#25: Tattoo myself with a message I need to hear.

"All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well." (script in a banner extending from my right arm down to my right hip... with a banner and olive branches - connoting both peace and plenty - surrounding the text)

From Wikipedia:

Julian of Norwich (c. November 8, 1342 – c. 1416) is thought of as one of the greatest English mystics. Little is known of her life aside from her writings. Even her name is uncertain, the name "Julian" coming from the Church of St Julian in Norwich, where she was an anchoress (a type of hermit living in a cell attached to the church, engaged in contemplative prayer). At the age of 30, suffering from a severe illness and believing she was on her deathbed, Julian had a series of intense visions of Jesus Christ. (They ended by the time she overcame her illness on May 13, 1373.) She recorded these visions soon after having them, and then again twenty years later in far more theological depth. They are the source of her major work, called Sixteen Revelations of Divine Love (circa 1393). This is believed to be the first book written by a woman in the English language. Julian became well known throughout England as a spiritual authority...

Although she lived in a time of turmoil, Julian's theology was optimistic, speaking of God's love in terms of joy and compassion as opposed to law and duty. For Julian, suffering was not a punishment that God inflicted, as was the common understanding. She believed that God loved and wanted to save everyone. Popular theology magnified by current events including the Black Death and a series of peasant revolts assumed that God was punishing the wicked. In response, Julian suggested a far more merciful theology, which some say leaned towards universal salvation. Because she believed that behind the reality of hell is yet a greater mystery of God's love, she has also been referred to in modern times as a proto-universalist, though she herself never actually claimed more than hope that all might be saved...

As part of her differing view of God as compassionate and loving, she wrote of the Trinity in domestic terms and compares Jesus to a mother who is wise, loving, and merciful...

Her great saying, "…All shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well", reflects this theology. It is also one of the most individually famous lines in all of Catholic theological writing, and certainly one of the most well-known phrases of the literature of her era.

poetry

One of my favorite times to be a teacher at MATCH is when I'm allowed to chaperone the class trips to Barnes & Noble. Because of a grant, we're able to buy students a book or two every month... any book they want, really. I do, however, stipulate that if I open up to the middle and find something that "would embarrass my grandmother," they need to find a different book.

Apparently, some of my students' grandmothers would approve of books like "Eat, Play, F#@k."

Fortunately, Grandmas Marilyn and Caley are not so permissive.

This week, a travelling slam poet, a suave twenty-two year old man of color visited the tenth grade English classes this week. I watched boys attempt to hide goosebumps and girls dab away tears.

About a third of the sophomores chose books of poetry this week at B&N. Notably, Tayon, Travis, and Kamari found themselves:



Hmm... it seems they've learned something after all. I raised my eyebrow and told them to use their powers wisely.

outside the magic

I moved in August, into a tall, shady, somewhat ramshackle three-storey house, the interior of which I painted in goldtones and greys. I lobbied hard for this area of the city, almost entirely because of this time of year. Because the driveway (we have a driveway!) is carpetted in aromatic yellow leaves, and because there is a family across the street that sold brownies to help save endangered gorillas, and because Jamaica Plain is a community. Because there is a coffee shop a few blocks away with curry tofu salads, and because there are green places to walk and watch the seasons shift around you. It promised to be magical.

Last night, at dusk, was the annual lantern parade around the pond. Hundreds, maybe thousands of hand-holding adults and children, many costumed,carry homemade lanterns... halved two liters covered in tissue paper. The candles in these handheld containers line the pond in a sort of sacred ring, reflecting in the pond the whole way round as children giggle and dogs try to race ahead of their owners. I held no lantern as I walked through the darkness, just my mug of cinnamon tea.

I've been hearing about this parade for more than a year...waiting to see it with my own eyes and to feel a part.

But as I orbited the pond with the illumined children, I could not weave the spell for myself. They were just kids. Just lights. Just water and evening. No magic at all. It was holy, surely... but I was outside of it and my spirit could not speak or listen for the language that breathes without words. Some formerly sensitive instrument in me is diminished, dull. Just lights. Just a pond. No magic.

It reminded me of when I returned home early one Friday and was shocked to find the leaves had changed in the back yard.

I had not seen our house in daylight for weeks.

These were my students last year. They make me cry.

The MATCH School received the state-wide MCAS rankings on September 16 from Duce Productions/ Ariadne Media on Vimeo.

presents and presence

Look what my roommate Eva brought me from Portland!

She's a good egg.

Reader survey: memorable teaching

Today I tried something different with my students - a seemingly risky simulation of Shay's Rebellion. At the outset, I felt markedly more nervous than on a typical lesson day, because there were so many details, so many moving parts, and so many ways that organically evolving student cognition could shift the activity into waters I could not anticipate. And really, all of those things sort of happened, but no moment of it spun out of control. And Marionye, an awkwardly cautious and softspoken sophomore who rarely picks things up the first time round, told me, "I'm glad we did this activity. I understand now what the people suffered."

So I suppose I'm glad I gambled.

It makes me wonder, when you scan your memories of school (both primary and secondary), are there any lessons that particularly stuck with you? I wonder if any patterns emerge.

To be perfectly frank, the first lesson series that springs to my mind is a series of stations, largely focused on different artforms in Jamestown, my class explored during... second grade maybe? Perhaps I remember this because so much of me thrills at the opportunity to be creative.

Which sorts of activities have left a lasting imprint on you? Why do you think that is?

#15 - canoe or kayak on the Charles River

One goal down.

My back aches... as if dozens of sharp-nosed insects were dragging their little snouts along the edges of my shoulder blades, grabbing small bits of flesh and dragging as they climb along my bones with their scratchy little feet.

And my shins glow with an angry pink... a shade that never did look at home on me. Apparently the nozzle of my spray sunscreen does not work properly when inverted. Good to know now.

And my eyes are glazed over, staring at the lesson plans I've outlined but not yet completed, minutes from midnight and tedious hours from the end.

But for the ache, there is Tiger Balm. For the shins, there is minty aloe gel. And for the work, there is coffee.

For the imprint left from this, though, there is no cure. Except, perhaps, more of the same.