if you’re here to be a dutiful student
and jump through academic hoops
to get the right answers and chase grades
in order to be successful and play the part
and go to university to get a good job
and make good money
and do what your told and always follow the rules
and be afraid and timid to get things wrong
or to share your opinions, or to take a risk
or be your true self-
then you might be in the wrong place
and wasting our time.
we are in the business of miracles and magic.
we are discovering, unpacking and building
our identities. the thinking work we do in here
should follow you like a shadow everywhere you go.
these windows, mirrors and sliding glass doors
are your ticket to all the freedom you can imagine.
we are not concerned with you telling us what you
think we want to hear. we are concerned with depth,
complexity, independence, agency, safety, inclusion.
we are interested in justice and belonging.
we are here for peace.
we are here to be our true selves. alone and together
to discover the joy and pain in the world and in our hearts,
to construct meaning together
and render ourselves vital in the service
of others.
sit up straight.
open your mind.
class is about to start.
Showing posts with label Peace. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Peace. Show all posts
September 15, 2021
258/365
June 30, 2021
181/365
he wanted to be free
of the bondage
of his own identity.
twelve words
highlighted orange
in the book a friend
gave him.
a dim dark room
exhausted from
the bombardment
of perceptions
from the outside word.
the best mirror
the insides of eyelids,
the anchoring of breath
the quiet solitude
of a resting ear drum,
the idle tongue,
hands folded together
into a simple mudra.
the voice in his head
never stopping
incessantly chattering:
what?
what is it you want
to say so badly?
if you’re going
to make so much noise,
demand so much attention,
then say something worthwhile.
a gentle hum.
a quiet vibration.
freedom is always near.
June 29, 2021
180/365
missons
visions
and values.
principles:
learning
plus
well-being.
profiles.
skills.
qualities.
virtues.
dispostions.
learning:
experiential.
interdisciplinary.
inquiry based.
concept based.
understandings.
competencies.
diversity.
equity.
inclusion.
justice.
peace building.
sustainability.
what does it say
about human beings
that we need this
much education
just to learn how
not to be assholes?
June 28, 2021
179/365
the intensity
with which
so many brilliant people,
worldwide, educators
everyone one off them,
work to improve teaching
and learning for so many kids
across so many schools,
on every continent
is admirable and full of hope,
until you look around,
passed the mission statements,
visions and school values
and realise how little
we understand children, each other
or the world we’re trying to create.
who knew that peace and justice
would need this much work?
March 10, 2021
69/365
discipline.
consequence.
punishment.
trying to translate
these words
for a frustrated mother
across a google meet
when I barely
understand them
in english,
this morning
was a challenge
that felt mission
aligned.
working toward peace
is the process of
unpacking language.
discussing concepts.
the work of peace
is not done in global summits
or government buildings.
it is done everyday
by everyone one of us
in every interaction.
listen.
deescalate.
compromise.
September 9, 2018
Service Is...
Service is leaving things better than you found them. It is getting a towel and wiping down the table at Santai after you eat. It is asking your friends if you could clear the table for them or hold the door open for the person that does. It is picking up trash that isn’t yours and learning the names of the people who serve your food and clean our classrooms. It is a smile and a good morning or afternoon.
Service is turning love into action. It is the awareness that other people exist and have needs, just like you and then taking an interest in their lives. It is the ability to empathize and put another person’s need in front of your own. It is saying thank you and please and reminding the people you love or admire that you love and admire them. It is walking in another person’s shoes and wondering how that might feel.
Service is sacrifice without attention or applause. It is working behind the scenes and putting in the hours, the months, the years. It is attending the meetings at lunch while your friends are resting. It is taking five years to see your goals start to blossom. It is your ability to invest parts of yourself that you weren’t sure you had. It is commitment and consistency. It is trial and error and being open-minded.
Service is traveling and talking to the locals. Ignoring the tours and getting to know people. Sitting on the ground and playing with children, asking questions, dancing awkwardly, eating new food,learning to look foolish and laughing it off. It is seeing all cultures as valid and important. It is valuing diversity and promoting understanding. It is celebrating embarrassment and finding joy in the absurd.
Service is internalizing injustice and finding ways to pick yourself up and fight. It is about speaking out at every opportunity against racism, sexism, homophobia and xenophobia. It is about equality and fairness. All over the world, but also in your classroom, in our hallways, in your heart.
Service is making mistakes and learning from them. It is taking responsibility for your actions and teaching your peers. It is being a kind leader and a useful team player. It is not about being perfect like a saint, but about taking small steps, each day toward bigger goals. It is about being true to yourself, even as you are constantly changing. It is about laying the foundations of who you are and who you are becoming. It is about finding the heros and deepening your values.
Service is ignoring the voices that say you are lame. Ignoring the people who pride themselves on cheating the system. It is finding ways to make your world, in even the tiniest ways, better. Not using straws, watching the packaging in what you eat, checking the label for Palm Oil, because you love turtles and orangutans. The oceans and the forests. It is reading the news and following current events. It is about boycotts and protests.
Service is getting to know people who are different than you, and not just from Kenya or Cambodia, but in your grade level, in your class. It is taking risks and building confidence. It is worrying about peace and justice more than popularity and being liked. It is taking a stand when someone needs it most. Defending the underdog, even when you are the underdog, knowing full well there is a dog further under than you.
Service is tending to the cynical voices in your head and fanning the flames of your ideals. It is realizing that, “Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better.” It is singing that the, “Times are a changing’” and finding causes to stand for and ideas to champion. It is reading the news and finding allies. It is about making connections and building teams.
Service is political and personal. Global and local. It is saying that the world and its future and everything in it, matter enough to you right now to learn more about it, care more about it, do something about it. It is clean water and healthy food. It is understanding the causes and impacts of poverty, crime, violence and working toward solutions.
Service is uncomfortable and awkward. It is sometimes boring and painful. It is getting your hands dirty with soil and watching a seed grow. It is sitting next to an elderly Chinese woman while she stares into the distance, you might feel vulnerable and small, and this is service too. It is giving a younger kid a high five, or a teacher a compliment when they teach you well.
Service is being open and honest and truthful with yourself. It is confronting your own bias and prejudices. It is overcoming pity and shame, and the need to fix the world through blind charity, but instead investing your blood, sweat and tears into the lives of other people. People you might not know from across continents, or maybe your neighborhood, mother or father.
Service is derailing the status quo and business as usual. It is the opposite of the grind and bureaucracy. It is finding your strength and passion and skill-set and finding ways to connect to other people. It is widening the circle of your influence and being open to influences on you. It is about listening to other people.
Service is not something you have to do.
Service is who you are.
Service is turning love into action. It is the awareness that other people exist and have needs, just like you and then taking an interest in their lives. It is the ability to empathize and put another person’s need in front of your own. It is saying thank you and please and reminding the people you love or admire that you love and admire them. It is walking in another person’s shoes and wondering how that might feel.
Service is sacrifice without attention or applause. It is working behind the scenes and putting in the hours, the months, the years. It is attending the meetings at lunch while your friends are resting. It is taking five years to see your goals start to blossom. It is your ability to invest parts of yourself that you weren’t sure you had. It is commitment and consistency. It is trial and error and being open-minded.
Service is traveling and talking to the locals. Ignoring the tours and getting to know people. Sitting on the ground and playing with children, asking questions, dancing awkwardly, eating new food,learning to look foolish and laughing it off. It is seeing all cultures as valid and important. It is valuing diversity and promoting understanding. It is celebrating embarrassment and finding joy in the absurd.
Service is internalizing injustice and finding ways to pick yourself up and fight. It is about speaking out at every opportunity against racism, sexism, homophobia and xenophobia. It is about equality and fairness. All over the world, but also in your classroom, in our hallways, in your heart.
Service is making mistakes and learning from them. It is taking responsibility for your actions and teaching your peers. It is being a kind leader and a useful team player. It is not about being perfect like a saint, but about taking small steps, each day toward bigger goals. It is about being true to yourself, even as you are constantly changing. It is about laying the foundations of who you are and who you are becoming. It is about finding the heros and deepening your values.
Service is ignoring the voices that say you are lame. Ignoring the people who pride themselves on cheating the system. It is finding ways to make your world, in even the tiniest ways, better. Not using straws, watching the packaging in what you eat, checking the label for Palm Oil, because you love turtles and orangutans. The oceans and the forests. It is reading the news and following current events. It is about boycotts and protests.
Service is getting to know people who are different than you, and not just from Kenya or Cambodia, but in your grade level, in your class. It is taking risks and building confidence. It is worrying about peace and justice more than popularity and being liked. It is taking a stand when someone needs it most. Defending the underdog, even when you are the underdog, knowing full well there is a dog further under than you.
Service is tending to the cynical voices in your head and fanning the flames of your ideals. It is realizing that, “Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better.” It is singing that the, “Times are a changing’” and finding causes to stand for and ideas to champion. It is reading the news and finding allies. It is about making connections and building teams.
Service is political and personal. Global and local. It is saying that the world and its future and everything in it, matter enough to you right now to learn more about it, care more about it, do something about it. It is clean water and healthy food. It is understanding the causes and impacts of poverty, crime, violence and working toward solutions.
Service is uncomfortable and awkward. It is sometimes boring and painful. It is getting your hands dirty with soil and watching a seed grow. It is sitting next to an elderly Chinese woman while she stares into the distance, you might feel vulnerable and small, and this is service too. It is giving a younger kid a high five, or a teacher a compliment when they teach you well.
Service is being open and honest and truthful with yourself. It is confronting your own bias and prejudices. It is overcoming pity and shame, and the need to fix the world through blind charity, but instead investing your blood, sweat and tears into the lives of other people. People you might not know from across continents, or maybe your neighborhood, mother or father.
Service is derailing the status quo and business as usual. It is the opposite of the grind and bureaucracy. It is finding your strength and passion and skill-set and finding ways to connect to other people. It is widening the circle of your influence and being open to influences on you. It is about listening to other people.
Service is not something you have to do.
Service is who you are.
December 12, 2016
The World I Imagine
I spent a lot of my day trying to figure out how to help young boys learn how to be their true selves and be nicer to each other, seeing that their natural tendency, for some reason, is to build a wall around themselves and act like assholes.
Making fun of those who are different or smaller or weaker or weirder than you is such typical pre-teen male behavior, but that doesn't make it any less a cop-out. As an educator I'm constantly reminding myself that these bullying kids are just young children too, who have their own issues- as I try to untangle the issue from the kid and the behavior from its damage, I can’t help but think of the same behavior I see in adults.
I have said it many times before- working with young boys to learn how to be open-minded, fearless, kind young men is some of the most crucial work that we do as educators.
I am not saying that there aren’t very similar pecking-order issues with the girls, and that they don’t have their own set of problems, but learning how to navigate the build-up of a testosterone fueled alpha-male world is a project I have been grappling with since I was picked on for being small and weird and different.
…
Saw this today on Twitter:
We have been instructed to disbelieve the news, the gov't, the scientists, and the academics. But we're supposed to believe in America?
…
The world I imagine, the world I have been working toward my whole life, feels so distant these days. It is getting smaller and farther away and harder to achieve, but I must have faith that this is the world that we have been promised.
I have not spent my entire life committed to education, I have not spent my entire life reading books about peace and justice and love and art, and watching films about diversity and race and class and poverty, I have not joined organizations and NGOs dedicated to peace, I did not join Peace Crop, teach in The Bronx, join The International Socialist Organization, and march in the streets, and teach for fifteen years, just to watch it all get pissed away by some two-bit snake-oil salesmen and his gang of thugs and billionaires.
Some nights, I need these little pep-talks- soft gentle wisps of breaths on the embers of the fire in my heart to get it going again. I have seen a few flames here and there. I know it has not gone out completely, because it keeps me warm and the glow shows me that I am not alone in the darkness, but the flames still need fanning.
Making fun of those who are different or smaller or weaker or weirder than you is such typical pre-teen male behavior, but that doesn't make it any less a cop-out. As an educator I'm constantly reminding myself that these bullying kids are just young children too, who have their own issues- as I try to untangle the issue from the kid and the behavior from its damage, I can’t help but think of the same behavior I see in adults.
I have said it many times before- working with young boys to learn how to be open-minded, fearless, kind young men is some of the most crucial work that we do as educators.
I am not saying that there aren’t very similar pecking-order issues with the girls, and that they don’t have their own set of problems, but learning how to navigate the build-up of a testosterone fueled alpha-male world is a project I have been grappling with since I was picked on for being small and weird and different.
…
Saw this today on Twitter:
We have been instructed to disbelieve the news, the gov't, the scientists, and the academics. But we're supposed to believe in America?
…
The world I imagine, the world I have been working toward my whole life, feels so distant these days. It is getting smaller and farther away and harder to achieve, but I must have faith that this is the world that we have been promised.
I have not spent my entire life committed to education, I have not spent my entire life reading books about peace and justice and love and art, and watching films about diversity and race and class and poverty, I have not joined organizations and NGOs dedicated to peace, I did not join Peace Crop, teach in The Bronx, join The International Socialist Organization, and march in the streets, and teach for fifteen years, just to watch it all get pissed away by some two-bit snake-oil salesmen and his gang of thugs and billionaires.
Some nights, I need these little pep-talks- soft gentle wisps of breaths on the embers of the fire in my heart to get it going again. I have seen a few flames here and there. I know it has not gone out completely, because it keeps me warm and the glow shows me that I am not alone in the darkness, but the flames still need fanning.
November 10, 2016
It Was Hard Not To Cry, So I Did
It was hard to get out of bed today and live with the reality of what has happened. I skimmed a few articles and tweets and Facebook updates and tried to be present for my kids, but they can see that my mind is elsewhere and that my heart beats weakly.
I played guitar at breakfast, almost broke down in tears playing Give A Man A Home by Ben Harper...
have you ever worn thin
have you ever never known where to begin
have you ever lost your belief
watching your faith turn to grief
...so I put the sad songs away and donned a fake smile. We ate in silence. Got ready for the day. I lingered in the shower, watching the cold water swirl down the drain and disappear, my thoughts scattered and unapproachable.
At school, I covered a mentor class and we decided to take a break and do something fun. Let off some steam, so we did a #mannequinchallenge and after we decided to vent our feelings about the election.
The kids needed to talk and be heard and give voice to their anger and confusion. One boy came from a Clinton Trump family and said things are weird at his house, while another girl felt genuine dread for woman around the world. I didn’t say much. I just let them say whatever it was they were feeling or hearing.
Next, I had a lot of busy things to do: Discuss students of concern, send emails, write parent newsletters, plan lessons- necessary tasks and welcome distractions. I tried to stay of twitter, not read the articles. Let my brain rest and focus on the work.
At lunch we had a Daraja Academy meeting, and this venue felt right to talk about gender, rights, justice and peace. The kids in this group seemed shell shocked and upset. We had a lot of work to do, but I spoke about the power of activism and the resilience that we earn from set backs and how the work we do is endless and reward-less, but for the sake of peace, love and justice we get up and keep working. It was hard not to cry, so I did. We assigned committees and selected leadership roles. We carried on the work toward gender equality.
I taught two classes about latitude lines and climate zones. We spoke about globes and seasons. We laughed a lot. I put on a show, the grade sixes ate it up. The classroom is my stage and I like having fun. We left the election outside, didn’t feel necessary.
After school we had our lit magazine meeting. These kids looked like they needed to talk, so I spoke about the power of writing as a healing agent and as an activist tool. I showed them the Michael Franti video and told them to be strong and fight for what they believe in. To use the power of words to heal and mend and educate.
They wrote some short piece and poems. We shared them and their innocence was something spectacular and raw. It was hard not to cry, so I did. We got to work to publishing our next issue.
They worked hard and laughed and ate candy. I wrote this. I know it’s garbage:
Dear Trump Voter,
I am really trying to understand you right now. I should probably wait until my anger and disbelief die now, it is never good to write with such a heavy sense of sadness and rage. There are times throughout the day when I feel nauseous, just thinking about where we are headed as nation, as a planet. I wonder if you would have felt the same had Hillary been elected President.
Are you excited? Are you celebrating? If so I really want to know why? What has you excited? I am not here to be antagonistic. This election has hollowed me out and left me exhausted and confused. I am teacher and a father and I think about the lesson I teach the children I see everyday. For me, the lessons worth remembering are the simple ones we learn as children.
Don’t be a bully. Be kind. Love your neighbour; I am pretty sure those lessons are written in a religious book somewhere. I think about my classroom and watching my own children playing on a playground. I would want them to treat everyone with respect, if not with outright love. I would hope that they would not force some kids off the playground, but rather invite everyone to come play. I would hope that any walls would be used for climbing and playing not for exclusion.
So what is it about this president, this party, this future that fills your heart with joy? What is that when you look your children in the eye fills you with hope. I hope to try and move away from the propaganda talking points, but based on his own words how are you explaining his attitude toward women to your daughters, your wives, you mothers, your sisters, and if you are a woman to yourself?
...
Back home, my kids were tired and sluggish. Kaia had homework, Skye played with her dolls. I wanted to do something with her, but I skimmed articles on my phone instead, wallowing in guilt and anger.
Dinner was quiet.
“Daddy, is it true that Donald Trump raped somebody?”
What do you say to a ten year old?
“He was accused of it, but the trial has been dropped.”
“How can someone who raped somebody be president?”
“Well it was never proven in a court, so we cannot assume he did it.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her she was twelve and there were others.
“Why would someone rape another person?”
Really? On this night?
“Hard to say. They could be mentally ill, they want to show their power, they hate women.”
She quietly scooped up a spoonful of peas. The idea that some men hate women had never occurred to her before.
We talked a bit more about how she heard that Trump gave a speech and that his okay and normal now.
We discussed his policies, his cabinet and how we cannot normalise the things he has said and the things he has championed and how it is the work of all us to keep him honest and push back against his actions when they are oppositional to what we value: peace, love, diversity, understanding.
They went to sleep. I did a bit of work for tomorrow. It all feels pretty incoherent.
Tomorrow I am off to Jakarta for a literacy exchange. I will see some friends. I am giving a short talk to kick things off. I am excited to tell some stories. I don’t intend them to be, but I am sure they will be tinged with anger and sadness, like most things these days.
I played guitar at breakfast, almost broke down in tears playing Give A Man A Home by Ben Harper...
have you ever worn thin
have you ever never known where to begin
have you ever lost your belief
watching your faith turn to grief
...so I put the sad songs away and donned a fake smile. We ate in silence. Got ready for the day. I lingered in the shower, watching the cold water swirl down the drain and disappear, my thoughts scattered and unapproachable.
At school, I covered a mentor class and we decided to take a break and do something fun. Let off some steam, so we did a #mannequinchallenge and after we decided to vent our feelings about the election.
The kids needed to talk and be heard and give voice to their anger and confusion. One boy came from a Clinton Trump family and said things are weird at his house, while another girl felt genuine dread for woman around the world. I didn’t say much. I just let them say whatever it was they were feeling or hearing.
Next, I had a lot of busy things to do: Discuss students of concern, send emails, write parent newsletters, plan lessons- necessary tasks and welcome distractions. I tried to stay of twitter, not read the articles. Let my brain rest and focus on the work.
At lunch we had a Daraja Academy meeting, and this venue felt right to talk about gender, rights, justice and peace. The kids in this group seemed shell shocked and upset. We had a lot of work to do, but I spoke about the power of activism and the resilience that we earn from set backs and how the work we do is endless and reward-less, but for the sake of peace, love and justice we get up and keep working. It was hard not to cry, so I did. We assigned committees and selected leadership roles. We carried on the work toward gender equality.
I taught two classes about latitude lines and climate zones. We spoke about globes and seasons. We laughed a lot. I put on a show, the grade sixes ate it up. The classroom is my stage and I like having fun. We left the election outside, didn’t feel necessary.
After school we had our lit magazine meeting. These kids looked like they needed to talk, so I spoke about the power of writing as a healing agent and as an activist tool. I showed them the Michael Franti video and told them to be strong and fight for what they believe in. To use the power of words to heal and mend and educate.
They wrote some short piece and poems. We shared them and their innocence was something spectacular and raw. It was hard not to cry, so I did. We got to work to publishing our next issue.
They worked hard and laughed and ate candy. I wrote this. I know it’s garbage:
Dear Trump Voter,
I am really trying to understand you right now. I should probably wait until my anger and disbelief die now, it is never good to write with such a heavy sense of sadness and rage. There are times throughout the day when I feel nauseous, just thinking about where we are headed as nation, as a planet. I wonder if you would have felt the same had Hillary been elected President.
Are you excited? Are you celebrating? If so I really want to know why? What has you excited? I am not here to be antagonistic. This election has hollowed me out and left me exhausted and confused. I am teacher and a father and I think about the lesson I teach the children I see everyday. For me, the lessons worth remembering are the simple ones we learn as children.
Don’t be a bully. Be kind. Love your neighbour; I am pretty sure those lessons are written in a religious book somewhere. I think about my classroom and watching my own children playing on a playground. I would want them to treat everyone with respect, if not with outright love. I would hope that they would not force some kids off the playground, but rather invite everyone to come play. I would hope that any walls would be used for climbing and playing not for exclusion.
So what is it about this president, this party, this future that fills your heart with joy? What is that when you look your children in the eye fills you with hope. I hope to try and move away from the propaganda talking points, but based on his own words how are you explaining his attitude toward women to your daughters, your wives, you mothers, your sisters, and if you are a woman to yourself?
...
Back home, my kids were tired and sluggish. Kaia had homework, Skye played with her dolls. I wanted to do something with her, but I skimmed articles on my phone instead, wallowing in guilt and anger.
Dinner was quiet.
“Daddy, is it true that Donald Trump raped somebody?”
What do you say to a ten year old?
“He was accused of it, but the trial has been dropped.”
“How can someone who raped somebody be president?”
“Well it was never proven in a court, so we cannot assume he did it.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her she was twelve and there were others.
“Why would someone rape another person?”
Really? On this night?
“Hard to say. They could be mentally ill, they want to show their power, they hate women.”
She quietly scooped up a spoonful of peas. The idea that some men hate women had never occurred to her before.
We talked a bit more about how she heard that Trump gave a speech and that his okay and normal now.
We discussed his policies, his cabinet and how we cannot normalise the things he has said and the things he has championed and how it is the work of all us to keep him honest and push back against his actions when they are oppositional to what we value: peace, love, diversity, understanding.
They went to sleep. I did a bit of work for tomorrow. It all feels pretty incoherent.
Tomorrow I am off to Jakarta for a literacy exchange. I will see some friends. I am giving a short talk to kick things off. I am excited to tell some stories. I don’t intend them to be, but I am sure they will be tinged with anger and sadness, like most things these days.
November 8, 2016
A Sweet Calming Wave
Tomorrow morning I will wake up at 6am and it will be 5pm on the East Coast of The United States of America, or maybe it will be 7pm, I hate timezones; either way it will be evening and there will be piles and piles of election results for me to sift through on my tiny phone screen as I sit in bed in the darkness holding my breath, hoping that America proved that is the hopeful place I know it can be, and not the ignorant cesspool of hatred that I have seen it to be.
So much has already been written about this election, that I feel inadequate to add anything useful to the conversations at this late stage of the game. We have all drawn up sides and there is no convincing anyone otherwise.
I wish it were different.
I wish that we had subtle nuanced political discourse that allowed our diverse electorate a chance to vote on candidates that resented their needs and interests, but we are beholden to a reality TV style election, that let’s be honest- we might just deserve.
We are all in safely hunkered down in our insulated bubbles casting out jabs and punches and slings and arrows. We hurl quotes and share videos from Samantha Bee and Ann Coulter. Seth Meyer and Rudy Guiliani. It’s an interactive circus run by demented clowns. We are all nervous and punchy and dangerous.
We are all hopeful that somehow tomorrow, that when our side wins, it will all be over and we can go back to caring about….what was it that we cared about again?
But the scariest part is that this is not going to end tomorrow. This wound will bleed for years to come and the scar will leave a mark. Actually what we are experiencing is the same wound, reopened from the Civil War. But having said that...
I am hopeful that Hillary will win in a landslide.
I am an optimist. I believe in humanity and decency. I believe there are more people in American who side with love than hatred. I believe in progress and healing and evolution.
I believe that while it is easy to pick on our simplicity and backwardness that there are more Americans that believe we are ready for a woman president, that immigrants are not the cause of our problems, that Muslims worldwide suffer from terrorism more than we do, that people of the LGBTQ communities are intertwined in all of our communities, that women should have the right to choose what to do with their reproductive rights, that we need to look at structural racism. I believe that beyond the smoke screens and propaganda, that deep in our hearts Americans know that #blacklivesmatter and that climate change is real.
We believe in peace, liberty and justice for all.
I believe that if you take Americans from rural Alabama and put them in a room with people from inner-city Ferguson that they will find common ground. That all we need is to look past the rhetoric and lies and politics and media and into our hearts to know what is the right thing to do. I believe that there are still enough people in America who believe in America to make the promise real. And I believe that they will come out on election day and be heard.
At it’s simplest to be an optimist means that you must to believe in love.
I have to believe these things, because I am not sure I can go to work tomorrow if the results I see on my phone in the darkness at 6am show Trump winning or anywhere near a close call.
A Hillary win will not solve our problems. And while I will freely admit that I have been swayed by her slick propaganda machine, I nearly cried showing my daughters her final video tonight, I do know that at this stage in our countries lives, progressives need to feel that at least we haven't moved further right. That we are not a nation of racists and bigots.
The woman we elect will not be the champion of the left that we deserve, but at least her lies are closer to our truths than his. Her victory we will be a weak mandate for liberals and in any election year that is better than any mandate for ultra-right lunacy.
Everyday at lunch, I talk about this election with my non-American colleagues and none of us get it. How can you explain Trumpism to anyone with a head or a heart.
Here’s to hoping that tomorrow as I am sitting through a million hours of parent-teacher conferences and checking in on the stats, that I see each state turn blue- one after the other like a sweet calming wave cleansing our nation and preparing us for the work ahead.
So much has already been written about this election, that I feel inadequate to add anything useful to the conversations at this late stage of the game. We have all drawn up sides and there is no convincing anyone otherwise.
I wish it were different.
I wish that we had subtle nuanced political discourse that allowed our diverse electorate a chance to vote on candidates that resented their needs and interests, but we are beholden to a reality TV style election, that let’s be honest- we might just deserve.
We are all in safely hunkered down in our insulated bubbles casting out jabs and punches and slings and arrows. We hurl quotes and share videos from Samantha Bee and Ann Coulter. Seth Meyer and Rudy Guiliani. It’s an interactive circus run by demented clowns. We are all nervous and punchy and dangerous.
We are all hopeful that somehow tomorrow, that when our side wins, it will all be over and we can go back to caring about….what was it that we cared about again?
But the scariest part is that this is not going to end tomorrow. This wound will bleed for years to come and the scar will leave a mark. Actually what we are experiencing is the same wound, reopened from the Civil War. But having said that...
I am hopeful that Hillary will win in a landslide.
I am an optimist. I believe in humanity and decency. I believe there are more people in American who side with love than hatred. I believe in progress and healing and evolution.
I believe that while it is easy to pick on our simplicity and backwardness that there are more Americans that believe we are ready for a woman president, that immigrants are not the cause of our problems, that Muslims worldwide suffer from terrorism more than we do, that people of the LGBTQ communities are intertwined in all of our communities, that women should have the right to choose what to do with their reproductive rights, that we need to look at structural racism. I believe that beyond the smoke screens and propaganda, that deep in our hearts Americans know that #blacklivesmatter and that climate change is real.
We believe in peace, liberty and justice for all.
I believe that if you take Americans from rural Alabama and put them in a room with people from inner-city Ferguson that they will find common ground. That all we need is to look past the rhetoric and lies and politics and media and into our hearts to know what is the right thing to do. I believe that there are still enough people in America who believe in America to make the promise real. And I believe that they will come out on election day and be heard.
At it’s simplest to be an optimist means that you must to believe in love.
I have to believe these things, because I am not sure I can go to work tomorrow if the results I see on my phone in the darkness at 6am show Trump winning or anywhere near a close call.
A Hillary win will not solve our problems. And while I will freely admit that I have been swayed by her slick propaganda machine, I nearly cried showing my daughters her final video tonight, I do know that at this stage in our countries lives, progressives need to feel that at least we haven't moved further right. That we are not a nation of racists and bigots.
The woman we elect will not be the champion of the left that we deserve, but at least her lies are closer to our truths than his. Her victory we will be a weak mandate for liberals and in any election year that is better than any mandate for ultra-right lunacy.
Everyday at lunch, I talk about this election with my non-American colleagues and none of us get it. How can you explain Trumpism to anyone with a head or a heart.
Here’s to hoping that tomorrow as I am sitting through a million hours of parent-teacher conferences and checking in on the stats, that I see each state turn blue- one after the other like a sweet calming wave cleansing our nation and preparing us for the work ahead.
November 6, 2016
True Colors
Saw The Trolls movie today and thoroughly enjoyed it. Great music, cute, funny and a nice message about happiness and how and where to find it. Don’t want to give too much away, but the bad guys-The Bergens reminded me of Trump supporters. Just throwing that out there for when/if you see it.
Came home starting learning True Colors with Skye and Kaia. It is in a key scene in the movie and feels nice to sing with the girls.
Despite the joyfulness of said film, the Raisdana house was doused with a smidge of funk today. Not sure why, but we were all a bit tired and snappy.
Basketball, some time outdoors, Veganberg lunch, movie, a quick lesson in Poker and Black Jack, a few Skye melt down tantrums, some Supergirl and finally the deep deep sleep. We were functioning but not really feeling it. That’s the case some days- Families just misfire and sputter and fall.
This election is rotting my soul piece-by-piece and I don’t know if the climate of the country will change anytime soon. Either way is a bad case scenario. Trump wins will….I don’t need to say anything about that, but this vitriol will not dissipate much even if Clinton wins. Trump supports are just hearing their voices for the first time, I am afraid they will not shut up any time soon. I am not sure if my day-to-day life can handle much more of bleating.
I guess we must all have faith in the work toward peace. Focusing on the daily ways we try and teach a new generation to care and feel and love and move forward. Part of this work, must involve loving those who spew hate.
It can be difficult to do this work with our own hearts filled with hate, and Trump is so good at filling hearts with hate, regardless of whether or not you support him. Like an infection he burrows into your system and tears you apart. But we must internalize it and learn to transform it back into love to guide us.
I hope to wake up tomorrow, put on my clothes, sculpt the mustache, and help the people in my life live their true colors.
Came home starting learning True Colors with Skye and Kaia. It is in a key scene in the movie and feels nice to sing with the girls.
Despite the joyfulness of said film, the Raisdana house was doused with a smidge of funk today. Not sure why, but we were all a bit tired and snappy.
Basketball, some time outdoors, Veganberg lunch, movie, a quick lesson in Poker and Black Jack, a few Skye melt down tantrums, some Supergirl and finally the deep deep sleep. We were functioning but not really feeling it. That’s the case some days- Families just misfire and sputter and fall.
This election is rotting my soul piece-by-piece and I don’t know if the climate of the country will change anytime soon. Either way is a bad case scenario. Trump wins will….I don’t need to say anything about that, but this vitriol will not dissipate much even if Clinton wins. Trump supports are just hearing their voices for the first time, I am afraid they will not shut up any time soon. I am not sure if my day-to-day life can handle much more of bleating.
I guess we must all have faith in the work toward peace. Focusing on the daily ways we try and teach a new generation to care and feel and love and move forward. Part of this work, must involve loving those who spew hate.
It can be difficult to do this work with our own hearts filled with hate, and Trump is so good at filling hearts with hate, regardless of whether or not you support him. Like an infection he burrows into your system and tears you apart. But we must internalize it and learn to transform it back into love to guide us.
I hope to wake up tomorrow, put on my clothes, sculpt the mustache, and help the people in my life live their true colors.
July 9, 2016
Ten on Ten
Ten piece of advice for my daughter on her tenth birthday:
1. Leave every space you are in better than you found it.
Whether you are in your own room, a restaurant, a park trail, the beach, a classroom, a sidewalk, a park or a car always pick up after yourself and leave no trace of yourself behind. If you can make it better by picking up other peoples’ trash or pushing in a chair or setting down some flowers, then do it. Sweep if it needs sweeping, wash if it needs washing, tidy when tidiness is needed. Arrange things to make the next person enjoy the space more than you did.
2. Every person has a story and has suffered in ways you need to understand.
Do not judge people or gossip in hurtful ways. You do not know the pain that people may have faced. Put yourself in their shoes and give them the benefit of the doubt. Even when they are mean or cruel, try and understand their anger. Listen when you can and ask questions before you react. Many people in life will act from pain and suffering and they may warrant your wrath, but give them your grace instead. The ugliest people need love too, and sometimes you might be the only one that can give it to them.
3. Do not act violently or in anger.
You will see suffering and injustice that will make you want to hate. You will see ignorance and racism and violence, that is so intense that you will think the only answer is equal amounts of anger and violence, but know this- love and peace will be the only way out of this trap. Even in the face of unspeakable atrocities, your love is the only way forward.
4. There is no right. There are only different ways of seeing things.
Anybody who tells you they know the right way to be, to think, to pray, to believe is not to be trusted. There is no “right” way to exist in the world. Only blinded, close-minded people think the world is so simple as to have a right way to experience it. Take it all in. Listen, trust, believe, explore. Try to balance opposing ways of thinking. Try to make sense of two opposing truths at once.
5. Art, music or a book will always make things better.
You are not the first person in the world. There have been countless others on this journey. They have sung and written and painted and sculpted their love and pain onto vinyl and stone and paper and canvas. Their pain and joy is your pain and joy, learn from it, be swallowed by it. Seek it. Devour it. Love and be loved by it. There is no question that cannot be answered by the exploration and/or creation of art. Music. Books. Dance. It will always be there for you. Create it. Turn yourself inside out and tell your story. It has value and is beautiful and necessary.
6. You are nature.
Never think that you are something different or separate from the ocean and the stars and the moon and the universe and every leaf and bug and animal on the planet. You are the planet. Love yourself and love all life. There is no need to kill. Respect the powerful form of nature that runs through you. Spend time in the forest and the desert and the ocean. Admire and protect every piece of life, from the tiny plankton to the giant whale. Learn about biology and chemistry and zoology, and be sure to spend time in nature. Take hikes, dive, ski, swim in rivers. Marvel at the clouds and the small breezes. Pay attention to shadows and leaves and trees everywhere you look.
7. Be kind even when it feels like unearned.
Smile at strangers. Especially when they have their heads down and scowling. Hold doors for people and let others go first. Pay for people when they are short. Compliment your friends and send handwritten thank you cards. When someone makes you feel bad, forgive them. When they insult you, know that they are dealing with their own insecurities. Go out of your way to make people feel better. Put other people’s needs before your own.
8. Being alone is not the same as being lonely.
Love that voice in your head. It will be with you till the end. Trust your gut. Love yourself. Long and hard. There is no one in the world who will be there for your more often and with more consistency than yourself. Take quiet walks. Watch movies alone. Lose yourself in a book. Eat alone at restaurants. Talk to yourself and ask questions. Never lie to yourself. Trust yourself. Be kind to yourself. You are doing your best. You are enough.
9. Stay away from guns and people who love guns.
Nothing was ever made better by a gun. They are weapons of destruction, anger, violence and pain. You can live your whole life and never even see a gun, I have done it. When people have guns, go somewhere else. If you meet people who glorify or love guns, leave them and find people who love peace and nature. People might say that they are good for hunting or shooting or protection. They are good for nothing. If you are in a place with a gun, move to another place without a gun. Your life will be much lighter and more beautiful if you avoid guns and people who love guns.
10. There is no such thing as race or countries or religions.
You are no better than anyone else for any reason. We are all human beings, regardless of what we believe, where we were born or the color of our skin. Love all people with the same enthusiasm as if they look and think just like you. Don’t believe in dogma or flags or passports. You are a child of the world, a wonder-star in the universe, never limit yourself to something as petty as a nation or a race. Love people. The more oppressed and poor that they are, the more they need your love. Take people in. Love them. Fight with them. March. Protest and stand up for the voiceless. If someone says that they are oppressed, do not question their oppression. People are scared of poverty and so they make excuses to hurt and oppress the poor, but you do not need to be scared. You simply need to listen and love.
1. Leave every space you are in better than you found it.
Whether you are in your own room, a restaurant, a park trail, the beach, a classroom, a sidewalk, a park or a car always pick up after yourself and leave no trace of yourself behind. If you can make it better by picking up other peoples’ trash or pushing in a chair or setting down some flowers, then do it. Sweep if it needs sweeping, wash if it needs washing, tidy when tidiness is needed. Arrange things to make the next person enjoy the space more than you did.
2. Every person has a story and has suffered in ways you need to understand.
Do not judge people or gossip in hurtful ways. You do not know the pain that people may have faced. Put yourself in their shoes and give them the benefit of the doubt. Even when they are mean or cruel, try and understand their anger. Listen when you can and ask questions before you react. Many people in life will act from pain and suffering and they may warrant your wrath, but give them your grace instead. The ugliest people need love too, and sometimes you might be the only one that can give it to them.
3. Do not act violently or in anger.
You will see suffering and injustice that will make you want to hate. You will see ignorance and racism and violence, that is so intense that you will think the only answer is equal amounts of anger and violence, but know this- love and peace will be the only way out of this trap. Even in the face of unspeakable atrocities, your love is the only way forward.
4. There is no right. There are only different ways of seeing things.
Anybody who tells you they know the right way to be, to think, to pray, to believe is not to be trusted. There is no “right” way to exist in the world. Only blinded, close-minded people think the world is so simple as to have a right way to experience it. Take it all in. Listen, trust, believe, explore. Try to balance opposing ways of thinking. Try to make sense of two opposing truths at once.
5. Art, music or a book will always make things better.
You are not the first person in the world. There have been countless others on this journey. They have sung and written and painted and sculpted their love and pain onto vinyl and stone and paper and canvas. Their pain and joy is your pain and joy, learn from it, be swallowed by it. Seek it. Devour it. Love and be loved by it. There is no question that cannot be answered by the exploration and/or creation of art. Music. Books. Dance. It will always be there for you. Create it. Turn yourself inside out and tell your story. It has value and is beautiful and necessary.
6. You are nature.
Never think that you are something different or separate from the ocean and the stars and the moon and the universe and every leaf and bug and animal on the planet. You are the planet. Love yourself and love all life. There is no need to kill. Respect the powerful form of nature that runs through you. Spend time in the forest and the desert and the ocean. Admire and protect every piece of life, from the tiny plankton to the giant whale. Learn about biology and chemistry and zoology, and be sure to spend time in nature. Take hikes, dive, ski, swim in rivers. Marvel at the clouds and the small breezes. Pay attention to shadows and leaves and trees everywhere you look.
7. Be kind even when it feels like unearned.
Smile at strangers. Especially when they have their heads down and scowling. Hold doors for people and let others go first. Pay for people when they are short. Compliment your friends and send handwritten thank you cards. When someone makes you feel bad, forgive them. When they insult you, know that they are dealing with their own insecurities. Go out of your way to make people feel better. Put other people’s needs before your own.
8. Being alone is not the same as being lonely.
Love that voice in your head. It will be with you till the end. Trust your gut. Love yourself. Long and hard. There is no one in the world who will be there for your more often and with more consistency than yourself. Take quiet walks. Watch movies alone. Lose yourself in a book. Eat alone at restaurants. Talk to yourself and ask questions. Never lie to yourself. Trust yourself. Be kind to yourself. You are doing your best. You are enough.
9. Stay away from guns and people who love guns.
Nothing was ever made better by a gun. They are weapons of destruction, anger, violence and pain. You can live your whole life and never even see a gun, I have done it. When people have guns, go somewhere else. If you meet people who glorify or love guns, leave them and find people who love peace and nature. People might say that they are good for hunting or shooting or protection. They are good for nothing. If you are in a place with a gun, move to another place without a gun. Your life will be much lighter and more beautiful if you avoid guns and people who love guns.
10. There is no such thing as race or countries or religions.
You are no better than anyone else for any reason. We are all human beings, regardless of what we believe, where we were born or the color of our skin. Love all people with the same enthusiasm as if they look and think just like you. Don’t believe in dogma or flags or passports. You are a child of the world, a wonder-star in the universe, never limit yourself to something as petty as a nation or a race. Love people. The more oppressed and poor that they are, the more they need your love. Take people in. Love them. Fight with them. March. Protest and stand up for the voiceless. If someone says that they are oppressed, do not question their oppression. People are scared of poverty and so they make excuses to hurt and oppress the poor, but you do not need to be scared. You simply need to listen and love.
March 13, 2016
The Scab
I don’t want too many of these posts to be about politics. There is only so much we can take, so even after the events of Chicago, Cleveland and St. Louis, I will choose to write about something other than you know who tonight.
Although I will say that I am having a very hard time distinguishing between anger and sadness these days. Article after article and video after video fall like granite through my Facebook feed, and I am lost as to which new emoticon to present that accurately represents my emotions.
It feels like a blend of anger, sadness, shame, pity, frustration, fear and loathing, but ultimately I think all of these emotions can be summed up as hate. This campaign is making me hate, and this is why it is so dangerous.
Having said that I hope that I have enough faith in humanity, peace, love and understanding. Perhaps this is the darkness before the dawn and America has started the healing process by ripping off the scab.
…
It is a beautiful early afternoon and the clouds are a rainbow of white and black and different shades of grey. We are all on bikes and the sun is gently toasting my skin. Kaia is up ahead lost in her thoughts, while Mairin and Skye are just behind me.
East Coast Park is crowded with campers and picnickers. The BBQ pits are strewn with balloons and the smoke of cooking meat. People are covered in sand and water and the calm lethargy of a well spent Sunday. There are large groups of expats, Muslims, Indians and Chinese. Couples and families. Athletes and loafers. A diverse range of people, peacefully enjoying the sun and the sand. Say what you will about race relations in Singapore, but on a day like today at East Coast Park, you cannot help but fall in love with what our human family can look like if we just chill the hell out and do our own thing.
We bike passed the crowds and stop at the restaurant with the pool out front, for a quick stop to eat and a dip. Just as quickly as we stopped we are back on the road, headed to Kallang Wave for some Lazy River fun. The ride is hot and hard- probably over twenty kilometers in total, but we all ride in our own silence and occasional conversations. The girls are not complaining, as this is what we do- we ride our bikes and enjoy the air and the strain on our legs.
We swim a bit and float in the sun at the Lazy River. Rain clouds are threatening, but the air is thick with heat and the water feels perfect. Still wet in swim suits, we are back on our bikes and head back to East Coast park. Large dark clouds are right behind us, stirring up the wind and a soft splash of drizzle. A quick stop at Starbucks for some donuts, fruit and smoothies.
Toward the end, Skye is tired, but peddling. We are home and showered and napping and playing games on iPads. We earned it. Bed time comes fast and easy, as our sun drenched blood shot eyes welcome the quiet solitude of sleep. We will dream about the graceful beauty of a day spent on a bicycle. I know that John, Roderick, Chris and Andrew will understand what I mean.
…
Read an article today about how parents in France can be sued by their kids if the parents post pictures of the kids on social media. I have also seen several articles about kids who are upset about their parents sharing photos of the kids online. As many of you know, I have been sharing photos of both my kids since they were born. I think they both have an ultrasound photo online somewhere.
I have lots of thoughts about the issue, but it is too soon for me to comment at length. I am letting it stew. I think I would like to make a video and ask Kaia what she thinks. I need to actually show her what is out there, explain why I put it there, show her some of the reactions and see what she says.
Although I will say that I am having a very hard time distinguishing between anger and sadness these days. Article after article and video after video fall like granite through my Facebook feed, and I am lost as to which new emoticon to present that accurately represents my emotions.
It feels like a blend of anger, sadness, shame, pity, frustration, fear and loathing, but ultimately I think all of these emotions can be summed up as hate. This campaign is making me hate, and this is why it is so dangerous.
Having said that I hope that I have enough faith in humanity, peace, love and understanding. Perhaps this is the darkness before the dawn and America has started the healing process by ripping off the scab.
…
It is a beautiful early afternoon and the clouds are a rainbow of white and black and different shades of grey. We are all on bikes and the sun is gently toasting my skin. Kaia is up ahead lost in her thoughts, while Mairin and Skye are just behind me.
East Coast Park is crowded with campers and picnickers. The BBQ pits are strewn with balloons and the smoke of cooking meat. People are covered in sand and water and the calm lethargy of a well spent Sunday. There are large groups of expats, Muslims, Indians and Chinese. Couples and families. Athletes and loafers. A diverse range of people, peacefully enjoying the sun and the sand. Say what you will about race relations in Singapore, but on a day like today at East Coast Park, you cannot help but fall in love with what our human family can look like if we just chill the hell out and do our own thing.
We bike passed the crowds and stop at the restaurant with the pool out front, for a quick stop to eat and a dip. Just as quickly as we stopped we are back on the road, headed to Kallang Wave for some Lazy River fun. The ride is hot and hard- probably over twenty kilometers in total, but we all ride in our own silence and occasional conversations. The girls are not complaining, as this is what we do- we ride our bikes and enjoy the air and the strain on our legs.
We swim a bit and float in the sun at the Lazy River. Rain clouds are threatening, but the air is thick with heat and the water feels perfect. Still wet in swim suits, we are back on our bikes and head back to East Coast park. Large dark clouds are right behind us, stirring up the wind and a soft splash of drizzle. A quick stop at Starbucks for some donuts, fruit and smoothies.
Toward the end, Skye is tired, but peddling. We are home and showered and napping and playing games on iPads. We earned it. Bed time comes fast and easy, as our sun drenched blood shot eyes welcome the quiet solitude of sleep. We will dream about the graceful beauty of a day spent on a bicycle. I know that John, Roderick, Chris and Andrew will understand what I mean.
…
Read an article today about how parents in France can be sued by their kids if the parents post pictures of the kids on social media. I have also seen several articles about kids who are upset about their parents sharing photos of the kids online. As many of you know, I have been sharing photos of both my kids since they were born. I think they both have an ultrasound photo online somewhere.
I have lots of thoughts about the issue, but it is too soon for me to comment at length. I am letting it stew. I think I would like to make a video and ask Kaia what she thinks. I need to actually show her what is out there, explain why I put it there, show her some of the reactions and see what she says.
March 6, 2016
Sunday Sounds
It was a bit before noon and the sun was out, but not too hot- at least by South East Asian standards. We had scooted to the park and the girls were dipping their toes in the water; we all knew they would be neck deep in a matter of minutes. I took a few photos of the clouds, the ships, and admired the gentle lapping waves, the aqua water and the fluidity of each breath.
I laid my head down onto the ground and kicked off my shoes, gently digging my toes in the sand. Eyes closed- I could hear the sounds of Sunday competing with the silence in my mind. We stayed an hour or so. The girls ended up playing tag in the water fully clothed and soaking wet. Upon leaving, Skye with her new shades walked to her scooter with a swagger that she is learning to master.
As soon as we got home, I told them to get showered and dressed and ready for lunch and a movie, while I was washed the sand out of my hair. It is amazing how much they can do on their own these days. We had a great lunch at Wine Connection. It was nice to hang-out just the three of us. We all missed Mairin, but sometimes it just feels different when one parent is not there. We ate and talked and enjoyed each others’ company. Kung Fu Panda III was funny and smart and damn entertaining.
Dinner at home and an easy bed time. All in all, it was a very relaxed and perfect Sunday to end a very relaxed and perfect weekend.
…
I watched and read a bunch of Trump and Sanders stuff today that has me thinking, but I am too calm and too tired to do it justice tonight. Besides it probably needs a few more days to properly stew and soak up the flavours I want.
…
Back to school tomorrow, should be a good week. We are wrapping up units in grade seven and eight and the kids are doing great work. Read some essays tonight and wow! These kids can write. It always feel good when you work your butt off and the results can be seen in student work. They are thinking deeply and articulating their thoughts clearly. What more can a teacher ask for?
Death Cab for Cutie tomorrow should be a nice school night treat and I am looking forward to finishing this Eat and Run book that is killing me with its mediocrity. I am ready to be reading something else. It is a big disappointment after The Season of the Witch. It’s amazing how much what I read effects my moods and my work flow and my daily motivation. This running book is putting me in a rut and I need to get out of it. Maybe his plan was to write a really monotonous, boring, predictable book to show you what it feels like to run an ultra-marathon.
…
Back to school tomorrow, should be a good week. We are wrapping up units in grade seven and eight and the kids are doing great work. Read some essays tonight and wow! These kids can write. It always feel good when you work your butt off and the results can be seen in student work. They are thinking deeply and articulating their thoughts clearly. What more can a teacher ask for?
Death Cab for Cutie tomorrow should be a nice school night treat and I am looking forward to finishing this Eat and Run book that is killing me with its mediocrity. I am ready to be reading something else. It is a big disappointment after The Season of the Witch. It’s amazing how much what I read effects my moods and my work flow and my daily motivation. This running book is putting me in a rut and I need to get out of it. Maybe his plan was to write a really monotonous, boring, predictable book to show you what it feels like to run an ultra-marathon.
February 13, 2016
Outside My Window
Outside my window hangs a sliver of a moon, surrounded by a darkness illuminated by infinite stars, and beyond that who knows. Some people call the spirit that fills the infinite- god. I don’t know anything about that, but I do know that there is a force out there and within us all, that’s filled with joy and pure love. It is bigger than the human spirit, as it connects us to all living beings. And on nights like tonight, when we are able to briefly connect with it and allow it to fill our cups, we understand our propose, no matter how long we have strived to name it. Maybe, it is best we simply enjoy it.
Tonight was our last night at Daraja, and we were involved in the weekly talent show. We saw skits and dancing. We recited poetry, and at one point a girl from Spain and another from China, danced a Bollywood number in front of a crowd of girls from ten different tribes in Kenya. An Italian boy performed circus tricks and an old teacher from Iran tried his best to belt out a Leonard Cohen song. And let’s not forget that a ten year old girl sang It’s A Wonderful World. These words cannot do justice to the scene that we witnessed. it is what peace looks like.
And even now, as I write these words from the quiet and distance of my banda, the girls are spending their last few precious Friday night minutes dancing and cheering in celebration. Somewhere in the mix, our kids are dancing too.
Earlier in the day we visited a Masai women’s collective and learned about several of their projects. We had a fabulous lunch in a tree top restaurant, and now our week here is drawing to a close. There is not much I can say without repeating myself from the week. I am just so thankful that we were able to make this trip happen for a second year in a row.
…
I received a letter from one of the girls tonight telling me how much of an impact our visits have had on her. Little does she know that the real impact is on us. I am sure that every person that we brought on this trip will cherish the memories that they’ve made here and Africa is now in their blood. I hope to hear of stories, years in the future, telling me of how they came back to this wonderful place and about all the amazing work they will do.
…
Tomorrow, we say our goodbyes, pack and make the arduous trip back to the airport and back home to Singapore. Ready for school and report comment writing on Monday. I for one miss my family beyond belief this time. I look forward to seeing their beautiful faces and carrying on with this work that we have chosen to do.
Tonight was our last night at Daraja, and we were involved in the weekly talent show. We saw skits and dancing. We recited poetry, and at one point a girl from Spain and another from China, danced a Bollywood number in front of a crowd of girls from ten different tribes in Kenya. An Italian boy performed circus tricks and an old teacher from Iran tried his best to belt out a Leonard Cohen song. And let’s not forget that a ten year old girl sang It’s A Wonderful World. These words cannot do justice to the scene that we witnessed. it is what peace looks like.
And even now, as I write these words from the quiet and distance of my banda, the girls are spending their last few precious Friday night minutes dancing and cheering in celebration. Somewhere in the mix, our kids are dancing too.
Earlier in the day we visited a Masai women’s collective and learned about several of their projects. We had a fabulous lunch in a tree top restaurant, and now our week here is drawing to a close. There is not much I can say without repeating myself from the week. I am just so thankful that we were able to make this trip happen for a second year in a row.
…
I received a letter from one of the girls tonight telling me how much of an impact our visits have had on her. Little does she know that the real impact is on us. I am sure that every person that we brought on this trip will cherish the memories that they’ve made here and Africa is now in their blood. I hope to hear of stories, years in the future, telling me of how they came back to this wonderful place and about all the amazing work they will do.
…
Tomorrow, we say our goodbyes, pack and make the arduous trip back to the airport and back home to Singapore. Ready for school and report comment writing on Monday. I for one miss my family beyond belief this time. I look forward to seeing their beautiful faces and carrying on with this work that we have chosen to do.
February 12, 2016
You Are Home
Although not intentional, I feel that perhaps my posts from Daraja have been a bit too focused on doom and gloom. It seems that perhaps inadvertently, I have been perpetuating the very stereotype of Africa I work so hard to reverse. While it maybe true that certain aspects of what we have seen and experienced in our short visit here leaves the heart heavy and torn a part, there are just as many times, that like a trampoline, the heart soars to unimaginable heights. So tonight, I want to try and capture a few more of the upward bounces.
It was late afternoon and the sun was low in the sky, painting the lush campus a vibrant shade of orange, the coveted time of day that photographers call the soft light, and the girls were having sports time and playing volleyball with our kids. I was on the sidelines taking a few photos, when I started talking to two form two girls named Faith and Faith. Faith Squared I called them. We had not met last year, and usually the form two girls are bit more shy, and so they rarely make first contact. But not Faith Squared, they were curious and wanting to chat, so we talked about their first year at Daraja. One of the girls was from the near the Uganda boarder and she told me how lush and green her home town is. We also talked about running. One of the Faith’s is going to run an 8KM race tomorrow. We discussed distances and times and she mentioned that last year she ran a half marathon. I told her that was a goal of mine, and she assured me that through training and dedication that I too could achieve this seemingly unachievable feat.
I told them that I love coming to Daraja, because it feels like coming home, and Faith said, “It does not “feel” like you are coming home. You are coming home.”
At dinner I spoke to Mary, a form three girl, I had got to know last year. We discussed Kenyan Hip-Hop and she had lots of questions about tattoos. She asked me if I remembered the long talk we had had last year on a hike we took together, and I said of course I did. I complimented her on how much she has grown and how much more sociable she was this year. She smiled shyly, but she was beaming. A simple compliment can go such a long way for all of us. It has been such a pleasure to continue to build relationships with these girls.
Coming back to Daraja after a night in Samburu made me realise what a sanctuary the campus really is, for all of us. All of our crew felt like they were coming home after only a few short days here. Claire and I discussed how being on the road made us feel a bit vulnerable and how upon returning to campus we let out a sigh of relief. The safety and the love of this place is palpable. I imagined what it must be like for the girls, who every break, venture back out into the seemingly endless sea of vulnerability that is their own nation. Then I revelled in the feeling of belonging and comfort they must feel when they return. I thought about how amazing it is that they have such a place and how proud I am of the work we do to make sure that this place exists for them. Even if it is for only ninety girls in this remote corner of the world, this place and places like it are vital.
So while the initial reaction to Kenya might be brunt harshness and discomfort, and while the lives of these girls, and so many others like them, might seem to us, the outsiders, as brutal and difficult, at the end of the day, they are simply living their lives and face struggles like the rest of us. But we cannot only focus on what they have overcome. Not one of us is defined by only our pasts, and it is unfair to look at these girls in that light.
…
Like Faith said, this school and this country are now one of my homes. And like most homes, I know there are people whom I love and who love me here. Much of this love is still young and budding, but like all love it is genuine and built on trust.
I hope the posts I have been writing are not scaring people away from Kenya, but revealing what a wonderfully challenging and beautiful place it is. On the drive home, I was thinking about the scary black man we see in movies, and how they contrast to the kind and gentle men I have met here like Stephen, Outerrie and Chris the head of security. I wish that we made movies about men like these and men like John and Charles who spend their lives working at a school like Daraja. Most importantly, I wish there were movies made about the strong women of Kenya. And I don’t mean documentaries, showcasing their rough experiences, but films that show Kenyans and Africans in the true and honest light that I see them in every time I come here.
I hope this post sheds some light on the doom and gloom I have been sharing all week. I am sadden to know we are leaving soon and that it will be another year before I can return, but I am enthusiastic and overjoyed that I can bring Kaia and Skyelar here soon. I cannot wait to see their eyes as they take everything in.
…
Dear Daraja Girls,
Thank you once again for opening your home to me and the guests I have brought. I don’t think I can put into words how much you inspire me. I wish there was a way that you could see the beauty that I see when I watch you working so hard for what so many in people in the world take for granted. I wish you could feel the pride I feel when I watch you interact with my students. I hope that when you look in the mirror you see the same girl that I see. One who is poised and articulate. Brave and considerate. Passionate and curious. Kind and loving and open to a world where you know you belong. I wish you knew how many people want you to succeed, because in your struggle and your empowerment lies the hope of so many women around the world, not just Kenya. I hope you understand that you are not alone in your struggle and through your education comes the freedom of not just women, but all people in the world. That as you reach down and pull yourself up to where you belong, you also bring up the hopes and dreams of all people who believe in a better world.
Please do not ever forget that you are not alone working till late in the evening and early each morning. Thousands, maybe millions of girls, are cheering for you. Young and old. Rich and poor. The future of the world depends on free, powerful, independent woman. You are here to teach us all how to be more humane and loving men. Your struggle is not a new or easy one, but I for one have full confidence that you are up to the challenge.
I do not come to Daraja every year to “help” you, although I hope that we can finds ways that we can, I come here every year to recharge my batteries and become inspired by you. You give me hope in a better world. So thank you for that. I love you all and I look forward to seeing you grow into the future leaders of Kenya and the global movement toward peace, justice and equality for all.
It was late afternoon and the sun was low in the sky, painting the lush campus a vibrant shade of orange, the coveted time of day that photographers call the soft light, and the girls were having sports time and playing volleyball with our kids. I was on the sidelines taking a few photos, when I started talking to two form two girls named Faith and Faith. Faith Squared I called them. We had not met last year, and usually the form two girls are bit more shy, and so they rarely make first contact. But not Faith Squared, they were curious and wanting to chat, so we talked about their first year at Daraja. One of the girls was from the near the Uganda boarder and she told me how lush and green her home town is. We also talked about running. One of the Faith’s is going to run an 8KM race tomorrow. We discussed distances and times and she mentioned that last year she ran a half marathon. I told her that was a goal of mine, and she assured me that through training and dedication that I too could achieve this seemingly unachievable feat.
I told them that I love coming to Daraja, because it feels like coming home, and Faith said, “It does not “feel” like you are coming home. You are coming home.”
At dinner I spoke to Mary, a form three girl, I had got to know last year. We discussed Kenyan Hip-Hop and she had lots of questions about tattoos. She asked me if I remembered the long talk we had had last year on a hike we took together, and I said of course I did. I complimented her on how much she has grown and how much more sociable she was this year. She smiled shyly, but she was beaming. A simple compliment can go such a long way for all of us. It has been such a pleasure to continue to build relationships with these girls.
Coming back to Daraja after a night in Samburu made me realise what a sanctuary the campus really is, for all of us. All of our crew felt like they were coming home after only a few short days here. Claire and I discussed how being on the road made us feel a bit vulnerable and how upon returning to campus we let out a sigh of relief. The safety and the love of this place is palpable. I imagined what it must be like for the girls, who every break, venture back out into the seemingly endless sea of vulnerability that is their own nation. Then I revelled in the feeling of belonging and comfort they must feel when they return. I thought about how amazing it is that they have such a place and how proud I am of the work we do to make sure that this place exists for them. Even if it is for only ninety girls in this remote corner of the world, this place and places like it are vital.
So while the initial reaction to Kenya might be brunt harshness and discomfort, and while the lives of these girls, and so many others like them, might seem to us, the outsiders, as brutal and difficult, at the end of the day, they are simply living their lives and face struggles like the rest of us. But we cannot only focus on what they have overcome. Not one of us is defined by only our pasts, and it is unfair to look at these girls in that light.
…
Like Faith said, this school and this country are now one of my homes. And like most homes, I know there are people whom I love and who love me here. Much of this love is still young and budding, but like all love it is genuine and built on trust.
I hope the posts I have been writing are not scaring people away from Kenya, but revealing what a wonderfully challenging and beautiful place it is. On the drive home, I was thinking about the scary black man we see in movies, and how they contrast to the kind and gentle men I have met here like Stephen, Outerrie and Chris the head of security. I wish that we made movies about men like these and men like John and Charles who spend their lives working at a school like Daraja. Most importantly, I wish there were movies made about the strong women of Kenya. And I don’t mean documentaries, showcasing their rough experiences, but films that show Kenyans and Africans in the true and honest light that I see them in every time I come here.
I hope this post sheds some light on the doom and gloom I have been sharing all week. I am sadden to know we are leaving soon and that it will be another year before I can return, but I am enthusiastic and overjoyed that I can bring Kaia and Skyelar here soon. I cannot wait to see their eyes as they take everything in.
…
Dear Daraja Girls,
Thank you once again for opening your home to me and the guests I have brought. I don’t think I can put into words how much you inspire me. I wish there was a way that you could see the beauty that I see when I watch you working so hard for what so many in people in the world take for granted. I wish you could feel the pride I feel when I watch you interact with my students. I hope that when you look in the mirror you see the same girl that I see. One who is poised and articulate. Brave and considerate. Passionate and curious. Kind and loving and open to a world where you know you belong. I wish you knew how many people want you to succeed, because in your struggle and your empowerment lies the hope of so many women around the world, not just Kenya. I hope you understand that you are not alone in your struggle and through your education comes the freedom of not just women, but all people in the world. That as you reach down and pull yourself up to where you belong, you also bring up the hopes and dreams of all people who believe in a better world.
Please do not ever forget that you are not alone working till late in the evening and early each morning. Thousands, maybe millions of girls, are cheering for you. Young and old. Rich and poor. The future of the world depends on free, powerful, independent woman. You are here to teach us all how to be more humane and loving men. Your struggle is not a new or easy one, but I for one have full confidence that you are up to the challenge.
I do not come to Daraja every year to “help” you, although I hope that we can finds ways that we can, I come here every year to recharge my batteries and become inspired by you. You give me hope in a better world. So thank you for that. I love you all and I look forward to seeing you grow into the future leaders of Kenya and the global movement toward peace, justice and equality for all.
April 9, 2015
Magnitude of Depth
It's dark
save for the light of the moon.
And a batch of stars.
You are alone.
It's nearly midnight
you are in the middle
of the ocean.
Two birds- chirping. dancing. playing
in the cool milky light.
The sea a mirror of constellations and melted silver.
You think about a camera and preserving this moment.
Your hat tight on your head.
Your finger tips curled into tender fists.
Your mind dripping from your eyes. Out. Into the melting sky.
Where did these birds come from?
Boasting of their freedom. Exalting in life. Rubbing your face in it.
There are no cameras,
but some of these words, like "You are alone," begin to imprint on your psyche.
You hope you will remember them.
Does life happen alone in your mind?
The moon lower now.
Bigger.
Heavier.
It's hard to tell the magnitude of depth when the ocean reflects the sky.
So much above. So much below.
And you here with those birds and that moon and this shimmering.
You breathe deep. Your nose red and cold. Alive. Salt in the air. On your lips.
You are made of this. You are everywhere.
In the darkness and the light.
The heavy sickle moon on the horizon, yawns and disappears.
There will be no photographs, unless you count these words,
this memory,
fading as soon as it was hatched.
Never to be as bright as when it began.
Somewhere in the darkness,
you can still hear the birds,
they are nowhere.
save for the light of the moon.
And a batch of stars.
You are alone.
It's nearly midnight
you are in the middle
of the ocean.
Two birds- chirping. dancing. playing
in the cool milky light.
The sea a mirror of constellations and melted silver.
You think about a camera and preserving this moment.
Your hat tight on your head.
Your finger tips curled into tender fists.
Your mind dripping from your eyes. Out. Into the melting sky.
Where did these birds come from?
Boasting of their freedom. Exalting in life. Rubbing your face in it.
There are no cameras,
but some of these words, like "You are alone," begin to imprint on your psyche.
You hope you will remember them.
Does life happen alone in your mind?
The moon lower now.
Bigger.
Heavier.
It's hard to tell the magnitude of depth when the ocean reflects the sky.
So much above. So much below.
And you here with those birds and that moon and this shimmering.
You breathe deep. Your nose red and cold. Alive. Salt in the air. On your lips.
You are made of this. You are everywhere.
In the darkness and the light.
The heavy sickle moon on the horizon, yawns and disappears.
There will be no photographs, unless you count these words,
this memory,
fading as soon as it was hatched.
Never to be as bright as when it began.
Somewhere in the darkness,
you can still hear the birds,
they are nowhere.
January 8, 2015
The World Burns Around Us
Warning: Half baked thoughts raw with emotion and definitely not soaked in any kind of rationality. They were rattling around inside me somewhere and I needed them out.
Either you believe in evil or you don't. Either you think that human beings do terrible things because of sin and demons or you don't. Either you call people evil-doers or infidels or you don't. It is easy to accuse people of evil when they don masks and massacre journalists in broad day light. It is easy to say that people are wicked when they bomb and kill and scream and sin.
But what if we assume that human beings, all of us, are not evil or the experiments of some omniscient being, but just fucked up individuals tied to our expereinces, cultures, and histories. That every tragedy is not based on a soul's value, but on sociology. What if our default assumptions were that we can fix these things. That we can eradicate ignorance.
What if we believed that even the worst of us can be healed and cured and fixed. Taliban or Tea-Party, Extremist or Progressive, makes no difference. What if we understood that we are who we are due to a plethora of variables and it is the exploration of these variables that will lead to understanding.
After every tragedy, and man does there seem to be lots of them these days, we point fingers and assign blame. We volley hate and pain and accusations. They did this so we will do that. But what if, we stop to ask why? How does a person become so angry and disillusioned, so ignorant and terrified, so insecure and so violent to think that because someone thinks differently then they do that they should kill the other person. This behavior is a sickness. It is not evil. It is the failure of the systems we have created. Failures of nation states, churches and mosques, families and schools. Every massacre is proof that we have failed to understand each other.
Every tragedy is a reminder that we have barely advanced from the birth of our civilization. But that is no reason to throw up our hands and yell, evil. We owe it to the beauty of humanity to keep working toward a better understanding of each other. Both Darren Wilson and Kim Jong-Un are reminders of how far we still have to go to educate and illuminate.
These men are not evil, but the results of circumstances. The result of colonialism and war. Misguided immigration policy and failing school systems. Broken families and false promises. These men are the result of failure.
Either you believe in evil or you don't. Either you think that human beings do terrible things because of sin and demons or you don't. Either you call people evil-doers or infidels or you don't. It is easy to accuse people of evil when they don masks and massacre journalists in broad day light. It is easy to say that people are wicked when they bomb and kill and scream and sin.
But what if we assume that human beings, all of us, are not evil or the experiments of some omniscient being, but just fucked up individuals tied to our expereinces, cultures, and histories. That every tragedy is not based on a soul's value, but on sociology. What if our default assumptions were that we can fix these things. That we can eradicate ignorance.
What if we believed that even the worst of us can be healed and cured and fixed. Taliban or Tea-Party, Extremist or Progressive, makes no difference. What if we understood that we are who we are due to a plethora of variables and it is the exploration of these variables that will lead to understanding.
After every tragedy, and man does there seem to be lots of them these days, we point fingers and assign blame. We volley hate and pain and accusations. They did this so we will do that. But what if, we stop to ask why? How does a person become so angry and disillusioned, so ignorant and terrified, so insecure and so violent to think that because someone thinks differently then they do that they should kill the other person. This behavior is a sickness. It is not evil. It is the failure of the systems we have created. Failures of nation states, churches and mosques, families and schools. Every massacre is proof that we have failed to understand each other.
Every tragedy is a reminder that we have barely advanced from the birth of our civilization. But that is no reason to throw up our hands and yell, evil. We owe it to the beauty of humanity to keep working toward a better understanding of each other. Both Darren Wilson and Kim Jong-Un are reminders of how far we still have to go to educate and illuminate.
These men are not evil, but the results of circumstances. The result of colonialism and war. Misguided immigration policy and failing school systems. Broken families and false promises. These men are the result of failure.
I know it can be difficult to remain calm in the face of reckless murder and injustice. It is difficult to ignore our natural need for revenge in the face of barbarity and petty ignorance, but if have any hope for the future we have to see the perpetrators of violent acts as human beings. Not evil monsters. Because there is no hope for a monster. There is no cure for evil, but there is work to be done for flawed human beings. This work starts with love and education, empathy and trust.
Sometimes I imagine adults who commit terrible crimes as children in my classroom. What would I say to the three men who shot up the Charlie Hebdo magazine when they were twelve? How would I counsel or teach the cop who killed Eric Garner when he was ten?
It's not easy to stay loving and calm as the world burns around us, but it seems to me that we have no choice.
July 30, 2012
A Variety of Intensities
It's been a while. Hello. I've missed you. Like an old friend here you are again. That familiar feeling of unraveling into the blank-- a soft parachute of music and a bliss that comes from the direction-less-drift murmuring in the darkness...
We've been living in our place for a month in a few days; it feels like home. This is good. This is fine. It is right. It works. We have a great view. Take a look:
We've been living in our place for a month in a few days; it feels like home. This is good. This is fine. It is right. It works. We have a great view. Take a look:
Before you are too envious, let me tell you about the other one--her cranky, loud and much more boisterous sister: The Site. Yes, if you move a few feet outside the frame you see this:
Anyone can become a monk at a monastery. Hyperbolic? Ok fine you are right, not anybody, but you must admit it is easier to find peace, nirvana, whatever you want to call it, at a place where you sip organic green teas and are greeting with a compassionate Namaste and gentle nod at every turn.
Try tuning into the sounds of hammers and diggers and cranes and metal and concrete and progress under your nose. Try watching men sweat and toil and build and become insects in front of your eyes and see where your mind goes. It is a much more interesting experience I assure you.
My view is a daily reminder to me of balance and humility, both in the face of tender nature and a more brutal humanity. Of course it would be nice to stare off into the azure horizon and enjoy the water in silence, but I'm training myself to fully appreciate the The Site just as much as the reservoir. I stare and think and search. I create beauty in what I see. What I feel. How I think.
But remember, dear reader, my porch is a place of balance, so before you suggest I take a leap from her loving arms, look across the water and breath in the slow moving clouds. Watch the sun exploding several times a time in a variety of intensities.
This is the life I have stumbled into. Why I am standing on the porch watching, and not back-broken and building is not for me to answer. All I can do is live my life with as much awareness as I can and share the stories I see.
People often say we have a great view. They are right! I hope to capture more of my space in sound and music and video and more, but in the meantime you can follow the pictures at this set on Flickr.
August 21, 2011
Other Days
This is my favorite part of the week: the kids have stopped screaming and fighting the inevitable- sleep. They are curled-up lost in a tapestry of slumber and books. Both of them are literally asleep on a bed of books--bound by paper and images, imaginations, stories and wonder. Silent. The house is perfect.
Earlier we went for a bike ride, a swim, had dinner, baths, teeth brushed, a little TV. There is little poetry in these activities except for when you look and realize the whole thing is the most amazing poem there can ever be-- passing childhood. A bundle of lives interwoven: a family rolling through the tunnel of time.
The music is soft and caressing the places which need a soothing touch. Tonight it is Gillian Welch. The trembling of her guitar strings and vocal chords the perfect universal vibration. After everything has been done, checked off lists, read, consumed, understood, reflected on, pondered and argued. After the information has been swallowed, regurgitated, tweeted and subdued, there is little else left but this...
This moment of time. Floating on each breath. Full-in. Full-out. The words drip like stimulated sap on the run. Sticky. Aromatic. Alive but operating on a different plane of time. Amber colored solitude draped in the need for the never-ending night. Memories of merlot and spilling ashtrays supplanted by the reality of fatherhood and Sunday nights that will never be long enough. That will not, cannot, take you where you need to go.
It is good. Of this you are certain, but beyond that it gets murky. These words have been a trusty wave. A good ride. No need to paddle out again. There will be other sets. Other days.
Earlier we went for a bike ride, a swim, had dinner, baths, teeth brushed, a little TV. There is little poetry in these activities except for when you look and realize the whole thing is the most amazing poem there can ever be-- passing childhood. A bundle of lives interwoven: a family rolling through the tunnel of time.
The music is soft and caressing the places which need a soothing touch. Tonight it is Gillian Welch. The trembling of her guitar strings and vocal chords the perfect universal vibration. After everything has been done, checked off lists, read, consumed, understood, reflected on, pondered and argued. After the information has been swallowed, regurgitated, tweeted and subdued, there is little else left but this...
This moment of time. Floating on each breath. Full-in. Full-out. The words drip like stimulated sap on the run. Sticky. Aromatic. Alive but operating on a different plane of time. Amber colored solitude draped in the need for the never-ending night. Memories of merlot and spilling ashtrays supplanted by the reality of fatherhood and Sunday nights that will never be long enough. That will not, cannot, take you where you need to go.
It is good. Of this you are certain, but beyond that it gets murky. These words have been a trusty wave. A good ride. No need to paddle out again. There will be other sets. Other days.
image by swede1971
June 20, 2011
Vibrating Through, or Happy Birthday To Me
It’s late. I should be getting to sleep. A tender guitar plucks and strums in my earphones and a voice quivers, building up to a song, a shout, a plea. In fifty-five minutes, the summer solstice will skip across the face of our oh so fragile planet, and I will be one summer older.
My lovely wife is entwined in the sheets, eyes shut and soft of breath. I feel the voice vibrating through my fingers tip as these words flow fast. Yeah, I know quickly is the correct word, but who am I to teach the voice semantics? My mind lately has been shackled with notions of honesty and authenticity again. They say we only present our likeable selves on the interwebs, as we sculpt identities from lumps of shared humanity, but what do I know about what you will like? Who you want me to be?
I can only shed light on the secrets and gifts I have found in the dark corners after thirty-seven summer’s eves. I can only tell tales from the one journey I have chosen to undertake. I wasted so many years lost taking wrong turns and following deadends, so much time lost beneath the rubble of poorly constructed walls keeping me in. Keeping you out. Now that I appear to have found a well-lit and agreeable path, free from the shadows of useless ramifications, what choice do I have but to sing?
Earlier tonight, I sat by a shivering pool, beneath the consoling darkness of an oblivious sky letting out a string of thoughts as I watched my kite disappear into the endless celestial ceiling. Too much? Too flowerily? Like a New Orleans chief, I feel the need to be pretty tonight. To strut my stuff and dance in defiance of all that is pale and cynical. The sun will shine tomorrow and damn it if I will not sing her praises.
They argue that these thoughts, these dreams, these songs, these words, these stories, these posts, these tweets, these status updates are nothing more than superficial expressions of vanity. That we are insignificant. However, irrelevant my song, I have no choice but to sing. This path I walk is too simple not to share. Too full of love and peace to ignore. The contrast to what I have known too stark.
They complain when we complain. They complain when we praise. They complain. But I will no longer listen to them, only to the voice that sings me to sleep. The one who is stirring your heart as you read. Lives are only immaterial if we hold them inside.
Perhaps I would be more germane in the pages of a book. Maybe on a stage or the grooves of a record? Staring back at myself from a flickering television dressed in fictitious dramas or grotesque commercials. For better or for worse, I have chosen this space to etch my narrative. Coming to you pixel by pixel- images, text and words. But you know all this. There is nothing new in what I say. You have heard the voice your whole life as well.
People paint success by different shades. Some color it by the car they drive or the house they occupy. Some measure the brush strokes by the numbers in bank accounts. Tomorrow is my birthday. I am in Thailand. Outside my room is a small bean shaped pool in which I will spend the day with three of the most amazing people in the world. I will feel the sun on my body and help my littlest feel comfortable in the water. I will hold her tight, until she is ready to let go and float on her own. I will most likely argue with my wife, as we get lost in the frustration and hard work of raising a family. But we will laugh about it later that night as we enjoy the comfort of sleeping children.
When I was twenty-three I joked that I saw no point in living past thirty seven. But tonight, knocking at the gates of this ripe old age, I see the folly and insolence of youth. Too bad we are so often blinded by rage and defiance early in life, when we can be so much better served basking in the comfort and peace of wisdom.
What do I choose to share? Why do I feel the need to share any of it? I just write down what I hear in my heart in hopes that next time you hear it too, you will not feel so all alone. Happy Birthday to me.
My lovely wife is entwined in the sheets, eyes shut and soft of breath. I feel the voice vibrating through my fingers tip as these words flow fast. Yeah, I know quickly is the correct word, but who am I to teach the voice semantics? My mind lately has been shackled with notions of honesty and authenticity again. They say we only present our likeable selves on the interwebs, as we sculpt identities from lumps of shared humanity, but what do I know about what you will like? Who you want me to be?
I can only shed light on the secrets and gifts I have found in the dark corners after thirty-seven summer’s eves. I can only tell tales from the one journey I have chosen to undertake. I wasted so many years lost taking wrong turns and following deadends, so much time lost beneath the rubble of poorly constructed walls keeping me in. Keeping you out. Now that I appear to have found a well-lit and agreeable path, free from the shadows of useless ramifications, what choice do I have but to sing?
 |
| image by RyanBSchultz |
They argue that these thoughts, these dreams, these songs, these words, these stories, these posts, these tweets, these status updates are nothing more than superficial expressions of vanity. That we are insignificant. However, irrelevant my song, I have no choice but to sing. This path I walk is too simple not to share. Too full of love and peace to ignore. The contrast to what I have known too stark.
They complain when we complain. They complain when we praise. They complain. But I will no longer listen to them, only to the voice that sings me to sleep. The one who is stirring your heart as you read. Lives are only immaterial if we hold them inside.
Perhaps I would be more germane in the pages of a book. Maybe on a stage or the grooves of a record? Staring back at myself from a flickering television dressed in fictitious dramas or grotesque commercials. For better or for worse, I have chosen this space to etch my narrative. Coming to you pixel by pixel- images, text and words. But you know all this. There is nothing new in what I say. You have heard the voice your whole life as well.
People paint success by different shades. Some color it by the car they drive or the house they occupy. Some measure the brush strokes by the numbers in bank accounts. Tomorrow is my birthday. I am in Thailand. Outside my room is a small bean shaped pool in which I will spend the day with three of the most amazing people in the world. I will feel the sun on my body and help my littlest feel comfortable in the water. I will hold her tight, until she is ready to let go and float on her own. I will most likely argue with my wife, as we get lost in the frustration and hard work of raising a family. But we will laugh about it later that night as we enjoy the comfort of sleeping children.
When I was twenty-three I joked that I saw no point in living past thirty seven. But tonight, knocking at the gates of this ripe old age, I see the folly and insolence of youth. Too bad we are so often blinded by rage and defiance early in life, when we can be so much better served basking in the comfort and peace of wisdom.
What do I choose to share? Why do I feel the need to share any of it? I just write down what I hear in my heart in hopes that next time you hear it too, you will not feel so all alone. Happy Birthday to me.
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