Thoughts a-jumble. Mind in a twist. Ideas mixed like succotash, vegetables that should never touch.
Weekend before finals. I should be grading, but I am waiting for submissions. Ever in hope, I extended the deadline to Sunday.
Questions of adequacy always arise. Did I do right by my students? One of the reasons for teaching in a small college like this is that I only have 33 students to be concerned about in three classes. Some of them have given up. Some of them never started. What more could I have done to light the fuse that will detonate the desire to learn?
How did one of my students get all the way through Java I and Java II with me letting her think writing code consisted of copying code she had seen produced for her in it’s entirety once before? She asked, “When did you show us how to produce an interface for the final project?” My response: “The last two semesters.”
Escape the mundane. Penetrate the surface…
Why do people wear dead animals for decoration? A mink stoll? In this day and age? Hence my comment about slapping fresh road kill on one’s shoulders.
But I admit I have a new leather handbag. It was a birthday present from Debbie’s cousin Laurie and her mom, Lee. It is very useful but I haven’t figured out yet how best to carry it and not hurt my back or shoulders.
Debbie gave me a blown glass bauble that is really beautiful which arrived today.
I wish I were better at thanking people for gifts. I don’t do bubbly and gushy well. I’m usually surprised if someone gives me something I need. And I’m never sure how to respond to something I don’t need.
Collections grow in odd ways. One of my students gave me a blown glass ball once upon a time and now my glass objects are threatening to fall off their shelf, which would wreak havoc with my keyboard.
Deeper. Slice through the layers.
Exhaustion calls for rest. Deny it. Keep moving.
I also probably don’t respond to Death well.
And I don’t mean death. I do that as I do that. I try not to engage in too much conversation with people who are deeply affected by it. Point of view? Who is to say that death is bad in the life at that moment in time of the person who has died. All I know is that there is now someone with whom I cannot communicate with except through what they may have left behind. I do not know what is on the Other Side…and cannot until I take that step myself. What value do preconceived assumptions have?
But Death? The public manifestation of grief that someone has died? I probably don’t do that especially well. I’ve never had time for it.
Smaller now. Slide through the membranes separating those layers. And sample some of the thought.
Intention is challenged. Take a nap or search onward? Keep flowing.
People come in colors. Ignoring that is not possible. Do we think that somehow we are different from cats and dogs? Angoras and tabbies. Collies and beagles. Humans. I wonder about who that first person was who tried to prove one color was better than another. For what purpose?
Speaking of which, does it really matter if we have bred people to be aggressive. Wouldn’t it be a productive use of our time to teach them not to be aggressive in any case?
Faint hope is better than none.
Down past the trapped detritus of sandy soil.
The mind screams for withdrawal. But the only true way out is forward. Let a woman flow. Ever onward lies the path. Follow it. Seek.
People move along. I can faintly sense the reality that enrobes them, reaching outward as far as they wish it and inward as far as they dare look.
Our realities bump, interact, reflect upon each other. We coexist. Embrace the coexistence.
 True Colors?
|
I search for the root, knowing the heart, the sweet meat, is close by. Will a pearl be discovered today? Will I have the patience and skill to unwrap it?
How will I even recognize it?
And what color is the root? What color is the heart? Are they visible? How bright?
Or do I turn your back and refuse to look, treating my root and heart like Pandora’s Box, content to live on the surface of the world, skimming through this reality with as small a bubble as I can manage, striving to leave no footprint on our common reality?
What kind of reality is that?
21 comments
Skip to comment form
Author
So agree with you about succotash
best description of that stuff WE have ever seen
Author
…what people are doing this time of night where they live.
Maybe I’ll have a slice of last night’s pizza.
this stringstream of thoughtgems that somehow makeup into a webnet to capture masses of idealoot
and could that (a rec button) come standard? 🙂
lovely poem, Robyn. i like glass balls, too. just used that image in a piece of scribble i was working on the other day.
“true colors” yeah. that takes enormous energy sometimes. i go for the nap most days. not proud of that and know that it can’t last.
gorgeous day. strong, forceful winds. (but no tornadoes or deaths, as south of us.) just blue sky, light green buds turning darker by the second, sunlight, a wind that has arrived. these are truly the moments and environment i like to get lost in, hide in, because there is no hiding there/here.
really lovely image. i see fish, and partial fish-to-becomes. 🙂
made this song jump into my head….i don’t know why