Closer

Closer

I have been pushed

From one long line to another 

For every burst of true life lived

Born from frustration, from boredom, from passion

Has been followed by years of paper and the inevitable ellipsis’…

This life is a cycle of waiting.

And how would I change if I lived?

Constantly bursting and refusing to wait?

I travel through the stages of me

My pigtail self, my college self, my teacher self

I am alive but somehow drifting

Past struggle, past grief, past chances of challenge and she

The girl I could be

Had I taken the risk… Had I traveled the path…

She stands ahead

Waiting. Waiting.

Smiling back at me with skin more beautiful, heart of gold, glowing from the lessons of love she conquered back in those moments I chose to pass up

She knows I will have more chances, more lives ahead

My fear does not destroy the road, it only makes it longer. 

And I know that I must be the pusher

Through fear and into light I must gather my common, damaged, biased body and move it into action. 

Into the challenges that will move me forward

Closer to love.

Closer to her.

You Can't Cut the Communion Line

       I walked into the church. The rising steps erupting from the city street. The church that we attend in Chicago is planted between vintage clothing stores and a starbucks. The transformation is immediate and settling. Walking down the road you feel the business, the traffic, the limited personal space of the city as you rush to arrive on time but after those stairs, as you open the heavy church doors, the calm sweeps you up. Everything turns quiet, the subtle smells of incense in the air, the priest, altar servers and parishioners all doing their predictable, comforting traditions. You are instantly safe. 

      And as I find my seat, always in front, always on the left side of the church, I genuflect, and come to my knees to pray. I can hear myself. Perhaps for the first time all day, all week. I can sit quietly with my mind and hear. My mind settles and without my own incessant brain chatter new ideas arrive that I almost cannot attribute as my own, realizations come and bring me back to center, and understanding arrives. These epiphanies not one at a time but together as a wave, crashing into me in the one second I allow myself to become quiet and hear myself. Imagine if I meditated more often. 

      This Wednesday was Ash Wednesday. Unlike normal Sunday masses this was in the evening after a full day of work. You see Sundays for a teacher are very optimistic. You have a week plump with new plans that in your mind are all going to work out beautifully and whatever misbehaviors happened last week will disappear completely because of the lessons are so fun and grand. Wednesdays, are not as cheery. You are tired by Wednesday. You have had 3 days where a child or two has tried to ruin your grand plans in their own mischievous ways. You wonder if they have their own 5 column chart and scribble it out “On Monday I am going to fall out of my chair 5 times… that will really get her… and on Tuesday I am going to whisper the word “booty ass” into that little girl’s ear that sits next to me… she will scream and flip out! (evil laugh inserted here).” 

      My own thoughts were extra loud. The church was extra full, hardly a seat to be found. I snuck into one of the back pews… on the right side of the church (grimace) and tried to quiet my mind. I closed my eyes, listened to the choir above in the balcony and heard the male voices in a low, gentle harmony. It reminded me of my uncle Roger and the services we would attend at the monastery. With that image in the center of my thoughts I arrived home. I opened my eyes when the song had ended and sat amazed as I viewed myself as one of hundreds sitting, in silence, together. I thought of what a church full of my students would look like. The good ones with their hands folded and backs EXTRA straight to prove their obedience. The rest would be off task either whispering, talking, or yelling and the teachers on the ends of the pews trying their best to shoot off dirty looks and call the bad ones names loud enough to be heard. 

     Oh but the silence was beautiful. Powerful. The homily was about death and love. The priest, Fr. Shren, is beautiful in the way that he never rushes a sentence. He speaks slowly but thoughtfully and it does magical things to you as a listener. I should try that. He urged us to remember how short life is and to always keep in mind our death. He said that should always be working towards coming back to that first spirit we had as infants before everything tainted us. I liked this message. 

     As we lined up for communion I had to wait a very long time. One of the reasons I usually sit in the front is I like having time to pray after communion and I don’t like the long wait before. Also, I like to drink the wine and I can’t bring myself to do it if there have been more than 5 sets of stranger lips on it.  I max out on potential germs and just keep walking. So I sat moderately impatient and waited, watching the lips leaving their germs behind; considering how rude it would be if I just cut everyone and got out of my seat early and went up with the front rowers. 

       But you can’t cut the communion line. Not because it is some rule or because of the glares that you would get from old, Catholic women who would bring you down in their prayers but… because you miss the point. 

     We… only become better, when we learn something new about life. I believe that I am here for one reason, to learn about love; to learn what it is and how to be it in all moments. And as I learn that, I journey through life after life until I will become like the love pros out there who have been written in history as saints, spiritual leaders and Gods. My only goal is to be love. And although it is inside me, in the center of me, perfectly defined and never changing, trying to guide me to give in… daily I choose otherwise, almost always I choose otherwise. I navigate through these lives to learn how to listen to that piece inside my soul and live with it not buried inside me but as the leader of my thoughts and initiator of my actions. 

      If I cut the communion line I miss the point of waiting and knowing patience. I miss the point of praying quietly and learning a lesson. Every time that I am frustrated at a child’s misbehavior I am again trying to cut the communion line. I am trying to push out those opportunities to know more about love. Every time that I ignore a conflict or decide not to unravel a tempting thought in my mind I miss the chance to learn more about love. Every time that I sit in a comfortable situation instead of challenging myself to learn more about different cultures, communities, or conflicts I cut the communion line and miss the chance to know love. 

       And I do it all day long. We are taught to escape conflict, to avoid any sort of emotional traffic and to kick out people who bother your comfort, plans, or happiness. My mom told me to tell the teacher and walk away from the bully, my school tells me to kick out the student who will not listen, my own mind tells me to ignore my own inner conflicts and personal struggles and focus on the happy parts of life. 

     But these lost challenges, these lost opportunities are making my road towards love so long. These short cuts throughout my day that help me end it in a false smile add on miles and miles of life that I will walk in future days and upcoming lives. I have one goal. And there is only one direction. 

     My inner self, that true bit of love inside of me would have smiled at the kid who tried to ruin her plans because she knew that he was bringing her closer to love. He was teaching her in that moment how to love the angry and hurt, how to see the pain behind his tantrum and how to bring him back by comfort and acknowledgement. It is easy to kick him out. It is much harder to hear him and help him. 

        Now it is hard for me to imagine whistling a happy tune as I sit in traffic and it makes me annoyed to think of someone telling me “you should just smile at this moment” if someone was trying to oppress or push me down but that’s the real challenge. 

    Check it out… all the religious leaders and spiritual advisors say it too… love your enemies. We shouldn’t be surprised that they came up with all of the same golden rules… they walked the same path! They traveled in the same direction! They all learned that little bit of love inside of them, guiding them through life after life until they became it wholly (holy haha). Your enemies are not wearing masks or flying from the sky above with a cape and laser gun like in the comics… it is the barista that makes your coffee wrong, it is your annoying boss or co-worker, it is your own addictions to self or your memories from the past that keep you from exploring the lessons outside your hand-drawn lines. You can’t learn the lessons inside 4 comfortable walls. Meet those enemies, do not kick them out of the class, and allow them to teach you. Work through the painful memories, understand your boss and their decisions, quiet your thoughts and HEAR. 

      I understand my goal and I know the direction. And as I go throughout this Lenten season I hope that by giving up certain indulgences in my life help me to cleanse a bit and come home a little so that I can more clearly see the road beneath my feet towards that girl waiting lifetimes ahead full of all of the lessons I am yet to learn.   

The Health Unit

Last Monday, immediately after coming back from my wedding, I began the health unit. Without my millions of wedding checklists and to do lists... I allowed the blank page in my little black "journal" to be empty for one small second before deciding it was time for an all school, comprehensive science unit about the human body and health. Within moments I was off and running with a humongous idea filled with activities and projects that would ultimately conclude in a giant health fair which doctors, med students and my brilliant VLA children would join together in magic, educational bliss. TA DA!!!

(Yes... I always do this to myself)

So far the unit has been filled with laughter. The human body is a funny thing to teach and there is no way around it. Last week, while showing the kindergarten class a life-size picture of the human body which mapped out all of the vital organs (minus the dirty ones) I noticed the little girls giggling in the back of the room. "Ladies? Do you have a question for me?" I asked. They blushed but eventually they pointed at the human map and said, "Whats the red thing by the... the... you know". It was the bladder. And as soon as I said "it's the bladder' the room bursted out in laughter. When I told them that the bladder held their pee... oh my gosh. After the giggles finally quieted one little boy remained, stubbornly confused and appearingly upset.  "Everything alright?" I asked him. "My mom says that's not the bladder." he pushed out, brave and confident to stand my his mom. "My momma says that's the called the danger zone" :)

And earlier this week I found myself telling a whole class about how to wash in the shower. I said to them, "If you stick a finger in your belly button and smell it... and it smells bad... you're not washing enough!". Of course I forgot about this experience the second I said it and left all my students wondering desperately if they were washing right... anxiously waiting a private moment to try out their own naval. The next day, the students walked in silent (a rarity). One little boy raised his hand and said, "Ms. E... I stuck my finger in my belly button last night". "And???" I asked, surprisingly excited. "It was REALLL bad Ms. E!!" The whole class laughed, along with myself and everyone else confessed about their own belly button stories. :)

With the older kids I'm breaking the bad news about the United State's messed up medical system and challenging them to research a disease on their own... which hopefully at least one of them will do by the time we have this health fair. 

And I'm standing in front of them, telling them about the food pyramid and how the respiratory system works. I'm listening to small children who tell me "the symptoms seem to say its dementia, not amnesia". <3 and it just hit me tonight that it's... incomplete. It's false. It's flash cards. It's easy.

We memorize facts to prove we are smart instead of conversation. We say "fine and you?" instead of listening. We call a person who runs healthy, even though they are on three kinds of anti-depressants. I teach about health and meanwhile I'm not sleeping, harding eating, and packing in 30 hours a day into my short short time.

What does it really mean to be healthy? And when do I feel healthiest?

I feel healthiest after a steaming, almost burning hot shower. My mind fresh with at least 3 good, new ideas...read to be written. I feel healthy when India Arie is playing. In prayer. I feel healthy when I'm writing or reading my old pieces of writing. I feel healthy when I'm falling asleep in his arms. I feel healthy 40 min after eating a big meal filled with the faces of my amazing friends and no one is done talking. I feel healthy at home in camas with the wood fire lit and dogs asleep next to me. I feel healthy when I perform. I am healthy when I teach a lesson and all the students are talking and excited about it. I feel healthy when I help a 5 year old stop crying by hugging them.

The rest... the 90 percent of my time that is... although my body walks and my heart is beating, I am not healthy. Sick with society's lies, I allow this human disease to destroy my moments, my perfect moments. Medicating me away from myself, pushing me into "what a woman...teacher...wife...friend...Catholic... SHOULD be." Fuck should be. Should be OBVIOUSLY isn't working out because the rich, privileged housewifes are on crack and they certainly have allll the should be that is available.

Garbage in.. garbage out right? Well... the garbage is going to go in. As long as propoganda pushes that boys should wear blue, girls in pink and everyone sucks except the white men in our world... until that stops all we have is garbage. We have to see that garbage, recognize it every single time and then continue to keep going on without it. 

We have to heal. We have to heal and the only disease there every was...was giving in, allowing that sickness into our minds since we opened our eyes the first time. We have to heal from that and start going on a societal diet. Allowing only those true thing to be a part of who you are. And yelling at that disease in you...that isn't working. I'm watching a lot of people try and yell their way back to freedom but I'm not convinced that any part of them is saved in it. We can't heal in the anger. That anger may fuel us, may fire us to being walking back towards ourselves but, healing is soft... it's quiet in nature and yelling keeps you stagnate.

I think this is really the idea behind "your body is a temple".  Its a place to be honest. Your curves are your own church. That perfection... that bit of the universe...a trace of God sitting silently inside you. Daring you to be healthy always. Daring you to turn garbage to gold.

Expect Delays

 

        I like to wake up early. Get dressed quietly as Chris continues to sleep. Brush on my make-up in quiet strokes as the silence continues to consume the house. It calms me, gives me time to process and plan my day out. I think over what I am going to do through the day, which things I need to cut out or finish grading and walk through the words of my lessons. In my thinking, no one talks out of turn, not one student falls out of their chair, my lessons always slam-dunk and I consistently leave on time. As I walk out the door I kiss Chris and he always wakes up for just a moment to tell me that I am going to have a good day and that I look cute. I smile, shut the door, and walk onto the street where my plans begin to be interrupted.

       I was driving to school yesterday. Like many mornings in Chicago I was stuck behind a line of rushing cars also on their way to work. I grumbled, frustrated as I pushed down on my brake pedal to decrease my speed. And we all sat there, like usual, in our nice metal boxes, angry at seven AM because of traffic. 

      I looked up to find a big yellow construction sign blinking on the side of Lake Shore Drive. It flashed the words “EXPECT DELAYS”. I looked away and pushed gently back onto my gas pedal. "Finally, we are moving" I said to myself. And yet I wasn't...moving that it is. My car stalled and slowly huffed its way into the next lane over, as if it ws quietly trying to hold back laughter. Like my own personal fortune cookie the sign's flashing lights still bounced off my car's back tires. Expect Delays. My eyes shot down at the gage that I had been ignoring each morning, the same gage I looked at that morning and said out loud “I’m sure I can make it there and just get gas on my way home”. That same gage that now laughed at me. I pushed down on my gas pedal, turned on my hazards and only by the pushing of guardian angles made it to the exit and parked on the corner spot just off the exit. I guess I was indeed to expect delays. 

         Instantly my mind flashed with the images from my childhood as I imagined  my long, probably 20 mile walk through the abandoned fields to the closest gas station, This imaged lasted only until I looked up to the center of downtown Chicago and found sky scrapers in place of wheat fields. 1,000 yellow taxis zoomed past me in once and I jumped in one feeling like an idiot as I explained in my small, blonde body about how I ran out of gas.

        My obvious embarrassment did not subconsciously persuade the cab driver, the person behind me in line at Shell, nor my cashier from reminding me to watch my gage next time. “No shit.” I wanted to say, but it somehow came out as a giggling “I know.”. I took off my pretty scarf, put the gas in the car (spilling some on my self and some on the car itself) and drove to school.

What if I did expect delays?

       I always plan on perfection. Yes, logically I know that things won’t go perfectly and that things happen but in my head, in my thinking space, cars never run out of gas and there is never a moment of pause on the road! Even though every day i experience these things on the road, my plans insist that they are out of the ordinary. What if I began instead, to expect traffic, expect delays on my ride to school? Would I be as frustrated when the pace slowed? Would I feel so betrayed when someone cut me off?  When I told Maria this story she repeated to me something she had heard before, she said, “Your expectations are the only thing that can let you down”. And she, and that sign, are right.

       And this truly impacts all of the facets of my life. I should expect that Trevon is going to fall out of his chair every single day and let out a giant growl. I should expect that students are talking during my lesson or that one student is going to completely space out. I should expect that I won’t have time to make my copies or that the copy machine is going to run out of paper. Because that is life! Its bumpy and icky and beautiful because of it. It is going to happen so why not expect it to happen and thus deal with it calmly? Why should I let these daily occurrences continue to ruin my perfect dream every day. Why not instead stop dreaming?

        And, as I write as usual with such extremes, of course everything is a balance. I don’t think we should all just smoke weed and sit on the coach with a bag of cheetos and stop setting high expectations for ourselves. But for those of us who insist on perfection and those of us that worry about everything going just right… we need to chill out, breathe and learn to love moving forward in this rough and tumble experience of life. 

        Because I live in a world. With people. With other breathing people that are having their own experiences complete with bags full of emotions, memories, and moods. And because I live in a world with others, my own personal actions do not guarantee the predicted responses I arrive at in my head. Everyone else is not in the same mood as me, everyone else did not have my same morning, and everyone else is brining whatever experiences they are holding on to right there to the moment with me.

       I can’t expect them to be perfect. Not my ride to work, not my students, co workers, or bosses, not my friends and not my partner. Not myself. I must expect delays. And I believe that when we begin to add that space into our ideas of ourselves and into our daily dreams, we will begin to live a more satisfied life. When we allow for traffic, for lessons that tank and for moments of self failure, we allow for humanity and it is only through learning more about humanity and our expression of love that we grow and become better.

A Warrior a Woman I am

                                         Meant to be read aloud... But so full of happy womaness I wanted to share. :)

The power of a woman couldn’t be held inside a straight body

So God invented ---- curves

He took one look at her and said

"Damn"

the power of a woman can’t be trained, silenced or beaten away

always hiding there inside us ready to explode since pig tails and bitten nails and

ready to explode

in any and all directions

we know about feeling us women

about ecstasy and pain

we experience both daily and

did you know that when a woman gives birth she...

well there are lots of things you don’t know

till you know

and then never forget

you learn these things from other women who you look up and say

"My mother never told me that"

They don’t.

Mothers.

They leave it instead to the others

The women that bring you in and whisper the secrets, the dirty ones of woman hood

The others you ask things to

Uh…If he (or she) does this….

Is it normal if I….

How do you get it to...

These whispers that reach us all eventually in an unspoken code of warning

You can’t believe that power

And when women get together

Crazy things happen

In either direction of insanity we can be

Incredible

Artistic and enormous with our love

Smooth and aggressive with our love

Wet

and  sexual with our love…

But...

we can fight

Like boxers without gloves we can fight

And scream and throw things and scream

We can create sentences that break like bricks across a damaged heart

We can whip relationships into tiny crying balls of sadness we can

We can fight

Each other or our partners

Ourselves.

We

Hold that power in us till it bursts out and blows people away

Its in our curves,

The big and small

So next time your checking us out look closely at that power

Look closely before you decide about me

A woman

A warrior

A woman I am.