges without interfering with the lives of their neighbours, and held safe harbour for those who wanted it, was greatly honoured, as was its scribe, Kira of the wild gazelle running legs, for her steady organizing of her people.

 

The Elder of the Stylists lamented the return to what he said were quite medieval ways, whilst the Elder of Peaceful Grove was heard to declare that her community was quite a beautiful jewel. The Princess of Crown Land said that machines should remain part of the future, and the warriors of the warring settlements continued to lock spears at every opportunity. Life, it seemed was to continue much as it ever does.

 

Into the air the proud survivors to 2030 leapt; we did it! Together, in a circle, a-joined, the merry kids in the woods followed the lead of the Journeyman whose skills had supplied so much of their building knowledge, and celebrated that life is very much just as you find it, and just as you make it, and what you put in, you are sure to get out!

Picture pending parental permission

–Philippe, France

 

Recently I have had the pleasure of working with groups on Hal Gilmore’s Big Green Canoe initiative.

 

It was a participant of a recent group that partook in the delights of a Transition Tour with Hal himself that got to the heart of the matter and it is he who I have quoted in the title of this blog.

 

It is a metaphor that speaks volumes, particularly relevant in Our times. When we think back to the Knights of old we know it was the grail they were searching for, but to this day we don’t know exactly what the grail was, or whether they ever found it; it depends on whose version of the tale we read.

 

In Our times we talk of Transition. This word can conjure up a myriad of different images and they are as diverse as the people who imagine our future and how it will be. Will it be a Mad Max scenario, Business as Usual, Techno Fix, a Utopian return to the past, or will we achieve a Power Down low impact future that embraces the best of the past with that of the present whilst still innovating the new?

 

In the Age of Chivalry they were looking for a representation of the feminine principle, which was somewhat sadly lacking back then. Nowadays it could be said we are looking for something more like balance. How do we celebrate diversity, honour both masculine and feminine roles, respect that both doing and being are of equal importance, understand that there is a time to act and a time to reflect, in all of our lives, and at all times in our lives.

 

 

Whatever the Grail of a time and its people, it is, as Philippe so beautifully said, “the Quest that matters”.

 

This has been brought home to me so poignantly with the death of my father this month. Did he ever find his grail? Has he found it now? I don’t know the answer to that. What I do know though, pretty intimately well, was his Quest. I know how he struggled with being the child of poverty and repressed Northern emotions, and having a big heart. I know how he struggled with the Victorian beliefs instilled in him when still young by his already old, maiden great aunts who took him in when his mother died when he was at the tender age of 7, and his own capacity for connection to nature and his intuition.

 

I know that he compromised his longing to live on the land, to fish, hunt, listen to the birds, and walk through woodland, to bring up his family in the manner of everyday folk of his times. My father’s Quest led him to compromise his health, for love of his family, his demons; the authoritarian figures who challenged him to work hard and pay a mortgage to keep a roof over his family’s heads, bring his children up well by sending them to school that instilled the values of the times in them, when his heart told him that recognising the plants and trees were things worth knowing.

 

My father’s Quest was about Love. Love for family, love for our earth, love for the poor children he struggled with watching on the TV, starving with hunger whilst he saw food being thrown away before his eyes. My father never compromised on that. His Quest tested his Love at every turn, as he struggled with the balance between his heart knowledge, and the stuff his head had been stuffed with from an early age.

 

My Quest is about Truth. I believe we need both Head and Heart. I believe too they need to work in tandem, not in compromise, not in one accepting dominion over the other, not in forsaking my own inner knowing for one given to me from the outside. Right now my Quest challenge is to follow my heart’s guidance, and then engage my head to act accordingly.

 

My website is my living experiment upon myself to test this out. My father never saw the finished site, he was too ill. It is his legacy though. His love for me guides me to trust my heart, and my search for the Truth engages my head to act.

 

I can feel the beginnings of faith in my way. Already the book that refused to be written for a conventional publisher has orders. Orders for each chapter that is written to be sent out month by month, to delight those that enjoy the plop of the written page on the welcome mat as it drops through their letterbox, and orders for the leather bound uniquely written limited edition volume of the Tales of Our Times. A cheque arrived yesterday with the words £100 with lots of love written across its bureaucratic body.

 

My Quest is for the Truth. It is also to see the never ending story of our lives be told, not just by historians, not just by those who we set up in authority over us, but by each and every person that has the honour of living in Our Times and helping the story unfold.

 

I don’t know what our Grail looks like, but I do know our Quest, intimately. I join in every day as I believe we all do, whether or not we are awake to that truth.

 

One of the ways I play my part is to chronicle the tales of the people I meet. Another, aptly enough, is to play the giant interactive Transition game, The Quest.

This game had its genesis in 2008 when playwright Hannah Mulder handed the task of designing an activity to enable young teenagers to envision a positive future to Guy Chapman and myself. Inspired by the young people we knew and their near obsession for Dungeons & Dragons type computer games, we developed a giant classroom sized board game, which has grown and developed over the past 4 years into quite a living project.

Its aim?

To find community led responses to the wellbeing of individual settlements and their bio regions.

 

Since I took over the facilitation of Transition Tales (the first Transition project to engage young people) from Hannah in 2009,  the Quest, with the help of a diverse and ever changing group of engaged and enthusiastic people, both in Totnes, and further afield (we have had collaborators based in London and Glasgow, Budapest and LA) has been played with kids from 6-16 and adults of all ages (the eldest in his nineties) all over England, in Scotland, Hungary, Spain, S Africa, and the States.

 

It has changed too, under the influence of all those many collaborators.  It has moved from being board based to classroom based, to woodland based. In Edinburgh they wanted more varieties of sheep added to the resources, in Glasgow they wanted to know why there were no High Rise flats, in Hungary they missed the bees, and a little boy in Rattery wanted to know why cricket couldn’t become a skill. The original 20 skill cards and the same number of resources now have 100 cards each in their packs, as each group that played added their suggestions.

 

The Quest mimics our real life challenge. How do we transition to a more positive future? As the years go by new challenges cards are added to the pack. In the beginning we were asking what we would do if oil became more expensive. Last year, as more and more groups formed to work together to bring about change in their local communities, we started asking how we deal with the dynamics of people when one feels excluded, or another takes on more than s/he can cope with.

 

As we encounter challenges on our Quest to a Transition future we learn, as children always have, very effectively, through play and image – ination, to try things out, think and act creatively, and be amazed at what is possible when we stop thinking according to the stories we have grown up believing, and begin instead, to co create a new story – the Tales of Our Times.

 

In Quest workshops we describe GNP as being part of the old story, the reaction to the Depression of the thirties, and GCH as being part of the new story – Great Community Happiness.

 

Yesterday Earthwrights playscape designer, Mike Jones, and I were out in the woods with a group of German teenagers from Freisberg, and their teachers, playing the Quest for real. Participants got to enact their challenges and responses to them in settlements they had built for themselves out of wood and found materials.

 

They struggled with boundaries, what happens when the neighbouring settlement trades unfairly? What do you do if your neighbours are not cooperative? What is the basic requirement for a community to maintain its state of well being? Some found that they were very active in defensive mode, others felt peaceful self sufficiency was more appropriate. It is endlessly fascinating how play mimics real life.

 

It is an interesting challenge we face in Our times. How do we learn to interact with one another in a state of balance where all communities are able to be reflective and inward thinking enough to maintain their own state of wellbeing regardless of what is going on around them, and equally are able to contribute to the well being of those around them without losing their own equilbrium?

 

There are four buzz words in the Quest; Diversity, Trust, Collaboration, and Resilience.

 

My sense is that when we are able to utilise these qualities during our Quest, we shall stop worrying about our Grail; we will be too busy living in our Transition future.

 

Watch this space tomorrow for the tale of the Kids in the Woods.