Filed under: Teaching, Uncategorized, Writing | Tags: pandemic, poetry, teaching online, time
I wrote the piece below some time ago, a few years ago in fact. I came across it a few days ago and it made me think again about how much I’ve been longing for a change in the way time is spent, about how hard it is to step outside time’s current. I’m sorry, deeply sorry for the pandemic and the loss and suffering it is causing. I’m also relieved to sit on the bank for a time and watch the river rush on, online teaching aside…
Young god
Just try getting to the heart of anything
in the divided day,
patchworked with tasks
driven by calendar alerts,
servant to the god of Newton.
· don’t forget you have to
· make sure there is enough to
· pick up so and so at such and such a time
· you must remember to
· do you have time for
· make sure that so and so knows
· how long will it take to
(plan teach assess grade sweep clean weed water
feed clear wash dry fold put away pay collect
calculate estimate gather cook serve take away
pick up drop off control keep safe compose send
flag mark as unread trash)
The gods of Jung sow seeds of revolution
in my sleep,
where strange long halls in my house open
to unknown rooms whose ceilings
are nothing but stars,
where icy seas lap the curbs of my city
and navigation requires a true horizon.
The ancient ones are roused,
the gods of breath and pulse,
of water, wind, leaf and stone.
They are shouting now,
Clamoring between my daylight steps,
I must stop or be tripped-
Smash all the clocks!
Tear the leaves from the calendar
and let them fly through the windows!
Throw them all on the tracks,
the train you scheduled is barreling through!
You foolish young god, you,
Time is your own invention.
Filed under: Art of the Day, Faith, Teaching | Tags: #HealthyatHome, #TeamKentucky, Covid-19, Easter, Quarantine, resurrection, spring
I heard the owl at 3am , softly calling somewhere outside my window- ‘Rise love, the world is here.’ I sat for a long time, leaning on the windowsill listening.
Like everyone, my little world has been upended. The carefully constructed fortresses of daily life were just castles made of sand after all. The lesson plans, the plays in rehearsal, the assessments, meetings, celebrations have all melted away. And I’m fine with that, more than fine, my heart swells with relief. There are concerns, there are hazards- worries over exposure, each decision to engage with the world outside my garden is fraught with dire consequences. How do I protect my daughter and my mother from both exposure and the depression of isolation? My daughter’s mental health balances on the edge of a dinner fork even on good days. Her eating disorder has been rallying strength, as has the urge to self harm. Some of these days have been hard indeed. I too must be careful not to fall down my own rabbit hole as I stare too long at the computer screen on some days, as all my teaching and work has moved to the virtual world.
But there is joy too, such joy! Time uninterrupted to meditate on beauty, earth’s unfailing dedication to life on full display as spring pushes up through the nurturing dark and blooms all around me. My heart sings with my good luck to live here in Her garden. Along with flower and leaf, the frogs have made it through the winter and now sun themselves on the rocks at the edge of the little pond. Bats have returned to the sky. Birds of every kind are busy courting and building their nests. I hear the owl every night now, calling me back to myself. I am being given both courage and time to tend to my own work, the secret work of my heart made manifest in the stories I am writing and the art I make.
I tend the garden yes, but the garden also tends me.
The Fox at Dawn 