The Shadows We Bring to the Fire

In every community, the people who create it also shape it with the parts of themselves they can’t see. We bring our dreams, yes — but we also bring our shadows.

Some of our values live on the surface. We know them, speak them easily, and feel proud of them. Others live deeper, under the skin, invisible until someone presses against them. And when they’re pressed, they hurt. That hurt is not the problem — it’s a messenger.

In ReVillage Society, we expect that pain will visit us. We expect shadows to show up at our gatherings, in our projects, in our conversations. They are not proof of failure. They are proof that we are real, alive, and human together.

No single mirror can show a person their whole reflection. We need a village of mirrors. Sometimes those mirrors are gentle and kind; sometimes they are clear and unflinching. Together, they help us see the parts we would otherwise miss.

We also hold this in a larger truth: the world we inherited was built on the use of power to get one’s needs met — often without regard for the impact on others. This pattern, old as empires, leaves hurt in its wake. We do not name it to shame, but to see it clearly. When we keep acting from that old pattern, we are, knowingly or not, adding more pain to someone else’s life.

Our task is not to pretend we can escape this inheritance overnight. Our task is to recognize its presence in ourselves, in our decisions, in our community — and to choose differently when we can.

A moment from our fire

Today I watched — and joined — an after-circle where David received what he would ended up calling a “gift” of anger and hurt. She told him how he had hurt her. Soon after, she had to leave, and the circle remained with David.

Anna and I stayed as he sat with his own anger. We didn’t tell him to calm down or to be reasonable. We just stayed with him, exactly as he was. To avoid waking his son, David moved outside and sat beside a tree. He let his anger rage. He searched for acceptance of that rage.

Yes, your rage makes sense.

Anna sat with the rage. I stayed aware of the pain he was holding. And then David said quietly, “I’ve been wanting to connect with nature, and now, and—”, I felt compelled to cut him off.

“You are leaning on a beautiful tree right now,” I said. “Shut the fuck up, and connect with that tree.”

Anna held us both right there. I believed her intention was to hold David, but I felt her supporting me as well.

We are not building a community where everyone must be “healed” before they belong. We are building a place where your hurt can speak, your shadow can sit by the fire, and your reflection can come from many angles.

Because a bridge is not built by avoiding the battlefield — it’s built by walking into the hard places together, and deciding, over and over again, to stay connected.