Scrambling My White Mind

When faced with the reality of my world, there has always been a driving force in me to do the right thing. Even in the midst of my many mistakes in life, I’ve found my vocation¬† as a teacher to be a wonderful resource for reaching the minds and hearts of young people with sound ideas, support and a safe space. I believe that the ability to make change in our own lives gives us the opportunity to provide that same chance to the people around us, the people we are close to, in this case, the children in my classroom.

I am reacting to an all day conference on restorative justice that I am attending with a group of colleagues in Portland for the weekend. As far as conferences go, today is another one that has caught me by surprise, similar to several I have attended over the summer. Thematically, the idea of social and racial justice has been important. Now I know those are key words that I am passionate about understanding and conceptualizing; however, this is a journey that began ardently for me over two years ago, and the ride just continues to get better.

Throughout my life I have been passionate about cultural awareness. Many times I have felt like the white guy trying to ride the cliche of a hero coming in to save the world. When I first became a teacher, I was going to be the multicultural advocate of the year, based simply upon the scripts I used to inspire my students on stage. Twenty five years later I continue to look for that script.

(to be continued)

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When Wonder Whines

I sometimes look at the world we live in,

and I wonder, is it mine to simply understand

or is what there is to believe

as complicated as it might seem.

 

The people I interact with have similar hopes,

we all feel certain the goodness in our hearts

yet how often have we let another walk by

whom later on we wondered their whereabouts.

 

We all wish to be a part of the solution,

tip a feather in my hat, I knew not to wander

yet, later on, sitting in my own quiet comfort

I still begin to wonder, is this really what I mean.

 

I’d like to think the world holds a positive energy,

impossible to measure without that negative strain.

A Little Boy

when I was a little boy

I had no idea

the man

I would become;

inside all of this

anxiety

remains that little boy

screaming

sometimes to not recall

the day

innocence gave its

departure notice

to his only

grasp upon

sweet reality

 

when I was a little boy

I understood

universal

love

When We Find We Are The Same

Rules need not be broken

to identify our true selves

we haven’t the demand

to walk upstream, to push

the elements aside

for personal gain,

in essence,

it is true that we all

do find the similar grounds

for which

our bodies

strike the earth

as feeling landed, secure,

understanding of time.

 

Oh, we do battle to separate

our lives

from those we disagree,

the them we conclude

are far astray from you and me,

and yet,

who is it we might observe

when the feeling

of not so assuredly confident

might cause dreams

aspirations,

the fantasy of our completion

to become more stirred

angst driven rather

than a peaceful protest.

 

We do,

we can,

we will inevitably

live our lives the same,

if for a moment

we step off the pedestal,

we let go of our divining rods,

loosen our grip on the main-hold

let our bodies, mind, heart

set sail and when we find

we have crossed a boundary

toward some simple freedom,

well then,

be sure to say hello

to everyone whom have all arrived

the same.

If, Again

If

once we

were partners

though shadowed

intimate decisions

drove us apart, our lives

seemingly drawn

in more necessary direction,

would it be possible

to find purpose

in knowing …

again.

 

If

the world

were able to

walk in the shoes

of those they despise

would it be possible then

for each of our lives

to become valid

to such a

degree

we might understand

love,

again.

 

If

the world

were a perfect sphere

and all the polar opposites

began to better listen and hear

each other rather than negate

their contributions,

could we maybe

become

whole

again.

 

If when

the sun were to set

we might all still look inside

each other’s lives could

we finally recognize

the similariites

and love

again.

 

If … again

The Humanity of Letting Go

I feel things,

since living dark realities

a childhood

without scars,

yet, somehow beaten,

the foundation of

a quiet turmoil

always is that centering

point of personal fear.

 

In our society

we question judgment

public scrutiny,

filling the airwaves

is a certain attractive

seduction

meant to take our minds

away from our own

persecution.

 

Those silent moments

when the mind

allows the heart to breathe

there’s a sudden tightness

strangling physicality

that does have a pulse,

a reminder,

a constant of the human condition

within the framework

of some individualized society.

 

I cannot seem to walk away

from the burdens of my past,

yet,

the minds around me,

voices mouthing advice

seem to forget

or perhaps overlook,

this reflective nature

is the fuel

of a precarious

walk along the edge.

 

I would wonder

how long this loneliness

can exacerbate

my owned recall

of every single

tumultuous

moment in my life

when all

circumstance

overwhelms

a more seemingly sane

stance.

 

I would take a chance

on letting go,

if only I understood

the purposeful nature

of forgiveness.

Conversations With My Dad

People suggest

we ought not imagine

conversations with

the dead.

 

The afterlife we’re told

often speculation

a creation of our own need

to reconnect.

 

Yet if it weren’t true

they’re listening,

then these tears that

fall would not be real.

 

I have conversations with my dad,

the difficult questions,

the hard to know answers,

I know he’s thinking for me.

 

I suppose what he might say

standing here in the room,

is the same answer he gives me

from faraway where he remains

 

Waiting, hoping, wishing are all

positive realities toward doing.