I slept for a very long time last night and woke to read this poem by Rumi:
Sometimes you hear a voice through the door
calling you, as fish out of water
hear the waves, or a hunting falcon
hears the drum's Come back. Come back.
This turning toward what you deeply love
saves you. Read the book of your life,
which has been given you.
A voice comes to your soul saying,
Lift your foot. Cross over.
Move into emptiness
of question and answer and question
I didn’t know what to do with this…I didn’t know if I was too sleep-buzzed to understand it, or that it was too impossible to focus on any one part.
After leaving and coming back to it, I decided that “This turning toward what you deeply love saves you.”
This is how we get through life, right? The things we love, when we experience them, lift us.
I think this is part of the reason I find some of the rancor and bitterness in the world so off-putting. And yes, this I mean in a political sense. I wonder why we can’t agree to love our country, our democracy, the way those who fought for it did. This really hit me after I saw Hamilton again.
Today it was also about something floating around my periphery as I tried to figure out how to occupy a few classes on these last days. I discovered something I’d forgotten all about. Perfect.
Despite all the insanity this year, I do love my learners and I’m trying to leave them with the best experience possible —art and games, yes, but some other skills to call on as readers in the future. It feels possible and probable. And that is something I love. It saves me.
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