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Nikki Silvestri

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Tree Pruning as a Metaphor for Healing Racism

Before I went on maternity leave, I did a podcast called “Team Human” (the description reads, "With each episode of Team Human, Rushkoff grapples with complex issues of agency, social justice, and all those quirky non-binary corners of life in a highly approachable and engaging podcast.”). 

I talked about the way I use soil as both a literal way of restoring ecosystems and a metaphor for social interaction. It's here if you're interested.

I got an email a few weeks later from a Professor in the College of Visual and Performing Arts at North Carolina University who’d heard the podcast. Check out what he wanted me to do after hearing it:

"I am creating a piece for an exhibition celebrating the re-naming of a historic building on campus. Now the Women's College, the building was originally named after Charles Aycock, a past Governor who designed the legal framework for white supremacy. My piece takes the form of horticulture workshop that focuses on 'how to properly remove diseased and unhealthy parts of plants and trees to ensure sustainable and healthy ecosystems for the future.' I would like to invite and commission you to write a script, for a workshop leader, that addresses the techniques and reasons for pruning (how to and why - just like a real workshop) that metaphorically makes connections to healthy and just societies.” 

!!!!

The performance art piece will be workshoped and produced by student actors on campus in August, and the script will be available for other universities or groups who want a workshop piece on using ecology as a metaphor for race relations. 

This completely embodies the work I do with Soil and Shadow. It re-activates my theater training. IT IS ME. 

Celebrating and humbled by the work.

Tuesday 04.10.18
Posted by Nikki Silvestri
 

Mama Wisdom: While You're Learning, You Can Hurt Me, and It's Not Your Fault

Ikenna is learning to hold his head up. The other day his head slammed into my lip while I was holding him because the weight was too much for him and he miscalculated a movement. It hurt. My lip was throbbing for a while afterward, although he seemed totally serene (LOL).

He was just practicing a new skill, and in the practicing he couldn't control the unintended outcome of hurting me.

Lessons and Reflections:

1. I'm able to watch him learn something that is hard for him and easy for me, and I'm holding it with love and laughter. There are other places in my life where I watch someone learning something I already know how to do and I think, "You don't know how to do that already? You should." I'm thinking about times when someone is learning how to be more emotionally intelligent, how to communicate more effectively, how to resolve conflict. I can be pretty righteous about things I think someone should know how to do. How can I extend love and laughter vs righteousness when someone who isn't an infant is learning a new skill?

2. It's important that while I hold Ikenna with love and laughter as he's learning I also set boundaries so that he can't hurt himself or others in the process. I hold Ikenna in my arms differently now to protect our heads, and there's no punishment or shaming in my changed boundaries. It's truly coming from a place of loving protection for us both, while still giving him freedom to explore. With others, I have had the tendency to either have love/laughter in their process OR set boundaries. I'm realizing I've used my feelings of love as an excuse to not set boundaries, because I'm so used to setting boundaries punitively. I've also set hard boundaries that give folks no further room to interact with me if I experience any kind of discomfort in our journey. How I can create boundaries with love? How can I create flexible boundaries that keep us safe while still allowing us to practice new skills?

3. Sometimes pain isn't personal, it just happens. When people's learning journey or lack of skill involves pain, I can choose to just let it go without attaching blame and responsibility. They're just learning to hold their head up, and it those muscles require some practice

Thursday 02.08.18
Posted by Nikki Silvestri
 

Mama Wisdom: Care For Myself First

Galen went back to work this week, and I got overwhelmed thinking about being with Ikenna by myself.

Here's what I learned after a week of being the sole caregiver:

I have to care for myself first, and this has implications far beyond my son. I'm seeing how this lesson is re-writing the way I work and the way I serve.

The first couple of days, my responsive parenting looked like this: every time Ikenna fussed I would hurry to meet his needs. I was consistently dehydrated and hungry because I would forget to set myself up with nourishment before I sat down to nurse. I would hold my bladder for too long and be rushing to the bathroom. The feeling of urgency was paramount.  

The last couple of days, when Ikenna cries I take a minute to check in with myself. Do I need to use the bathroom? Am I thirsty? Am I hungry? What needs to get done in the next couple of hours? Is there something I can do while he's eating? Now I sing him songs and reassure him that mommy is caring for herself while I get myself set up. He's not happy about it, but you know what? He still eats, his diapers get changed, and the world doesn't end.

So much wisdom for other areas of my life.

In my career, I carried this same sense of urgency. Theoretically, I knew self care was key. Practically, I responded to community and immediate ecological crises in ways that superseded my mental, physical, and emotional health.

I didn't know how to care for myself without ignoring community needs, and I didn't know how to serve the community without ignoring myself. I still struggle with this.

I love my son with a tender, fierce passion. Of course I don't want him to suffer because I'm caring for myself. But 2-3 minutes of checking in on my basic needs while he's crying does not make me a bad mother.

Read: My love for people and the earth isn't negated by the destruction that occurs while I'm caring for myself. I can take a pause to ground so I can approach healing from a whole place, instead of unconsciously spreading a vibe of scarcity because I serve from depletion.

Of course there's complexity. If Ikenna was actually in danger, I would drop everything and stop it. But understanding the spectrum of need and its relationship to urgency is a lifelong journey for me. Daily lessons with him have given me a window into a new level of practice.

Friday 01.19.18
Posted by Nikki Silvestri
 

A New Paradigm: My Pregnancy and Birth Story

As I write these words, my three week old son is breastfeeding. Our bed is a mess of swaddle cloths, baby wipes, butt cream, pillows, and diapers. I can't remember the last time I washed my hair. My body hurts. I feel like I am descending into chaos.

I am also rising into a transcendent state of love. I adore my baby boy. I'm witnessing my husband step into new versions of himself that re-inspire my faith in the masculine. I'm feeling my body metamorphose into something new after a year of massive change.

When I conceived my child, I didn't realize the depth to which destruction of old paradigms would be a central experience. I wasn't ready. I tried to be - I prepared with every transformative development/leadership tool/coaching skill/spiritual practice I had. I'm humbly acknowledging that there was no way to "get ready" for this. All I could (and can) do is surrender.

--

After four and a half years of trying (a story for another time), my husband and I conceived Ikenna in early March. We'd tried for so long that I didn't believe I was pregnant. A friend of mine had to convince me to get a pregnancy test a few days after I missed my cycle, because I was in such a state of denial. Hope was too painful. But lo and behold, after three tests (I had to be sure!) I was pregnant.

This is what I'd been preparing for! I had an excellent diet, I exercised regularly, and I was 32 years old. I was completely convinced that I'd be a low-risk pregnancy, and I planned to deliver at home. I had visions of monthly afternoon tea meetings with our midwife, the birthing tub in the living room, and the rites-of-passage experience of delivering my child the way millions of women have before me. The body's natural process.

It was not meant to be.

I found out at 28 weeks that I had gestational diabetes. I wanted to handle it through my diet, which meant cooking ALL THE TIME, in a way I never had before: Paleo. At first, I was inspired by the recipes, but then the reality of cooking so much with a full workload started to hit me. A very dear friend had to stalk me and say, "YOU NEED HELP LET ME HELP YOU I'M BRINGING YOU FOOD PICK UP YOUR DAMN PHONE!".

I fell apart the rest of the third trimester. I own my business and had to create a makeshift maternity leave, so I was working 10 hour days sometimes to give myself four months with my son (mental exhaustion). My last plane trip for work was in August (my husband accompanied me), and I almost tore his head off on the plane ride because I felt so vulnerable walking through an airport (emotional exhaustion). I canceled several speaking engagements the last couple of weeks before maternity leave because I couldn't get out of bed (physical exhaustion). My mind, heart and body were speaking, and they were forcing me to slow down.

A few days into my maternity leave, after I thought the smoke had cleared, we found out our baby was breech. And that set off two weeks of fear and turmoil.

We went in for a cephalic version (where doctors attempt to manually turn the baby from the outside), but couldn't even make the attempt because I had low amniotic fluid. This triggered almost daily non-stress tests to make sure my son's heartbeat was still strong. I would go into the hospital for a routine appointment and stay for seven hours with no food (potential prep for surgery), as different teams of practitioners would try to convince me to have a C-Section RIGHT NOW.

In the end, we had an unscheduled Cesarean three days before we were scheduled to deliver, because my amniotic fluid level got dangerous. One of my husband's oldest friends is a hospital Nurse/Midwife, and circumstances aligned so that we delivered with someone we loved and trusted. And on November 16th, 2017 at 4:41pm, Ikenna Goree Silvestri came into the world a healthy 7 pounds 10 ounces.

--

This pregnancy created the circumstances for me to break through years of self-limiting and un-constructive behaviors. As an African American woman, I've noticed the ways I program myself to give all that I have at my own expense; care-take other's experience to make them comfortable; marginalize or invalidate my own experience because I think it's "too much" for others to handle. This year the feedback loop for these behaviors in my health and my son's health was urgent and immediate.

In these first tender few weeks with a newborn, I'm reflecting on and witnessing the new paradigm this year has forged within me.

I have and will continue to:

   - Create professional circumstances that will allow for a very high level of reciprocal care. It turns out there is an invisible web of generosity available that creates the space for ideal self-care and powerful innovation. My clients, colleagues and I created magic together this year, in ways I wouldn't have thought possible. And there's even more magic emerging for 2018.

   - Receive love and care from my friends and family. To me, sacred exchange is the balance of giving and receiving, and it's a value by which I live my life. I've struggled with receiving, and get depleted as a result. Pregnancy and birth pushed me into a new state of "receive or bust". I have incredible friends and family who love me enough not to take my weaknesses personally, who care for me the way I need to be cared for even when I resist.

   - Tap into a deeper, more visceral understanding of interconnectedness. I'm loving harder and more tenderly at the same time. I'm seeing my ecosystem work as an extension of caring for my family. I have space in my heart to empathize with people and circumstances I couldn't tolerate before. My internal landscape has expanded - and so has my approach to leadership.

This new landscape was forged in an inferno and now feels like a continuous rapid-fire cycle of "grieving the loss of the old" to "discovering what's left" to "peace and joy with what's now possible".

Moving forward, being a mother will continue to show me new ways this paradigm shift impacts my self care, my marriage, my relationships, and my career. It will create new pathways for me to serve, from a place of radical love and generosity. It will allow me to do my part in creating true beloved community.

Saturday 12.09.17
Posted by Nikki Silvestri
Comments: 7
 

Honoring Stevie

“I want to honor people this way when they’re alive”. ~ My comment after Prince’s transition.

George Michael has been on my mind. I loved his songwriting. Ladies and Gentlemen: The Best of George Michael got me through some formative years. “Flawless” is an anthem of mine. I read that he was a bit reclusive in his later years. I wondered if he knew the unintended reach of his art.

In the last few weeks, one of my happy places has been designing honoring ceremonies for artists I love, who have given me so much. So we catch them when they’re alive. Think VH1’s “Janet Jackson: Icon” special they did for her a few years ago. Beautiful.

I’m on Stevie right now.

We would begin with a youth performance of Fingertips, with the stage invoking images of the early 1960’s. There’s a mash-up of popular 1963 hits so we get a sense of the times - think “Heat Wave” and “You’ve Really Got a Hold On Me”.

I want a historian to comment on the power of an artist like Stevie, and how he influenced R&B over 50+ years. I want a movement-style speech about ways his music intersected with the Black Power movement in the 70’s.

I want Stevie lovers in the R&B and Soul world to perform hits he wrote for other artists, so we get a sense of the breadth and depth of this man’s influence. Two of my faves: “Tell Me Something Good” (Rufus) and “I Can’t Help It” (Michael Jackson). That’s actually my favorite Michael Jackson song, so there’s a way I owe some of my love for Mike to Stevie.

Part of the concert would be in total darkness, so we could experience his music the way he does.

Black artists from all over would come together for this. Grandparents and children - everyone across the years who’ve been influenced by Stevie. This would be an event for the ages.

Tuesday 03.14.17
Posted by Nikki Silvestri
 

Resist. Insist. Love.

Co-authored with Amy Hartzler and Hosan Lee on Valentine's Day 2017. Love these ladies.

resistinsistlove.jpg
Saturday 03.11.17
Posted by Nikki Silvestri
 

Regenerative Systems, Regenerative People

Regenerative Systems, Regenerative People. That’s me (us).

The last two days have called me into a deeper level of practice.

The night before last, I woke up at 3:30am. I chose to set a prayer circle and meditate/pray. I tantrumed about being awake. I prayed some more. I watched my mind. 

Didn’t fall asleep, but I fo SHO got sleepy at 7am, right when I needed to get out bed. Used breathing exercises as my morning caffeine. 

Spent the day discussing the future of work; the next few decades of the solar power industry; re-designing my logo/website/newsletter; how to ensure co-creative strategy in the development of a healthy food system. 

As I packed for my trip to Oberlin (Ohio) last night, I spoke with a (beautiful black man) family member about life, love, and the things he carries. The specifics would distract from the implications: what does it take to witness, reflect, and hold space for what brothas carry? I let him know that I love him, and that love goes deeper than the sum of his experiences, his triumphs, his fears, his hopes, or his demons. It is pure, and it has been with me (him) since the day he was born. 

We hung up the phone, and I sat on the floor and cried. I CRIED. Until there were no more tears. In the prayer of those tears, I committed to crying when he cannot. My body can be a vessel to alchemize. I cried until the pain my chest released, and I could feel (deep) breath. Space. Freedom. Move it through, and it becomes medicine. Hold it in, and I stress my body (container).

Galen was home, but I chose to do this work on my own. He carries so much, and I have resources. I’m flying to Oberlin with one of my teachers/colleagues, and she will support me to continue processing. I asked her to come with me for a bit of extra support back when I first planned the trip. In creating this extra space for myself, it allowed me to create extra space for Galen.

I walked out of my bedroom, pressed his head against my chest, and continued to breathe. We talked about Luke Cage, how I will NEVER again get a line up on my front hairline, and whether he’s going to let my chicken go to waste or freeze it if he doesn’t eat it all. Love. Connection. Regeneration vs depletion for us both. 

Up at 4:45am to catch this 8am flight. Candles around the yoga mat, gently introducing my eyes to light. Good home cooked food packed for the day of travel.

On the plane a few minutes ago, I listened to Solange talking about rising, creating things for us by us, and I smiled with joyful tears in my heart. I looked out the window and watched the sun ascend. 

We are so beautiful. I am beautiful. Practicing being a full participant in the cycle of creation, sustaining and destruction (creation, sustaining, destruction, etc) is beautiful. It requires strength I do not know I have sometimes, and even that is beautiful.

And now, I’m finishing up my powerpoint for the Next Economy Conference. Soil health + carbon sequestration + economic development + job creation + shifting capital + improving government narrative + leadership development. I’m going to expend a lot of energy in the next few days, and I feel prepared. 

Blessings. Abound.

Wednesday 10.05.16
Posted by Nikki Silvestri
Comments: 1
 

This Week In Blackness: Purple Lemonade, Whitney, and All Our Screams

I finally cried yesterday morning. 

A mixture of grief, joy, fear of change, excitement for the future, loss, freedom, purple lemonade…it was too much. It needed to settle. Manifestation requires time.

Prince’s influence on me is indescribable. He was woven into my life from the beginning. 1984: Purple Rain. I made my mom leave the theater because I bounced so hard in the womb. She went back a second time, and it happened again. I’d found a soulmate. 

High School. I liked the obscure version of him. I saved my after-school job money for three months to buy tickets for The Rainbow Children. I was probably the only high schooler in the audience. In the 10th grade, I drew the symbol, in purple, for my visual poetry assignment. It hung on the wall in Ms. Smith’s class on large butcher paper. 

On April 21st I received a dozen text messages from people in all corners of my life. They knew what he meant to me. In recent years, he funded the organization I became the Executive Director of in 2014, Green for All. He anonymously funded many other organizations as well. His gifts offered healing.

Yesterday’s tears unleashed the grief of losing genius, and celebrating its new form. He played 27 instruments. The greats of my childhood were…GREAT. Who will be the greats in 20 or 30 years? I prayed on this. Created a heart song around it. Where does the unapologetic, complex, fearless, raw, pure Black expression come from now? Who evokes in me, as an adult, what Prince evoked in me then, as a child? 

Two days later. Lemonade.

That level of total expression is what I needed to soothe the pain of losing a legend. Others do, and will exist. Exist in splendid, evolved ways - the black juju woman. The actual, factual weaving of creation, sustenance and destruction through sound and image. The things I am afraid to say, to scream, to even see within myself - all on screen. 

Yesterday’s tears: for the Black tragedies about which I have kept silent. I haven’t known how to be raw, shatter, and trust I will re-form. 

Yesterday’s tears: for Whitney. What if she could have created something like Lemonade? Would this childhood hero of mine have found a way to turn the screaming outside, to let it escape and transform? What if Bobbi had too? Beyonce expressed a crippling, can’t breathe, womb-contracting level of pain - with transcendence. This week I have been breathing it into being. I have found that pain/transformation/place within myself and cried, so I don’t turn those screams/that rage/teeth gnashing into a demon that will one day stop my heart.

Yesterday’s tears: for our pain. What if it was regular practice to witness and create space for the raw, unfiltered, soul-shattering “HE! HURT! ME!”? Even if Lemonade had stopped before Sandcastles, I would have bowed to the revealing of the real. Resolution cannot occur before the pain is witnessed. Felt. Expressed. Believed. Held. I sobbed for sistas that have had hearts/bodies/souls violated, and have turned those screams inward. I released for my own daily micro-violations that I perpetuate upon my own body; for the emotional abuse I absorb through my dark skin; for the times. I. Didn’t. SCREAM.

Beyonce screamed out loud. And I was thus able to scream out loud. For Prince. For Whitney. For Bobbi.

For me. For me. 

As my breath hitched in the quiet moment after my waves ceased, I heard Blue’s paternal grandmother talking about making Lemonade from lemons. I felt my grandmothers, both of them, reaching from the other side to wipe my tears. We have practices and tools. Within the courage it takes to shatter is the opportunity to become more beautiful, more whole. 

With every Prince and glass of Lemonade, I find more of that courage. This week in Blackness, I am gratitude.

Thursday 04.28.16
Posted by Nikki Silvestri
 
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