Friday, June 3, 2016

Harvard; I want you

I have listened to the Harvard School of Education 2016 spoken word graduation speech only once. It was on an airplane back from New York. The plane was bigger than the usual one and I had the row to myself. I was later thankful for that because I enjoyed my chill bumps and tears privately as I watched him speak. For now, I cannot remember is name.

I reply back to him:

We exchange energy when we educate. Learning is a human business; a social art. It's not content work it's context work. Schools are institutions both spiritual and scholastic. I do not know how to disconnect the two. As teacher and student come together in the cosmic dance, gravity is there, but so are the individual masses of the knowledge both humans hold close. The electricity is allowed as both adult and child are free to open their currents to each other. Sure, there may be spark. Sure, there may be light. But more importantly there is connection and exchange in truly informative interactions. Teachable moments are transformative and they are conductors transferring the heat of knowledge to anyone within proximity. 

Nightly Premonitons

Recently I've had two vivid dreams. I'll tell them to you now, what I can remember. In the first, that happened a few nights ago, I lay on my side, pregnant, in a nondescript hospital gown. I was on a gurney. The perspective of the dream switched between my view and an onlooker into the room. I saw myself give birth to a plain human child and then a few minutes later, to the placenta. This all happened without excitement and the midwife said "Here comes the placenta". During the placenta delivery, I felt the drop in my own stomach and canal, like the release of dam water over a stone wall. I looked to my full breasts and they were already lactating a thick milk, I asked for my child; but when it came to me it was only a doll. As I latched the doll to my nipple, it became alive. Unlatched, a doll. This was the end of the first dream.

The next dream happened with a man in my distant past who also now occupies a slender but full part of my present. He sat with me in a diner, over brewed coffee. His brown eyes were fixed on me and they were releasing tears, but he was not sad. He had come to tell me he was getting married, finally, to someone who had more prominent eye brows than myself, that I always had his heart since 14, that I was always welcome in his life. I remember saying that I was so, so happy for him. I lied.