Ethics, Reciprocity, Humans, Nature, and the Kitchen Table. A story.
Stephen W Emerick PhD
I am watching a mother and her 7-year-old twins playing in the living room. One child says to the other “you’re stupid,” and the other responds “am not!”.
Taking a deep breath, the mother goes over to the children and has them stand face to face, each putting their right hand upon the heart of their sibling.
The mother asks the child who had called the other one “stupid” to consider if she would want others to call her stupid; “No!” Now the mother is suggesting the one twin apologize to the other: “Say sorry”. Once said, the mother asks the other if she forgives her twin. She says “Yes!”
Standing there with hands on their hearts, the twins hugged and now are going about their play.
Tears begin blocking my sight, and I hear myself saying: “If only nations could do this! If only we could do this with mother earth and help heal the harm, we have done to her”.
I suddenly see two brown-robed figures standing under a giant oak tree. The morning is dawning, and their hoods shade their faces. One is placing their right hand upon the heart of the oak, and the other placing their right hand upon mother earth. When finished, they place a hand upon the heart of the other, and then embrace. They are talking in a language I do not recognize – yet I feel warmed by it as I listen.
I know I am standing for this moment, in the presence of Reciprocity and Ethics.
I want to linger there, but I am brought back into the room by voices announcing that dinner is ready. Extra leaves have been added to the old and worn oak kitchen table to make room for everyone. Extra leaves for the family tree. The prayer is said, and thanksgiving offered, with all of us holding hands.
I briefly sit at the table, but now am excusing myself as I rush to get a poem I want to read. I find it, and quickly return, not wanting to miss any familial exchanges. I ask if I may read something, and I receive everyone’s consent. Permission is given to begin eating, as the food is warm, and so are our hearts, as I serve up a healthy portion of: The world begins at a kitchen table, by Indigenous poet Joy Harjo (my favorite):
The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.
The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.
We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.
It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.
At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.
Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.
This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.
Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror.
A place to celebrate the terrible victory.
We have given birth on this table and have prepared our parents for burial here.
At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.
Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating
of the last sweet bite.
The twins are now sitting at the table with all the family. “Do you want some of this?” the twin in the red dress asks. “Yes please.” This is followed by the twin in the blue dress asking in return, “do you want some of this?”
These twins and their mother have helped all of us move from a one up – one down interaction (Winner-loser) to a healing, ethical and reciprocal way of relating (Win-win).
It is ethics and reciprocity that makes such a poem memorable, and as we leave this table of conversation and go back out into the world, those precious seven-year-old twins and their mother have embedded within our hearts what ethics and reciprocity is all about.
Source: The Woman Who Fell from the Sky, by Joy Harjo, (W. W. Norton and Company Inc., 1994).