This morning I read the poem “You Darkness” by Rainer Marie Rilke, and decided to use the last line to start my own poem.
I have faith in the night
as it brings me ideas
and yes, sometimes worries
and on occasion, regrets.
The older I grow the more I know
the value of the dark,
and this is what Rilke
so brilliantly expresses.
The fire —it’s fine
but what we need most
is the dark,
so we can find the fire
in ourselves.
Last night while making dinner, a song came on and I found myself dancing and singing along. It brought back such a happy memory.
It was my last year teaching seniors, and it was one of my AICE Literature classes. They were among the smartest kids I ever taught, and I thought I knew their musical taste—mostly hip hop, with one girl being a Beatles fan. Nicki Minaj was a favorite, I know.
The school news would come on at the end of the period. At the end of one broadcast, a video started. In my memory, I did not know the song or the video, but every other person in the room did. The entire class burst out in song, singing at the top of their lungs. It was so joyful, so fun, and so unexpected, I simply cannot hear the song without the memory attached.
And that’s why every time I hear it, there is only one direction to go…open up my lungs and loudly sing along!
In my classroom I have a poster that looks like an eye chart with the Emerson quote “When it’s dark enough, you can see the stars.”
Today I read a poem called “Dark Days” by Nikita Gill. It resonated because I feel like I’m coming out of some darkness regarding my classroom life. A shift has occurred…a much needed shift.
I created this found poem from Gill’s.
I look at the stars
Patchwork of time
Single burst of starlight
Beautiful piece of art
A better version of me
They are helping me see
I read a quote this morning about how individual students are loving and funny and beautiful people, but it is the classroom dynamic where things go awry.
And I believe that!
Yesterday I put my energy into the individual. I talked to more students one on one than I normally do in a school day. It kept me grounded and focused on the right things.
In other words — I looked away from the group dynamic that so often causes me angst.
And it was a busy day!
Now…to keep it up.
I’ve long known it takes 18 months to really get the hang of a job. I have witnessed this in my own life over and over ever since Jim told me this fact. It is what he witnessed when he was in charge of salespeople. It was never wise to let them go too soon if they didn’t “perform.”
I am now looking at that number in reverse. 18 months is what I have left as a teacher in public schools.
And I still feel like I’m trying to get it right.
Today I begin a new adventure. Okay, maybe not entirely new, but a new approach. I am storyboarding what we are doing, I’m making chapters, and I’m crystal clear on what needs to be accomplished. In other words, why we do the things we do.
Has this always been built in to my teaching in some way? I suppose. But this new process is making it clearer to me, and that matters the most. I know the strongest influence of the classroom environment is the teacher.
It reminds me so much of reading Bob Dylan’s memoir, where he talks about how something broke open in his brain and he suddenly could see how he could approach his music in an entirely new way. This was at the end of the 1980s, and as I write this I’m listening to the album that came out of this timeframe, and I’m loving it. It is setting a tone for me that connects across time and space.
For the next 18 months I commit again to getting it right. To ditch my cynicism and sarcasm and anger and frustration and replace with light and laughter and love and joy and remember the age and needs of my learners. I still believe I have the best job in the world, and I know that if I don’t at least try, what good am I?
what is impossible
happens everyday
—Nikita Gill—
I think of my learners
who seem so impossible
at times
and I have a new thought
because I know it’s true
because people can change
and I will believe
and hold that space.
(Written 12/16/23)
Today I read a poem by David Whyte called “Horse in Landscape: Franz Marc.” I looked up the painting so I could understand the poem better.
He describes much of what you see here, and then he writes:
What will you do
and what will you say
in the times
when you are left alone
to meet, like this,
the quiet fury of the world.
I thought he was referring to the landscape. Then I realized, no, he meant the horse — the horse represented the “quiet fury.”
I am not sure about the quiet fury of the world, but I know my quiet fury. I faced it again yesterday when discussing Jim’s health. The frustration and loss sometimes overwhelms me and yes, I am angry. I feel that tightening in my chest and what I say is…
There is a plan — I just don’t know it yet.
And what do I do?
TRUST.
I have lived long enough to know these are the only worthy responses. I know acceptance is everything. Surrendering to what IS and not what I think it should be is essential.
And make no mistake—-this very much feels like I’m alone. It is my choices in life brought me here. And God did not bring me this far to see me fall.
So, I face the fury of my own future as I stand in a colorful landscape of love and awareness and nature. I allow myself…
To be lifted
To have the sun in my heart
To find joy
Over and over and over again, this is my response.
This is what I do. This is what I say.
For a while I have been finding it difficult to get myself to this blog. I will write entire things out in my journal that I think I want ...
