Flights

6

January 8, 2018, Prescott-

He was like Gibraltar’s rock,

working day and night

to secure his future,

and those of countless others,

for he was a man of finance,

and a man of principle.

I’d have trusted him

with the account I am building.

He loved a sacred space,

not far from where he

and his beloved

had lived

for over two decades.

He worked the grounds

of that sacred space.

I had the honour

of working alongside him.

Now, he has taken his flight,

after a life lived powerfully.

She was in the worst  of pain,

the sort that only a flood of love

can even come close to healing.

Those closest to her,

not knowing her level

of suffering,

tended to other matters.

She tended to her matter,

and took her flight,

after a life lived tortuously.

We know not what

is in store for us.

We can only live

in as much of the Light

as we can absorb.

We can only absorb

as much of the Light,

as the size of our lens,

will let in.

Our lens is

only as big,

as the heart that

it mirrors,

and the lenses

off  which

it reflects.

So, I honour

a forthright,

valiant man.

So, I feel pain,

for a tortured

woman.

 

The Balm that Simmers

2

August 19, 2016, Prescott- For two weekends in a row, going to a “free” concert by a local band, named The Cheektones, has been a fine way to unwind from a work position that requires every ounce of my energy and commitment.  More about them, later.

Simply put, most people have little or no understanding of the troubled.  I have listened to, and worked with and around,  two conflicting agendas, both of whose proponents purport to want what’s best for the kids in our care.  I have operated, for forty years of work with children and youth, on a gradually-established, and continually fine-tuned, intuition and sensibility.  I made all manner of errors, my first three years of teaching, and learned from every one of them, while being remorseful over those who fell behind, or fell through the cracks.  Those of my early students who are still living are in their mid-fifties now.  Chances are, most of them have gone on and lived fairly complete lives.

Nothing remains in stasis, for very long.  My current small group of children are, more than even the average child, all about the moment- and it could be the polar opposite of the moment before- or that which lies straight ahead.  Some adult observers “recognize” chemical imbalance; others see “parental spoiling”; still others just know the pain- and want to heal.

I tend to be in the last category.  Most of you know, by now, of my own having grown up autistic, somewhere on the Asperger’s spectrum.  “Emotionally-handicapped” people are, therefore, special to me.  I want nothing more than to win their trust and help them grow into, at least, a position of functionality.

I have thus tended to find myself in classrooms where such children are placed, in a group.  This grouping is not ideal, either for the students, or for the (usually small) team of adults who work with said grouping.  Adults of a certain age also tend to bicker, openly, then are astounded at the insolence of the children.  This happens between spouses, ex-spouses, co-workers and supervisors/subordinates.  I, admittedly, have done my share of bickering, in various settings, over the years.

I got out of the circular chase by stopping myself, and just listening.  Being now in a workplace where I am allowed to say very little, in the presence of my immediate supervisor, albeit enjoying freer speech at school-wide meetings, I have grown ever more comfortable with just being still.  With the children, though, as I get to know them better, I can, and will, impart to them  a code of decency and respect, which many of them have not known, other than intuitively, in their all-too-brief lives.

It is this year’s primary task to bring balm to the sore,  to heal the simmering wound.

 

As It Happened

4

April 17, 2016, Prescott- I was in an intense frame of mind, and in a hectic schedule, this weekend.  The needs of my Faith led me down to Phoenix, and a semi-cloistered 1 1/2 days’ consult with my fellows.

I look back on all my experiences of this past forty-eight hours, and see:

A tall, intelligent, comely woman walking past,

Offering a slight smile,

The briefest of acknowledgements.

Come to find out,

There was an early morning spat.

A young woman,

friend since the age of nine,

walking about with upturned nose,

selectively greeting the chosen few.

Come to find out,

father’s taken off,

for parts unknown.

Sullen man glares at passers-by,

not asking for anything,

but huddled tightly with himself,

on a corner bench.

Come to find out,

he’s been drifting,

since President Bush the Younger

said “Mission accomplished”,

when sullen man’s mission had just started.

There is pain, even on a bright day like today.

There is joy, even on a hard day, like a couple of Thursdays ago.