JOURNAL: On Fire Island, June 29, 2006

I had a wonderful rest last night, a full eight hours of blissful refreshment. The windows in my little bedroom were open, and a cool island breeze was blowing across me all night. I listened to the Red Sox – Mets game as I dozed off, which might have helped my sleep be especially peaceful, since the Sox were comfortably ahead when I turned off the light. Cat and I had one final, wonderful conversation on the deck this morning as we ate our breakfast, and then Quino and two of his friends walked me down to the dock to catch the ferry. My ride across the bay was pleasant, as always, what with the refreshing winds blowing and the shore birds diving and soaring all around the boat. It was a happy way to bring an end to another grand visit to Fire Island.

JOURNAL: On Fire Island, June 28, 2006

This morning I awoke to a windy rainstorm. I made a pot of coffee and enjoyed several cups while I read a little and watched the trees blowing in the rain. I could hear the surf in the distance roaring and crashing, and later in the morning, I walked up to the ocean beach with a chair and read some of Dombey and Son as the waves rushed in upon the beach. It was a wild scene. The rain had stopped, but the wind was howling and the ocean was making a great hue and cry as far as the eye could see. To me, it seemed like the perfect setting for a few chapters of Dickens. After lunch, Cat and I and the boys went to the bay beach for some swimming and sunning. The clouds had thinned out and mellow summer sunshine was everywhere. Catty and I had more good conversation, but every so often I had to plunge in to the refreshing water to cool off. Now, it's about 6:00 p.m. I'm sitting on the deck of the cottage, listening to the boisterous surf and typing this journal entry. We're planning a festive dinner of pizza, asparagus, and a tomato-and-lettuce salad, plus some cold bottles of Coronna. Afterwards, I hope I'm not too sleepy to take a walk in the darkness along the ocean beach, on my last night before heading back to Rhode Island and my peaceful apartment by the park.

JOURNAL: On Fire Island, June 27, 2006

It's 6:10 on a breezy, clear evening in the island village of Lonelyville, NY (a few miles off Bay Shore, Long Island). I arrived via the Bay Shore ferry about noon, and Cat (my sister) and her sons (Gabriel and Joaquin) and I have had a perfectly gorgeous summer afternoon together. After several days of soaking rain, the skies cleared off so we were able to enjoy the sunshine on the bay side of the island. (The ocean side was windy and wild, with red flags flying as warnings to swimmers.) Cat and I sat together and talked for several hours -- a little chit-chat, sure, but also a great amount of serious, thoughtful conversation about substantial matters, as we like to do. While we talked, the boys frolicked with their friends in the calm waters of the bay. Now, after a comforting outdoor shower (one of the true rewards of visiting Fire Island), I'm typing this paragraph on the deck of our comfortable cabin. The surf is pounding the beach just over the dunes, but all is serene back here at the cabin. A cool breeze is drifting through the trees, the evening sun is floating low in the west, and a few birds are whistling here and there. It's a good time to type, to think good thoughts, to feel completely content.

JOURNAL: June 26, 2006

I just returned from a workout in the park, where I saw an astonishing sight. After hiking up and down the stone stairs by the pond for 40 minutes (and feeling peppy and strong while doing it), I sat on a bench to catch my breath and cool down. I dialed my iPod to the andante movement of Beethoven’s 6th symphony, and settled back to rest and enjoy the music. Suddenly I noticed the hundreds of water lily leaves in the pond swaying in a breeze, and instantly it seemed they were following the melody of the music. It was a lovely scene for a few moments – the beautiful sounds of the symphony blending perfectly with the graceful monements of the lily leaves.
* * * * *
The sun came out this afternoon after two days of darkness and rain. I had lunch with a friend from school at a cafe overlooking the harbor, and it was fun to feel the fresh breeze and see the sunshine out on the water.

ON TEACHING: "Reviewing the School Year: Failure and Successes"

Success #1
I feel good about the way I used the large flip chart to go over each week’s lesson plan. Since this was the first year I used the technique, I was unsure about how effective it would be, but, looking back, it’s clear that it was an important, positive step in my teaching. Most of all, the flip chart gave the students a picture of a methodical and orderly course of study. It made English class seem well-organized. When the students looked at the chart each day (we went over it briefly on a daily basis), they perhaps said to themselves, “This class is well thought-out and structured, which means I’ll probably learn a lot.” Occasionally throughout the year, I also flipped back through the weeks, which gave the students a view of how far they had come and what they had accomplished. It’s fun to pause at a lookout point on a steep trail just to gaze back down the path you’ve traveled, and it’s equally enjoyable for my students to look back and see the route they’ve traveled in their English studies. I must admit that I have never done that kind of “re-viewing”, and I’m glad I finally got started this year. Next year, I plan to continue using the flip chart, but I may put fewer details on it and not spend quite so much time going over it each day. I find that “less” is usually “more”, and the flip chart would probably be more effective if only key words and phrases were on it. Trying to do too much is an old curse of mine, and I must remember that when I’m designing the flip chart each weekend.

JOURNAL: June 24, 2006

Today the rains set in again, and it looks like they may be with us awhile. A great gray haziness is everywhere overhead, and about every hour a heavy rain descends. I did manage to get a good walk in earlier in the morning, in between storms. The air was cool and fresh, and I paced along, up and down the hills, in a fairly brisk manner. At one point, I stopped beside the pond to admire the lily pads, each one carrying some perfectly rounded beads of rainwater. The beads looked much more like glass or pearls than water. Hundreds of them, thousands, gleamed in the gray air all across the pond. (See pictures.)

ON TEACHING: "Reviewing the School Year -- Failures and Successes"

Failure #5
I believe that wise teachers avoid both blaming and praising their students. The French saying, “Tout comprendre c’est tout pardonner” (who understands much forgives much) can be altered to also mean “who understands much doesn’t praise much”. If we have even a small understanding of the infinitely complicated forces at work in the universe, and in human lives, it would seem ridiculous to pinpoint one particular person as worthy of blame for some failure, and it would seem equally silly to identify one person as worthy of praise for a success. What happens with students in my classroom happens because of the intricate and harmonious workings of countless influences, both inside and outside them. To single out one of those influences for special praise – as in “You are so creative!” – seems unrealistic, even dishonest, to me. The fact is, it’s not my individual students who are creative, but the universe itself. For reasons far beyond anyone’s comprehension, there are times in my students’ lives when they “tap into” the creative energies of the universe in an especially powerful way, and at those times they do high-quality work. They may write an essay of great beauty, and as such it deserves praise – but the praise, I believe, should be directed at the work, not at the student. “I love the descriptions on this essay” would be much better than “You are such a good writer”. Somehow the universe, through this student, created a lovely essay, and I can best praise the universe by praising the essay. Imagine a starry night of immense beauty. Would I think of pointing to one single star and saying, “That star is the main cause of all this beauty”? It’s a helpful analogy, because a five paragraph essay by one of my students can be as beautiful, to me, as a starry sky, and just as I can’t locate one particular star that caused the beauty of the sky, so I find it impossible to honestly say that one force or quality in the student created the loveliness of the essay. It’s just a spectacular starry sky and a spectacular essay, both created by innumerable complex forces.

Last year I praised my students way too much. I threw out praises they way you might toss out candy – indiscriminately and mindlessly. In a way, I shortchanged my students by praising them so much and so often, because I was treating them like fairly simple machines. If a lever raises and lowers faithfully, it’s done a good job, but my students are infinitely more complex than a lever. I think each of my students is a million times more complicated, even, than the starriest of skies. To offer them personal praise for each little job done well is like looking up at the sky for a half-second, saying “Good sky”, and then going back inside. I’d rather skip the praise and keep enjoying, and appreciating, the great mystery of the sky – and of my students.

ON TEACHING: "Reviewing the School Year -- Failures and Successes"

Failure #4:
For some reason, I was not at all consistent in keeping anecdotal records this year. I started with the best intentions, including a system I had developed over the summer involving mailing labels that could be written on and then pasted in a notebook. For the first several months, it seemed to work fairly well. I simply jotted down notes about students in a random fashion, and then, at the end of the day, pasted them on the pages of each student. However, I lost my commitment to this plan around Christmas, and never really got back to it in a serious manner. The project slowly died away as the months passed.

Next year, I want to start again, and hopefully I can remain diligent throughout the year. It doesn't take much energy -- just a willingness to keep pencil and labels handy and write down abbreviated descriptions of student activity. For instance, if a student named Maryanne makes an excellent comment during a discussion about the irony of a friendship between two characters in A Tale of Two Cities, a note like this would be sufficient: "M-anne -- disc. - on irony in f-ship bet. Cart. and Darn." (That took 15 seconds to write.) Another possibility would be to list, ahead of time, four students each day whom I will focus my note-taking on. That might be a more realistic way of centering my attention, and it also might help me take notes on all the students on a regular basis.

JOURNAL: June 22, 2006

I spent a wonderful afternoon today with Jaimie, Jess, and Noah. Jaimie and I hauled sand back to his patio site, and then, when Noah awoke from his nap, we let him be the chief squirter while we refreshed ourselves under the hose. (See picture.) After we’d cooled off, Jaimie cooked up delicious hamburgers for all of us, and we had a happy dinner as evening came on.

* * * * *
This morning, down in the park, I noticed four interesting things within just a few seconds of each other. First, in studying a large holly bush, I saw a bee of some type rising and falling like a tiny helicopter mong the shiny leaves. In the next instant, I saw a much smaller insect – just a speck, a delicate translucent thing – swiftly passing across the front of the bush. Then, suddenly, I looked up and saw what seemed like an enormous gull soaring high above where I was standing and out across the pond. And finally, a few steps away from the holly bush, I looked down and saw hundreds of tiny ants bustling back and forth across the sidewalk, each one obviously engaged in a task of great importance.

All this happened in just a few quick seconds.

* * * * *
Last night, a band composed of five former students of mine performed downtown at a summer festival, and I walked over to say hello and enjoy the music. The first song I heard as I approached was The Band’s old classic, “The Weight”, which I have loved for many years -- so that told me something good would be happening in the next hour. I was very impressed by their performance. Their musical skill was obvious (I especially liked the solos when individuals would take off and show their special tricks), and they obviously enjoyed playing with each other. On a breezy and cheerful first evening of summer, listening to these boys who have grown up so quickly seemed like the utterly perfect thing to be doing.

ON TEACHING: "Reviewing the School Year -- Failures and Successes"

Failure #3
Perhaps my greatest failure this school year was my inability to be a thorough teacher. The sad fact is that I rarely taught a lesson in a careful, detailed, and comprehensive manner. I planned my lessons – or thought I did – with care, but if I could look at videotapes of almost any of my classes, it would be clear that I taught the lessons in a hasty, incomplete manner. Most of the lessons lasted perhaps ten minutes, at best – surely not enough time to communicate an idea or a skill with any thoroughness. For some reason, as the year progressed I totally forgot one of the most important goals I set last August – to teach in a careful, systematic, and exhaustive manner. Looking back, I think I know the reason for my sketchy and incomplete way of presenting lessons. I think I had my eye focused on how many other things I had to teach the kids instead of on this particular lesson. I was more interested in covering a lot of material each day than in covering a small amount in a thorough way. I got caught up in “more is better” instead of remembering the great truth that more is quite often worse, and much less.
Next year, I want to plan more carefully so that I can actually teach each lesson – present it in such a thorough way that the kids almost can’t help but learn. If it means I don’t cover as much material in a given class, so be it. A bird in the hand is worth two, or fifty, in the bush.

ON TEACHING: "Reviewing the School Year -- Failures and Successes"

Failure #2
This year I was too sensitive to student criticism. On many occasions, I reacted too sensitively to negative student responses to activities I had planned. Even when the negativity was expressed in just a passing facial expression or a few blurted, unenthusiastic words, I often reacted with unnecessary defensiveness. I can recall times when I saw a disagreeable look on a student's face or heard a couple of unsupportive words, and immediately felt that the lesson I had planned had some flaw in it. When I think about it, I find it astonishing that a 64-year old person who has been teaching for over 40 years would depend so much on the approval of 14-year-olds! As a matter of fact, my students probably found it surprising, as well. When they saw me lose faith in a lesson just because a few of their classmates expressed less-than-enthusiastic approval, they probably thought, "Come on, Mr. S. Have the courage to stand by your plans!" What I need to do next year is plan each lesson with deliberateness and thoroughness, and then teach the lesson with conviction. I need to ignore the few negative responses and focus on the kids who are ready to listen and learn (which is usually the great majority of the class). To use an analogy, each day I need to be like a strong, relentless river that pulls all the students (even the negative ones) inexorably toward the “sea”, the goal of my lesson plan for that day.

JOURNAL: June 20, 2006

I met Jeannie and Gary for a picnic lunch today. We picked up some sandwiches from a local deli, walked over to the park, and spread some towels out in the shade of an enormous tree. It was a lovely last day of spring -- temperature in the 70’s, pleasant sunshine, and a very enjoyable breeze passing by. Strangely, the park seemed almost empty, with just a few boys playing a pick-up game of touch football across the way, and some walkers going along here and there. It felt like we three picnickers owned the place – a beautiful private estate all to ourselves. We spent an hour or so in the shade of that stately old tree, enjoying our sandwiches and talking about one thing and another. I don’t know about my friends, but it had been many years since I had sat on a blanket for an honest-to-goodness picnic, and so it seemed like a very special treat. I ate slowly, just to help the time pass more slowly.

ON TEACHING: "Reviewing the School Year -- Failures and Successes"

Failure #1
I gave into the use of irony, which is basically a lack of genuineness and directness, much too often this year. Instead of saying to the students exactly what I meant to communicate (like "Please don't whisper while someone is talking"), I sometimes sent a message in a circuitous and muddled way (like, "We have lots of work to do today, folks. We don't have time for silliness"). Instead of speaking clearly and pointedly to a student, I often used the kind of vagueness that I deplore in my students' writing. When I should have said, "You were an excellent listener today", I sometimes said "You were some kind of rare student today!" ("I wonder exactly what he means by that?" the student might have said to him or herself.) It may seem like a small point, but to me, genuineness and directness is extremely important in dealing with young people. I think kids usually want to know that what is said to them by adults is exactly what is meant. They don't normally enjoy playing games like "See If You Can Guess What I Really Mean." This is why I try to avoid irony, if at all possible, when I'm around students. Basically, irony (including, of course, sarcasm) is a form of deception, even though it's often employed with no harmfull intent. It's a way of confusing a listener by throwing obstacles in the path of simple understanding. It may seem humorous and all-in-good-fun, but to me, anything that deceives a person (especially a young person), and leads him or her away from the plain truth, is a mistake.

I guess what I want to do next year can be stated pretty simply: Say the exact truth at all times. Be always genuine and direct. After all, the truth is a good thing, so why not stay as close to it as possible?

Journal: June 19, 2006

This morning I went down to the park with my first cup of coffee and did some reading beside the pond. As usual, all was still and peaceful, the only sounds being the fish occasionally rising to the surface and snapping at a morsel of breakfast. Three middle-aged guys passed by, walking and talking and obviously enjoying themselves, and a few dog-walkers came quietly along. I read some spiritual passages and spent a few minutes just strolling along and thinking about what I had read. The park is filled with some of the oldest and most dignified trees I have ever seen, and I discovered a few especially beautiful ones that I hadn’t paid attention to before. (See pictures.) I felt fortunate to be starting my day among these stately and imposing creations of nature.

ON TEACHING: "Trapping and Writing"

This summer I’ve been amazed, watching the World Cup soccer matches, by the ease with which the players “trap” the ball when it comes to them. A ball can come flying at a player at top speed from any angle, and in nearly every case the player successfully drops the ball right at his feet so that he can then do whatever he wants with it. The players do this almost nonchalantly, as if they don’t have to think about it. It seems impossible to us viewers, but to the players this kind of skillful action is “second nature”. To the question, “How did trapping become second nature?” the answer is simple: by endless practice. These soccer players would be hard pressed to count the hours, days, and years they have spent practicing just that one skill – trapping. The practice was probably fairly uncreative and boring, but the results make it all worthwhile. If a player can trap a ball, he is then able to be truly creative in his defensive or offensive maneuvers. Once he has the ball under control (because of the years of practice), he can flash his inventive skills as he moves down the field. All this reminds me of what I try to do in the teaching of writing. Like trapping, there are many individual skills that student writers must learn by endless practice. In my class, they learn techniques for writing orderly sentences and paragraphs, techniques that can seem tedious and boring when the students are practicing them. When they ask, “Do we have to keep practicing these 11-sentence paragraphs?”, it’s not much different from the soccer players’ complaint about practicing their trapping techniques. I doubt if anyone likes to “practice” anything, but it’s a known fact that only through constant practice does anyone become expert at anything. Soccer players get to show their creative, sophisticated skills in the World Cup competition because they continually practiced elementary, tedious tasks (like trapping), and young writers become creative, resourceful, and champion writers in exactly the same way.

I spent a delightful hour down in the park this morning, around 6:00 am, simply walking up and down beside the pond. There was almost no one else there, just a few lone walkers now and then, and I enjoyed the silence and solitude. I quietly paced back and forth in the cool morning air, letting thoughts come slowly and naturally. It reminded me of my old days in the seminary, when solitude was a wonderful everyday gift. Later in the morning, I came back to the park and did some reading, sitting under an enormous beech tree which spread its shade far and wide. (See picture.) A few strolling families came along now and then, taking pleasure in the lovely morning, but I still felt happily alone. Relaxing in utter peacefulness in my blue lawn chair, I read a chapter from Dombey and Son and a few pages of Wordsworth’s Prelude.

JOURNAL: June 18, 2006

Yesterday my family gathered up at Luke and Krissy’s house in Millbury, MA, to celebrate both Fathers’ Day and Krissy’s birthday – and also to officially welcome two-week old Joshua Michael Salsich into the family. It was a fairly cool and cloudy day, so we were able to sit out in their comfortable backyard most of the time. Jaimie grilled superb hamburgers and chicken breasts, and Jan provided delicious side dishes. A pleasant breeze blew among us as we ate and enjoyed each others’ company. Of course, the children were the centers of attention, as is only fitting. Tiny, perfect Josh was admired by one and all, especially Annie, who couldn’t seem to let go of him, (see pictures), and all of us did our best to let Kaylee (age 7) know that she was still at center stage in the family, even if she now shared it with her baby brother. It was a grand party, one that made me grateful, more than ever, for my good fortune. To be part of such a splendid family is something hundreds of millions of people around the world yearn for. For some wonderful but unknown reason, the universe gave me these marvelous people to share my life with, and yesterday I felt especially thankful.

MEDITATION: "My Kind of Realism"

I’m sure that some people who read my writings consider them to be overly optimistic, unrealistically upbeat, even pollyanna-ish. They probably say to themselves, “I wish Ham would be more realistic. The world is not nearly as good a place as he makes it out to be!” They might admonish me to “face facts”, hoping that I’ll “wake up” and see that life is basically a wicked and frightening state of affairs. They see me, probably, as someone who goes through life “with blinders on”, ignoring the evil that surrounds us. Let me respond to those people as clearly as possible. No, I don’t ignore the evil in the world (to do so would be insanity); I just happen to believe that the good in the world far outweighs the evil. I’m sure there are bad things happening on my street right this minute, but I’m also sure there are at least ten times as many good things happening. I pass people everyday who are probably entertaining malicious thoughts, but I believe there are countless more people who are thinking thoughts of kindness. Like all of us, I have a choice, each and every minute. I can choose to focus on the relatively small amount of ostentatious evil in the world (as regularly reported in the media), or I can choose to pay attention to the vast amount of ordinary, behihnd-the-scenes good (almost never reported) . I can zero in on the one or two despondent, angry people in the grocery store, or I can notice the ten people who seem cheerful and content. I can chew over my deficiencies, or I can count my blessings (which would take hours). I simply choose good over evil. I believe (and I’ve seen ample proof of this) that if I focus on the good in my life, and try to appreciate it, it will steadily increase. Whatever I pay attention to is what grows, so why would I pay attention to evil instead of good? Strange as it may sound, I think I am being way more realistic than my critics! I’m facing the facts that life is generally productive and beneficial, while they are hiding from that truth and pretending that life is mostly destructive and evil. I think they are the ones with blinders on – blinders that prevent them from seeing the unlimited good that lies all around them. I took my blinders off years ago, and I hope they can do the same.

ON TEACHING: "Thoroughness and Thrills"

I first wrote the following almost a year ago, back in August as I was planning the upcoming school year. I re-read it recently and realized I did not follow my own advice this year. I was definitely not a thorough teacher. Hopefully next year will be different.

Since one of my major goals this year is to be a totally thorough teacher, it was interesting to discover recently that the word “thorough” derives from the same root that gives us the word “thrill”. The original meaning of “thorough” was “from end to end”, and “thrill” originally was connected to the idea of being “pierced”. In the early days of our language, if you were pierced by something, it would go through you literally “from end to end”, and medieval folks, I suppose, would have spoken of it as a “thrilling” experience. We even get a hint of the word “thrill” in the sound of the word “thorough”, as though wherever you find thoroughness (or piercingness), you will find a thrill, and vice versa. It’s wonderful to realize, from this, that being a thorough teacher might be the best way to insure that there will be at least a few thrills in my classes. If I can always take the students completely through a learning experience, "from end to end", they may be able, more and more, to enjoy the thrills of reading and writing. They may even occasionally feel “pierced” by the great power of this subject. This reminds me of something I’ve heard people say now and then – that a scream or an explosion or the sudden sound of an alarm was so loud that it went “right through” them. I guess this is what I hope will happen in English class this year. If I can patiently and systematically cover the entire ground of each lesson, from one side to the other and from top to bottom, then perhaps my students will feel that the lessons went “right through” them. Might they even think of English class, at least intermittently, as thrilling?

JOURNAL: June 15, 2006

I enjoyed two wonderful breakfasts recently. Yesterday, the early morning was clear and pleasant, so I bought coffee and a bagel and went down to the park. I sat on a bench beside the pond, sipped my coffee, read a bit of Dickens, and took in the sights as the park slowly came to life with the sunlight. (See pictures.) This morning, however, a steady rain was falling, so I took my coffee and bagel over to a parking place overlooking the river. As the windshield wipers slowly ticked back and forth and the rain fell on the trees and grass, I ate my breakfast in the comfort of the car and watched the river rapidly (after days of rain) moving its load of water and debris toward the sea. (See picture.)

JOURNAL: June 15, 2006

Yesterday, the first day without classes or meetings, felt like the true beginning of summer vacation for me. I felt like I was on a long, comforting holiday all day long. Everything was calm and slow-moving, as it should be when duties have been left behind. Whether I was shopping for summer clothes at the mall, cleaning up my classroom, or simply taking a drink of water from the fountain in the hall, everything happened in a restful manner. Everything seemed to whisper, “You have ten full weeks of freedom ahead!” You might think straightening up my classroom is not a particularly vacation-like activity, but it all depends on the attitude you bring to it. I sorted out books with as much appreciation as if I was snorkeling among exotic fish in the islands. I sponged off the shelves the way a person might clean his surfboard in preparation for the summer. Later in the day, I took a pleasant (though invigorating) walk in Wilcox Park, and that’s when it really seemed like I was on summer break. I walked briskly but in a perfectly contented manner. I wasn’t hurrying to finish a task. I was simply letting my feet carry me forward along the paths among a profusion of summery blossoms. Strolling along in such a peaceful and unruffled way, it was easy to see that, for me, vacation time was here.

MEDITATION: "True Relaxation"

Today, while I was doing my early morning spiritual reading and listening to the first birdsongs of the day, I suddenly realized – really understood – that this present moment is all I ever have, and that I need to relax and allow it to be exactly what it is. It’s good that I realized this while I was doing my morning reading, because, for as long as I can recall, I have been trying to escape from the present moment during these reading periods. I constantly think ahead to future moments, something like this: “How long will it take me this morning to complete my reading? Will I understand what I will read in the next few moments? Should I read a little faster?” All of these questions turn my focus away from the vast power of the present moment. It’s as if I was standing in front of an enormous treasure chest, and all I wanted to do was look anywhere but at the chest. What’s really intriguing about this is that I have no choice but to live in the present. It’s absolutely all there ever is. I am actually a prisoner of the present. And what’s even more astonishing is that, since the present is all that exists, it must contain all the power that exists. The present moment – right now – holds more power than 20,000 hurricanes combined, because it’s always where all the vast power in the universe is centered. If it’s all there is, it must contain all the power. Therefore, when I read a single sentence in my spiritual books, that sentence actually shines with the immeasurable power of the universe. Why would I want to take my eyes off something so bright and beautiful? Why not just relax and allow it to be its unblemished, powerful self?

MEDITATION: "The Best Experience Ever"

Yesterday, as I was walking down the hall at school, I overheard someone exclaim, “It was the best experience she ever had!” – and I immediately realized that the statement also applied to me, right that very moment. It came to me in a flash: What I was doing right at that moment, just walking from one room to another at school, was the best experience I have ever had. Lest a reader think I have completely lost my mind, let me add that it was the best experience I had ever had at that particular moment. No experience could have been better suited, more appropriate, or more perfect for that specific moment than walking down that hallway with a book in one hand and a pencil in the other. It was the ideal and perfect thing to be doing at that moment in time. Actually, it’s interesting that I use the word “time” there, because, in a very real sense, there is no time. There is always only the present moment – only right now, this instant. If I say, “Yes, but what about yesterday and last week?”, that is a statement made in the present moment. It’s not the past, but rather a thought entertained in the present about the past. So, the logic works like this: Since the present is all there ever is, then it’s perfect as it is (to change it would be to turn it into another present moment), which means it’s the best experience for the moment, which means, in turn, that each experience is the best one I’ve ever had.

Looking back on yesterday, I’m sure I walked that hall with great dignity, since I was at my absolute and perfect best -- just as the whole universe is, always.

JOURNAL: June 13, 2006

Yesterday I took a refreshing walk in the park, up and down the stone steps by the pond. It was a perfectly lovely day, full of late spring sunshine and a cooling breeze blowing the treetops here and there. I walked with a nimble step, but not forgetting to stop now and then to take pictures of some especially beautiful blossoms. (See above.)

JOURNAL: June 12, 2006

Yesterday I drove up on a sunny and cool morning to have breakfast with Jaimie, Jess, and young Noah. We enjoyed a wonderful French toast feast, made with Jaimie and Noah's special home-made bread. (Noah said, "I punched it, Hammy!") I was happy to be there in the pleasant kitchen once again, sipping hot coffee and enjoying the company of this happy family. Noah and I sat side by side, delighting in the syrup-soaked toast and chatting in an amiable manner. At one point, he proudly showed me a sticker on his shirt, which he said he earned because "I pooped and peed in the toilet". After breakfast, he and I stretched out on the floor in the "studio" (actually Noah's play room) and played with a small farm set. There was a plastic barn with lots of animals, and there was even a brown "mud hole" where Noah loved to bring the animals (and even the farmer). We idled away about forty minutes inventing things for these tiny animals and people to do on their tiny farm. Next, we went outside with Jaimie to explore the yard and see what the morning had brought. At one point, we went down in back of the house and ran around in the wet grass, laughing and jumping and hugging. (See picture.) Also, Noah showed me some of the different flowers here and there, proudly informing me of their names and when they started to grow. Around 9:30 I said my goodbyes with hugs for all, and drove back down the sunny roads with a fairly big smile on my face.

JOURNAL: June 11, 2006

Yesterday my little school held its modest graduation exercises on a morning that was both rainy and beautiful. While the storm swept across our campus, some two hundred of us gathered in our gymnasium to say farewell to our nineteen graduates. Outside it was dark and wet, but inside all was dry, comfortable, and bright with smiles and promise. The graduates -- boys in shiny dress shoes and girls in white dresses -- seemed to provide enough light to easily offset the effects of the storm. It was a long ceremony, but, knowing that I might not see some of these students ever again, I enjoyed every minute of it. Each part of the ritual had its special purpose, and each part seemed to unfold precisely as it should. I especially loved the artistic touches -- the songs, the poetry, and the speeches by the students. I very much admired the "graduation poem", something we added this year and which may become a tradition. It was read in a dignified and poignant manner by the poet, one of the graduates. (See picture.) In addition, I'm sure I won't forget the performance by four of the graduates of a song they had written, called "Hazy Skies". (See picture.) It was a perfectly lovely song, sung from the heart by these happy/sad members of the class of 2006.

ON TEACHING: "Candlelight and Poetry"

At school, we had the annual "Poetry Night" celebration last night, and it was an elegant and emotional affair. The parents had transformed the gym into a quaint and colorful café, perhaps somewhere on Paris's Left Bank. We sat together -- the graduates and their parents and teachers -- at round tables amid flowers, street lamps, and glittery lights, enjoying fine food and wonderful memories. I felt like I was at one of the most sophisticated social gatherings I'd ever attended. The first part of the evening consisted of teachers imparting their memories of the graduates. There were oohs, ahs, and many laughs as we listened to tales of these kids from as far back as their kindergarten days. Whether in the classroom, on the athletic fields, in the school vans, in the mountains, or at the shore -- it was obvious, as we listened, that these students had captured the hearts of their teachers over the years. The evening concluded with the annual poetry reading by the students. This is a remarkably talented group of writers, so the poems we heard last night were especially stylish, touching, and, in some cases, heart-rending. The poems, like all good poems, were natural uprisings from the heart. Even the straightforward and less-inspired poems had the true beauty of simplicity and honesty. As the candlelight flickered across the students' teary faces and their words floated out to us, I said a silent prayer of thanks that I had been privileged to teach these kids not just for one, but for two heaven-sent years.

JOURNAL: June 9, 2006

Yesterday I had two pleasant gatherings with students – one with my current 9th grade students, and another with a group of former students. In the morning, I took the 9th graders through a rehearsal for their “Poetry Night” reading tomorrow night. The kids were tired and restive after their long graduation rehearsal, but, like the good people they are, they were fairly patient and attentive as we went through the program. I’m glad I had a box of tissues on hand, because several girls started crying as their classmates read their poems on the theme of “goodbye”. Our school is like a second family home to most of these students, and departing at graduation will be difficult. My second gathering with students happened later, toward evening, when I met with a group who graduated five years ago. I felt honored to be invited to their reunion, and we had a wonderful time exchanging stories and bringing memories to life. Theirs was a class I had dearly loved, partly because we just had so much fun together in English class. It was a pleasure for me to see them all again, and to relive those wonderful days when we all seemed to bring good spirits to the classroom each day. In a way, those kids were like this year’s 9th graders – full of an overpowering enthusiasm for living. I will miss this year’s graduates greatly simply because they, too, understood that laughter is the shortest distance between two people. I think they learned that laughter and grammar can exist side by side, and that makes me happy.

JOURNAL: "Joshua Michael Salsich"

Yesterday on this earth, probably hundreds of millions of proud grandfathers held their new grandchild in their arms and were overcome by joy and gratitude, and I was one of them. Young Joshua Salsich was born around 9:30 on Tuesday evening, and I rushed up to the Umass Hospital in Worcester to see him as soon as yesterday's faculty meeting adjourned. It's impossible to describe the feeling I had when I first saw him nestled in Luke's arms in the hospital room. (See photo.) To me, he seemed an utterly perfect miracle. It was as if all that is good and right in the universe had been gathered together and transformed into this tiny boy. Luke and Krissy (who was relaxing in a chair beside her bed) both asked if I would like to hold him, and, with some unease, I took him in my arms. Again, how can I possibly describe the feeling I got when I was holding this delicate bundle of life, this wee fellow who was magically created from a single egg and sperm, this living, breathing expression of the measureless universe? If you can imagine how a person would feel holding a treasure chest worth 10 billion dollars, and then multiply that feeling a thousand times, you would still not come close. I'm sure I fairly tiptoed around the room while I was holding this little treasure. I told Luke and Krissy that holding young Josh in my arms was exactly what I needed after spending a hectic day with my students at a noisy bowling alley (an end-of-year celebration). And surely we all would benefit by being in the presence of such a serene and perfect expression of life as this new grandson of mine. If, at the end of each day, all of us could rock a sleeping newborn baby in our arms, there would probably be a quick cease to fear, worries, and wars. Who can be troubled when looking down at a face as perfect as Joshua Michael Salsich's?

MEDITATION: "The 15-billion-year-old Man"

I've always been fascinated by the something I learned back in high school chemistry -- the law of the conservation of matter and energy. The law states that matter and energy cannot be created or destroyed, but can change its form, and that the total quantity of matter and energy available in the universe is a fixed amount, never any more or less. I find this intriguing because it means that no new matter or energy was created when I was conceived 64 years ago, and no new matter or energy has been created in my body during my entire life. Astonishingly, the matter and energy that make up my body, as it sits here in my classroom on a rainy Wednesday morning, was created approximately 15 billion years ago! The substance of the universe has definitely changed form countless times since then, but it's still the basic stuff that was created at the time of the "big bang". This has amazing implications, not the least of which is that I am actually something like 15 billion years old! The oxygen and hydrogen atoms that make up most of my body were created immeasurable eons ago, and they're still going strong as I go about my daily business in 2006. I am as ancient as the oldest mountains and seas, as long-lived as the farthest and most primordial stars. The law also suggests that I don't have to go about "getting" or "making" energy each day. I've heard people say, "I need to get more energy", but that's a mistaken notion, because all the energy the universe (including us) will ever have has been in existence for 15 billion years. We don't have to get or make energy; all we have to do is tap into the energy that's always been there. It's as easy as turning on a faucet, but in this case it's 15 billion-year-old Hamilton Salsich turning on the 15 billion-year-old faucet of the universe.

ON TEACHING: "Saying Goodbye"

Yesterday was the last day of classes, and I tried my best to say a fond farewell to my students – especially the kids who are graduating. I have dearly loved this year’s 9th grade (I’ve taught them for two years), and I felt my eyes growing moist as their classes neared an end. This group of students has shown me immeasurable amounts of good humor, wisdom, courage, and their own special kind of unadulterated elation, and I will miss them dearly. I felt like I was saying goodbye (probably forever) to 19 of my own children. The classes went very well – perfectly, I would say, for the last classes of the year. We did some serious English business, but we ended on a more informal and poignant note. We listened to a few pop songs (“Desperado”, “I Can See Clearly Now”) and discussed how they applied to English class or the books we read, and at the end, I sang a karaoke song I did for the kids at the start of the year. It was, in some ways, a silly song, just my clumsy rendition of Louie Armstrong's "What a Wonderful World”, but the kids, I think, truly loved it. Sometimes I doubt the effectiveness or importance of the “silly” things I do in class, but watching the looks on the students’ faces as I tried my best to squeak out this song convinced me that I need to continue being silly now and then. I think they loved listening to it, and I know I loved singing it for them. There were many teary eyes (including my own) when the song – and the final class – was over.

MEDITATION: "Open Doors"

I would like to start paying less attention to limitations and more attention to opportunities. It’s pretty clear to me that I am fairly preoccupied with the limitations of life during most of the course of a day. I see boundaries everywhere: there’s only so much love available, only so much wisdom; I can think only a certain number and certain kinds of thoughts; most importantly, my life is bounded by the outside of my skin. To me, everything often seems limited, held in, restricted, and constrained. This, of course, goes contrary to the teachings of the great spiritual masters, including Jesus. They saw reality in exactly the opposite way, as a totally unlimited sea of interconnected energies. They seemed to understand that limited, narrow views of life like mine were simply wrong – just as wrong as a math student would be if he started solving a complex problem by positing that 2+2 = 5. Today I want to try to focus on the possibilities in life instead of the impossibilities, on the open doors instead of the closed ones. I want to see the world the way it really is – as an infinite array of infinite paths to infinite experiences. Any boundaries that I experience are placed there only by my own thinking, and my own thinking can move them out of the way. Not only is life an open door; there isn’t even a door at all. All is openness, and it’s time I began enjoying it.

JOURNAL: June 6, 2006

Clouds and chilliness hovered around southern New England yesterday, but I managed to keep my classroom warm and jovial most of the time. When I arrived at school around 6:00 a.m., the air felt more like October than June. I even turned my small space heater on to take the chill off (while keeping the window open a bit to hear the morning bird songs). Feeling the stream of cold air coming across my arms through the screen, I could have imagined it was football season instead of graduation time. However, my students and I had a comfortable day, I think. My classes were not all that exciting, but at least the students felt cozy and at ease. We laughed a lot as the dark clouds passed by outside, and as the birds whistled their late spring songs. Later, I walked in the park, trudging up and down the stone steps nine times. I listened to some spiritual reading on my iPod as I walked, which helped to invigorate my mind as I was rejuvenating my body. The cold-looking clouds overhead kept threatening rain, but I felt only some sprinkles as I climbed the steps over and over again. As I walked back to the house, the air felt almost as chilly as it did at 6:00 in the morning as I sat by the open window in my classroom.

ON TEACHING: "Final Grades for the Teacher"

Today I received my “final grades” for the year from my 8th grade students, and, surprisingly, I experienced a series of different reactions to them. Initially, when I first collected the confidential teacher evaluation sheets from the students, averaged out the scores they gave me in the various categories of teaching, and saw that my overall grade was somewhere in the ‘B’ range, I was fairly shocked. After teaching for over 40 years, I can still earn only a ‘B’ for my work? In some ways, I felt like that ‘B’ was really an ‘F’ – a suggestion that I had basically failed to be a good teacher. For about an hour, I felt pretty despondent, much the way a student who receives a failing grade must feel. However, as usually happens when I quietly think things through, I soon began to take a more positive outlook on my students’ evaluations. First of all, I saw that their scores were not an attack on me, which is what I was subconsciously feeling when I first read them. I reminded myself of something I regularly forget – that what happens in my classroom is not about me, not about whether I feel like a success or a failure as a teacher. What’s important is whether learning is happening for all the students in its most efficient manner. Too often teaching becomes an “ego trip” for teachers, and I don’t ever want that to happen to me. It’s not important whether or not I feel praised or loved or appreciated by my students. What counts is the effectiveness (or ineffectiveness) of the learning in my classroom. What the students told me today is that they think I could make some changes in some areas of my teaching. I emphasize the word “changes” because I don’t think the kids were “attacking” my teaching or suggesting that I was a flawed teacher who had to make lots of “improvements”. Again, it’s not about me. They were simply suggesting some changes in the educational process, much the way you might occasionally rearrange the furniture in your living room to see how it looks in novel patterns, how it fits the family’s needs in new ways, how it helps company feel comfortable in a different way. They were saying, “We think you’ve been a good teacher, but maybe next year you could try being good in new ways . Maybe we could all be helped by some changes.” That last statement is very important. Teaching is not about me versus the students, but about me and the students together, working as a single unit to make learning happen in its most effective way. We don’t ever need to attack each other or even be critical of each other. What we do need to do is make suggestions for changes that will help all of us – students and teacher both – grow as learners. That’s what my students did today, and I should be grateful, not despondent, for their wisdom and kindness.

A final note: I should also be grateful because these relatively mediocre grades from my students present me with a wonderful challenge for the summer and next year. If I had gotten a solid ‘A’ for my teaching, that would have left me little to be inspired about or motivated by as I begin planning my teaching for the coming year. Instead, now I have a significant mountain to climb in the next 12 months, and, like a passionate hiker, I’m “up for it”! If I thought I was already an ‘A’ teacher, I’d spend the next year, so to speak, hiking flat, boring trails in my teaching. Now, though, I’m setting off on a seriously difficult and exciting climb, thanks to my honest 8th grade students.

Another final note, written the next day: Today I received my evaluations from the 9th grade classes, and they were better -- probably close to an 'A-'. I felt like a kid who had gotten his first high grade.

MEDITATION: "The Next Step"

Each of us has to take many “steps” each day. We have to make hundreds, even thousands of decisions, about what to think next, what to do next, where to go next. This task can seem overwhelming, simply because there are so many possibilities available. Deciding what our “next step” will be can seem as scary as choosing where to go in a totally dark forest. However, I have found a certain amount of peace in realizing that, actually, the choice has already been made for me: Whatever I’m doing right now is what has been chosen for me to do. The present moment is my choice. All I have to do today, and every day, is focus all of my attention on the present moment, because that is precisely the moment that has been selected for me. This doesn't mean that I shouldn't make practical plans for future moments. Certainly we all have to make decisions about what we will do next Tuesday or next month. However, those decisions, too, will be taken care of if we simply focus on this exact present moment, right now. If a decision must be made about next Tuesday, I should pay complete attention to it, right now, and then I will see that the decision, in a sense, makes itself. By concentrating on the present moment that has been given to me, I will see my next step unfold as easily as the next moment does.

JOURNAL: June 5, 2006

Yesterday, a cloudy and cool one, was a fine day for traveling around town, and I noticed several interesting travelers as I journeyed here and there on my errands. For example, I was driving up the steep hill near my house when I noticed a young man on a bicycle, pedaling furiously up the hill. What was interesting was the fact that his clothes looked ten sizes too big for him. His pants resembled clown pants, and his bulky jacket seemed like it could contain two or three guys his size. Never mind, though; even in his unwieldy clothes, he managed to climb that hill like a superstar cyclist. Later, coming back from a shopping trip, I saw an inspiring sight. A woman who had to be at least 75 was pedaling along on an old-fashioned bicycle, against the traffic and with a heavenly smile on her face. She was sitting up utterly straight and thoroughly enjoying herself as she moved along the busy street. Still later in the day, I passed a woman walking quietly along the sidewalk, carrying a small bundle of a baby in a sack on her back. What was intriguing was that I saw her again at a number of different times over a period of several hours, just slowly ambling along and enjoying the scenery. One time she had stopped and appeared to be studying some bushes in front of a house, and another time she was gazing at an imposing white house by the park. The baby, bobbing along on her back in a light blue baseball cap, seemed to be savoring the walk as much as she was. When I finally finished my errands and was home for the night, I wondered why I hadn’t used my bicycle or my two legs for my travels, instead of my noisy and inefficient car.

ON TEACHING: "Gardens, Lacrosse, and Exams"

I spent some long hours at school yesterday, but they were like the wonderful hours we spend when we’re looking over the final fruits of months of labor. All I did was sit at my desk for about five hours, grading final exams and essays, but for me it was like wandering through a flower garden at the height of summer, enjoying the bountiful blossoms after months of planting, cultivating, and care. What I read during those hours yesterday was the work of students who have labored week after week to learn how to understand the mechanics of their language, how to read and scrutinize classic works of literature, and how to write in an orderly and graceful manner. Reading the exams and essays of my students was like appreciating the uniqueness of 41 different blossoms in a successfully blooming garden. There’s another analogy I could use. At the end of a profitable lacrosse season, a coach might spend a few hours looking at film highlights of the games, savoring the progress his players have made. Surely this process would not be a “chore” for him, just as my grading exams and essays for a few hours yesterday wasn’t. Whether you work for months to teach lacrosse or English, reviewing the results is nothing but a pleasure. It’s important to note that in both analogies – gardens and lacrosse – the most significant aspect is that the flowers and players do the work, and the same is true in education. The gardener and the coach simply provide the atmosphere and opportunity for the flowers and players to grow and mature, and, as an English teacher, all I do, so to speak, is provide good soil and enriching nutrients. If I tend my English class “garden” with care, my students will naturally become successful readers and writers because of their own innate abilities. They will flourish like flowers and be winners like lacrosse players, and then I can have the fun, as I did yesterday, of quietly being amazed by what they’ve become.

MEDITATION: "The Gift of a Flat Tire"

When I came out of my house this morning, I thought, for a moment, that my car had a flat tire, and the next thought I had was: It's a gift. Excuse me? A gift? How can a flat tire be said to be a gift? Most people would consider it to be at least a big problem, and perhaps even an unmitigated disaster, especially in the early morning when they're trying to get to work on time. However, I had just spent a few quiet minutes at my desk meditating on the fact that each present moment is a miracle, a brand new unfolding of the power of the universe, and I guess my reaction to the flat tire arose out of that meditation. For a split second (until I realized that the tire was not flat), it seemed like a flat tire was something wonderful, something that held a gift in its hands, something that could bring fulfillment rather than frustration. For just a brief moment, I almost felt happy that my tire was flat. Later, as I drove to school on my perfectly good tire, I thought some more about my odd reaction, and I began to realize that, yes, things like flat tires do bring many unrecognized gifts. First of all, it would require that a mechanic come out from the service station to fix the tire for me, which might be just what that mechanic needed that morning. Perhaps he's new on the job and can't wait to repair his first flat tire. Perhaps doing an excellent job at fixing my tire will absolutely make his day. Second, a flat tire would give me (like a gift) the opportunity to exercise patience, and to build up my reserves of serenity. I can't become more patient and serene except by practicing, and a flat tire would be a perfect occasion to do just that. In that sense, maybe I should say a sincere "thank you" to the misshapen tire for allowing me to become a better person -- and for giving a mechanic a chance to feel good about himself. Next time I get a flat, perhaps I should give it an affectionate pat and smile.

ON TEACHING: "Letting the River Flow"

As the school year draws to its close, I must admit that I look forward to laying down my pen and pencil, setting aside my lesson plan book, closing the “teacher” rooms of my brain, and just letting my life be what it wants to be for a few weeks. Toward the end of June, I’m sure I’ll want to begin planning my curriculum for next year (it’s a summer activity I very much enjoy), but for now I want to take pleasure in the feeling of having absolutely nothing to plan. I’ve spent the last nine months planning every moment of my teaching day, and the process has worn me out. For the next several weeks I want to let the universe make the plans for me. I want to be a follower, not a leader. An analogy might help here: As a teacher, I have spent this past school year trying to “control” the river of life in my classroom. My lesson plans, activities, literature discussions, essay assignments, and such were designed to force the feelings and thoughts of my students (and me) to flow in certain directions toward definite goals. I have constructed “dams” and “levees”, if you will, to ensure that the thinking in the classroom did what I wanted it to do. Now, for at least the first part of the summer vacation, I want to let the stream flow as freely as it wants to. I want to relax and float wherever the river of life wants to take me. I don’t want to labor over plans or fret about decisions. I’m going to cast off the lines and let the ship of my life drift for a few happy weeks. The ship is well-built and the river’s been flowing for eons, so I think I’ll be fine. I think I can loosen up, sit back, and simply enjoy the journey.

ST. LOUIS JOURNAL: May 27-29, 2006

May 27, 2006

Mike and Nancy were married today in a lovely ceremony in the courtyard of a small hotel in Clayton. Despite the warmth of the day, it was an unforgettable ritual, partly because of the beautiful setting. As we sat on the brick patio in the quaint courtyard, I felt like we were somewhere in Europe. The high walls of the old buildings surrounding us were positioned in such a way that cooling breezes passed among us, thus bringing a sense of pleasantness and of something wonderful starting for Nancy and Mike. When the ceremony (complete with heartwarming singing by Neil and Liz) was finished, we enjoyed lunch in the courtyard – salad, sandwiches, and very cold white wine. We all took our time enjoying the meal and catching up with family. I recall that the wine was especially refreshing on that muggy afternoon. After lunch, many of us offered toasts to the new couple. I recited a crazy but sincere poem, and others spoke from the heart of their feelings for Nancy and Mike. I’m sure many of us were perspiring somewhat as we were listening, but I’m sure we were also thinking deeply and loving truly.


May 28, 2006

Today we celebrated my mother’s 90th birthday, and it was a refreshingly cool and joyous occasion. We gathered – probably around 60 of us – at the downtown Missouri Athletic Club, a roomy, old-world men’s club that seemed to take us back in time to the 1940’s or thereabouts. The high cool ceilings, tall old windows, and shiny marble floors made us feel even more special than we already did on that very special occasion. Rather than simply celebrating a birthday, I felt like we were there to honor some high-ranking dignitary. And, on second thought, I think we were. My mother has gracefully survived 90 sometimes tumultuous years with aplomb and dignity, and it was certainly fitting that we celebrate her birthday in such a stately building. We talked, laughed, sang, danced offered toasts, told old stories, and enjoyed delicious drinks and snacks. It was wonderful to see four generations of Salsichs meeting and mixing and catching up. While some of the grandparents quietly shared family news, some of the grand- and great-grandchildren spun yo-yos, played toy flutes, and dashed hither and yon. It was a party worthy of a wonderful 90 year life.

May 29, 2006
Today, about twenty members of the Salsich family gathered at the newly opened Busch Stadium to swelter in the celebrated St. Louis heat and enjoy a Cardinal’s baseball game. Some of us started at a parking lot hang-out called “Al Hrabosky’s” (named for a legendary Cardinal pitcher of a few decades ago)where we drank frosty beers (provided generously by Chris Lawyer) and swapped stories. The heat was intense, but the earsplitting music and icy brews helped us forget how hot it was. We then walked the few blocks to the new ball park, where we enjoyed a classic major league game. The heat, the good-humored crowd, the occasional entertainment, and the fine play of the teams, all provided a memorable afternoon for us. I sat with brother Pete, Pete III, and Pete IV in the hot sunshine, and we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. Pete IV and I kept score, and all of us carefully cast our votes for the all-star teams. (I voted for Cardinals and Red Sox, and against all Yankees and Barry Bonds.) Later, driving home, we four recounted the day’s adventures as we gradually cooled down in the air-conditioned car. I quietly said a prayer of gratitude to myself. I felt thoroughly blessed to have enjoyed such a fulfilling day, the end of a heartwarming three-day weekend.

JOURNAL: June 2, 2006

Yesterday one of the lower school teachers passed me in the hall and asked if I would like to come and see a moth that her students had been studying. To be honest, it was the last thing I wanted to do at that point. I felt like I had at least a dozen responsibilities I should be attending to, each of them far more important than a little moth. I’m sure my facial expression indicated something less than enthusiasm when I replied, “Sure”. She led me outside to a shady spot beside the library, and there, clinging to the back leg of a bench, was an astonishing creature. (See picture, above). In all my many years, I have never seen anything like it. It was a moth all right, but it was probably six times larger than any moth I had ever seen – at least four inches long, and probably eight if it unfolded its wings. It was resting peaceably on the side of the bench, a miracle in the midst of what I thought was just another busy, humdrum day. After studying it for a few moments, I thanked my colleague and walked back to my classroom, wondering how many miracles I miss each day. As I sat in my room (I had a free period) and looked out at the blossoming garden, I realized that no day is just another busy, humdrum day. It came to me, once again, that all of reality – every moment and millisecond – is an utter miracle, a totally new manifestation of the mystery called “life”. I am surrounded at all times by miracles. A few minutes later, when my students walked in for English class, I saw them in a slightly different way than I’m accustomed to. They seemed fresher, more sparkling, more full of life than usual. At the risk of sounding maudlin, there seemed almost to be a light shining around each of them, as though they were all brand-spanking new that moment. We proceeded to have an especially wonderful class, while outside, birds softly whistled in the trees.

JOURNAL: June 1, 2006

On this first day of June, I enjoyed a soft chorus of sounds in the early morning as I worked at my desk. I was up at 4:00 a.m., as usual, sitting under the yellow lamplight and making my way through some spiritual reading, when I began hearing a quiet tapping somewhere outside. It was a gentle, rhythmical sound, somewhat like the sound a flagpole rope makes against the pole on breezy day. I continued reading (and then writing) with the peaceful tapping sound in the background of my thoughts. Soon, I heard the first few birds begin their songs. It sounded like a group of birds singing together in the far distance, as if they were the chorus assigned to announce the coming of daylight. Theirs was the only song for a good forty minutes – just a few happy choristers heralding the start of another day. After a while, they were joined by a few solitary singers in the trees, including one with a lovely squeaky voice just outside my window. My favorite, as usual, was the bird who sings only two notes – a high and a low one – over and over. (I think it might be called a peewee.) He (or she) doesn’t seem interested in fancy melodies or showy performances – just in doing a simple song as well as possible. As I listened to this morning music and typed at my computer, I tried to write simple sentences as honestly and directly as possible.

MEDITATION: "Riding the Great River"

It’s important for me, each day, to carefully think about where power comes from, because power is at the heart of life. Everyone wants power of one sort or another – power to defeat problems, power to rise in a profession, power to buy what we want, power to stay healthy. If I asked 100 people what they were seeking in life, their answers, I’ll bet, would all condense down to “power”. If we feel powerful, life feels good. Today at school, I know exactly where power comes from and how to tap into it. There will be 300 people at school – students, teachers, administrators, and various others – and all of them will be thinking at all times, and that will be the source of all power today. If you calculate that 300 people will be creating thoughts each moment for seven hours , that adds up to approximately 7, 500, 000 thoughts – each of them powerful enough to produce innumerable changes in the thinkers’ lives. It’s like an astonishing “thought machine” will be at work today, endlessly creating thoughts, which then create others, which in turn create others. In fact, it’s virtually impossible to calculate the effect these powerful thoughts have, since each thought in one person influences the thoughts in other people in subtle, immeasurable ways. All 300 of us will be riding on an endless river of thoughts today, going who knows where. We may pretend that power lies in money or friendships or physical health, but the truth is that it only exists inside each new-born thought. Today at school, I want to feel the vast river of thinking that will ceaselessly carry me, and all of us, along.