We are One

We are One

Faces

Gaze upon new faces,

Some that are familiar

Some that were forgotten

Others, we have found again, different somehow

Though not-a-single-one-to be-considered foreign—

Subject to the same hand that feeds,

Borne of the same God that bleeds and bled life into us all aren’t we

The trees in fields

Behind the over-ah-tired suits in conference centers

Doing loop de loops in vacant parking lots

Between the lines of passages from classics found in high school classrooms,

Always headed somewhere,

On a plane, over the sea

Don’t these new faces say the same things we

Have all taken as truth

At one point or another in time

Some moment in un-ticking space

((The same place we verbally deface

And chastise as a suffocating chamber

Of many mortal dangers)

Filled with the collective divergences of memory and present)

Sparks a universal truth like a shooting star across the sky

Colliding and converging with particles of openness

Turning and transforming into wisdom

Reframing this prism,

(That is only fine artwork,

A replica of something we all think is real)

Crystallizing infinitesimal possibility,

No longer concealing our potential as a race behind a one dimensional veil of unawareness.

We Are Exactly Who We Tell Ourselves We Are

When we tell ourselves we are not good enough we are instantly right. We have bought into what we perceive others are saying, with their words or actions. Our perceptions of their renderings of us put us back on our heels. The emotions we feel push us down. Our self-judgments knock us out, cold.

What we consistently tell ourselves ends up being all that matters in this life. Action is routinely tied to perpetual thought. As Rust Cohle of True Detective concludes with point blank certainty, in terms of the human race: “Look, as sentient meat, however illusory our identities are, we craft those identities by making value judgments. Everybody judges all the time. Now, you got a problem with that, you’re living wrong.” I am with myself every single day, 24/7. So are you. I am solely at the mercy of myself. As are you. As we sidle and straddle, filter through and flock to, different energies, good and bad, the tendency is to self-judge. There is the energy of the environment in the absence of humanity. There is also the environment we humans co-create and inhabit, arguably dominate. Nowadays, this environment is nearly everywhere. Nowhere is humanity unheard. Though, there are some that may argue, this isn’t humanity. Either way, we are all affected by it. Every type of people is a person. Even the grotesquely inhumane are in some truthful way representative of all latent humanity. This is perhaps the best evidence of a greater dimension; otherwise we would all fall prey to absolute evil. Nonetheless, we are good and we are bad. It is who we choose to listen to that determines how we choose to act. The one dimensional existence is full of lots of neat, fancy thoughts and notions, standing atop tall buildings looking down on anyone that is not them. The voices of these people are primarily full of shit. We all have been on top of these tall buildings before. We have all been below the ground, unfit for breathing the same air as our fellow humans. We have all been full of shit. Even when we all walk side by side, our sense of self is rarely on par with what others think of us. In short, we are thinking way too much about what others think of us. What will they say? What will they think and not say? What would I say or think if the roles were reversed? This last question is telling. Asking is in short, an admission of guilt.

We all judge. I won’t deny that I do. I will state matter-of-factly, if and when I judge, it is rarely malicious. None of our thoughts are ever absolute. There is always redemption. I observe and notice and sometimes infer. An inference about a person is a judgment. We take sensory information and perceive that something about that person, based on what we have seen through firsthand experiences and interactions with that person is true. It is how the human mind functions. When we gather new information, we formulate new thoughts. A judgment is not a conclusion. Conclusions are final and high-stakes, condemning and damning. Most judgments we make are forgotten by the end of the day. Yet there is a tendency to hold onto self-judgments, as if they were written in stone. I am lazy. Tell ourselves enough and we will sink into the sofa every single day and sleepwalk through tomorrow. I am not smart enough. Tell ourselves enough and we will settle for something less than what we truly want. I have bad genetics, I will always be overweight. Tell ourselves enough and we will enlarge and atrophy, at the same time. Sigh. I can’t show my true self because no one wants to see me for who I really am. This is never the case! The world would be such a much better place if we were all less afraid to be ourselves. We all need to just go for it, hand in hand.

I can forgive someone one thousand times over if they have good intentions and a good heart. However, I have trouble forgiving myself. I have trouble accepting failure as something less than final judgment. I have concluded, the following: We aren’t really living if we aren’t failing, in the conventional sense. Life is paradoxical: it is static movement. There are so many factors, nuances, and change in a fraction of time that our unique, individual experience is ultimately impossible to track. The graphing model is “anything goes,” within a range of personal response that has much to do with individual personality traits and tendencies established in our earliest years. Though we may very well hold onto the same mannerisms and quirky behavior long ago structured, that makeup a part of who we are, we can do something to redirect the energy encircling our insecurities, stifling the negative thought patterns that are merely illusionary intertwinement. Dead in their tracks, these negative thought cycles no longer exist. Our insecurities are now just insecurities. In the absence of fear, these insecurities no longer hold any real power over us. They no longer reverberate throughout the spaces of our mind. They no longer control our actions. We are free. To live fully.

We become graffiti, or caution tape, a faint outline of our true being when we habitually ignore that whisper from a higher plane that tell us: Get up. You are good enough. Failure is necessary. Judgments are mortal.  Fears are formed out of a singular primary fear that we are somehow imperfect. And yet, we fail to see that imperfect is an imperfect word, as are all words, and therefore each and every label we ascribe to ourselves or place on others. After all, they are all human constructs. We are all perfect, our true selves are all perfectly spherical. This is our destiny, and to question is normal. We need to be careful though, not to ascertain; for it is in vain. There is a higher plane a piece of each of us is a part of. But where do we come from?

Elephant Journal Publication

Please read and share.

http://www.elephantjournal.com/2014/02/it-is-light-joseph-treubig/

Father

Pass away moment

Returns in memory form-

Foam drips down,  bubbles from a carwash

I give to my loved one’s transportation-

Transporting-

Transcending time,

Holding so much more, life that I adore

In her belly before

This memory came knocking at the door
Outside of you in blacktop basketball shoes shooting jumpers-

You were the news, everyday they don’t report-

You were the news, the stability and support

Every family needs-

Actions unheeded, the quiet one

Going about his business

Fulfilling his duties of fatherhood and husband

Good deed after good deed

Godspeed, day and night

Emotions out of sight if not for the occasional outburst-

We were okay with it, in a way it reaffirmed that you cared

About how we fared

Out in the cold air,

Filling our hearts with love

Giving sis and I a good start, and we’ve never grown apart-

These are the memories stored away I won’t ever part with, of you and mom

Unconditionally giving,

We all go on living, extending this family

That grows with tender loving care,

Nurtured and nourished, as it always was

And will be.

Freedoms

Freedoms

 

The leaves of tall, mortal trees

(Part of the landscape of every free nation,

(Part of the immortal seed)

Tumble helplessly,

Withered, bitten and stained

Like good, decent men—

Loyal to the roots

Loyal to the birth of mortality, our humanity

Loyal to the foundation and structure constructed

By men who came before, standing large and proud

Though none higher than our mortal trees

(Part of the singular deity),

Bearing many different kinds of sweet, juicy fruit in our time,

And for tens of thousands of generations coming before,

History tells us.

If man were lucky

He might touch,

Nest, nurture and grow for himself

A roundish piece of ripened unique, maybe a few—

Taste.

But will man ever ask himself if this is worth going to war for?

Does man ever ask himself what is worth going to war for?

We are all instinctual animalistic things.

What do I preserve?

What do I protect?

Who do I serve?

Questions go unasked. 

Am I more than this influx of adrenaline?

That which I have named,

That which I have observed.

We are all freed men, those standing under unwavering flags of “justice,”

Yet all we do is fight amongst ourselves.

And every season men die faster

Then leaves already falling

Come to rest at the feet of grieving widowers—

Many words on the lips of men and women.

Go.

Unspoken.

Like those in captivity having no voice,

For we must be their voice,

And yet we turn a blind eye—

It is no wonder,

For we stumble in search of our own

Clumsily interrupting the peaceful silence of dark.

We cannot see clearly the very truth,

That this is no dilemma, free against free—

It is illusion, a perpetual, worldwide, drama-plagued hypocrisy

That will rot and die with the unified enactment of a single vision:

Uniting all of man

With freedom,

Ending suspicion.

Or else each tree will fall.

There is almighty fruit of this generation

That can spell the end for us all.

Now and Long Before Our Time That is Now

It’s starts with a poem,
Sung before the stretches of lands
And all other plans for seascape and life, daylight and night
Crawl into focus under brushstrokes of right intention—
Slowly birthing innocence beneath the hurried scrawls of adulthood signature on
Every dotted line
That account for all things material,
Atonement for the debts of bets lost or won, chances taken or not
Other avenues of existence
Possibility, potential
Thoughts and ideas minds might otherwise dwell on and use
To formulate worry out of past folly and mortal foible
Losing sense of the present, gifting life to the nonexistent
Giving up rights to speak, scurry
Once we have learned to listen to the good sense of our souls
And behold the power inside the chambers of heavy hearts held hostage—
Golden gates open, everything else fades
Worries dissipate, embracing fate fully
Left with nothing to do but honor what is true.

It is Light

It is light. She knew not what she would write. Sitting down. She began to let life speak for itself. It is the light guiding her from birth up to this moment, the only point worth making. The freedom is light guiding he who finds there is no meaning and that he can finally go and be no one. It is light in the darkest room beneath two thin sheets where there lie a body cold, shivering, surrounded by loved ones under one roof and those outside that sleep tenderly in the night, it is light under two eye lids shut that touch the cold and the warmth both, truly, and know the second can never end; not even death has that much power. It is light that leads her light steps, heavy hurt real, honoring heart, continuing to follow the energy of soul, a path she has committed to in full. It is light, the acknowledgement of weakness. It is light, a child’s cry for her mother at night, part of each’s path. This is the mortal life beside the immortal evolution. All that hear, listen for and honor the light know these sounds well. Light does have a sound. It can be a big seashell up to your ear whooshing openness, widening eyes to cascading memories of child life by the sea. Taken away, the sound lingers still, though the body might sway, the mind, consider. It is inside of every one of us. Certainly. Certainty. Constant. The shell is just one more reminder. There is no such thing as “for no good reason” when you honor the light. It is light, not the answer, after all; there is only your true path and the off road. What is reason, after all? It is not something that guides. It is something we use. It is light shining through the crackled ground illuminating the imbalance in the soles of my feet; someplace my mind has led me to. I wouldn’t define it by labeling it good or bad. Perhaps, that is a start. Light has a warm feel, likewise, in the coldest moments. Truth is the closest word I know to describe the light I know little of, yet feel. It is light pulsing, radiating through the chambers of my chest, touching this arrhythmic heart. It is light eroding the mind’s need to define signals. It is light that disproves anything tangible, ideological, reasonable, and/or realizable as something worthy of consideration. Anything chased after is illusion, a cloaked shadow of false promises. One must only follow the light. Pursuits in line with truth naturally emerge; some will bear fruit. Things obtained along the path of light are not successes. Things lost along the path of light do not signify failure. It is light, ironically that is the only signal. We are not to assess the worthiness of our pursuits. We are not to define our lives, our thoughts, or our brethren. We are to connect to the light that is everywhere, by letting light in, and most importantly, by honoring the light inborn. It is light, the voice of our souls, to be followed. It is our duty to let the light from a higher truth shine brightest on this mortal plane.

Conviction

Lie two strangers

In a bed together

What led them to this chamber?

She who made the bed for he

Who bought her dinner

Deep down under

Left alone to wonder

When will the winter end?

When will a break of sunlight bend me back to new beginnings and will you join me?

When will you seem familiar?

When will you be my supportive pillar?

I know you ask of me the same,

Left alone to wonder

When will this winter end?

When will the harsh, cold wind blow favor on us both?

Stranger things have happened dear friend, old lover

Two lonesome broken faces, freshly fallen snow falls upon

Risen sun looks upon, the frozen heat between us earthly friction

I will wish upon our star, the one WE share

Still not understanding, but knowing you care, as I

To keep intact this special connection between us, silent is the music of our two souls together

Separate, from these noisy worlds of difference we both have fed

I will wish upon our star and let the trivial starve

I choose to live here with you

I choose to grow old with you

In this current state, we find ourselves

I trust that it is fate

I trust we are not too late.

A Thanksgiving Poem

Thank you Brother Wind,
Blowing sins, far away
Thank you Mother Earth,
Giving shelter, to everyone
Thank you Sunshine,
Keeping daughters warm long after summer's gone
Thank you Nightfall,
Boys come home, the war is over
Every year,
Every year, you reappear
Run through the forest
Barefoot, bleeding hearts out into open arms
The flag firmly in the ground, waives nicely
Welcoming everyone that gathers round-
It comes with the territory
This place still a mystery
Still full of surprises, disguises,
Jesters and wises,
A place where cries out loud of all kinds are allowed
A place where soft, little lullabies can soothe a crowd
And erase fakeness
Saying bye bye to the fraud in us all
Returning us all to grace after the fall
For the higher stuff we ought to laud
We rally, applaud
United
Hailing
"Twenty four seven
Earthen is heaven
Authentically picking up the pieces
Giving lives longer leases
We live more,"
Delivering us from the yearlong need to deceive
Interweaving and succeeding at new, truer hellos
The tone, a modest bellow
We, the proud are mellow
And "We eat together, today
Move together, in the same way
The message is clearly on display,"
Appreciation,
Thanks,
Gratitude and romance
In the good times we share,
In the bad times we will care for one another,
God made us this way today, amen.

Nature Observes

He walks along the pathway

In a thoughtful way

As if to say

So what it’s only rain—

The buds of bare tree tips

Refrain from growth and coolly quip

How light the

Moisture drip—

Hardened ground

Absorbs the pound

Without so much as a peep,

Noting consistency in sound

All around

Coming from the streets,

Peppered with ice, snow and sleet

Soft and weathered by the wayward sheets—

Rain sleekly freezes over

Begins to cover

In a second’s time, an earlier sentiment

Rebirthing trust in the name

We give to the end of every year

Elemental observance erasing fear

Believing in the old familiar signs

As they appear.

The Beating Heart of Here

This is a story
In no hurry
See like allegory
World making meaning
Keep believing
In the feelings as they scurry
To the bee bop skit scattering
Sound
Life all around
Running rain drops through
Suspension
Of light
Still frames' bright
Smiles, not in a whiles

Layaway, for the dreary days

Undisguised

Time how it flies
Sights, these snippets
Delight, in every tidbit

Soft, in every sense of singing

Each and every

Happy, sad

Somber, glad song

As each and every one comes along

As each and every one does belong

As all are allowed to flow

Without defining the knowing inside

Of something deeper within resting

Still, that cannot be described

Where truth cannot hide, forever

Within the peaks and valleys of different frequencies

Embedded in the core, always something more

Bringing back stranded versions to shore

Without fail,

Right way breath set sail for the next

Inhale, there are things we do control

The evolution of our souls

Exhale, the world is a tossup

That never lets up
Don't let the teardrops, sneer stopping jeers, reappearing fears
Here, hold you hostage

Rather,
Clap to the energy

Allow for synergy
Open the cage up
Each and every one

Emotion
Feel Her light rays
Of energy
Lift you up in levity
So that you are free, do not become what you see
For yours is a story
In no hurry
Reads like allegory
Grounded by the sights and sounds of all around
Bound to nothing
It is glory,

The beating heart of here.

 

 

 

 

 

Closer to the Truth

His pride is gone
His eyes are dry,
Who is this guy
And does he come or go along
Unconscious of his leaving?
What tricks are up his sleeve?
Does he believe or self deceive?
The sentiment of bereavement
Brought his heart into the present
For all along his mind hath been repentant
For the past part of him slithering off a serpent, never enough
Backdrop to a third eye now fully open-
All the while
Not until now, without guile
Recoiling in horror
Taking cover
In the unapologetic truth
Of ruthless, couth emerging energy
Of this manly stand
That decides
And weighs decisions
Without fearing the future patchwork incisions
Without needling with suspicion his own indecision-
Rather, nurtures with patience
Taking down the gates that fence in the self pressuring with self prophesizing demands
No longer holding onto former plans
And pipe dreams
That like jail bait weights have shackled
Not allowing for new free form to pick up steam,
A side narrative slowly molding into
Once upon a time a charming lad
A bad caricature for the outside world
To see
And make a mockery of
Someone less than a man sitting behind bars
He himself locked up by the self deceit of scars
Running through error with an empty heart,
With an unfastened, frenzied mind, no longer
For here stands a man
That does not fabricate hope
Nor falsify
That does not laugh at life's greatest treasure
From the loitered dust sparsely glittered with childish notion
That has kept him holding onto
Historically repetitive antics
Desperately frantic
Follow up
Self deprecation
Out of fashion,
Here stands a man, now in season
Picking up the pieces, seeing
Glittering his life
Feeling the
Magic in his soul.

Muscle

I lead with my heart,
The writer inside of me
No longer asks, “Is this art?”
I lead with my heart,
The lover inside of me
No longer looks for the start,
Passion is the blood flow
That does not question—
I lead with my heart,
Submit to the transmission of truth, the only judge
I welcome this guidance,
Like those that lead with their hearts!
My heroes
Inspire
Inspiration from within comes on as
The secretion of inessential urges
My heart to swell, beating louder
Slowly overcoming a heavy head used to speaking first—
My mind listens, all ears and no fear
Chambered muscle unshackling from the wear and tear of weighty overthought,
Together strengthening aura, softening
Surrounding the resounding sound of clear being inside of me now,
A truthful coo,
“This is me and
I Iove you for you.”

Journal Article for School: How Do We Learn?

The general movement of a learning community is upward. Otherwise, it is not a learning community. An individual can only learn so much on his or her own, in the absence of community. I like to think of all learners, myself included, as gradual ascenders up an imagined, “knowledge mountain”, open space for exploration on either side. Along the mountain’s path there are checkpoints, that to us signify successful completion of something tangible; in this example, all coursework specific to the content of a single class, 11th Grade ELA, for a given year. Along the way, learners may have to backtrack, if unable to demonstrate understanding of one or more crucial competencies; for upward trek, is, in these instances, contingent upon mastery. Occasionally, learners should be encouraged to reflect on ground already covered. This too, serves a purpose, easing the process of instructional scaffolding. Every step of the way, learners should have an open window opportunity for looking out over the horizon; scanning, touching, breathing, hearing, speaking the “space” communities “create,” with all five of their senses; allowing for the unbridled exchange of alternate perspectives regarding how we make sense of information as it is gathered and presented; some perspectives, of which, may drastically impact early learners’ growing, shifting, shaping voices the world will eventually come to know. The ELA instructor should select longer texts that ALL students can connect to, regardless of cultural, economic and social background. There are texts that fit the criterion: texts with clear cut universal themes anyone can relate to. Longer texts are not the end all be all for in-class instruction. Novels, rather, are “foundation layers”. The ideal classroom novel becomes a medium, allowing different minds, eyes, ears, and voices to come together in likeness, and discuss amongst themselves what brought them here, to this point in time. Commonality is a threadwork for unity, paving the way for open dialogue with respect to inherent differences; that allows for true growth and upward mobility in both traditional and nontraditional ways. To grow as learners in a communal setting, students must first come together. Supplemental texts and visual materials can be anything and everything on either side of the mountain, connecting back to the foundational text of the novel itself. This type of thought processes empowers students. By validating all students’ current knowledge, teachers encourage their students to go out and search for more. Students bring up other books and articles they have read that make them think of a particular part of the novel, maybe a side narrative, one of the major themes, or turning points. Students draw upon their extensive knowledge of movies, television shows and music lyrics, making connections. The learning community welcomes all of these artifacts as worthy supplements to the unit. Teachers also come forward and share (articles, videos, paintings, poems) supplemental resources, that perhaps, open students’ eyes to historically marginalized alternate viewpoints, with respect to the given theme, idea, or movement under examination. The hope, to open students’ hearts and minds up to the endless possibilities out in the world, and to inspire in them, the drive to look, is what keeps teachers going.

The Seasons and We Change

I'm no better than anyone else,
I just want to better myself,
Save the judgments for some higher power,
Create or die trying
Breathe authenticity in
Every breath
Stand up right where I stand
When I'm someplace true and have to,
Sit and listen like the wind, quietly moving with the elements of conversation,
Attuned to the stations of others' hopes and dreams
Needs and good deeds
With the ease and speed
Of steady patience,
Like a quarter turn
Maintaining equilibrium inside
Between life here on Earth lived
And past life otherworld experience
Up to this very point in time,
Resting, as the autumn leaves of every color do,
Each their own emotion
Every one so beautiful and true
And full of everything that there is,
Fill the streets
Come to meet other streets
These leaves
Pile up in front yards
Where children leap for joy,
Adults rake until their backs grow sore
Just as our forefathers bent over backwards
To give us the gift of a new world
As we watched theirs grow old, as all worlds do
But never these quarter changes,
Always fresh in their every time of year,
All of us enlivened by the kickoff spirit of new season
No one passing judgment
Everyone passing time
As time gives us a pass, for now
To live in harmony
To be humble in our own authenticity
To see clearly others as they are
Near or from afar
Our difference is our similitude
And we are all together
In these divergences.

A Deeper Love

A Deeper Love

 

It happens so fast. The labyrinth with twists and turns, doorways, some half open, others blocked off entirely, some frozen over after years of neglect, tingles with life. We step outside and look through the ice. We are the captain of our ship, not unlike any other captain in this way. What we see is as follows: natural light, to the point where it begins to hurt our head.  It flashes like artificial lights hanging from the sides and ceiling of an old battle ship might if there was an announcement to be made. We take it as a warning. We have forgotten that we have but one pulse. We start to remember past parts of our heart, grown cold. The sensations overwhelm us all at once. We think, this is it. But where to begin? We do not immediately find an answer. We are innately aware on some level of the fact that we might not ever. Is there a starting point inside the mind to hide the things we cannot let go of from the person that we love?

Giving love is not receiving love and how do we do it? The snow inside the labyrinth begins to melt on its own. We do not pay this very much mind. We just smile and walk through these old, familiar entrance points once more accessible. We re-familiarize ourselves with the maze. We think that it is love at our doorsteps. Those of us that have known love before find it easier to know when it comes knocking again. No two loves are ever the same; a strange, exciting, threatening phenomena. We praise the immense strength of this power in our presence and cherish the person we have fallen in love with as much as our heart and theirs will allow, for the time we are in love.  

The magic of in love is a fade out fact of all romantic relationships. Some end upon the emergence of this very truth. Others soar to new heights, because they first are willing to dive into great depths, trusting, entirely, in the love of another person and their love for that person. Two people in love that trust in the phenomena that is love give one another a chance to experience love in its deepest sense. Love between two people that began as strangers and have come to know one another and accept one another in full is the only true love.

Often, one person might see something in the other that the person didn’t ever know or dare to look at prior to their union. Love is without trial. When we put either ourselves or our lover on trial for something that cannot be changed we break the covenant. If we have an opportunity to touch the bottom of an ocean, do we take the chance? Do we really take a chance? Or are we already looking for the next beach after the shoreline shifts and we see things for what they really are? There are rocks in every person’s ocean. Not one person is above or below any other in this way. Can we sit with the rocks? If we cannot, they will sink us. When we look to the sky it should be with wings to fly. When we accept everything that cannot be changed inside of ourselves and inside of our lover everything is within reach.

Two souls that start with the magic of in love idealism can keep the candle lit, and let it shine brighter than ever before, with simple, compassionate, open, unapologetic honesty, after the wizardry has worn off. Real love needs only two willing, willful souls that are in love. No one needs to fix anything. Once the natural light inside the labyrinth has steadied and the mind has grown used to the added warmth from a loved and loving heart there are still certain doors that remain closed. What is inside is who we are, on a subconscious level. It should stay there where it belongs. For true love is always conscious; nothing more, and nothing less.  

A Song for Those of Us Loyal to the Starving Artist In Us All

Every winter we return,
Your wisdom setting in
A sun, that burns
A little less bright
For a little less time—
We reminisce, the
Crowds get smaller,
Outdoors a bigger
Other number
Flashes
In crooked neon lights—
Spite-filled eyes tonight—
Light up this city,
Light up this city,
Backs’ turned to you,
A moon howls back,
Specters entering,
A new day dawns,
A sacrificial fawn,
You always did it the same
Until your heart fades out
You always did it the same
Until your heart fades out
The band played on
You went ahead
We all moved on—
Let’s pick up the pieces,
Let’s pick up the pieces, on your birthday
Together we’ll say that
We’ll stay a while
For old times sake,
Talk about the big break
That’s coming,
The next gig,
Soon,
Sometime, maybe
Yea?

Without Shame

We do not say we are sorry
For size and stature,
We do not fracture a single limb
So that we can climb up higher,
Heaven is a beatitude of Nature’s daily grace,
We rise up tall and proud, stand still
As trees
Do not compete
Or feel the need to defeat
Any kind, as we all are kin—
If we sin
We say that we are sorry, for we are mortal
And it is the eternal Wind that blows these seeds in every which way—
Who are we to question
These gifts bestowed to us and those that aren’t ours given to others in our likeness?
Let that be the lesson,
Let us learn
To foster firmness of inner grounding
For it is the founding
On which we can finally rest
Our stretched out limbs and display these vibrant leaves of true beauty—
Let us come to know, with certainty
That it is this
And only this
That leads
To the sprout up of more tiny, little seeds of magic
That need only reach out and touch the source of all enchantment, before realizing their own—
An innate oath
Trees nurturing growth
Take seriously:
Feeling the upward pull of downward root
Between the soot of lineal ghosts
Coursing through the hardened hosts of communal soul that comes with age,
We feed the strength of perpetual, collective being that sits in meditation underground,
Pumping life into every vein,
Easing stirs in the windy misdirect of inner whispers inside of saplings not yet fully themselves,
When we are still and standup tall and proud
And do not say that we are sorry, for truth
We represent ourselves in full, individually and collectively
Providing shade where it is needed,
Allowing for the sitting seeds to come unseated,
Standup, tall and proud,
Defeat fear all by themselves and proclaim, with all their might
Their rights
To birth
Unearth
Self worth
And let in light.

Preemptive Education Lecture Reflection

 

Maxine Greene, Megan McDermott Lecture

 

What a pleasure to attend such an inspiring event! A lot was discussed by the panelists in a short while. In addition, there were young poets displaying their unique talents to the room. In freely expressing themselves, by creating their own verse, having their own rhythm, and meter, these poets embodied the kickoff’s clear message: students that tune in to their own unique frequencies and inner feelings, and then share these perceptions, allow for others to build on and or find their own set of beliefs, and enable them to make sense of their world (paraphrasing Dr. Greene).

The lecture had a magnificent impact on my thought processes in the days to follow. I found myself writing poetry the next day while on my lunch break: a freeing and cleansing exercise, in and of itself. However, while I have always felt that way about creative writing in general, I will admit, in my many conversations with friends, family, students and colleagues, I seem to be in the minority. Perhaps I could never adequately articulate why the arts are so important, most notably in the mental and spiritual sense. This is where Dr. Greene comes in, and why I feel so blessed to have been in attendance. She helps put into words what all poets feel. That there is no such thing as good or bad poetry (that all of it is good) as long as it comes from the heart. That poetry is a medium with the capacity to hold feeling and emphasis. That poetic words go beyond didactic meaning. That poetry is an aesthetic response to the outside world that can overcome aloofness and pacificity and allow for tangible change through the communal voice of individuals seeking to better and improve the externality of our existence.

In the pedagogical sense, the lecture opened my senses up to, yet again (pfffff), the question we, as educators ask ourselves over and over again: How do we bring out the voices of our students? Leave it to a room of poets to sweep everyone up off their feet feeling elated, everyone exiting the lecture on cloud nine, but no one with any clear direction as a means to sustaining that high. This was the one thing I found the lecture to be lacking in: specificity. However, in thinking about it more, that is kind of the message, and also where preemptive education enters the classroom. Maxine Greene says she “welcomes ambiguity,” and that she “hates fixed anwers.” One of the questions asked in response was, “How do we teach that to students, when the school system only wants to test us?” There is no clear distinct answer to this question in my opinion. If we are asking our students to find themselves, we as teachers need to do the same, and do it quick, before students get used to responding in a way that is strictly what they think we want to hear.

I go back to the original message of the lecture: that by tuning in to our unique frequencies we allow for others to do the same. In the practical sense, we as teachers can be ourselves, first and foremost. Also, we can design lessons that focus more on upfront individual, student interpretation of the coursework and text, before honing in on conventional or accepted beliefs surrounding an idea or theme. This paves the way for assessment, more in terms of reflection and analysis, rather than relying strictly on rote and recall. There is a critical connection for students and teachers at every turn, readily accessible, assessment checkpoints for teachers, built-in to this formulaic approach, as students are allowed to first develop their sense of perception, and then hold that up to the canonical interpretation and either challenge, agree, or meet somewhere in between. You truly can allow students to learn on their own; as Megan McDermott said, it is our primary duty as educators “to create space for children with a vision to do THEIR best work,” and also believe they will arrive where they need to be in the end, to pass our tests, but also end up at a place of individual understanding, and come to make sense of what these exams and rubrics really signify, rather than having their entire scholastic existence revolve around what they have been told by teachers that come to fear the test. That is preemptive education: doing something to make a change for the better, before it is too late.

 

Poetry

Poetry to me is
The best things in life are
Free as the wind,
To run-on like the
Ins and outs of the inside shouts
Do spread—
Souls,
Innocent and free
Like four month old foals’ guiltless folly,
Beyond the breakers that turn to plains inside the brains
Of little, Plain Janes and Average Joe beaus and other young women of land and sea
Who splay out dreams
With their net eyes’
Vision of catch and release,
Transpose and disguise
Fishes and wishes of fishermen dishing out fresh,
Raw
Curvature
With every cast
Of shadow and light—
Doling out life,
Law
In overture
As the wind
Freely forms illusion,
The entire scene
Beneath the breakers, below the barge
Beyond the naked eye, more stretches of land,
A most, masterful confusion—
Running after foals,
Swimming with the shoals,
Soaring through the open sky,
Beyond the Heavens, below the Earth
Where between the lines
There is only
This
________________.