Helping clients open to deeper shifts

Flora by Evelyn De Morgan 1894

Part of our work as coaches is to orient clients toward their true north. What they may not know is that there exists some deeper purpose for their longings and inklings and questions.

We have a unique opportunity as coaches to broaden and deepen our client's understanding of who they are and what they are doing here. We also have a unique responsibility to bring them closer to the land and deeper into their psyches.

Closer to the land. And deeper into their psyches.

This is a political stance. It is a stance and an orientation that declares you as a guide and teacher of things they may not have come to you seeking. And yet our clients will learn these things. As coaches and facilitators, we must be confident and steadfast in our convictions that we are embodied and of the earth. This is the foundation of the work we are here to do--to know the privilege and responsibility of tending to our home here and our bodies. Our role is to help our clients know this deeply. As they do, they come to a quieter and deeper knowing of their own purpose and their own longings.

When we help our clients orient themselves to their true north, their deeper purpose, the things that make their souls sing--we are helping to heal our collective earth and our collective psyches from the pain and dissociation of patriarchal and capitalistic exploitation. Our work is personal. And political.

In the Authentic Wholeness Coach Training Certification Program, we dive into what it means to be an advocate for Mother Earth, what is means to orient our clients toward the living, what it means to esteem and revere the natural world and our place in it. I teach how to hold these stances that are deeply grounded in feminism, environmentalism, and Jungian and depth psychology. This allows you as coach and facilitator to hold the vision for a compassionate world and move that vision forward. Ever onward.

Straight Talk from Fox by Mary Oliver, 2008

Listen says fox it is music to run over the hills to lick dew from the leaves to nose along the edges of the ponds to smell the fat ducks in their bright feathers but far out, safe in their rafts of sleep. It is like music to visit the orchard, to find the vole sucking the sweet of the apple, or the rabbit with his fast-beating heart. Death itself is a music. Nobody has ever come close to writing it down, awake or in a dream. It cannot be told. It is flesh and bones changing shape and with good cause, mercy is a little child beside such an invention. It is music to wander the black back roads outside of town no one awake or wondering if anything miraculous is ever going to happen, totally dumb to the fact of every moment’s miracle. Don’t think I haven’t peeked into windows. I see you in all your seasons making love, arguing, talking about God as if he were an idea instead of the grass, instead of the stars, the rabbit caught in one good teeth-whacking hit and brought home to the den. What I am, and I know it, is responsible, joyful, thankful. I would not give my life for a thousand of yours.