Here is a nice thought for the evening and beyond. I am sure we can relate to this many days. What do we remember about someone or something long past? Personally, I give it a lot of thought. It is so interesting what quiet time conjures up and who it conjures up.
I woke this morning
to several truths;
honouring
respecting
diversity
in wholeness
in parts
healing
wisdom
meaning
makes us stronger
me stronger
without weakening.
Community
thrives
each person
and truths
named
nurtured
watered
fed
valued
appreciated
strengthened
in healthy diversity.
with healthy diversity.
In a world full of busyness and artificial flavouring for the day, this is a solid message of what brings peace to each of our lives. Slow down, you move to0 fast. Sounds like a song I heard somewhere.
Observational Poems : Touching the World : Deep Underground Poetry Community.
I was just surfing and came across this poem. Mindfulness is a universal concept and is not the sole domain of Buddhists or mystics. I find it ironic that the wave of scientific theory which pushed mindfulness out of the western practice was called the Enlightenment. Who or What did it enlighten? Mindfulness and scientific thought are complementary practices which make each other whole.
Words for the wise was a product of an incident yesterday. I was left exasperated, exhausted, and feeling somewhat unintelligent. I calmed down and found the wisdom shared by Winnie the Pooh helpful in creating a new lesson plan for today’s poetry time, but, first, let me explain the back story from yesterday.
About two months ago, a student brought their scooter to school and was riding it up and down the sidewalk in front of the building we occupy. Our school is located in what was a commercial building our school division acquired. There is no space to scooter in the front of the building, because there is a sidewalk and a parking lot immediately in front of the building. Usually, both are busy so it is an unsafe pastime. Second, students must wear proper equipment i.e. approved helmet, knee pads, and elbow pads. The young man in question is proficient, or so I have been told, so he took the equipment rule as a problem. Frankly, I would to, if I was any good at riding my scooter.
Yesterday, another student brought their scooter to school. While I was occupied, two students, including the aforementioned young man noted, borrowed the scooter and rode it in the parking lot and on the sidewalk while others watched. I was angry; that is the polite way of putting it. I gave some students credit. They recalled explicit instructions about the conditions a scooter could be used i.e. equipment, supervision, and location. Others had forgotten, but it was more likely a situation they were not listening for any number of reasons. This morning I received an email from the young man’s parent saying he informed her he could ride the scooter out back. I am not sure where out back is, because there is no place to ride out back. He left out the equipment and supervision.
Listening, which I think is essential to being responsible for one’s actions and words, seems limited to what a person wants. We listen when we are motivated by words or sounds that are we want to hear. I think that might be human nature. We lack mindfulness and being in the present moment. As luck would have it, sitting on my desk was a William Stafford poem entitled Listening. We had a great conversation after reading it, reflection time, and sharing in pairs.
Listening
My father could hear a little animal step,
or a moth in the dark against the screen,
and every far sound called the listening out
into places where the rest of us had never been.
More spoke to him from the soft wild night
than came to our porch for us on the wind,
we would watch him look up and his face go keen
till the walls of the world flared, widened.
My father heard so much that we still stand
inviting the quiet by turning the face,
waiting for a time when something in the night
will touch us too from that other place.
Thank you William Stafford. Winnie, I was brave and strong enough to tell my students I was listening, but I cannot always do what they want. I simply do not have the power some days and am smart enough to recognize this.
This arrived today. It definitely was not how a felt yesterday or when I first got up this morning. Sometimes our childhood heroes say it best and, as adults, we need to listen with a beginner’s mind.
And today I am off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz.
I spent the past few days examining where I am in my life’s calling as a teacher. I was in a trough for a while and it is nice to start climbing out and see the horizon over the edge of the waves. Personal vision formed around and by named values is essential to fulfillment. I am grateful I had people listen and wait for me to speak. The trough is a quiet place and I was able to gather my thoughts, reflect, and regain some passion through their patience and kindness.
There is a trough in waves,
a low spot
where horizon disappears
and only sky
and water are your company.
And there we lose our way
unless
we rest, knowing the wave will bring us
to its crest again.
There we may drown
if we let fear
hold us within its grip and shake us
side to side,
and leave us flailing, torn, disoriented.
But if we rest there
in the trough,
in silence,
being with the low part of the wave,
keeping
our energy and
noticing the shape of things,
the flow,
then time alone
will bring us to another place
where we can see
horizon, see the land again,
regain our sense
of where
we are,
and where we need to swim.
Several months ago, I posted an entry called the Mindful Teacher. I suggested there was a need for added fuel for the fire that is my vocation and gives me voice through teaching and learning. Since then, I matured and realize the silence is the oxygen that also helps to breathe life into the fire. It serves as the wisdom, compassion, and prudence offsetting my passion. Without the space, the silence, I become a flickering flame burning out before my time.
I was driving to school this evening and David Francey, a wonderful Canadian singer, was on the I-Pod singing The Waking Hour. Kathy and I have attended several of his concerts. He has a wonderful line in that song: “The heart that’s breaking never makes a sound.” It resonated. I wrote poetry many years ago and, today, I found poetry anew.
Set the backpack down
The mountain is high
The peak obscured
The path terrifying
Share my load
Trust
Be right
Be true
Will they hear?
Without spoken words
Speak my truth
Invite
Carried alone
The backpack is too heavy
Lighten
Strengthen
Back straight,
Shoulders square,
Head held high.
Walk with me
Share my load
When Kathy and I were married we chose the Prayer of St. Francis as one of our readings in the ceremony that day. It remains an integral part, albeit sometimes overlooked, part of my daily life. St. Francis spoke in a transformational voice and as a change agent of his time. His message remains as important today as it when it was first presented.
ivonprefontaine
Teacher as Transformer 