before spring break

I'm not always wholly certain why I write here. Blogging is almost a sort of pressure valve for my creative juices, and letting out something is better than nothing, I guess, unless the nature of that something is inferior to what it might build to if left to grow and ferment in stillness and silence. Lately, I've let many things stir in silence, and have resisted the urge to 1) reach outside what is real and urgent and write about the irrelevant, and 2) throw precious things into the cybervoid, to everyone and no one particular. I think, on the whole, my decision has been for the best.

But today I think maybe I want to share anyway. Fermentation will not sweeten or deepen this thought. It's too ephemeral.

Today was the last school day before spring break, and I am even now sitting at my desk in front of rows of empty chairs, watching out my window as teachers drive away, into whatever life it is teachers can realistically have outside of school.

To my students' chagrin, today I gave tests to three out of four periods, and as I sat on a wooden stool at the front of the room, scanning the room as they stared at the tests, I almost couldn't stand the sight of their long eyelashes and new shoes and clumsy, stained mechanic's hands and holey shirts. It was all too beautiful and sacred. I had to look away.

Sometimes when I stand in front of them and look into their eyes, my breath catches. Sometimes the big blue eyes are so naive, so sweet, and sometimes other eyes seem older than mine, challenging, very very awake. In the presence of such strong, old souls and such open, vulnerable ones, I feel... unworthy. I cannot find my way around the strange transactional nature of education, this two-directional teaching and learning. There are moments when I feel sure that I am not the wisest in the room.

On days like today, I feel that I am sharing this space, not with students, but with eternal things. The merely human in me senses the presence of the divine in them, and I tremble a bit.