Manifesto

 

According to Webster, 

A manifesto is:

“A written statement declaring publicly the intentions, motives, or views of its issuer.”

 

At the end of a workshop I attended a couple of weeks ago, 

We were asked to write a manifesto of sorts,

A statement that would declare our goals for our classroom this year,

What we would like to see come to be.

 

I wrote: 

 

I will help create

Kind

Respectful

Culturally aware

Human beings 

With control over their bodies and voices

And with a love of music and learning.

 

I also wrote a mantra that day, 

A statement that I can repeat frequently 

To help keep me focused and not be overwhelmed.

 

I wrote:

You don’t have to do the whole two weeks at once,

Just do the next right thing.

 

Two weeks has become a phrase that Joe The Counselor and I use when I start to feel overwhelmed with all of the stuff that I have to do. 

 

Today marks the beginning of my 21st year of teaching.

My mantra has never been more needed,

And my manifesto never more clear.

 

One right step at a time

In helping create decent human beings, 

Myself included. 

 

Because we are all being created, 

Day in and day out, 

With every choice, 

With every breath, 

By the very Breath of Life that sustains us all. 

 

Amen. 

 

——

 

What is your mantra?

 

What is your manifesto? 

 

Take a few moments to ponder. 

 

And if you’d like, please share. 

Happy Birthday, JG

 

Whose generosity has altered of your life?

 

For me, it’s my aunt.

Because of her generosity,

I have traveled long and far

And visited many countries in Europe.

I have seen museums and cathedrals,

Waterfalls and fjords,

Ancient and modern ruins,

Ballets and orchestras, 

And so much more.

 

I have experienced mud baths in Iceland 

And Nordic bath rituals in the Mediterranean Sea. 

I have made cheese in Switzerland 

And attempted a wine tasting in Italy. 

What’s more, I’ve been on mission to Romania and Belize 

Thanks to JG’s support. 

 

From Disney to Silver Springs to the Outer Banks and beyond, 

JG’s generosity has cracked open a love a travel that I didn’t know I had. 

It has been life changing and transforming, 

And it is something I am trying to pay forward with my niece through the power of Broadway shows. 

 

Saying thank you will never be enough. 

But today, on JG’s birthday, 

I say thank you and ask that whoever reads this does two things: 

 

Pay JG’s generosity forward. 

It can be through gifts, yes. 

But it can also be through words, acts of service and kindness, experiences, and presence. 

 

If the person is still living, 

Find whoever altered your life with generosity and thank them. 

If they have passed on, 

Do something to honor their memory today. 

 

In a time when negativity and scarcity abound,

Let’s celebrate abundant generosity

Because it exists. 

It’s all around us. 

We just need to pause and see. 

 

Happy Birthday, JG. 

May your generosity be returned to you 

In rich and endearing ways. 

 

Amen. 

Haiku

 

Last week, I had the privilege of teaching a haiku and blackout poetry workshop. 

 

Two of my friends came to the workshop to support me

But one of those friends was very loud in  declaring that she hated haiku.

 

As part of the workshop,

I taught about each form of poetry and then had participants practice.

 

It was funny,

Watching grown men and women in deep concentration, 

Visibly counting syllables on their fingers, 

Working hard to get the numbers correct.

 

My friend who hated haiku seemed to be on a roll.

 

When it came time to share,

She read her haiku series

And explained that writing it had helped her get out what had been stuck in her heart for the past few weeks. 

 

That’s what poetry does.

Whether it’s haiku or blackout or acrostic or rhyming or any form that it might take,

Poetry helps us get out what in on our hearts.

 

Haiku is

Five syllables

Seven syllables

Five syllables

 

Traditional haiku is about nature

And shares the image, descriptive language.

 

But modern haiku can be about anything.

I’ve even taken it to the point of making it into a series

When one stanza is not enough.

 

Saturday night, 

I could not sleep. 

And so I wrote this acrostic haiku series at 245am:

 

Trying to write a

Haiku in acrostic form 

Is really quite hard

 

So much depends on

Individual words and 

Syllables of course

 

Difficult is good

In the middle of the night 

For sleep alludes me

 

From late coffee that

I didn’t think would keep me 

Conscious all night long 

 

Using all my tools 

Lessens the angst of mem’ries

Triggered by no sleep

 

I remember much 

Now when I would rather be 

Dreaming and working 

 

Everything out while

Entertaining my brain with

Deep and healing rest

 

I fell asleep shortly after that. 

 

Whether it’s haiku or blackout or acrostic or rhyming or any form, 

I encourage you to write a poem, 

Or something, 

Today. 

 

Because maybe, just maybe, 

It will lead you to unexpected catharsis 

Like it did for my formerly haiku hating friend 

Who now connects with it and understands its power

In a brand new way. 

 

May it be so. 

 

Amen. 

 

An Airport Transport Moment

 

When we were coming home from Belize,

We had a couple of hours of down time in the Atlanta airport.

In fact, we got to the gate while they were loading another plane.

After the plane was loaded,

A few older people lingered at the gate.

The gate worker ignored them.

A couple of the lingerers figured out the answer to their questions on their own,

But one lady,

With a cane,

Just kept standing there,

Waiting—

And hoping—

To be helped.

 

As I watched the older lady being ignored,

I found myself feeling bad for her.

I understood why her face and body language were getting frustrated,

And I wanted to do something to help the situation but didn’t know what.

 

Then, all of a sudden, two airport transport workers came out of nowhere.

One particular worker went straight to the older woman and began to help her.

She helped her figure out that her gate had been changed,

Helped her get into a wheelchair,

And then rolled her away,

Talking helpfully and sweetly the whole time.

 

The worker was a young black woman,

Dressed in baggy clothes.

The woman was an older white woman,

Dressed very nicely in well-fitting clothes.

The pair was completely opposite,

Yet they were so beautiful fading into the distance

That I remember the scene vividly.

 

I imagine that working at the airport is difficult.

I imagine that gate workers deal with a lot of rude people.

I don’t know if there are rules about when gate workers can and can’t work with flyers.

And I don’t know what that gate worker was going through that day.

I just know that it looked really bad

That he ignored the older people standing there for help.

 

Ageism is real.

Sexism is real.

Racism is real.

So many -isms are real.

 

It’s up to us,

Like the airport transport worker,

To overcome the -isms that separate and divide.

 

Amen.

 

Lamanai

 

Many of you know that I have a fear of bats. 

A few years ago, 

A bat secretly got into the house. 

Coming down the stairs, 

I startled it and it flew at my head.

Later that summer,

I heard bats in the attic.

I was afraid to go into the attic for years.

Even now, though we’ve had the house bat proofed as much as it can be, 

I feel a little fear every time I open the attic door. 

 

When we went to the Lamanai Ruins a couple of weeks ago,

Our first stop was the museum and visitor center.

A small creature was flying around the open air space, but I really thought that it was a tiny bird, so I wasn’t very worried.

When someone said that it was a bat, 

I didn’t freak out because it looked more like a butterfly than a bat. 

It was only when our tour guide, Amir, said that the bat had landed on me that I felt a bit of dread.

But even then, I remained relatively calm

Because the bat hadn’t startled me or landed where I could feel it. 

I went about the tour as if nothing strange had happened 

And quietly tucked away the knowledge that a bat had actually landed on me. 

 

As I’ve reflected on this incident, 

I’ve come to realize that maybe it’s not bats that scare me,

Maybe it’s the fear of the unknown.

Maybe it’s the fear of something coming out of nowhere and flying at my head 

Or derailing my plans

Or taking the life of someone that I love.

Maybe it’s knowing that there’s so much that I cannot control,

That situations will come at me

And put me on edge

And leave me standing on the porch crying. 

Maybe it’s not the actual bat. 

Maybe the bat is just a symbol of something I couldn’t name until a bat had landed on me and I didn’t fall apart. 

 

What is it that you fear? 

And is the fear of the thing or is the thing a symbol of something deeper? 

 

Whatever it is, 

Give yourself space. 

Give yourself time. 

Do the work in therapy. 

And know that you are bigger than your fear. 

 

Even if you don’t get to go to Lamanai to figure it out. 

 

Amen.