Journal: Friday, March 31, 2006

The year has quietly slipped into its springtime dress this week. The change is most noticeable in the generally pleasant temperatures – often 50’s and above by mid-afternoon. Because of the warming trend, students are wearing flip-flops, teachers are opening windows, and the uplifting songs of birds are heard all around. You feel like you want to dig into your drawer and find your favorite shorts for a satisfying walk in the park. I have also noticed the promising greenery around town. In the park, the buds on trees and bushes are light green and growing bigger each day, and green daffodil shoots beside the pond are a good four inches tall. Of course, as always at this time of year, the small crocuses are already waving their purple and yellow blossoms. Perhaps the most noticeable sign of spring, however, is the increasing number of people walking, sitting, running, and playing in the park. Yesterday I saw dads pushing babies, moms and daughters jogging in tandem, dogs contentedly pulling their owners, and young lovers lingering beside the pond. It was as if the mild weather was a magnet pulling them relentlessly down to the park.

I’m no exception; I’ll be there today by 4:00 at the latest.

Meditation: "The Stars Will Continue Shining"

I was fretting about several things this morning, wondering whether I would be able to get a particular job done and whether a certain person would survive a recent setback, when this thought suddenly came to me: The stars will continue shining. As I pondered what it meant, I grew increasingly less worried and fretful. I began to see – or rather, remember – that, no matter what happens in my individual life, the grand, infinite universe will continue on its merry and absolutely perfect way. Yes, the job I was worried about and the friend who was suffering were important concerns, but no more important than all the numberless events just now happening in the endless universe. I realized that I had been overly anxious earlier in the morning because I had been taking a totally insular view of things. You might say I had been seeing things as though I and my two problems were the only important things in the universe, and that we three were completely disconnected from the rest of reality. As ridiculous as that viewpoint sounds, it’s one that I’ve fallen victim to many, many times in my life. Luckily, however, the wonderful thought about the stars rescued me from that old trap. As I sat in my empty classroom pondering the great fact that the multitudinous events in the universe will continue to unfold in harmonious ways for all eternity, I felt myself settling down into a wonderful state of tranquility. I relaxed in the understanding that whatever happens with the job and my friend will be for the best, just as whatever way the stars happen to shine is always for the best. And the stars will always be shining, no matter what happens in my life on this relatively miniscule planet in this comparatively tiny solar system.

On Teaching: March 29, 2006

In my first period class, I felt like I was in my "niche". The dictionary says a niche is "a cranny, hollow, or crevice, as in rock", and during this wonderful class I felt like I was comfortably ensconced in such a place. Teaching can be similar to scaling the wall of a cliff, and it's reassuring to come upon a place - a class -- that's like a niche in the cliff, where you can rest and be comfortable and feel like you know exactly what you are doing. Later in the day, in other classes, I may feel totally exposed on the side of a dangerous cliff, but for 48 minutes in the first period of the day I felt safe and content in a protected place.
* * * *
It's very strange to me that I can go many days without noticing some very important things in my classes. For example, today I happened to notice the girl who was quietly doing the "serving" at the beginning of class. (Many years ago I started providing small refreshments for students, and it has now become a tradition.) While the class was reading quietly, she was efficiently moving from student to student, bringing drinks and passing cookies. It was a beautiful thing to see, and I wondered why I hadn't noticed it before.
* * * *
I had an especially delicious lunch today — cold cooked broccoli and ham slices with mayonnaise, plus a wonderful sesame seed bagel with butter spread over it, followed by six perfect strawberries dipped in powdered sugar. As I quietly ate in my classroom with spring sunshine streaming through the windows, I felt myself being slowly revitalized for the upcoming afternoon classes.

Meditation: "Instant Healing"

This morning I read the story in the gospel of Mark about the healing of the boy who was “possessed of a spirit”. I always find this story inspiring, because it seems to be about a situation that happens to all of us countless times during each day. We are often “possessed” by thoughts of fear, and it is these thoughts that cause every one of our problems, from the smallest to the most severe. We often act somewhat like this boy, blurting out fearful words, looking tense and distraught, even going stiff and tense, much like the lad -- all because of our own thoughts. The problem never exists in some external "problem" or "threat". No matter what it appears to be be or how enormous it looks, every problem originates in our own thinking. Jesus knew this. When he saw the boy acting tense and crazy with fear -- the boy whom everyone else assumed was completely controlled by outside evil forces -- Jesus must have calmly reminded himself of the simple, reassuring truth that every single evil is just a thought. The boy was fearful and crazy because his thoughts were fearful and crazy. Jesus understood this, and he also understood the simple, wonderful recipe for healing: change the thoughts, kill the fear. It's consoling, this morning, to recall this beautiful truth. This is often a scary world we live in, and it is comforting to realize that all the scariness is a product of our own thoughts, and that it can be eliminated as quickly as one thought changes to another one.

Meditation: "A Perfect Day"

As I was thinking, early this morning, that I could make this day of teaching an absolutely perfect one, it suddenly came to me that I wouldn't have to "make" it perfect, because it will be perfect naturally, all by itself. I guess that realization dawned on me because I was able, at that moment, to step back -- way back -- and get "the big picture" of what life is all about. Instead of seeing life myopically, as a separate individual "me" set off against a zillion other separate individual entities, I was able to see it the way it truly is, as an immeasurable dance where there is actually only one dancer -- the universe itself. I realized that even the most minuscule actions I'll be involved in today will be actions orchestrated by the infinite universe, actions which will be utterly perfect because they are exactly what they must be at that particular moment. It was wonderful to clearly understand, the more I thought about it, that a separate ego called "Hamilton Salsich" doesn't have to do a single bit of "work" in order to make this day perfect. The day has no choice but to be perfect -- every single second of it -- and I have no choice but to be part of that perfection.

Journal: Monday, March 27, 2006

On Saturday I had another exciting morning at the Mystic Aquarium with my totally enthusiastic grandson. We met about 9:30, before the crowds arrived, and as soon as Noah got out of the car, he was squealing and bouncing with excitement. Jaimie said he often asked, "Are we close to the aquarium?" as they were driving down the highway, still miles from Mystic. It has obviously become one of Noah's beloved places, and, because of him, it has also become a special place for me. Of course, we had to pause briefly just inside the entrance in front of the tank holding the lovely white jellyfish. Standing in front of them for even a few moments is guaranteed to bring harmony to the soul of even the most harried person. The delicate, graceful creatures slowly rise and fall in the water, almost as though they are listening and moving to some heavenly music. However, we couldn't stay there long, for young Noah soon had us moving briskly from tank to tank as he took in the wonders of the various creatures. His face was alight with astonishment and joy the entire time. It was as if he had been given the greatest gift he could possibly think of -- and perhaps he had. Just being with this effervescent angel for a few hours that morning was my greatest gift.

Meditation: "The Present Moment River"

Last night, while I was having a hard time falling asleep, I fell to thinking worried and fearful thoughts, until, thankfully, an old, comforting thought came to me. I pictured life as being like a river – a river called the Present Moment River – and reminded myself that it was my good fortune to be a part of this river. And I wasn’t just a boat on top of the river; I was part of the river. Since this Present Moment River is ceaseless and irresistible, I have no choice but to be part of it. In a sense, I am a captive of this river. As I lay in bed in the darkness, this thought slowly settled me down into a feeling of security and tranquility. No matter how bad things seem – either during a sleepless night or during a day when small catastrophes seem to be happening – the Present Moment River is always peacefully flowing exactly where it wants to flow, and where it must flow. It controls everything. Whatever is happening is happening because it’s part of this eternally flowing river in the present. This led me to a thought that always brings light and consolation to me: I may as well relax and allow this to happen, because it has all the power anyway. The fine art of “allowing” is one of the key skills that anyone who yearns for peace and contentment must learn. If we can give in and simply allow the Present Moment River to be its beautiful, harmonious self, a wonderful kind of power will enter into us. Last night I slowly felt that power spreading through me, and before too many minutes, it seemed, I was awakening in the morning after a refreshing rest.

On Teaching: "That the Blind Could See"

“...the multitude wondered, when they saw...that the blind could see.” -- Matthew 15: 31

During my spiritual reading this morning, it suddenly came to me how absolutely lucky I am to be alive in this universe, and – even more – to be a teacher of 42 teenagers. The reality of it really hit me hard, as if I had been blind all these years, and now this morning, quite abruptly, I could see. I felt like a man who had been living in a palace surrounded by untold riches, but he had never actually seen his true situation. Like a person who has been suddenly cured, I felt like walking and leaping and praising God. I guess you could say “I saw the light” this morning. I saw that I am alive in a universe that is just what its name suggests -- one (from the Latin “uni”). I realized that I am part of a reality that is a single all-powerful and harmonious force, in which everything that happens is peaceful and perfect. I saw that all the power in the universe exists in the present moment, and that this power is always healthful and fulfilling. This led me to think about my great good fortune to be a middle school teacher. Somehow, by some miracle, I find myself working in a classroom with 42 wonderful, infinitely blessed young people. For some reason that I am unable to understand, the universe, in its infinite spinnings and turnings, dropped me down in Room 2 at Pine Point School, and it may as well have dropped me into paradise itself.

I almost had to rub my eyes this morning, hardly able to believe the truths I was seeing.

SPRING BREAK Journal: Saturday, March 25

I enjoyed a lovely lunch with a good friend yesterday, in a beautiful cafe overlooking the river. She had just returned from two weeks in France and England, and so we had a great time catching up on the news. She looked healthy and happy, as though the trip had been a blessing for her. I had been a bit concerned, because the trip was school-related, and she had accompanied 19 ninth-graders – but, from what she told me, they all had nothing but fun. It was good to be there in that dining room with big, bright windows looking out on the river. Spring had arrived last week, and there was a feel of it in the scenes we saw through the window. Even the river seemed to be flowing with a little more force and enthusiasm than usual. I enjoyed an enormous hamburger for lunch, and my friend had a beautiful-looking salad. I also sipped a glass of white wine, which turned the afternoon even mellower than it already was. We ate slowly, talked quietly, smiled brightly, and laughed a lot.

On Teaching: "Noticing the Background"

A friend once encouraged me to pay more attention to the “backgrounds” of life – the parts that remain relatively constant and against which the myriad, seemingly important actions of the foreground are played out. He suggested that our awareness is like a ship’s radar: we scan the world in front of us, looking for “things” that catch our attention, while ignoring the vast background behind and between the things. Our view, in that sense, is myopic. We notice the conspicuous, vibrant objects that pass before us, while remaining oblivious to the immeasurable spaces in which these objects exist. As a teacher, it is very easy for me to fall into this trap of narrow-minded vision. I often get lost in the minutiae of my teaching work – the lesson plans, the goals and objectives, the individual kids and their particular appearances and behaviors. Thus, my life in the classroom often feels like a rather chaotic dance involving countless dancers, both human and otherwise. What I lose sight of in all this minutiae is the marvelous background against which this dance is performed. There is, first of all, the physical background of our lives – first my classroom, then our community, then our planet, then the solar system, and then the endless universe. If I could, every now and then, take an inner glance at those backgrounds during my teaching, I would probably become a far more attentive and sensitive teacher. There’s also, of course, the non-physical background – the vast emotional and mental universe my students occupy. Their corporeal existence in my classroom is infinitesimally tiny compared to the psychological cosmos in which they reside. As their bodies sit before me in class, they are each like relatively small stars in an immeasurable mental sky. What my friend would advise me to do is be more attentive to this “sky”, this infinitely interesting background against which the activities of my classes take place. It would have a calming effect, I think. By becoming more “space conscious” (as one writer puts it), I would be able to relax a little more, knowing that what we are engaged in at any moment in my classroom is no more (or less) important than what the stars are engaged in as they circle through the universe, or than what grains of salt are engaged in as they swirl in the depths of the endless ocean. Remembering the background might help me to be a little less edgy, less panicky, less pushy, less noisy. Perhaps I could be a little more silent and serene, sort of like the night sky seems when I gaze up at it.

SPRING BREAK Journal: Friday, March 24, 2006

I continued my long string of rewarding days yesterday. (Let’s see...I guess that makes it something like 33,000 consecutive ones, ever since 1941.) In the morning at school, I worked hard to put together the bulletin board display for the annual April poetry tournament. As I like to do, I took my time with it, carefully drawing the brackets and lettering the words. While I worked, I listened to an inspiring audio lecture by Alan Watts, one of my favorite spiritual writers from the 60’s and 70’3, and his words somehow made my poetry display seem perfectly dazzling. I was proud of my morning’s work. After lunch, I walked in the park and listened to more of the Watts lecture. Because he put so many of the ideas I’ve been pondering lately into such straightforward and clear sentences, my brief walk turned into an enlightening educational experience. I’m sure I smiled, laughed, even gave short shouts of approval as I strolled along the paths with my headphones on. The most rewarding part of the day came as night was falling, when Matt and I had a good talk about teaching. The light of the lamps gave a mellow glow to the room as we talked about problems and possibilities in our work. I felt truly honored and blessed to hear my son speak of the love he has for this profession that he has chosen, and which I chose over 40 years ago. As I sat and listened to him in the cheerful living room, I felt, at that moment, the utter perfection of life.

SPRING BREAK Journal: Thursday, March 23, 2006

Yesterday I was an especially proud father and grandfather. First, I sat in on one of my son’s 8th grade English classes, and was totally impressed. Jaimie teaches in a public school in a low-income community, but his students acted like refined and sophisticated prep school kids. They entered his room respectfully, greeted me cordially, and behaved like serious students throughout the class. What impressed me most was Jaimie’s gentle and respectful demeanor throughout the class. He taught them as though he genuinely liked them (which he does) and loved being there in the classroom with them (which he does). I could easily tell that his students appreciated his gracious attitude toward them. It occurred to me that his class may be a haven of respect and reassurance in their often tumultuous lives. After his class, we drove back to Jaimie’s house, where I spent a few hours being a proud grandfather. Little Noah was his usual brilliant, kind person. He followed complicated story lines as I read books to him; he pointed out and explained several intriguing sights as we wandered around outside; and he often said things to me that could only come from the kindest of hearts. I realized, as I drove back down the country roads toward home, that I am the luckiest of men.

On Teaching: "Listening to Beethoven, Thinking about Teaching"

This morning, while listening to Beethoven’s Triple Concerto and enjoying the absolutely beautiful interplay among the various instruments (especially the soloists), my thoughts drifted to my English classes. The music was lovely beyond comparison, and a similar kind of beauty, I realized, exists in my classes. Just as the violin echoes and augments the cello in a harmonious way, so do my students echo, and build upon, each other as we discuss a novel or a poem. Beethoven’s music flows like a melodic river, and so do some of my classes. Needless to say, I don’t mean to suggest that my classes always go according to plan, or that there’s never discordance or unpleasantness in my classroom. On countless occasions over the years, I would have been embarrassed to have visitors observing my classes, but I might compare those classes to an orchestra’s rehearsal times. At rehearsal, the orchestra’s harmonies may be a bit off, just as in some of my classes the students and I are engaged in working out the discords of our relationships so that our next class – the “live performance”, so to speak – can be a harmonious success. Perhaps I should think more often about this analogy – English class as an orchestra. Perhaps I should accept the fact that classes, like orchestras, need rehearsal time in order to polish their skills. Maybe Monday and Tuesdays could be thought of as rehearsals for Wednesday’s performance, and Thursdays could be short rehearsals for Friday’s grand, week-ending concert. I’ve always thought it would be fun to be an orchestra conductor, and now’s my chance!

Meditation: "Where Do Thoughts Come From?"

Yesterday I had a wonderful but mystifying experience – one I’ve had countless times before. I spent several frustrating hours trying to organize some ideas for the upcoming weeks of school, all for naught, when suddenly, around 3:00, marvelous thoughts started coming to me. As I sat at the computer listening to some quiet Mozart music, I found that I couldn’t write the ideas down fast enough. They flowed in like water from a faucet that had suddenly been turned on. Not long afterward, when I had finished making some very exciting plans for my classes, I pondered what had happened. I asked myself these bewildering questions: Where did those thoughts come from? Who exactly made them, and how? Of course, the easy answer is: They came from me because I made them. That’s the simplistic response I would have given any time in the past forty years. But not anymore. It’s too facile, too superficial. It ignores the utter mystery of the experience – the fact that I was dumbfounded and stymied for several hours, and then the ideas suddenly began appearing, as though “out of nowhere”. If this person called “I” couldn’t make the thoughts in the morning, how did the ideas abruptly start occurring in the afternoon? And who is this “I”, anyway? Isn’t it just another thought? Is there really a separate physical entity called “I” which somehow manufactures thoughts, or is there just the flow of thoughts, of which “I” is simply one of innumerable others? This mystery reminds me, as it often does, of Jesus’ statement about the wind. He told the apostles that the “spirit” is like the wind. It comes “out of nowhere” and blows where it wants to, and no one can tell where it came from, how it started, or where it is going. I guess all I can say is that a fresh wind of wonderful thoughts about teaching suddenly blew through my apartment yesterday, and my students should be the beneficiaries next week.

SPRING BREAK Journal: Tuesday, March 21, 2006

Yesterday I enjoyed, as I often have during this vacation, both excellent music and splendid reading. In the morning, after an early workout and breakfast, I spent a few hours uploading some Debussy songs to my iPod, including lyrics in French and English. They are lovely melodies to the words of poems by French writers like Baudelaire, and I look forward to listening to them many times in the future – and following the lyrics as I listen. In fact, I did some listening later in the morning, and it was rewarding to hear the somewhat “modern” music – beautifully sung by Dawn Upshaw – and simultaneously read the imagistic and often mysterious lines of the poems. Later on, after a delicious lunch of tuna and broccoli, I sat quietly in the big, comfortable chair in my living room and read (and listened to) a few chapters in Jane Eyre. The woman on the audio recording has a strong British voice, which helps bring out the forceful personality of the heroine. I am quite surprised, actually, at how rebellious and free-thinking young Jane is. I had forgotten that from earlier readings. I am beginning to understand, again, why this book, with its brave and inspiring protagonist, has been such an important influence on so many people’s lives. Still later in the day, I read Paul’s epistle to the Ephesians – a poetic and visionary statement of Christian faith – and a scattering of poems. It was a pleasant way to spend an indolent afternoon – quietly and carefully reading words that were written with quietness and care. The hours passed as smoothly as the sentences.

Meditation: "On Vacation Every Moment?"

Fittingly, in the middle of my restful and rewarding spring vacation, I find myself pondering the meaning of the word “vacation”, hoping I can find some reasonable way to apply it to every day of the year, rather than just a few. Isn’t that what we all yearn for – a life that could be thought of as a perpetual vacation? We look forward yearningly to the next official break in our work year, but wouldn’t it be wonderful if each day of our lives was like a vacation? That would indeed be a dream come true – and it’s that dream that I’ve been considering during these two work-free weeks. As usual, my trusty dictionaries come to my assistance and inform me that the word derives from the Latin word meaning “empty” – as in “the vacant house”. These vacation days are empty of the demands of work, but, now that I think of it, isn’t each moment of my life “empty” in a certain special way? As I look ahead to the coming moment, I actually have no idea what it contains. To me, it might as well be entirely empty as I await its arrival. This leads me to another thought, one that helps me see how every moment can be thought of as a vacation. Each moment is empty – “vacant” – when it arrives, but when it does arrive, it suddenly becomes full to overflowing with power and significance. Indeed, it’s the only thing that counts – the present moment. What’s interesting is that I don’t make the moment full to overflowing. The moment does that itself – or perhaps I could say the universe does it. Every new moment in my life is loaded with significance for me, but some power other than me has already done the loading. All I have to do, in a sense, is relax and enjoy what’s been poured into each present moment. Here’s the point: There’s no work involved for me. All I have to do in each moment is be as alive and alert as possible, so that I can appreciate the power that it contains. That’s more like being on vacation than being at work – on vacation every moment.

SPRING BREAK Journal: Monday, March 20, 2006

Yesterday I made some splendid discoveries. For one thing, I discovered, or re-discovered, the power and beauty of the Bible. That sentence seemed strange as I wrote it, because I’ve been reading the Bible almost daily for many years – but I guess I’ve been reading it in snippets, to gain some quick inspiration, and yesterday I was reminded of how authoritative the book is as a single, grand story. This came about because I purchased, online, an audio recording of the entire Bible, about 70 hours of listening for $36.00. It’s a considerable outlay of money, but already, after just one day, it appears to have been a prudent purchase. As soon as I downloaded it to my iPod (it took about 30 minutes), I immediately headed for the park and listened to the entire book of Ruth. As I strolled along the chilly walkways listening to the simple and touching narrative, I realized that I had never read the entire story of Ruth. I have heard for years about the beautiful tale of loyalty and love, but, until I purchased these recordings, I had never experienced the entire drama of it. It was a lovely half-hour. Walking along and listening to the fine reader, I felt like a storyteller was walking beside me, telling me this unadorned and very old story. Later in the day, I made another discovery, or re-discovery, when I prepared a complicated and quite rewarding dinner in the kitchen, from scratch. For many weeks (months?), I’ve been satisfied with either a sandwich from Subway for dinner, or a very simple home-cooked meal. However, yesterday I browned a breast of chicken in a pan, sautéed some onion rings and mushrooms, and then put it all in the oven to sputter and hiss for sixty minutes. I served it up to myself with sautéed asparagus and whole-grain rice, and was quite proud of myself as I slowly savored it. I can’t help but think the book of Ruth and baked chicken make two fine discoveries for a frosty March day.

SPRING BREAK Journal: Sunday, March 19, 2006

Yesterday I spent many pleasant hours in the company of my grandson, Noah, and my grandson-to-be, Joshua. I first of all stopped in for breakfast with Noah, Jaimie, and Jess in their woodland home in Brooklyn, CT. We sat near the comforting woodstove at the breakfast table and enjoyed Jaimie’s special French toast, all the while catching up on the family news. Noah sat peaceably beside me, listening carefully and occasionally offering some of his own wise words. Later, he and I played together in various ways – building towers with wood blocks, pretending to be dogs, cats, and fishers (an animal he saw in his driveway a few days ago), and reading old nursery rhymes on the couch. (When I read the one about the man who hit his head on his bed, Noah kept asking, “How did he hit his head?”) I guess most grandfathers feel this way, but I get more enjoyment hanging out with Noah than I do being with most adults. We’re “pals”, I guess – a couple of buddies growing up together. Around ten, I drove up the highway to Luke and Krissy’s, where I had a great time, both helping Luke work on re-doing a bedroom and just visiting with the parents-to-be. Krissy is big and healthy-looking these days, and seems overjoyed to be preparing to give birth to Josh. I felt like I was in the presence of three friends, not just two. Josh was still inside his mother, but he was unquestionably there with us, and probably taking pleasure in our company in the little snug house on Howe Lane.

SPRING BREAK Journal: Saturday, March 18, 2006

Nothing out of the ordinary happened yesterday – just my typically tranquil and pleasant vacation day. I went to school after breakfast and got the letters out to the 8th graders about their long and arduous assessment projects. I spent considerable time writing them during the week, and, once again, it felt wonderful to send off detailed, cheering letters (well, most of them) to deserving people. It’s always one of the highs of my life. After lunch, I fiddled around with my technology apparatus, loading classical songs, with the lyrics, from the computer to the iPod. It was fun to discover how easy it is to scan lyrics directly into the computer, and from their onto the screen of my iPod. I felt like a kid again, messing around with a complicated toy and suddenly discovering some new, extraordinary power it has. I was so excited about having lyrics to look at while listening that I loaded up my music and took a stroll in the park. It was cold, yes, but I had my felt hat and my art songs to keep me cozy. Sometimes I just listened to the words of the songs, but often I stopped in the early darkness and read the lyrics on the little screen as the song played. They were lovely songs and words, and, partly because of them, it was a lovely, entertaining walk.

Meditation: "How Can I Serve?"

Over the course of the centuries, many spiritual sages have suggested that, when we are feeling sad about the way our lives seem to be going, we can ask this simple question: “How can I serve?” To me, there is powerful wisdom in that advice, for it reminds me of a crucial truth I can use to dispel even the worst kinds of sadness: I am not alone. Since all sadness arises, ultimately, from a feeling of aloneness, overturning that sense of aloneness deprives sadness of its source. When I realize, or remember, that nothing is alone in this unified, harmonious universe (uni = one), it’s impossible to feel anything but security, comfort, and contentment, which are the opposite of sadness. Not surprisingly, the easiest and quickest way to remind myself that I am never alone in this universe is to serve other people. By immersing myself in aiding other people, I see again that we are all intimately and irreversibly connected. In helping others, I realize once more that separation from others is merely an illusion, and that I am as closely connected to everything in this universe as my thoughts are connected to me. After that, of course, it’s impossible to stay sad. How can I be sad when I realize that I’m part of a friendly, caring, and ever creative family called the universe? How can anything called depression unsettle me when I see that I am surrounded by an infinite number of “brothers and sisters” – all the persons and things in the universe? If I focus on helping these members of my endless family, sadness has no chance of surviving.

SPRING BREAK Journal: Friday, March 17, 2006

Yesterday I saw some unusual sights. As I was walking past the pond in the park on my way to the Somerset Tea House for lunch with friends, I happened to notice a stone on the ground that I had never seen before. It was just beside the pond, and on it were engraved some words from a poem by James Russell Lowell. I don’t recall the exact words, but I do recall being astonished that I had never seen this stone before. I have walked past that pond probably hundreds of times, yet never saw the stone with the engraved words. I find it amazing that I missed it all these years, and it only makes me wonder, as I often have, how many thousands of special sights I’ve missed over the years. A few minutes later, as I was walking slowly along, I happened to glance down at the sidewalk and noticed the shadows of some branches. They were moving slowly in interesting patterns on the cement, and for some reason they completely caught my attention. I stopped and watched them for perhaps thirty seconds (a long time for me). It struck me, as I stood there watching the moving shadows, that I had never done that before in my life – never watched those particular shadows at that particular spot. Then, after a delicious and cordial lunch with my friends at the Tea House, I walked back through the park and noticed a huge dog pulling a slight and worried woman along on a leash. The poor woman was almost being dragged as the dog lunged along the sidewalk and across the grass. I pictured myself rescuing her if she suddenly fell and was towed across the park by her pet.

SPRING BREAK Journal: March 16, 2006

I’ve been enjoying “books on tape” during this vacation – mainly a selection of poems from the Romantic Period and Jane Eyre. Yesterday I listened for a long time to some poems by Wordsworth – his long “Intimations Ode”, and several shorter lyrics. I didn’t have the texts in front of me, which was just as well, for it forced me to listen with the greatest care. I’ve read the Ode several times over the years, but this time so many previously concealed meanings became clear to me. It’s obviously a poem of depth and beauty, and also of great spirituality. As I listened while sitting on a bench in the park, I realized that Wordsworth was talking about the same spiritual truths I’ve been pondering for years. It’s funny – I thought he was my favorite poet, but I realized yesterday that I didn’t really know his poems very well at all. Later, I sat in the comfortable rocking chair in my apartment and listened to (and read) some of Jane Eyre. It’s slower going than just reading silently, but I’m finding it to be a more pleasurable and more insightful kind of reading. I seem to be going through the inside of the story instead of just drifting across the surface of it, as I do with much of my reading. The rest of my vacation looms as a continuing pleasant experience with reading great literature – both following the print with my eyes and listening to accomplished readers speaking the famous words.

SPRING BREAK Journal: Wednesday, March 15, 2006

I had three excellent meals yesterday. In the morning, I joined my good friends, Jim and Ann, for some coffee and pancakes at our favorite restaurant in the Borough. Since it was just the three of us, we sat at a booth instead of our usual roundtable by the window. The food was flavorsome (although I had to send the lukewarm coffee back for a jolt of heat) and our conversation, as usual, was sprightly and happy. Later, after working at school for a few hours, I was back in the Borough at another cafe to enjoy lunch with Gary and Jeannie, just back from their stirring trip to France with the 9th grade. I was thrilled to hear all about their adventures, especially since I had accompanied them on last year’s trip. As they talked, it was easy for me to visualize the smoothly rolling hills of the Loire Valley, the turrets of the splendid chateaux, and the elegant boulevards of Paris. After several hours of indolence in the afternoon (reading, walking in the park, reflecting, day-dreaming), toward dusk I prepared my usual simple meal at home. I enjoyed a delicious piece of cold chicken, a sprig of steamed broccoli, a carrots-and-bean-sprouts salad, and a tall glass of pinot noir. As the daylight faded in the windows, I felt myself slowly fading off to an undisturbed night of rest after a very peaceable day.

SPRING BREAK Journal: Tuesday, March 14, 2006

Yesterday the temperate weather loitered with us a while longer (it’s due to leave tomorrow). One of the highlights of my day was a walk in the park, and I couldn’t believe the pleasant feeling in the air. It was an overcast afternoon, but that didn’t detract from the sense that spring was not only just around the corner, but was actually present with me as I strolled the walkways. I sat for a few minutes on a bench, listening to a chapter from Jane Eyre and taking in the understated loveliness of the pond and the grassy lawn beyond. I also listened to a few poems on a new audio CD of great poems of the Romantic Age. Spring has always been poetry time for me, and, as usual, I can feel the wellsprings of poetry rising inside me these days. When the weather starts warming, lines of poetry seem to sing to me in especially beautiful ways. In fact, I hope to write a poem or two every day during my vacation. Why not? If daffodils can start sprouting (I saw some two-inch sprouts in the park yesterday), why not poems? Since it seems effortless for the earth to grow daffodils in March, why not poems for me?

SPRING BREAK Journal: Monday, March 13, 2006

A balmy stretch of weather is lingering along the New England coast during the first few days of my spring vacation, and I am enjoying it immensely. Today, for instance, as I write this at the computer at 1:29 p.m., I have the kitchen window open and the undisturbed sounds of the outside world are flowing in: a passing car, someone hammering somewhere (spring repairs, perhaps), some birds whistling in the distance. It brings back memories of so many mild March days in the past, days when you finally felt that winter was wasting away. I’m typing with the old sense of urgency that I always feel when I know the earth is awakening again. Yesterday I spent most of the day indoors (it was raining off and on), but even inside I could sense the presence of the easygoing air outside. When I went out for errands a few times, the feel of the temperate breezes was medicine of the best kind. I think I made a few silly excuses just to get myself outside as often as possible, even in the rain. Later today, I plan to go down to the park with my iPod and a book, and sit on a bench for some listening and reading. Since I’m working through Jane Eyre now (in preparation for my trip to England this summer), I purchased a delightful audio tape of the book, and I’m looking forward to listening, in the park, to the accomplished reader as she unfolds the wonderful story. If I’m fortunate, I’ll be listening to a part of the story that takes place on an agreeable pre-spring day, such as this one.

SPRING BREAK Journal: March 12, 2006

Yesterday I had a wonderful visit with some dear friends in Cambridge. It was a balmy, sunny day -- an early taste of springtime -- and we three enjoyed our visit as if the lovely day was made just for us. I don't think I've talked so much over a period of six hours ever in my life. It was non-stop conversing of the highest and most gracious kind. I hadn't paid a visit to their Cambridge home since they moved some four years ago, and I was delighted to finally be there. They have a cozy and elegant brick home on a quiet street, and we spent most of the day sitting in the charming kitchen, just passing the time in pleasant talk. Linda prepared a tasty lunch (baked lemon chicken and a prize-winning salad), and we enjoyed smooth red wine as we ate. Later, Linda and I (Peter had to stay home doing taxes) took a walk in the mild air down to a used clothing store, where I bought, for $16.00, a beautiful beige cashmere sport coat. (We laughed, coming back, about the tattoo on the girl who waited on us: a large face of an owl stared out from her chest just above her breasts.) We also strolled the other way to a used bookstore, which, as I told Linda, looked like every used bookstore I've been in for the last forty years. As we walked back to the house in the fading sunlight, I felt lucky to be there on that spring-like street with my good friend.

SPRING BREAK Meditation: "Miracles Right Next Door"

This morning I unexpectedly thought of the beautiful beach that’s just down the street from me. It just came to me suddenly: one of the loveliest beaches in the world is five minutes away. I pictured it in my mind – the endless stretch of sand, the surf, the colorful sky. As I thought about it, I reminded myself that this is a beach people travel thousands of miles to see – and it’s almost right next door to me. What was astonishing about this is that I haven’t been to the beach in probably six months! There it is, waiting for me in all its unbelievable beauty, and I have consistently ignored it. A startling miracle has been unfolding so close to me I could probably hear it if I tried hard enough, and yet I have been totally unmindful of it. This brings me to a scary question: Have I been ignoring other miracles “right next door” – maybe hundreds of them? Have I been blind to unbelievable marvels that have been arising, moment by moment, all around me? I think I’ll take a walk on the beach today and ponder those important questions.

On Teaching: "The Confident Teacher"

It's always comforting to be in the presence of confident people, and this is especially true of confident teachers. A teacher is a leader, and everyone wants to be with leaders who appear confident -- who seem quietly certain that they know precisely where to go and how to handle any situation. Being in a class with a confident teacher inspires the same confidence in a student. You feel comforted knowing that, if the teacher is strong enough to overcome any obstacle on the path to success, perhaps you are too. To use an analogy, having a confident teacher is somewhat like spending time at a place like the Grand Canyon. Because the canyon is so overwhelmingly impressive, you -- just by being near it for a few days -- begin to feel impressive, too. The quiet, immeasurable greatness of the place unassumingly takes you over and lends you a greatness of your own. A confident teacher can be that kind of "grand canyon" for his students. Without bluster or ostentation, teachers who are in touch with their own inner strength can open up vast reserves of strength in their students. Just by being around these confident teachers, students will begin to realize what high mountains they can climb, what vast canyon they can explore.

Journal: March 8, 2006

I’m pulling my plans together for my trip to England this summer. I am very excited about the prospects of spending five days in the village of Haworth, the home of the Bronte family, and the subsequent seven-day walking tour in the Lake District should be a very rewarding experience. Sometimes I question myself: Is this really true? Am I actually going to be doing this dream-come-true trip, all expenses paid? Lately, I’ve been thinking mostly about my stay at the Old White Lion Hotel in Haworth. It apparently is an elegant, old-world establishment, with stately rooms overlooking the moors. I am picturing myself reading Wuthering Heights in my room, occasionally glancing out at the forbidding but beautiful landscape that Emily Bronte loved so much.

On Teaching: "Focusing on the Ocean, Not a Whitecap"

It would be silly to look out at the ocean on a windy day and praise one individual whitecap, and, in a way, it is just as silly to praise the work of the teacher in a classroom. The power behind the movement of the whitecap is the measureless, almighty ocean, and the power behind the teaching and learning in the classroom is a force far greater than a single person called a teacher. Yes, it appears that the teacher is leading the class and creating the learning experiences, just as it appears that the whitecap on the surface of the ocean is creating its own motion. We know, though, that the vast seas of the globe work together to produce their zillions of whitecaps, and we should understand that incredible unseen forces combine in mysterious ways to produce education in the classroom. What I want to keep in mind today is the “ocean” in my classroom. Within the four walls of my room there is a power at work that is immeasurable and unfathomable. Each day, after eons of ceaseless and harmonious performances, the great universe arrives in my classroom to play its miraculous games. As the teacher, I am only one part of these games, a part that’s no more important than the part my students play, or the part the air and the lights in the classroom play. In this daily celebration of learning, we’re all one, all together, and all important. To say that the teacher is leading everything is as foolish as saying one breeze leads all the winds on a summer day, or one whitecap is in charge of the boundless sea.

Meditation" "Utter Confidence"

Reading the Bible this morning, I was struck by the absolute confidence the Roman captain displayed when he asked Jesus to heal his servant. It got me thinking about confidence, and how wonderful it would be to always live with it, the total assurance that everything is always exactly as it should be. Having this kind of confidence would instill in me a wonderful kind of poise and coolness that would radiate out to others. People might say, “He looks totally sure that we’re all safe, and everything will be all right.” This kind of confidence, however, can come only from a deep understanding. It will arise inside me today only if I stay completely aware of the truth of reality – that every moment gives birth to all the power of the universe, and that the power is completely mental, or spiritual. If I know this through and through, then I will know the source of all power, which will in turn provide me with a sense of perfect security. And isn’t security what all of us are ultimately searching for? Isn’t a feeling of total safety the only feeling that gives rise to true confidence? If we know, beyond any doubt, that we are part of the only power in the universe (sometimes called “God”), then we know we are secure, and therefore we know we are confident. I hope this confidence, like the Roman captain’s, can shine forth from me today so that everyone can be reassured by its light.

Journal: Monday, March 6, 2006

We had a lovely birthday brunch for my sons, Luke and Jaimie, yesterday. Jaimie’s wife, Jessy, and my grandson, Noah, hosted it in the cozy house in the forest, and a pleasant time was had by all. A comforting fire in the living room warmed us as we ate and talked, and the snow-covered landscape outside shined in on us with its wintry brightness. Luke and Krissy were with us from Millbury, and we all partook of their special happiness as they anticipate the arrival of their son in June. Of course, all activities and attention swirled around the wee lad of 2 ½ years. Noah charmed us from the start with his gentleness and joy. He couldn’t seem to stop showing his affection for everyone, either with hugs or just quiet, seraphic smiles. At times, I simply sat back and took it all in with gratitude. I felt utterly satisfied, in the old sense of the word: filled up full with contentment. I knew how fortunate I was to be part of such a flourishing family.

On Teaching: "Space in the Classroom"

I’m always aware of the “things” in my classroom – the pencils, the books, the lesson plans, the students – but I’m not often aware of the space between these things. I’m far more attentive to the objects in my classroom than the openings between the objects. I busy myself with manipulating goals, objectives, strategies, and kids, and consequently am oblivious to the areas in my classroom (and they are vast) where there is absolutely nothing to be manipulated – only empty space and stillness. I’m like the average person who is awed by the appearance of the stars in the night sky, but is unmindful of the astonishing spaces between them. And where is the empty space, the stillness, in my classroom? For starters, it’s wherever there is silence – which is exactly why I don’t notice it much. With the incessant activity in my classroom, there is almost no silence, and therefore no stillness, and therefore no sense of empty space. The world must seem terribly crowded to my students when they are in my room, as if they are hemmed in by countless “things” that are demanding their attention. There’s no “breathing room” in my classroom – no empty space in which to be silent, to stretch, to feel the peace and freedom that is essential to a happy life. Perhaps I can begin to give my students more of this “space” when they are in my English class. Perhaps I can allow some gaps of stillness to occur now and then – gaps in which the students can feel that just being is as important as doing. Perhaps I can step back more often and simply allow my students to be their peaceful and perfectly beautiful selves. Perhaps in Room 2 we can all be travelers, not through outer space, but through inner space.

On Teaching: "Let It Be"

My title, a familiar slogan, might be a wonderful reminder to hang above my desk at school, for it embodies a high kind of educational wisdom. In my classes, I all too often do the opposite of “letting it be”. I’m usually pushing, shoving, bending, and twisting so that something else besides “it” will happen. I’m rarely content with simply allowing the present moment (the “it” in the above quote) to peacefully unfold in my classroom. I seem to believe I have to make the present moment better than it is, or lead it into a better future moment, or some such nonsense. This attitude, an almost unconscious one, is what leads me to often adopt an offensive/ defensive posture when I’m teaching. I’m either trying to push my own agenda for the students or resist theirs. In either case, I’m tense, single-minded, and closed to alternatives. Far from “letting it be”, I’m trying to make “it” be something way different than what it is. I don’t mean to imply that I shouldn’t have an agenda, a lesson plan, for my classes. Of course I should, but it needs to be created out of a strong sense of humility. When I’m setting my goals for each day’s classes, I need to step back and remember that these plans will only truly work if my personal ego removes itself from the picture and “lets the lesson plan be”. To me, “letting” means letting my ego go. It means realizing that teaching and learning are ultimately vast mysteries which unfold without the interference of a teacher’s totally insignificant ego. My forty-two students in all their mysteriousness come to me each day and are met by me and my mysteriousness, and by my lesson plan created in meekness instead of arrogance. What happens then is largely determined by my willingness to “let it be”.

On Teaching: "Forty-two Lights of the World"

"Ye are the light of the world." --Matthew 5:15
Reading this quote in the Bible this morning reminded me of how fortunate I am to be a teacher, for my students are truly "lights of the world". This earth that my students and I live on is seemingly brimming with the opposite of light -- the darkness of ignorance, confusion, and fear. We often seem surrounded by a mental gloom that makes it difficult, sometimes, even to put one foot in front of another. Hemmed in by one apparent threat after another, life sometimes seems as dark as the deepest cave. What I love to remember, and what this quote reminded me of, is that there is one powerful light that can always dispel any darkness -- and that is the light of thought. Jesus was simply reassuring his friends that they were part of this grand light of thought, or awareness -- a light that is infinitely bright and thus actually renders any supposed darkness an impossibility. What I need to do is reassure myself that my students are part of the same light, and that their portion of the light is shining dazzlingly at all times. My students are not the handiwork of matter, but of thought. They are created brand new every moment, not by physicality, but by the measureless awareness, or consciousness, that rules all of reality. This vast power of thought (to which some people give the name "God") shines in my classroom moment by moment, day by day, whether I'm aware of it or not. On a dark day, you could probably see my classroom for miles, as lit up as it is with ideas. How lucky I am to be the English teacher of forty-two lights of the world!

Journal: Friday, March 3, 2006

Yesterday we began our annual 8th grade assessment presentations, and they were conducted gracefully and intelligently by the students. In fact, as I am year after year, I was quite astonished by the poise of the young people during these demanding exercises. To stand with composure and deportment before your classmates and a group of adult judges and deliver a twelve-minute presentation and then answer challenging questions is far from an easy task. However, the young presenters never seriously faltered, never let fear overwhelm them, never gave the impression that they were anything but accomplished, experienced public speakers. I asked some especially difficult questions, and each student reacted in a surprisingly self-assured manner. Several students responded immediately, several waited many seconds while they coolly developed their answer, and several even asked me politely for time to mull over the question. It was impressive, as though I had suddenly been transported to a senior high school classroom. As I always do, I loved the combined atmosphere of dread and buoyancy in the room during the performances. While they listened to their classmates perform and waited their turn, the kids were both terrified and thrilled, both nervous and enthusiastic. It was like waiting in line for the roller coaster: they were eager to experience the thrills but terrified of the possible disasters. Yesterday there were no disasters, only polished and charming performances by some remarkably sophisticated teenagers.

Journal: Tuesday, March 2, 2006

There was much tension in the air at school yesterday. The 8th graders, for one thing, were either scurrying around like nervous ants or gliding along like senseless robots as they looked ahead to their dreaded “assessments” tomorrow. These lengthy oral presentations designed to evaluate whether the kids are ready for high school have a fearful reputation around school. Yesterday I could feel the fear in the air. The kids acted like a powerful enemy was waiting to do battle with them tomorrow. There was also tension in the morning as we all awaited the departure of the 9th grade on their ten-day trip to France. Of course, the 9th graders themselves were the most anxious of all, but they masked their worries by “acting out” in crazy ways. Although I tried my best to conduct an English class an hour before their departure at noon, about all we did was laugh and tell stories. Their nervous energy just wouldn’t allow them to focus on anything remotely serious. Finally, I was jittery all day, in a wonderful way, as I thought about the beautiful fact that March is here. It’s one of my favorite months, containing, as it does, the birthday of my twin sons, the first hints of spring, and the beginning of poetry season in my English classes. I was somewhat giddy all day as I thought about it. I guess, in fact, it was a somewhat giddy day, all in all, and a very happy one.

Meditation: "It's All about Power"

I was feeling discouraged yesterday, plagued by my usual fears and anxieties, when a wonderful old truth reappeared and settled me down. Just after the students had left for the day, it came to me with utter clarity that the only important thing in life is power, and that all the power in the universe is mental and exists in the present moment. I saw that no matter how thoroughly I search, I will never find any power that exists outside of a thought that’s occurring right now. It may seem as though power exists in a zillion different material forces, but the actual truth is that it always unfolds in an idea or belief in the present. This was a wonderful realization, because there is nothing in our lives more important than power. We spend most of our waking moments trying either to gain positive power or to defend against negative power. It makes sense, then, that if we can acquire a sure understanding of the nature of power, we should be very close to complete contentment and happiness. As I stood in my classroom yesterday afternoon, pondering these ideas, I realized that I was feeling entirely calm and self-assured. The anxieties were gone. I had no fears, either for myself or for my fellow human beings. I understood, once again, the only essential truth – that power, all of it, would always be right where everyone needs it, in thought in the present moment.

Meditation: "I'm Going, Too"

Today my 9th grade students are departing for a ten-day trip to France, and I realized this morning that I’m going, too. No, I won’t be sitting with them on the Air France flight, nor will I be physically traipsing along the narrow streets of Chinon with them or sitting with them in the various quaint cafes they will be visiting. If I look at life in a material way, as made up of innumerable material objects (including people), then, no, I won’t be with them at any point on their trip. They will be far away in beautiful Paris, and I will be back in my classroom, wishing I was with them. However, what I remembered this morning is that I will be with them, for to me life is a spiritual, not a material phenomenon. I believe in the utter spirituality of life, just as Jesus did, and Buddha, and Lao Tse, and Mohammed. To me, life is made up of thoughts, not things. To me, ideas have power, not objects – not even jet planes or physical distances. I will be with my 9th graders throughout their trip in the only way I can ever truly be with anyone – in my thoughts. I can be present with friends just as closely and truly when they are thousands of miles away as when they are standing next to me, because the friendship exists in our thoughts about each other. When my students are walking by the Seine, I will be there with them in thought, which is where all friendship is born and lives. I’m going with them on the trip, and I don’t even have to pack!