Power Spot

I discovered a new power spot today.

I first learned of power spots from Danaan Perry in his book Warrior of the Heart. It’s a place in nature where you can sit uninterrupted and preferably unseen.

This new spot is in Lakes Park. I had another spot there at one time, but when they did maintenance on the walking path they took out the vegetation that kept me hidden.

I was delighted to find this spot today in the marsh area, with a smoothed out limestone rock to sit on. A place to go to gather my inner power, think, and pray.

😊

Green Again

Inspired by these word by Gary Snyder in his poem "Loose on Earth"

an after,

rubble -- millennia to weather,

soften, fragment,

sprout, and green again.

After everything blows apart,

all we knew erupting into

an unrecognizable mess,

our job is to see beyond,

but damn, that is hard.

We like being shocked, bewildered;

it's a stopping point to gather

ourselves for the journey needed,

the one we didn't plan to take,

but one that might actually

lead us to what is most 

important, productive, essential,

and most of all, equitable.

Forces are already gathering

against us. There are those

willing to poison the fields.

Be aware!

45. Among the Joshua Trees

#64Challenge

The next assignment for my creative writing classes is focused on an overarching theme of "change." They will read two poems and read the lyrics and listen to John Mayer's "Waiting on the World to Change," and then decide on their theme and format and write.  I always offer a model of my own. This is what I wrote for them -- and for me, and anyone who cares to listen.

Among the Joshua Trees: A Lesson in Slow Change

In 1990 I visited Joshua Tree National Forest when I was in California. I didn’t know until I arrived what a Joshua Tree was. The photo above was taken when we first entered the park, and I got so excited seeing these unusual trees: spiky, slow-growing, with branches that rise up. The tree was named by the Mormons who thought of the tree as Joshua from the Bible reaching his hands to the sky. The Joshua Tree lives in arid conditions and depends on perfectly timed rains to keep it flowering and growing. They are not in a hurry, and grow for a very long time – up to 300 years. They live amid other desert flora and jumbo boulders of red stone.

Now this is 2020, and I find myself living in an arid time. I am without my classroom, without the ability to have natural connections to my students, filling my days looking at the computer. This is as dry as it comes for a teacher.

So I turn to the Joshua Tree. I am reminded of the hope and strength it symbolizes. Its changes are slow. It is not in a hurry.

Most of us are feeling like we’d like an end date to this pandemic. We want to return to our gatherings and classrooms and be able to buy groceries without fear.

But here in the desert of life today, there is no time frame. There is no end date. There is only the will to survive in tough conditions, to see it through, one small change at a time, until the future becomes the present.

In Florida we are used to our swamps and rains. We are used to things growing quickly, green and glorious.

But today we are in the forest of Joshua Trees – spiky, slow moving, and raising our hopes to the sky.

It is an uncomfortable place.

It is a place of grief.

In the hardest times of my life, I have looked to a symbol to help me through. Today I turn to the Joshua Tree. It is the symbol of Endurance because it grows without sufficient water. It is the symbol of Strength because it overcomes unfavorable conditions, and has the power to make progress against all odds. And finally, it is a symbol of New Beginnings. It has the ability to produce leaves, flowers, and fruits.

The Joshua Tree is a concrete image for me, one to remind me I need to look to my own life and see what I can produce in this dry time, this quarantined life.

It has been stated more than once that we will come out of this time as different people. I think that could be true. But only if we endure, find strength, and see this as a way to a new beginning.

I am keeping the spirit of the Joshua Tree inside of me, as I face times of disappointment, resentfulness, and worry. When those feelings arise, I will see it as a chance to change my vision. Turn to endurance. Turn to strength. Turn to a new way of seeing things. The gifts given by the Joshua Tree.

The fruits and flowers will be realized one moment, one turn of a thought at a time.  I vow to do this for myself. I vow to do this for others.

With the Joshua Tree by my side, I believe I can make it out of the desert, into a new future yet to be imagined. This is the essence of slow change.

I will make it. We will make it. Together.

The Hidden Story

We go dry when disconnected from our true nature.

I’m driving to work the other morning with the radio on, and hear Molly Tuttle 

singing a song called “Walden.” I immediately know the words must be coming from

Henry David Thoreau’s famous work, as I listen and pick up some of the lines: The 

land where we dwell will not always be dry and Long after we’re gone, still the earth

will turn round and round and The life in us is like water in a river. And even though I 

don’t know exactly where she found these words in Walden, I think back to what I

know about the text, teaching the Transcendentalists to juniors in high school.  Yes, 

we read about the different drummer, but what stood out to me was Thoreau’s

singular experience in the bean fields, how he would spend his mornings hacking 

away at weeds that were relentless, how determined he was to know the beans,

even as he rarely ate them. Since I somehow do not own a copy of Walden, I found 

the bean fields paragraph online, and that is when I realized that our nonviolent

Henry David was speaking of being at war with the pigweed and piper-grass and 

Roman wormwood. This was his Trojan War, one relentless fibrous and strong weed

being compared to Hector, that towered a whole foot above his crowding comrades, 

fell before my weapon and rolled in the dust. These were the killing fields! I was

puzzled at first about this war talk, but then I realized the truth – Thoreau was in 

touch with his own spirit and soul. Working the bean fields was a practice,

and part of the mythology of our world is about conflicting forces. It was natural for 

him to tap into that myth, that hidden story, to make his experience full. This is the

reason we must have practices. He was simply being a full participant in life, and his 

personification of the weeds brings this into full relief and is another reminder that

our every day activities have consequence for us, bring us closer or farther away 

from ourselves.

Which brings us back to Molly’s song. When the desert is growing around us, when 

we feel the world we know is coming or has come to an end, our job is to reach

inside of ourselves and find that hidden story, that water of life, the one that will 

help us rise again, and create the new world meant to be born in our time, with our

help, with our dedication and strength and unique gifts. May we rise this year, may 

rise higher than man has ever known. May our singular mythic nature make everything

unnecessary disappear.

(Some ideas for this poem also came from Michael Meade's podcast "Mythic by Nature.")

Questions About Carrots

(inspired by Billy Collins’ “Questions About Angels” but way sillier)

Of all the questions you might

ask about carrots, the question

“What’s up, Doc” seems most

appropriate and universal.

After all, isn’t Bugs Bunny the

Number One Carrot-Eater we

know, besides maybe the

Easter Bunny, who comes in

many guises and yes, usually

with a carrot in tow. But that's

just in the spring.

Do carrots know they are being

eaten? Do they miss their

greenery when it is shorn off

to be more acceptable to your

average suburban shopper?

Do they know that there are “baby”

versions of themselves, carrots never

allowed to grow up? Do they realize they

don’t just come in orange now, but in black, red,

white, purple, and yellow, with questionable

Vitamin K and beta-carotene, I would guess.

Isn’t that what the orange is for? And why purple?

What are the sleeping habits of carrots?

Do they love being snuggled deep in the earth,

moist and cozy, pulling down the sunlight from

their exposed greenery? What goes on with

these root veggies underground? Are there parties?

Lessons? Do they aspire to being chosen by a

rich actress or pro football player to be brought

back to a subzero fridge until the day of their

demise? Or do they simply hope to feed a child?

No, it seems none of these questions are asked

or answered. Instead, we have Bugs asking, “What’s up, Doc?”

as he crunches and munches, putting in his time for

a carrot-a-day, a worthy payment for a trickster rabbit,

one who never reveals how he comes into possession

of his precious orange treasures. And what of us? Dipping

 those baby carrots into ranch dressing at cocktail parties,

never thinking twice about the questions we could ask,

too accepting of the mangled carrot lineage, just accepting

that a carrot a day could keep the doctor away, and that’s what’s up.

Delerium?

...crying where are we anyway, and who,and what, and why?

--Barbara Hamby "Delerium"

This is how I feel now

end of June 2018

world swirling around me

constant feeling we've lost

something valuable

despair, hopelessness, civil war?

violence

decisions affecting people

unexpected

civility? surrender? statis?

But little grassroot things

are happening, the brown

field may start showing

sprouts of green. Among the

angst there are voices

assuring us we can't give up,

there is a way. There is hope.

I reaffirm my place in this madness.

Start where I am.

Stand tall.

Art Space Illusion

I'm sitting in a writing workshop taking place in an art gallery. The young published essay writer is trying to help us see how the personal is universal. She is sweet, has great stories and writers' quotes to share, but not terribly prepared or inspiring.

So I look across the way and become obsessed with an abstract painting, brilliant colors dripped down on the page, a ridge of green across the top that appears to me to be a line of trees -- in abstract, of course.  I spend a great deal of the workshop staring at the painting, I cannot remove my eyes from the significance it seems to have for me. Visual art can speak for us when words cannot.  I know that already. It's happening again.

I write in my notebook:

There is a painting across the way that is abstract paint drips.  It appears to me that at the top there is a tree, and all the colors -- yellow, red, purple, and lime green drips are the roots, tangled and alive and thin and fat and forever under the ground doing their thing.

The workshop ends with the usual stories from childhood prompt (yawn), and I move across the hardwood floor of the gallery with my cell phone to get a picture of the painting.

And I discover it isn't at all what it appeared to be.

This is an intricate machine. This is a well-designed and chaotic commotion of color that goes way beyond paint drip on the page.  This is what technology does to Jackson Pollack.

As I write this blog this morning, I realize I did not even bother to get the name of the painting or the artist.  I had noted that it won a prize -- Best in Show.  I will take another look today for pertinent information as I have committed myself to three workshops in the gallery.  It is a must.  It is the art space that is calling me and challenging me to find words. My tangled and alive and thin and fat and chaotic commotion deep inside needs examination.

Things may not be what they seem.  I must allow that. Today I dig for the roots.

(The painting is called "Still from Cities of Inextricable Velocities" by Ryota Matsumoto.)

Shapes

It must be the influence of my friend Annmarie who is currently in Oregon sending back all kinds of unusual nature photos. Today I needed some blue space, and headed to Bunche Beach where I was greeted with shapes!

Yes, shapes!

Every tree, every rock, every mark in the sand seemed to speak to me today. There were scads of birds, and they were pretty awesome, too, in their mating regalia.  Not that any of the females were interested in courting. There was a lot of chasing going on.

But...the shapes.  I don't even have words today.  I just have shapes. Enjoy.

The Wildflower, The Orange, and The Soul

Today is the last day of my spring break, and I found myself getting caught up in planning for my 7th and 8th grade classes.  Finally I had to say ENOUGH.  Give myself this day. Enjoy my space.

I realized I had a magazine sitting on my coffee table, so glanced through it to see if there was anything interesting to read. I found and article called "Soil and Soul" that contained this inset quote from Wendell Berry:

Since I rarely hear anyone talking about topsoil, I thought perhaps there was a Green Space here for me, so I went back to the beginning and began to read.

The article is an interview between Father Michael Woods, Sister Kathleen Durkin, and Eileen Biehl.  It is about the work begin done by Catholics in a community effort called Grow Ohio Valley.  But that isn't what I was interested in.

Where I was drawn in was by statements made in the article, the conversation, that paralleled my life as a teacher.  Recently, I had come across a quote from a movie about how student growth is like that of a flower -- we cannot pull it up from the roots, we cannot paste the leaves on -- we are required to set the environment and let things blossom in their own time.

In this "season of testing" panic, I have watched my colleagues -- and yes, even myself -- trying to do that last minute pulling of the roots, pasting on of leaves.  This article about Soil and Soul brought me back to the place I need to be.

Some quotes and thoughts:

The complete reliance of all humanity on the soil for sustenance and survival placed farmers and the agriculture industry in the position of caretaker and cultivator.

As an educator, I feel that requirement to be caretaker and cultivator.  I think this is why teachers get so angry and frustrated with the whole era of standardized testing.  We see ourselves in a much different role than those tests require.  I also think the sustenance and survival of humanity relies on proper education, and that goes right down to every last child in every school -- not just the easy ones to educate.

We need to appreciate that the SOIL grows the food, NOT the farmer.  The farmer's job is to work thoughtfully with grace and humility to realize God's great gift to us in the soil.

Teachers, too, have to understand our role is to tend the soil of good instruction, allowing for healthy growth in our students.  They are God's gift to the world -- we should be nothing to destroy that beauty, certainly not just because some politicians told us to.

"Health" is a word related to salvation. It speaks to "making whole," and is related to heal, hallow, holy, and holistic. It is indeed "holy" work.

The current dysfunctional and unhealthy systems in place in our schools do little to help make us whole. It is a constant battle for a teacher to keep things in place to do no harm.  It is sometimes harder than parents or the general public realize.

Farming is a form of liturgy. There are set rhythms to the seasons and how nature moves and there is a constant set of things required for farming: water, weeding, pruning. But, each growing season is never the same.

This quote can easily be replaced with the school year and how it has its own seasons.  Fall is the toughest -- getting to know our students, who they are, what their abilities are.  It is never the same two years in a row.  Then around Thanksgiving, usually things start to smooth out, we are in routine. Then the intensity of getting ready for the tests -- third quarter -- the one where students start to feel either much stronger or much weaker.  The pressure is on.  Then, testing season, and when it is done...some rest, some fun, some activities that release the school year with pleasure. The things needed: teaching, observing, reinforcing, reteaching, measuring growth, raising awareness, reflecting, and creativity...the list could go on and on.

After reading and reflecting on this "Green Space" today, I read the next poem in River Flow.  It is called "The Wildflower" and it begins:

In the center of this wildflower
the names of things revolve like planets...

I was immediately reminded of the Buddhist teaching about the orange. What does the orange contain? Everything in the universe -- the seed, the tree, the leaves, the soil, the air, the sun, the rain, every movement someone made to get that orange to grow.

Everything is in everything. The more I can remember that, the better person I will be.

The soil needs to be healthy and ready.  The more I remember that, the better teacher I will be.

Everything I am is in that soil. Let me remember to cultivate with care.

"Soil and Soul" published in imagine ONE: Congregation of the Sisters of St. Joseph, Spring/Summer 2017