Dreams, Life After Death
November 24th, 2007
Suzanna flipped her perfectly shiny hair while she chewed on the hot pink bubble gum. Her blue jean Gap purse full of trinkets jingled as she ran after me down the hall, “Missss!” She was one of fourth grade’s characters, trend setter and mini skirt dress-code-pusher. She batted her big brown eyes full of mascara, took a deep breath, sighed and dropped her shoulders. Big news. “Yes, mam’.”
A small hesitation but her outspoken nature took over, “Am…, (smack) I want to know if there’s life after death.” I chuckled, “I don’t know but what if throw you out that window and you come back and let me know?” It’s hard to protest while laughing and she gave me the familiar teenage, “M-issss!”
“Don’t know girl, you’re gonna have to ask your mom that question,” still smiling while she hurried to class. What could I have answered? “Well, the Bible says yes but not if you’re not Christian. Other religions follow suit. Many think that’s it; no mas, no menos. Science believes the brain sees what it wants to see when it’s under duress. (BUT, scientists also say love is the same as going totally nuts, so take it with a lima bean of skepticism.) I think the question is a dead end (joke, get it?!). A better question would be is my death worthy of my life?” …Yeah
What human being hasn’t asked themselves that question and how long did it take them to discover their answer? How many people think the same way I do about this subject and how did they come upon their answer?
Does asking a teacher, preacher, monk, or spiritual adviser make any difference or is it something you really need to get on your own?
What would people answer this kid and why would a question like that leave me so dumbfounded for words and so deep in thought?
Is this a bad question because I can’t “teach” it and there’s no empirical evidence therefore no coherent argument but just emotion? Since when did emotion become bad?
Is it dreaming when pursuing something without evidence? Aren’t great actions made of dreams?
How long did it take me to formulate that two sentence answer?
How many questions did I have to ask before I said bad question, you’re loosing your time as of this point forward, return to your question and make a better one?
The spicy radish brings me back to reality, listen. How quiet and sweet does the taste of freedom feel? How small can happiness be given? It’s not the answers but the questions. It’s not a book but the person who makes meaning. Meaning fine tuned makes technique. The whole is art.
Inspired by Saul Williams and Research on the Brain
November 16th, 2007
Bang, bang. Shutters rolled closed, people dropped, and…there she was. Except it’s there they were: the Adidas three feet from awry angled foot and a skull that slowly seeped blood on subfusc pavement floor. The 100 pound rickshaw of disassembled boxes untouched by passer bys who gawked at the stiff body, head full of gray hair, planked coldly on the side. What no one saw was the topographical implosion, body from inside the cab over pretty windshield or the bullet hole it failed to dodge. Bang, bang, intent travels at 896ms reaching way before your 3/10ths of a second cognitive deduction reacts and…there you are.
So take heed of who you keep as friends. It only takes 12 seconds to imprint upon memory things that most likely shouldn’t be done and consequences can be felt for years or far more detrimental. Stay with those who smile in sincere connections to remember that you are a complex individual made to be that way since the day of conception miraculously contained in a pulpy skull bigger than the rest of your body. On the first week, cells of your body were only interested in giving you a head and a tail but by the fourth week of your life you sought light. Light to develop, see and feel, and keep searching until the day you die.
Never let anyone tell you that you aren’t a complicated because it’s in these contradictions that humanity finds meaning. Where killing a dog is repulsive, yet we’ll take arms for our country. Where even if the physical makes us sweat, we postpone for the emotional foregoing immediate rewards for long term happiness, like exchanging gold pieces for beautiful color pallets in luminescent paint.
Learn everything you can until the age of 25. You are born with 1 million brain cells running a marathon to make connections, group and regroup. Then spend the next 10 years wondering where it all went but not really caring while you’re riding the red corvette with a license plate that says…Dr.
Never forget that you are special. What else can my five foot temporary presence tell you that you haven’t heard somewhere else? You are special.
You are special.
You are special.
Even if I loose my voice in perfectly pronouncing your name, I’m hoping that by you hearing it enough, you’ll rebuild new pathways and eliminate the old. Temper your emotions into fine blown crystal refragmenting and distributing pure colored light in all directions. Remember those words on days when the memories you willed to death resuscitate and make you cry. Remember the faces of those that helped you when you smile.
Remember, you are special.
~~~~*l*~~~~
Check out Saul Williams’ official website and the series on the brain by the Annenberg Foundation. As I listened to the poetry and the videos, I went back and rewrote the piece with an audience in mind. I made a home visit during my first year of teaching only to realize that it would be me, in the coaching seat using the small 8 hours of the day, and her against the world. I think about her.
On the Blogosphere: A BIG CONGRATULATIONS to my friend Gunfighter, who is now a paid artist! Go by and contribute to Yvonne Russell’s Writer’s Cafe…is it okay to use comments without citation or permission? This is a cool article via Mr. Carvin on Learning.now, on how one teacher using only web apps can make 50 different presentations. Last, one of my favorite websites for traveling, Global Incidents. Tells you everything that’s going on in the world…personally, I like seeing the response time.
Those who educate children well are more to be honored than parents, for these gave only life, those the art of living well. –Aristotle add to del.icio.us
Memory of a Kiss
November 13th, 2007
Parted lips kiss the soft pillow
remind me of the gardenias
that bloomed thrice the month I left
How many times will I speak, write, or wonder of love?
The kind that hurts, heals, or accompanies?
The silent one inside my book
Or the loud one that once filled my pages?
The one I wanted to call daughter,
or the one that loves me as their daughter?
The one I can’t see but keeps me in their prayers
or the one that hugs me every morning,
because the only word she remembers is teacher?
The one that doesn’t speak but guards me vigilantly
or the one that couldn’t start a song without me one Christmas afternoon?
The friend that never fails to say hello
or the one whose rosary I keep close to my heart?
How many times?
Infinite, if God lets me.
And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.
–1 Corinthians 13:13 add to del.icio.us
Syllabic
November 5th, 2007
The count, the break, the muscle
the minimalistic memory
that breath takes in language
Inside one syllable, a note explodes
stacking alpha blocks into organized mirrors
systematically painting the world:
this private conversation between God and I,
a fluke of memory triggered by sweet bread,
the color of love in a child’s caress,
this identity between us and them.
If I wanted to just live,
I’d keep my head down and continue walking,
Instead, sounds visit me like angry dogs barking,
fighting leash and nozzle, biting tongue and harness,
to make sentences, songs, and poems
In this new language of mine,
that holds maps mountains and people
thousands of miles wide
and hundreds of antemundane years long
when borders didn’t exist.
More than what’s being said,
I want to know what’s being felt,
So I read street signs smiling.
If language is a translation of grace, then
Knowledge is the continuation of awe.
Plank
November 1st, 2007
Today is just one of them days
when the boss has a bee in the bonnet,
And all the decapitated fish being fried
have a salutation in 241 tongues of fishy clemencies
searching the penitence of my nose…
At least the residents of the mental hospital
across the street smile with the tiles
and the trees and anything laying on the mural sea
or the sebaceous underground from the landfill
where they done built
Strange follows me or is it…
I set the mood with my linguistic mind?
Today’s mental list:
The black belt, the turn, the drop, the take
The breath, the run, the weight,
The how much of this can I take?
the school, the grade,
the time don’t waste, don’t hesitate,
the cam, the comp, the internet
the job, the money, the pay,
the heavy hobby mountain
climb
exploration
exultation,
conquest is so divine…
There are so many things to do
Anything and everything all at once…
And I wonder why
I can’t take a decent photo of myself
but I love the pic on my student’s phone?
Why is it so hard to hide
this jelly heart of mine?
Unsatisfied with concrete things
I feel like I’m walking the tight plank
To a place I know that always hurts
It’s so difficult to want to trust another.
The pirates wait in line…
It’s just one of them days.
