Native Eyes and the Art of Mentoring

I’ve just come back from the Art of Mentoring, held at Commonweal Garden in Bolinas, California. It was quite an experience. I’ve tried to write my experience coherently, but it was such an intense one (the class was an intensive, after all) that I find I need to write it as a semi-fiction, to step back a step and inhabit a different point of view in order to communicate my impressions. What follows, then, is a travelogue from the point of view of a Western explorer visiting an exotic culture, one so different that they are named as a new species of humans.

Homo funis and the Ars Rector festival

I’ve returned from a different land. There are people there, but of an entirely different species than those I live alongside at home. The people are remarkable in their behavior, being social and independent at once, compassionate and welcoming, as well as stalwart in their maintenance of boundaries and rules. They are different enough to warrant a new specific epithet, and have come to be known by some as Homo funis. The land, too, is uncommon in its contradiction and cohesion, being a managed wilderness, wild nature worked like a tool but possessing diversity, complexity and resilience not seen in civilized life, and is sometimes called by the name Ortus Bonus Communis, or simply Ortus. This journal chronicles my contact with this people on this land.

First, some background: I initially encountered rumors of these people years ago, while at school. At that time the rumors were few and garbled, so I continued on my way and filed the information away for later. But as our body of data on Homo funis grew, these people seemed increasingly like a worthwhile subject of inquiry. My explorations then brought me to Africa, where I witnessed both broken and vibrantly vital cultures. The people there inhabit both at once. They do so with deep compassion and readiness to help, held forth from a simple and matter-of-fact understanding: life is hard, but people help each other so that life is possible. The children of villagers, who grew up hunting and farming with their elders, especially exemplify this understanding. When I returned home I vowed to learn my land as well as they knew theirs and to seek out and live from that same understanding in my own culture.

I remembered the rumors of Homo funis and their land, and set off in search of them, for if the rumors were true, those people would posess a similar understanding to the one I encountered in Africa. After much wandering and exploration, I met another explorer in my own country, and we decided to pool our efforts. We met travelers from Ortus, and learned from them for a time. We encountered more of the stories and practices of Homo funis, and through them began to learn more about our land. We joined others on similar journeys and learned from them, and more people saw what we were doing and some came to practice with us. Finally my companion and I received an invitation to join the people of Ortus on their land and learn from them more directly. The meeting place was only a day’s ride away, so we were eager to embark. We packed our saddlebags with three day’s rations and set out riding high in our saddles, ready to chronicle our discoveries and bring them back to our civilized community.

The first meeting would be brief, only two nights and a day. We rode along the coast through thick fog, up the faces of mountains and down again over their drizzle-slick flanks. We arrived at Ortus Bonus Communis, and there were greeted as friends. We camped for the night and made plans for our time with the Homo funis. We were told that we would be able to participate as part of the scout society at the upcoming festival and to seek out one of the elders. The name of the festival is untranslatable into our culture but I have chosen to identify it here as Ars Rector. We returned to civilized land two days after, and made preparations.

We had received word of highwaymen on the coastal route and so rode to Ortus over the mountain instead. After a grueling mountain passage, we arrived in the mid-evening and all was raucous chaos. The village held many times the inhabitants that it had previously, most of whom appeared to be visitors like ourselves, come to celebrate the Ars Rector. My traveling companion and I were soon absorbed into separate Clans and Societies and were given new names, with the elder who we had met previously still nowhere to be found. We made camp and, feeling uncertain and still very bewildered, gathered around the fire.

The first few days it seemed that most of the visitors, including myself, felt a general apprehension and reluctance. None of us knew exactly what would happen here at the Arts Rector, only that we liked what we had heard of the Homo funis culture and came to learn more. Our first lesson came as the greeting custom of Thanksgiving and uniting our minds as one for the festival, a beautiful litany of things in creation with greetings and thanks for each part, and a final statement of unity of mind. Many of us loved the words, but still felt uncertain about our presence there.

Our second lesson came as an introduction to another of the tools of Homo funis culture, moieties. Each of us had been invited into a Society and a Clan. Each Society had a specific role to play, and each Clan had at least one representative from each Society. The Clans became the basic unit of the people for the duration of the festival, and functioned smoothly with different Society members performing different functions for their Clan. My Society held as its responsibilities greeting, welcoming, and warning, among other things. Each Clan also had one or more experienced Homo funis people, to help guide the newcomers in the Ars Rector. Though everyone participated in the activities of the festival, it was clear that some were more knowledgeable than others in these practices. Those who were more experienced took positions of leadership and guided the newcomers.

As the week progressed, most of our number let go of their trepidation and fully integrated into festival life. There was singing, storytelling, many impromptu childlike games, organized gaming, and feasting. Their finest cooks collaborated to give us the best food any human palette has yet encountered, much of it from their own lands but some imported from other villages as well. We were given permission to wander the land and explore beyond the village gates, and some of us adopted special places on the landscape where we felt particularly able to hear the rhythm of the land, and touch its spirit. We wandered to these alone in the morning or at dusk, and kept watch over the landscape. We also gathered frequently to hear the Elders speak, and they told stories and spoke deeply on the Homo funis culture. We stayed up late into the night around the fire, singing and telling jokes and stories. We rose early to listen to the land, and engaged in solemn ceremony. We laughed and cried together throughout the day.

Many of the participants came to love the village and the Homo funis people during our stay, but we all knew that the festival would come to an end, which saddened many. The greeting custom of giving thanks and bringing our minds together has another side to it, though, created to ease parting. This part of the custom consist of participants stating that they are now separating their minds. I have participated in other cultural gatherings of similar intensity, but never have I encountered as effective a mechanism to ease the inevitable parting.

Though the Homo funis claimed that the Ars Rector was an example of their culture in action, it was far more intense than everyday village life for these people. The Ars Rector is, more accurately, an initiation into Homo funis traditions and culture. The festival does not present their culture as it is lived on a day-to-day basis, rather serves as an intensive introduction to culture that creates new behavior in participants.

My traveling companion and I left late on the last day, having packed our supplies and readied our steeds. We made the journey over the mountain in time to see the sun set over the ocean, dipping quietly into a sea of summer fog that sat beyond the shining ribbon of water. The fog sat on the edge of the world with the presence of a Pleistocene glacier, gray and heavy on the horizon, waiting for the sun to sink before advancing to envelope the world. As we rode, we passed this landscape that now seemed to take on an intense animate presence, and at times we talked animatedly but at other times we rode in silence. As the light bled from the Western sky and the darkness enveloped the East, we mounted the bridge to the City. Creat golden girders and steel cables sliced between the coast and ourselves, and to the South we saw the glitter of countless lights piled up in concrete towers. We entered the City once again.