*
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Silent Sunday – November Sunset
Late November Reflections – 2021
These days, I do write a lot
as a way to rebalance after reading
volumes of student papers
I do love to work with students,
but I really do dislike grading –
playing the role of gatekeeper
because their future writing
may determine the treatment
and wellbeing of the people
they’ll serve in their jobs
as service providers, advocates,
or therapists for children, families, elders
or even for communities and governments
I wish more of them
would follow the advice
I shared at the beginning
of their first semester
By Bill Watterson, (1993, February 11). Available at GoComics
Sometimes it takes me hours
to plow through each paper
adjusting to each different topic
and each unique experiential perspective
carefully trying not to silence their voices
as I struggle to find just the rights words
to provide thoughtful feedback
without destroying self-confidence or souls
keeping in mind, of all things,
words from “The Fool’s Prayer”
“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?”
(Edward Rolland Sill, 1936)
I keep that in mind
when I decide if and what
to post on this blog now
I don’t often post these days
In part because there’s too little time
for me to visit other’s blogs
or even reply to comments on mine
in a timely fashion
There’s another more important reason, too
I have begun self-censoring
what I’m willing to share
when my versions of truth
may be “ill-timed”
and only “pierce and sting”
evoking strong emotions
for no purpose other than venting
without any opportunity to provide
a “balsam for mistakes”
***
The uncensored excerpt from today’s reflection…
November 26
I greeted this morning with wonder, gratitude, and laughter
as I watched a fallen curled brown leaf
that appeared to be hovering just above the earth
sometimes dancing in a gentle breeze
Eager to see if I could capture the moment in a photo
I ran into the house to grab my iphone
As I adjusted the camera focus, I hit a wrong button
choosing video rather than photo which I quickly deleted
thinking to myself, “this would be a real sleeper”
It’s fascinating how quickly perspectives can change
in response to a chance encounter, though
…
Still, like the leaf, I feel suspended
between different views of what is real
as my heart aches for the world in these tragic times
when myths and false hopes are the only option
governments have to offer to divert attention
away from the real global threats
posed by greed and unbridled consumption
That is no laughing matter –
but the little leaf was still hovering after this long reflection
Perhaps it’s a hopeful sign that things may not always be
as precarious as they appear to be at one moment in time
Work Cited:
Sill, Edward Roland (1936). The fool’s prayer. In H.S. Schweikert, R. B. Inglis, & J. Gehlmann (eds.), Adventures in American literature (pp. 670-671). Harcourt, Brace and Company.
An afterthought – After waiting patiently for hours for me to finish writing my reflection, the little dancing leaf was still standing, so I decided it deserves a debut…
Late October Reflections – 2021
October 27
My research classes always begin
with a simple but-oh-so important question
when one stops to consider
an essential foundation for research and life
“What did you notice today?”
*
Before the last class on October 23
I was reminded of something
that has caught my attention recently
In the early morning or late afternoon
when the sun is just rising or setting
thin shimmering threads that are otherwise invisible
are suddenly revealed as strands of light
covering the lawn, connecting the tips of grass
bridges created by tiny spiders quivering in the breeze
that only they can safely travel
*
Last evening just before sundown
when the light was just right again
I noticed the shining threads were all missing
perhaps washed away by intervals of rain
during the past few days
I am hopeful the spiders will continue to weave
their shimmering threads because it’s their nature to spin
it’s not just the rain that erases their handiwork
I am sure they have had much to repair
after I have passed through their landscapes
unaware of the wonder of their silken threads
*
I am reminded of a poem, The Fool’s Prayer by Edward Rowland Sill (1936)
“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…
Be merciful to me, a fool!”
*
Spinning creations of beauty and light
through one’s work seems a never-ending task
In the future I will try to remember to notice
the lives that I might unintentionally threaten
with “clumsy feet still in the mire”
Work Cited:
Sill. E. R. (1936). The fool’s prayers. In H.S. Schweikert, R. B. Inglis, & J. Gehlmann, Eds., Adventures in American literature. New York: Harcourt, Brace and Company, 670-671.
Note:
My attempts to find information on the internet about tiny spiders that spin threads between blades of grass not webs were unsuccessful. I mostly found advertisements about how to get rid of spiders in lawns that I didn’t bother to read.
***
October 27
Rainy day work processing chard
Washing, chopping, blanching
getting it ready to freeze
watching the second hand
make it around three times
on the battery-powered wall clock
mounted above the stove
as I breathe in the warm, misty
chard-scented air
*
(Believing it would save time,
I once tried the timer on my iphone
but being inept with technology
the phone set off alarms
for the battery-backup surge protectors
used for computers and appliances
throughout my house
It’s not an experience I’m willing to repeat
But I digress …)
*
I had time to think during the interstices
as the chard blanched before bathing in cold water
I wondered if what I have done as a teacher
made any difference in the lives of students
reminding me how grateful I am for teachers
who made a difference in my life
all sharing valuable lessons
including those who provided clear examples
of what I hoped never to become
*
‘though teaching seems a never ending task
I feel blessed doing work that may open up possibilities
perhaps mostly in humble, invisible ways
But it’s time for reflections to end for now
The blanched chard is packed in freezer bags,
Freezing…
All too soon, the weather will be doing so, too…
*
*
Note:
For more information about chard: https://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/284103
Morning Reflections – August 6, 2021
crickets and chickadees
singing of seasonal change
perhaps a bit earlier
than usual?
*
Reflections – June 26, 2021
I may not look like much
but I’m sacred life, hard won
*
*
hope emerging despite vulnerability
during difficult times of heat and drought
*
*
in a world grown weary with uncertainty and fear
I unlock potential to overcome adversity,
offering sustenance and beauty
*
*
Early March Reflections – 2021
I still wonder “what could be”
if we were able to put aside differences
and work together lovingly
for the sake of the earth we all share
the “pale blue dot,” our home
which contains so many unexplored mysteries
floating in space amid a cosmos that baffles us
Perhaps others grow dizzy like me
trying to envision a spinning moon
revolving around a spinning earth
that’s revolving around a central sun
along with the other eight planets
in a shared solar system that seems expansive
yet is nonetheless dwarfed by the vast unknown
How many take the time to wonder why?
How many ponder the miracle
of the ground beneath their feet?
Or contemplate this concept
called gravity that keeps us rooted
on a planet spinning in space
at one thousand miles per hour
while revolving around the sun
at 67,000 miles per hour?
I haven’t met many who ask these questions
on my journey through life
most have been too busy to wonder
about ground where they stand
or ponder why they remain grounded
and why they can’t fly
Maybe if more people contemplated these mysteries
we would discover how to care enough about the earth
to put our differences aside…
*
Information Sources:
https://www.planetary.org/worlds/pale-blue-dot
https://www.space.com/why-pluto-is-not-a-planet.html
Following is a link to a fun video I discovered a few years ago when my granddaughter told me she hadn’t learned anything about the stars or solar system in school. We still laugh about this video. We shared it with her mom and brother this year during her birthday celebration on March 5 when she turned 14 and we all laughed together. Learning and remembering can often be fun.
Early February Reflections – 2021
Windchimes sing out a musical warning
“don’t trust the promise of the morning sun
sparkling on crusted windblown snow
the Siberian winds bring brutal cold
testing life’s endurance here below”
*
Unexpected Musings
What trees can teach us
(Connections to the place where we are standing)
*
The solitary mountain ash now stands alone
to weather the winds that led to the passing of the two old willows
that once embraced her and nurtured her through her tender years
Still, they anchor her firmly and deeply
between their stumps and roots
feeding the abundance
of berries
that hang
from her
delicate
branches as
sustenance
for her
winged and
four-legged
relations
when the
deep snows
fall and the
cold winter
winds blow
strong
Acknowledgements
Although I have so little time to write and blog these days, stories and poems sometimes flow through me any way. They are meant to be shared with others because they are connected to others who inspire them. I am sharing this with gratitude to my colleague who insisted we use trees as a metaphor for the class we are teaching about community practice. Initially, I thought she was a little bit crazy. But the course has continued to inspire students year after year. I am also sharing it with gratitude to a dear blogging friend, Robyn, a gifted writer and poet who has inspired me to look ever more deeply at my connections to the land where I stand. And of course, last but not least, this post was inspired by the mountain ash tree bearing her gifts for all who come into her presence.
Reflections about the Power of Presence
There was really nothing remarkable about her appearance
small and thin – if truth be told, a bit ordinary and mousey
perhaps a blessing in disguise – it made her invisible
Her voice was soft and melodic – with a hypnotic quality
that created space where those who were too loud, quieted,
and leaned forward to listen intently when she spoke
She didn’t think this had anything to do with her in particular
Her laughter, though infrequent, created sparkling crystal light
thawing and healing wounded hearts or invoking fear
among those who were filled with darkness
Her gaze was focused and intense – a reader of souls
People who were relegated to marginal status
were often drawn to her light like moths to a flame
sensing a compassionate presence others could not see
She sometimes felt the power within and hid from it
knowing that power brought overwhelming temptations
aware that an ill-spoken word hurled with anger or rage
could leave legacies of lasting harm
and would certainly cut her most deeply
Life taught her to hone her voice, gaze, and presence
though she somehow intrinsically knew only to use them responsibly
on behalf of others in times of great need or danger
and spirits watched over her helping her learn
to only use her gifts in ways that would not draw attention
from the watchers who wanted to stifle compassion, wisdom, joy
and the loving spirit of ordinary people
in order to keep them afraid, confused, angry, and divided
and unable to express the transformative beauty they carried within
Imagine life in COVID for such a one
with months spent largely in isolation
unable to use abilities that were gifts
intended to help others on the margins
to be seen and heard, to have their voices matter
in decisions that affect their lives and all our relations
The regenerating effects of energy shared between humans
through the magic of presence, smiles, and touch now taboo
forcing reliance on distancing technologies and online platforms
as the primary means for communicating through virtual words
Yet nature provides a way for her to stay connected to the world
with the gentle winter kisses of snowflakes – each unique
and each a miracle of seemingly impossible beauty
reminding her to be grateful because she can still share
from her heart even with distancing technologies
even in the midst of suffering, loss, and darkness
She hears a message for herself
and feels compelled to pass it on to others
“Be kind and gentle with yourself and others
each unique and each a miracle of seemingly impossible beauty
rekindle the light within and envision the best you can imagine
for the new year just beginning – let it be a time of healing
and a time of freedom from bondage to fear, suffering, and separation”
What I Noticed Today …
I am sharing the poem that sang through my heart this morning before my last classes.
Choosing to focus on compassion brings gifts.
This morning, I realized the gift of myopia (nearsightedness)…
As a child, I couldn’t see the sharp boundaries that separated one thing from another.
I could only see the way things blended together at the margins of their physical beings.
Now I realize the power of learning to see the world through that perspective.
At 8, I got powerful lenses that helped me see that leaves on tress were distinct and separate
not a massive cotton-ball sitting on top of their trunk.
Yet I can’t go back and unsee their connections –
-
- to each other,
- to the tree trunk,
- to the earth that gives the tree footing and sustenance,
- to the sky that is above and surrounds them,
- to the winds that sometimes caress and whisper through them, and other times ravage the branches they cling to tenaciously,
- to the birds and squirrels that seek connection and sanctuary amid a leafy home,
- and to those who take time to observe them with wonder and gratitude.
Sometimes the things others call deficiencies
turn out to be among our most precious gifts
if we are fortunate enough to be able to overcome the limitation they may impose.
My childhood was not easy. It forced me to find inner strengths to survive…
*
*
I hope you are able to remember how you learned to see the world as a child.
Voices from the Margins 