day seven: 27 days of gratitude

I work everyday with some of the best teachers I could have ever hoped to find. I refer to the children age 18 months to 6 years old that I encounter daily (though the incredible women whom I work alongside are phenomenal too). Every week I am humbled by what the children teach me through their honesty, openness and enthusiasm. This week the children explored self portraits and feelings. As they finished their work, they lined up to tell me (and one another) about the big feeling they chose to illustrate.
One boy told me, "I drew happy. Happy feels like white clouds in a blue sky. When I'm happy all I need is food and water. "
A five year old girl said, "I drew jealous. Jealous feels like wanting to do stuff funner and better than anybody else. Jealous feels like a tight tummy. Jealous is green. When I’m jealous I need to feel like I’m enough."
A four year old girl said, "I drew sad. Sad feels like an empty house. Sad feels like not having food in the night time. Sad is a feeling. When I’m sad I need a tissue, a sip of water and a big hug and kiss from my grandma, my mama, my dad or my big sister or baby sister. Sad is okay."
I was impressed as they shared feelings like: missing, angry, mad, excited, scared and more. Their courage and curiosity inspires me.
Today I am grateful for my many teachers, wherever I find them: the children I work with, the person who cut me off on the road, the person I cut off on the road, the gentle old man shoveling snow, the kindness of strangers helping one another out of icy parking lots, the warmth of dear friends, the beauty of fresh snow and feelings that come and go, each carrying their own flavor. As Bodhi always reminds me, "All the world's your teacher mom and all the things they're ever gonna teach you are already in your heart".

Comments

tree digging

Yes, I know it doesn't look like much. It was only about 5 inches in diameter and 8 feet tall. The root ball was no more than 3 feet deep. But it was a sweet red-bud tree that we planted the year Bodhi was born, his placenta was buried in it's roots and like many of the trees in our neighborhood, it died (see this post to understand why) . I can't say that I mourned its death in a tangible way, rather it produced in me a sort of unnameable melancholy. I am a woman who loves the spring. I nearly live for it. When the first signs of life emerge like a haze of hope, I drink in green with the passion of a desert crawling woman sipping at an oasis. I gorge. This year has been hard. Our neighborhood isn't leafing out in native splendor, instead the tired trees seem to begrudge the effort, only offering a tender shoot or bud occasionally. The north side of many trees appear to have given up all together, too tired after a long winter...

Coraggio

When everything looks bleak and the darkness cramps against the cold, it takes courage to simply look out from imagined isolation toward the wide horizon of beauty available in every moment. It takes courage to lean into the sea of life and trust the tide. When weary limbs no longer support us, it takes courage to trust our inner buoyancy and float. It takes courage, in the face of darkness, to remember the light and sit in all our apparent blindness and listen, silently, to the still, small whisper within. It takes courage, in that dark hour, when nothing else remains. Eyes closed. Eyes opened. A glimpse, a memory, a fleeting vision of a light so bright it blurs the borders of things seen and things perceived into a comprehensive wholeness of being. It takes courage.

the way of the sunflower

A few weeks ago, I sat holding a sunflower seed in my hand, just prior to the mouth popping, mastication phase, when it's perfect elegance floored me. I stared in awe at the tiny seed nestled in my palm and saw it, in all of it's possibility, for the first time. A flower, a million seeds, a million flowers. Each unique, each the same. And suddenly I was dumbfounded by the arrogance of human. A small seed, with no big beefy brain to catalogue, categorize, prioritize, conceptualize, quantify, qualify, justify and deify, had within it the flower it could become. Dissect the seed and there's no flower, nor any glimmer of the life that will unfold when the seed surrenders to soil, light, water. I wondered. What arrogant assuming is it, to think, with our over indulged brains and narcissistic lens of "self", that we need "do", "think", "struggle", "fight", "hustle", "cajole" and otherwise dance our way...

angelbirdflies

Search This Blog