Category Archives: Adversity and Resilience

“The Fool’s Prayer”

Carol A. Hand

This is the second installment of sharing older posts while I focus on surviving the beginning of a new semester. It deals with the beginning journey of discovering a philosophy of education.

Sometimes important life lessons are painful. We may learn what we don’t want to be when we grow up. As someone who never entertained being a college professor, I learned a most valuable lesson as a young child about the difference between being an educator who encourages excellence and critical thinking rather than one who serves as an agent of normalization and social control.

I have had the honor of working with students who saw the world through many different lenses. Some were smarter, some kinder, some were better thinkers and writers, and many traveled further or overcame challenges I couldn’t even imagine. It was and still is my intention to encourage others to discover and express their gifts.

I might not have realized the importance of this approach without experiencing a third-grade teacher who did quite the opposite. She led me down a path of critical reflection at an early age and I have learned to be deeply grateful for that lesson.

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Third grade. Our assignment was to find a poem we could memorize and recite to the class. I grew up in a working class home with few books: my mother’s text about practical nursing and her high school English text, Adventures in American Literature, and my father’s set of Popular Mechanics, the poor man’s version of an encyclopedia. Given the limited choices, I read through my mother’s English literature text and selected the poem that had the most meaning to me, “The Fool’s Prayer.”

The Fool’s Prayer
Edward Rowland Sill (1841-1887)

The royal feast was done; the King
Sought some new sport to banish care,
And to his jester cried: “Sir Fool,
Kneel now, and make for us a prayer!”

The jester doffed his cap and bells,
And stood the mocking court before;
They could not see the bitter smile
Behind the painted grin he wore.

He bowed his head, and bent his knee
Upon the Monarch’s silken stool;
His pleading voice arose: “O Lord,
Be merciful to me, a fool!

“No pity, Lord, could change the heart
From red with wrong to white as wool;
The rod must heal the sin: but Lord,
Be merciful to me, a fool!

“‘Tis not by guilt the onward sweep
Of truth and right, O Lord, we stay;
‘Tis by our follies that so long
We hold the earth from heaven away.

“These clumsy feet, still in the mire,
Go crushing blossoms without end;
The hard, well-meaning hands we thrust
Among the heart-strings of a friend.

“The ill-timed truth we might have kept –
Who knows how sharp it pierced and stung?
The word we had not sense to say –
Who knows how grandly it had rung?

“Our faults no tenderness should ask,
The chastening stripes must cleanse them all;
But for our blunders – oh in shame
Before the eyes of heaven we fall.

“Earth bears no balsam for mistakes;
Men crown the knave, and scourge the tool
That did his will; but ‘Thou, O Lord,
Be merciful to me, a fool!”

The room was hushed: In silence rose the
The King, and sought his gardens cool,
And walked apart, and murmured low,
“Be merciful to me, a fool!”

(H.S. Schweikert, R. B. Inglis, & J. Gehlmann, Eds., 1936, pp. 670-671)

Presentation day was one of nervous anticipation for me. I was excited to share what I thought was an important message with my classmates. But my anxiety grew as I sat through the recitation of nursery rhymes and “Twinkle-twinkle little star.” “Oops,” I thought, “Maybe I made a mistake, but it’s too late now.” When my turn came, I walked to the front of the class and began. I don’t remember how my peers reacted as I recited the poem, probably with exaggerated drama, nor could I see my teacher’s expression. She was seated at her desk behind me. All I remember is from that day forward, my teacher treated me as if I were a leper. The first time I talked to a classmate seated next to me after my performance, the teacher singled me out in front of the class.

You may not need to listen to what I’m talking about, but the rest of the class does. From now on when we are discussing reading, your job is to stand by the side blackboard and draw.”

Perhaps it was meant as a punishment, but it didn’t seem to be a marker of shame to my peers so I was okay with it. And I really didn’t mind being freed from the prison of a desk as the teacher droned on and on, talking at us. I was free to daydream and create. I was free to ponder the message of the jester. Perhaps my role in life was to let kings and teachers know that they were as human as those over whom they exercised sovereignty. Yet unlike the jester, I couldn’t wear a painted grin. I was born with a face that couldn’t mask feelings, and I didn’t have the playfulness and self-assurance necessary to be a clown. So instead, I became quiet. I learned not to appear too smart – to avoid drawing any attention to myself. But it was too late. I had already learned that those of us who are not kings cannot remain silent forever. If we don’t find effective ways to rein-in kings, things will never change.

jester

Jester Logo by Lesley-Lycanthropy, Jester Logo by Lesley-Lycanthropy on deviantART
lesley-lycanthropy.deviantart.com

***

Life has granted me many more chances to test out ways to share information that feels important. Perhaps others I have encountered on my journey found the ideas timely and helpful. Like the jester, though, my responsibility is merely to share what flows through me in the moment through words, silences, and actions. I may never know whether anyone is listening. That is as it should be for the messages belong to anyone who is paying attention and understands the meaning in their own way…

A Grateful Farewell to 2019

Carol A. Hand

Surveying the snowy, icy, windswept land
clearing a path yet again with the tools at hand
knowing it’s a task that will be repeated
before the long winter has retreated
with the spring of the coming new year

*

*

I wonder …
How many more paths will I have to clear
before I can finally rest away from here?
Some days the pain of life is so hard to bear
making me wish for the long sleep that will take me elsewhere
Branches broken in storms, youth who make poor choices
I feel their loss and anguish in these times of clueless angry voices

*

Spruce branches broken by 2-feet of heavy snow

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All I ask is the strength to contribute something worthwhile
to raise awareness,
inspire curiosity,
touch a heart,
or bring a smile
to encourage others to clear a path toward peaceful possibilities…
*
December 21, 2019

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Thank you so much for sharing the challenges and opportunities of 2019 with me. May the new year, 2020, be kinder and gentler for us all.

*

 

Digging Out from November 2019

Carol A. Hand

A few days ago, I wrote these words in the morning.

Please tell me that all of the craziness in the world has a purpose
– that clouded eyes will once again be able to see that the mad rush
to own things comes at the cost of life’s wonders
as piles of garbage and toxins fill the earth, waters, and skies
– that closed hearts will open with compassion for the suffering of others
as children are ripped from loving families seeking refuge and put in cages
while farmlands flood and forests burn and bombs destroy people’s homes
– that people really are learning something that will help them become wiser
and more aware of both the beauty and ugliness of their immediate surroundings
by gazing nonstop at facebook, twitter, google, youtube, and instagram
Please show me something meaningful I can do now
to make a positive difference while I am here

*

When I came home after walking my little dog, an idea came to me. Why not share the play I wrote about Ojibwe child welfare a few years ago with the tribal college where I teach? Of course, my amateurish effort would need a lot of work, but it could make a difference. I called a friend to see what she thought of the idea and discovered the power of synchronicity. She had just met with a former student who wanted to use theater as a way to engage tribal youth. So I spent that day and the next editing and rewriting. The new draft still needed an ending when I had to put it aside for Thanksgiving.

It has become a family tradition to have Thanksgiving dinner at my house. I am the eldest member of my family now. There are so many reasons why I could be cynical about a fictive national holiday, but I really do count my blessings every day, and my family is at the top of the list. So I began the multi-day tasks of cleaning my house and cooking. This year, I decided to do something a bit different after dinner. Last year we all read parts of the Haudenosaunee Thanksgiving Address. This year, I asked each family member to read something special I wrote in the past for each of them. My daughter read a poem I wrote for her daughter, my granddaughter, A Song for Little Rose. My granddaughter read a story I wrote for her brother, The ‘Tinky Bush Story. And my grandson read a story I wrote for my daughter, The Lesson of the Butterfly and the Message of the Wind. The little room was filled with light and love and laughter.

The reflections some of my students posted early are a blessing as well. They described important things they learned about themselves and their communities in the research course that will be meeting for the last time this coming weekend. They will all be graduating soon and hopefully will remember and use what they learned about the importance of observing life and thinking critically from a social justice perspective.

I am also deeply grateful to all of my friends in the blogging community. I have not been able to respond to comments or visit other blogs very often. My life has been an emotional rollercoaster ride during November. My way of coping is to stay busy trying to do what I can here and now to live according to the three principles I mentioned in a previous post – compassion, patience, and integrity. It is impossible for me to predict when I will have time to blog regularly again. I have new courses to prep during our brief semester break and a play to finish soon. Please know I send my best wishes to all of you.

Let me end with some photos of November’s lingering gift as I begin the slow heavy task of shoveling snow on this first morning of December.

*

Reflections about Layered Perspectives

Carol A. Hand

The joyous chatter of chickadees
draws my gaze and I smile
watching their play
hopping and flitting from the downed limbs
left by the last wind storm
to the still leafy cottonwood branches above

I suspect the birds will be gone
if I leave to get a camera
but I figure it’s worth a try

*

*

Alas, I was right
My camera catches a different scene
reminding me of the seemingly impossible
challenges of these times

I am not sure if the scene
is best captured in color or black and white

*

*

I remember the dreams
of the neighbor who once lived there
to help low income elders
shared when I helped her cut brush
Her dreams held hostage by a parasitic bank
and at best put on hold through foreclosure

There are times like today
as the first real snow is falling

*

*

that offer me a few moments to wonder
“When does adversity spark resilience?”
“And when does it crush the spirit of hope instead?”

Perhaps it requires making the decision anew
to hold onto our dreams anyway
each time we are faced
with a seemingly impossible challenge?

Sometimes it feels like a lesson
that will take more than one lifetime to learn

Reflections about Resilience – November 3, 2019

Carol A. Hand

Blindsided yet again by evil

that has come with an intensity

I’m not sure my aching heart can bear it

*

But I have walked this path before

*

“Walk tall anyway,” I told myself then,

“Truth will prevail in time

if you show compassion, patience,

and integrity

*

Keep in mind the advice you give

Seek solutions that promote healing

rather than those that punish

Remember what you focus on

and the lens you look through

affect what you see and do

*

***

Reflections – August 21, 2019

Carol A. Hand

Dear Billie,
You are in my thoughts today
Perhaps it’s because the cup
you brought as a gift
on your visit to Montana
more than a decade ago
is holding the coffee I’m drinking
on this sunny August afternoon

*

*

I miss you
and I know your daughter,
my beloved granddaughter, does too
I’m not sure if you can see
how kind and beautiful she is now
I promise to remind her
what a thoughtful loving father you were

*

*

I send you thoughts of love and joy
May your spirit soar peacefully
like the eagle on the gift cup
that always reminds me of you
a kind and generous young man
who was deeply loved by all
who had the honor of knowing you
in the short time you were here

*

Reflections about Changes

Carol A. Hand

Greeting the morning earlier than usual
after awakening to the rumbling clouds
The alley behind my house is filled with “tooting” puddles
reminding me of my granddaughter’s laughter
Now, she might be too grown up
to notice puddles with delight
but perhaps she’s not yet too old to remember

Ah, changes
I have lived through so many in my life
Changing people, places, jobs, responsibilities,
sometimes alone as I am now, and sometimes with partners
My changing house reminds me of a common thread
connecting this long, winding journey

*

My house before I arrived in the fall of 2011
My house in September 2012 (screen shot of Google posting)

*

No accomplishment, job, relationship, or living situation
is quite what we expected or hoped it would be
The one constant connecting them all is change
The ways we respond to “success,” loss, and disappointment
tell a story about who we really are

Each place I have travelled, I tried my best
to learn how to be present in the moment
breathing new possibilities into being
despite knowing that nothing is permanent
except change
and, perhaps, the memories of what could be

*

June 17, 2019
June 24, 2019

*

Sometimes, unexpected gifts help us remember why we are here  – now – in such chaotic, troubling times

“It is hard to say which one of the current egregious matters has rocked people’s worlds and beliefs more. Ours is a time of almost daily jaw-dropping astonishment and often righteous rage over the latest degradations of what matters most to civilized, visionary people.

“…You are right in your assessments. The lustre and hubris some have aspired to while endorsing acts so heinous against children, elders, everyday people, the poor, the unguarded, the helpless, is breathtaking.

“Yet … I urge you, ask you, gentle you, to please not spend your spirit dry by bewailing these difficult times. Especially do not lose hope. Most particularly because, the fact is – we were made for these times.

“Yes. For years, we have been learning, practicing, been in training for and just waiting to meet on this exact plain of engagement. I cannot tell you often enough that we are definitely the leaders we have been waiting for, and that we have been raised, since childhood, for this time precisely” (Clarissa Pinkola Estés)

Work Cited

Clarissa Pinkola Estés (2001, 2016). Do Not Lose Heart, We Were Made for These Times. Available from http://depthpsychotherapy.net/index_htm_files/Do%20Not%20Lose%20Hope.pdf

 

 

Reflections about Awakening

Carol A. Hand

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April Icing – April 26, 2017

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Life in the tragic gap between present reality
and clear visions (memories?) of what could be
is sometimes unbearably painful
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A fascinating visitor (American Pelecinid Wasp) – August 22, 2018
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The magic, mystery and beauty of life
in all its amazing intricate diversity
captures my undivided attention
filling me with a sense of reverent awe
yet beneath the surface almost simultaneously
I can feel the suffering of the earth
and the creatures who, like me, call her home
I sense the death throes of irreplaceable wonder
that nothing technology produces can ever replace
while too many of the earth’s children sleep

*

Look west from Enger Tower – October 14, 2018
*
I am grateful for the privileges I have had
to witness the power of awakening
as the students I work with discover things
which those in power never meant for them to know
Perhaps it is way too little and way too late
yet a prayer rises in my heart that the earth
draws hope from their awakening
and that of light-affirming others around the world
garnering strength to heal for the sake of all life
across uncountable generations to come

*

On the road to Hana, Maui – 1998

*

Afterward:

I do worry about the challenges that those who are awakening to the wonder of the world will face in the future. I wrote and titled this poem before reading an article by Tess Owen in Vice News. Owen describes a different kind of awakening among white nationalists from around the world who gathered in Finland this past weekend. They referred to their celebration as “Awakening II.” I sincerely hope they will awaken to wonder, too.

*

March Reflections – 2019

Carol A. Hand

*

I woke up this morning. Late, of course, when defined by daylight savings time. Sunlight was streaming through the eastern window. But when I awoke, a gentle but stunning realization dawned as a simple question ran through my mind.

“What happens if you put good people in an evil place?”

It’s a paraphrase of the question Dr. Phillip Zimbardo said he wanted to explore in his famous experiment, The Stanford Prison Experiment.

Another thought quickly followed.

I have been in evil places. Many of them. And I survived despite a tender heart that was ripped open by intense suffering. Both my suffering and that of others who were vulnerable.”

A sense of gratitude followed from knowing that I did my best to hold true to integrity and protect myself and others from the most destructive harm anyway. I got up every morning and walked in to face the fire, knowing that it was an experiment to see if it was possible to transform evil systems.

Although I made many mistakes in my journey, strength came from the ancestors who sometimes appeared to me and the wise beings who visited me in dreams. They taught me that compassion comes from forgiving one’s self as a necessary foundation for forgoing the need to demonize others for the choices they make.

“Mistakes are, after all,
the foundations of truth,
and if a man does not know
what a thing is, it is at
least an increase in knowledge
if he knows what it is not.”
(Carl Jung)

Thanks to Eddie Two Hawks for sharing this quote in a recent post.

I look at the state of the world today and know that I am just one unimportant person among billions. There is little I can do to affect change in the systems that harm others. That’s a choice only each individual must make for themselves. It’s a choice that one makes each moment.

I am inspired by the choices Diane Lefer recently shared on her blog, Nobody Wakes Up Pretty, about those who are working to address the egregious harm being done along the border with Mexico in the name of “Making America Great Again.” Diane’s work reminds me of something written more than a century ago by Jane Addams when she and the women of Hull-House in Chicago lived among newly arrived immigrants in the poorest of city neighborhoods.

“. . . the good we secure for ourselves is precarious and uncertain, is floating in mid-air, until it is secured for all of us and incorporated into our common life” (Jane Addams, 1961, p. 76).

*

May we all continue to make wise, compassionate choices to use whatever gifts we have to build a kinder world.

Work Cited:

Jane Addams (1961). Twenty Years at Hull-House. New York, NY: Signet Classics.

 

For My Daughter

Carol A. Hand

I feel your concern as I walk slowly now
trudging up and down hills or on icy sidewalks
following behind as you lead the way
heading toward a future that is yours alone
I need to travel at my own pace – sure-footed
to avoid adding to the burdens I know you carry

*

Loving you means trusting life and letting you go onward
accepting the limitations of a frail aging frame with grace
watching you with love, compassion, joy, and heavy sadness
remembering conundral choices that I suspect hurt you
hoping one day you will understand that loving you deeply
gave me courage to face daunting challenges to keep you safe

*

My daughter, Turns Falls, Massachusetts, 1975

***

Yesterday, March 5th, was my granddaughter’s twelfth birthday. We had a lovely family celebration. But it’s a date that always makes me feel both deeply grateful, and deeply guilty.

I was traveling when I learned that my daughter was in the hospital giving birth to her daughter prematurely. In the midst of a powerful late winter snowstorm, the airports were closed in both of the cities where my daughter and I were. Renting a car to drive hundreds of miles through the storm wasn’t an option. There was no way I could be there. I could only fly home to a distant state the next day while the storm continued to batter the city where my daughter was.

When the airport reopened on the third day, I was faced with a conundrum. I was carrying heavy responsibilities for gifted, at-risk graduate students in a university that was unsupportive of those who were different in some way. If I left again to be with my daughter, it was likely their graduation would, at best, be delayed. I decided to send my partner, my daughter’s stepfather for most of her life, to be there instead. It was several months before I held my granddaughter for the first time.

All of the students I was advising graduated, many passing their final requirements with distinction, and they went on to careers helping vulnerable people. Yet, I know my daughter was deeply hurt. I will always wonder if I made the “right” choice, just as I will always remember that her birth was the greatest gift in my life.