Educación vial

I thought how very easy it is to feel spiritual in a spiritual place. (Vega, 2002, p.5)

This chapter addresses the concept of the spiritual in-between or liminal space (Turner, 1969, 1982). During my time in these settings I was able to experience spiritual in- betweeness. This aspect of everyday spirituality is supported by specific environments. Often the in-between space is created as part of a ritual and it then becomes highly symbolic and planned. Rites and rituals accentuate the in-between, or liminal state; they are designed to do so. The creation of rituals can unsettle the everyday and create a sense of disequilibrium that is completely acceptable in the ritual space itself. These in-between events are still embedded in the everyday life of these early childhood settings. The sense of ‘betweenness’, of being in-between realities, of being not quite in the real world, allows a space for new spiritual possibilities to emerge. In particular, as Deleuze and Parnet (2002, p.32) point out, children “… know how to glide in between”.

The first part of this chapter features the Midwinter ritual in the Steiner kindergarten. The core narrative that describes this is the central point of the discussion. This ritual of spiritual in- betweenness is celebrated by the whole early childhood community. Following this the preparation for Christmas at the private preschool is discussed in relation to memories shared by the teachers. The way that memories of the spiritual in-between contributed to the construction of values at the preschool is the focus of this section. The chapter then moves from the early childhood community to a consideration of individual experience. Sometimes spiritual in-betweenness happens as a shift in the everyday world. It may occur spontaneously and is an unexpected moment that suddenly transforms daily life: an epiphany. The second core narrative is presented as a poem that describes a moment of epiphany experienced by a teacher in the Montessori casa. A moment of epiphany is like a ray of bright sunshine on a dull day as it pierces through reality to reveal something new. It is an in-between space in daily existence and is understood in traditional religious and spiritual terms to be a manifestation of the divine.

The Midwinter Festival at the Steiner kindergarten

This is a narrative about an experience of spiritual in-betweenness in the Steiner kindergarten. The teachers and parents created a ritual. They constructed the space, prepared food, and then returned the kindergarten to its usual state for this celebration of midwinter. Children were not involved in these preparations. Only a few parents actually attend the ritual itself but they are all asked to help to prepare it. The Midwinter ritual definitely provided an opportunity for the early childhood

community to recognise the sacred in that setting. Again it is worth noting that this ritual happens every year in the kindergarten and is part of the usual planning that constructs everyday life in that setting.

Unlike some of the children this was the first time that I experienced the Midwinter Festival. Instead of being an observer I was given the opportunity to be a participant. On the day of the festival Sylvia, the teacher, was the master of ceremonies. She was the magician, the person who made sure it happened as she wished it to although as Van Manen (2002, p.5) points out “we can prepare for wonder, but we cannot control it”. Because she held this responsibility I was free to participate. It was a very memorable event, so my writing is a personal response to my experience of the spiritual in-between. This writing is not a recipe for a ritual but an example of what can be achieved in the spiritual sense in an early childhood setting:

The Midwinter narrative

Towards the end of the term I overhear Sylvia talking to parents but when someone mentions Midwinter she signals them to be quiet. She eventually tells me that there is going to be a surprise. I am really touched that she is

including me in this and that she wants me to experience the surprise. There seems to be some talking when parents collect their children but I really don’t know what is going to happen. On the morning of the 21st June she asks me to come early and I promise to do this. It will be Matariki, midwinter, the shortest day of the year in Aotearoa.

On that day I feel a real sense of anticipation as I wait outside the

kindergarten with the other parents and children. It is a cold but clear winter morning. No-one is allowed into the kindergarten but we leave coats and the

fruit we have brought along in the hallway. I know Sylvia and the parents gathered last night to prepare something – there is excitement in the air. One of the parents reads out our names and we all sit on the bench and wait. Gaby comes out with the fruit and begins to cut it up for later. The winter fruit is so beautiful. Pears, apples, tangerines, dark red tamarillos and orange

persimmons glow in the wicker basket.

Sylvia appears at the doorway to lead us, she beckons and we go in. It is quite dark inside because most of the windows are covered. The children gasp. Eyes wide, we gaze at the room that has been completely transformed. The furniture has been pushed back and it seems as if the entire floor is covered in a spiral of greenery. The spiral starts at the edge of the room and is made of dark green leaves and branches. There is a scattering of pink camellia flowers and berries. In the centre of the spiral there is a swirl of dark blue cloth with a really large golden candle in the middle and only this candle is alight. The benches are placed so that we can sit down on the outer edge of the spiral. We walk around and then sit down in silence and look…and look. There are dark yellow beeswax candles all around the edge of the spiral in star shaped holders on golden paper

Sylvia sits opposite me at the opening of the spiral. She reaches for a wooden box. Inside there is something wrapped in a lavender cloth. She unwraps it and takes out a lute, a small stringed instrument. The silence is amazing, like crystal. We all concentrate on what she is doing. She begins to play very softly, just stroking the strings. Everyone listens and the silence settles again as Sylvia puts down the lute and picks up one of the candles in front of her and begins, very slowly, to walk the spiral. She walks into the centre of the spiral and lights her candle from the one in the middle. She walks back, puts her candle down and sits in her place. She then gestures to Katie next to her who picks up her own candle and begins her walk. Every child, the parent helpers and Gaby walk the spiral, one by one. When the children return Sylvia holds her arms out but does not touch the child. She gestures to them to walk around and go back to their place and beckons the next child forward so that there is continual flowing movement.

When it is my turn it feels so peaceful. I find myself really reflecting on my life, the beautiful spiral and my hopes for the future. I also suddenly become conscious of the wonderful spicy smell of the greenery and candles. Walking the spiral seems to take a long time. I remember that in rituals time changes, it stretches and contracts. Even as this time lengthens there is also a sense of time standing still and a feeling of being separate from the outside world. This is liminality. I have crossed a ‘threshold’ and am ‘in-between’.

When everyone has walked and the candles are all lit we sit in the circle quietly until Sylvia stands. She begins to sing very softly, the children join in and then we begin to move back outside. The children eat some fruit and begin to talk and go off to play in the garden. The adults inside tidy up, shifting the leaves and branches nearer to the middle of the room so they take up less floor space. They are moving quickly and working hard. The candles are put at each child’s place on the table. Each parent sent in a box of home made and decorated biscuits in the shape of stars. They are different sizes and dusted with icing sugar. Sylvia stipulates that they go on white plates next to colourful plates of oranges. Instead of the usual bowls the children have pretty china today and cranberry juice instead of water. When everything is ready the children are called in for the feast.

We sit down. Someone is chosen to go around and light the candles with a taper and once lit they are moved to the middle of the table. After grace we begin to eat and this is when Joshua begins to tell me about the day, that it is special and “a great day”. He repeats this. I ask if he has seen the spiral before and he says yes, when he was four and five and now he is six. He tells me that he is really happy.

After another clear up and more outdoor play for the children everyone comes in and sits on benches and Sylvia tells a story. She lightly strokes the lute and lights a candle and begins. The sun suddenly goes in and it is quite dark again. She tells a strong story about a boy who is naughty. His mother asks St, Michael to give him a breastplate of gold and a scarlet cloak and star. He does so but the star is tarnished because the boy has not been kind. The boy notices that every time he performs a good deed his star begins to shine more

brightly. I look at the children. Joel, who has been very challenging for the past few weeks, is absolutely transfixed. He is staring at Sylvia, his mouth is open. He was still like this when the story ended, absolutely still and intent. After the session we put the leaves from the spiral in a sheet and they go straight onto the compost. It is all completely swept away. After other

festivals everything is cleared away gradually but Sylvia tells me that she does not talk about this festival, that it carries its own meaning for each child. She says that the children experience the esoteric nature of the ritual and its connection to the birth of the soul of Christ. The light in each one of us is rekindled for the year ahead. She says that the children will be mellow and she will only do sewing and cooking with them for the next few days. She regrets that two of the children were not there but knows that this was not possible and to have so many children there in the middle of winter is something of an achievement anyway.

When I drive away it all seems unreal. Trying to explain the experience to other people is hard. It was so dramatic and yet so accepted by everyone else in that setting. Everyone is so dedicated. It was amazing, a blessing, an omen for the year, a miracle, a spiritual event, a dream.

The whole community contributed to the creation of this ritual. They brought leaves, flowers, made the candle holders, paper shapes and star biscuits. The space was completely transformed. The space gradually became more like the usual kindergarten again as the morning progressed. The spiral remained imprinted on my mind long after it has been physically cleared away.

This is a ‘seasonal’ ritual and according to Turner (1982) participants in seasonal rituals experience “a whole series of changes in the nature of the cultural and ecological activities to be undertaken and of the relationships they will have with others” (p.25). He says that such rituals are “calendrical” (p.25) and like all festivals in the Steiner calendar they are repeated each year. Almon (1993, p.72) points out that these rituals are “a means of sensitizing ourselves to the inner moods of the year and our soul responses to them”. Their sameness and predictability are important as they symbolise stability and in the case of early childhood settings such repetition is

comforting and affirms a sense of belonging for children. The celebration of festivals is a key to understanding Steiner philosophy. The festivals recognise the passing of the year and are a celebration of existence and continuity in life.

Batten (1995, p.23) explains that ritual allows people to move on and may be a release that “allows us to leave something behind and to embrace the new, to live in the present moment rather than drag our heels in the past”. I remember the feeling of being in the spiral, of walking, of being in that moment, being conscious of everyone in the circle and yet also being conscious only of myself. Maybe the candlelight that represented the stars of Matariki helps everyone to see with new eyes. Matarikiitself is a cluster of stars that some call the Pleiades and the word is Mata – ariki, the eyes of god. It is a festival that marks the beginning of the New Year for Māori people and is beginning to be celebrated more widely in Aotearoa (Hakaraia, 2004, p.15).

Hakaraia (2004) hopes that in reclaiming festivals that are relevant to New Zealand that “one day soon we may all light small fires, sing and dance as we welcome Matariki for another year” (p.7). Batten (1995) notes that for some peoples the stars are where souls return after death. These reminders of European culture, Christianity and esoteric knowledge alongside references to Tane Mahuta (god of the forests) and Mother Earth make for a rich mix in the Steiner kindergarten.

The nature of this ritual and the way that the festivals organize the year in this setting emphasises sociocultural concerns. Steiner education is often critiqued for being Eurocentric but in this case the influence of Aotearoa was obvious; the day itself, June 21st _{, is summer in the Northern hemisphere and here it is celebrated as Midwinter. In} this school festivals and celebrations were not decontextualised. Instead this ritual forms what Batten (1995, p.15) calls a “meeting point” that mirrors the meeting of Māori and Pākehā. An advocate for Steiner education acknowledges the importance of this local interest and stresses that a major consideration must be that which “lives in the culture where the school is located” (Moore-Haas, 1993, p.69).

The darkness and candles that symbolise the stars work symbolically with wider community and cultural understandings. We share the sense of being between worlds. In a narrower sense I realise that Sylvia was also working very closely with one of the boys and she affirms that the story she chooses is especially to awaken what might be dormant in his spirit. Sylvia often uses oral storytelling in this way, not to pinpoint or

embarrass a child but as an offering, as a window into another way of being. This way of dealing with behaviour assumes a readiness to hear on the part of the child. Of course if the deeper messages go unheard then the child is simply not ready. On the day of this festival I notice Joel’s reaction to the story and afterwards we talk about his face. Sylvia did not notice because she was telling the story but she chose the story carefully. Joel was intent and ready for this. In some ways it was his day. He has not had great life experiences and everything is very risky for him.

When I go back the following week he behaves differently. He holds my hand, says he is Superman, and tells his friend that he loves her. It is suddenly easy to see Joel’s good intentions and warm heart instead of disruption and bullying. Sylvia explains that perhaps the spirit is upheld not by effecting change in a person but by bringing out the best in them. In terms of a spiritual reaction to certain behaviours Sylvia’s way of dealing with this supports Joel, lifts his self esteem and brings about a dramatic softening in his demeanour. He is no longer so tough all the time and he shows that he cares for others. Perhaps we are all changed and transformed by the ritual and the experience of spiritual in-betweenness. Rituals usually have certain aspects in common, for instance, moving from darkness into light, moving from the sacred to the profane, shifting between worlds. Lindenberg (1993, p.94) notes that the Midwinter ritual is influenced by what is happening in the world and that outside events themselves may create a need “to go into the darkness, spreading the light as we go out”.

Liminal space

In terms of spirituality I am proposing that early childhood settings can be constructed as ‘liminal space’(Turner, 1969, 1982). That is, places of ambiguity, ‘betwixt and between’, constantly changing, as children and adults act and react with the environment and with each other to create new opportunities for meaning making. Lefebvre (1991) suggests that such ambiguity is “a category of everyday life, and perhaps an essential category. It never exhausts its reality; from the ambiguity of consciousnesses and situations spring forth actions, events, results…” (p.18). It appeared to me that by acknowledging the spiritual in educational contexts teachers and parents make the construction of liminal space a possibility. Liminality is the space that exists between night/day, dark/light, open/enclosed, public/private and in

the case of early childhood settings such spaces open between home and school, work and play, education and care. A liminal space can be likened to being between worlds. Barlow (1991) differentiates liminal spaces (for instance the entrance to the marae) and liminal states. He says that the concept ofwheiao is connected to transitional states between the world of darkness and the world of light. Some states are natural, for instance, the phases of the moon or the development of the embryo. Others, like