Fondly.

For the first time in I-don't-know-how-long, I slept later than the sun. As I have mentioned, my dreams wake me, have woken me, at all-too-early hours. And of course, my life wakes me, too. My life wakes me to seemingly endless obligations. But that is not the subject of this meandering thought.

No, there is merely gratitude for a morning where I wake with sleep still in my eyes, and the light of a new day stretches across my ceiling in bright stripes, and I roll over, still in my pajamas, to continue to lie there, to think my crusty thoughts, and let the day begin as it would.

The sky is very blue from my vantage point.

A cup of tea with soy milk and sugar, oatmeal with almond butter and raisins, a few chapters in Spider-Man, Volume 2, and at ten oh clock, I'm still in pajamas. The day begs many things for catching up. I haven't done laundry in weeks, and I am looking forward to wearing my favorite underwear this week. I haven't been to the grocery store in weeks, and I am looking forward to dry roasted almond snacks, and homemade dinners. I haven't seen my sister in weeks, and I am looking forward to planning with her, sharing with her, maybe a bit of coffee and a long conversation about whatevers, the way we do.

Did you know I can see John Lennon's eyes from my dining nook?
Did you know that I sit high above the world, and I can see everything, but no one can see me?
Did you know that you can see a lemon tree from the toilet?
That birds like to dance outside my window, weaving through the urban landscape with a grace very rarely seen amongst humans?
That I can have a picnic on the roof?
That the closet in my kitchen fits an entire bicycle?
That if you open both of my french doors, my art studio almost seems like you're in a very well-finished tree house?

I didn't think so.
Although I am living alone right now, I try to keep this place full of conversation (even if just between Lando and me... which made AR laugh really hard).

Last night, great things happened.
All day long, I struggled because I wanted to be working on a mural, and instead, my students kept succeeding and moving forward into round after round after round. We looked at the cards, and thought, A seventh round and my heart sank, because that would be all the time that we had for painting, and I had really wanted to be there. But this was not to be.

I listened into the crossfire from S & T's sixth round, and gave them my hopefuls. We were down to the top 6 teams, and this round would determine if they were in or out. They told me about how their opposing team had sat in on their fifth round and had taken their arguments to use against them, and T said, "You always taught us to let them stay!" but she was upset that that had happened. I insisted, "It is still better to win with integrity. When they go home, they have to fall asleep without it." S said, "But they won't even blink an eye about that!" and I responded, "That's the worst part. They don't even realize what they've done. That is much sadder, in the grand scheme of things."

And I crossed my fingers, that the right thing would have happened.

When I saw the ballot, it had. S & T knocked out that team, and then we were down to five. The way to do this was to choose one of the 3 teams with the 5-1 record to get the bye for the seventh round. The bye straight into state champs. Suddenly, my positive energy returned to me. It came upon me heavy, like a cloud, but not a heavy cloud. Just a really happy sunshiney cloud that looks like an animal. And I knew we would get the bye. I just knew it.

I shuffled the cards behind my back, and Melissa closed her eyes, and it wasn't even a question which card she picked. It almost felt like I fed it into her hands, but of course, she couldn't see.

She picked us.

I walked outside. I told S & T that we were going to take a walk. Emotion shielded from my face. We walked until we got to the other side of a building, and I told them everything that happened. I took my time. S cried. T jumped up and down, hugging her boyfriend, and everyone else. They both hugged me. S told me something that helped a lot. He had been meant to paint on the mural that day, too, and he told me that they had been sitting outside under a tree, and had been thinking of Sean. Thinking of who he was, and what he would've wanted from us, today. Those of us that live still. And they thought that if Sean knew what we were up to, he would have wanted us to stay, to kick butt, to win it all. S told me, Today we did honor Sean's life. I didn't even know it, but this tournament was dedicated to him.

And I smiled, because that's like,
the coolest thing a 16-year-old can say to me.

That helped me a lot. To remind me of what my life is supposed to be about. The way it's supposed to be a lot of close-eyed strokes, and just the hoping that the energy that lives and moves inside of us is always honored, whatever our hands find to do, to do it well.

Yesterday, I practiced being the Yoda to the people around me. All the teams had Star Wars codes, and I smiled in retrospect to be able to relate to all those crazy characters, to be a part of the conversation. Without the job of tournament director, I moved into me at My Best, which is where I see where people struggle, and I encourage them in that space. No matter who they are. Adult or student. I told M that she was doing a great job, I encouraged her. I said, look at all you've done! This is amazing! And she told me that she reconsidered. She would run for VP. And I grinned, to think about how our energies collide. How we can be angels to one another. She was an angel to me this year.

And then I had an important conversation with D on the way home. We shared about our lives. I asked her, How are you? in the way that I do, and she started to cry. She said, I get so emotional when I talk to you. I don't know why. She said, It's like I'm walking, and there is a war all around me, but I can't stop and look at it, because I have to keep moving. And then sometimes you ask me how I am, and I see the war, and it's so hard.

I understood her perfectly.

And we continued to share. To confide. To encourage. To support each other. Which is this odd thing, because I realized, just as I have known D for four formative years of her life, so has she known me. I told her about the growth I experienced, about how I have moved into new and different anxieties. How I have let so many things just leave me. And she said, It's noticeable. It's a change you can see. I smiled, because really? And she said, Yes.

What a difference a year makes.

I asked her if she thought she was the best she has ever been. Not the best she will ever be, but the best she has ever been. And she confidently answered, Yes. My answer is yes, too. I think that's about all we can ever ask for, on any given day, to be the best version of ourselves, so far.

Back at school, I smiled to see the students working. I knew that I was exactly where I needed to be all day, and the energy of the painting had changed. Sometimes the worst possible thing becomes the best possible thing, and that's not even my responsibility. I picked up white paint, and worked on being supportive to the process. I was exactly where I needed to be all day, and I knew it.

Driving home, I faced my own war that battles on around me. I saw it for what it was, and called my mom to tell her. She didn't have much to say, but "I love you" and that's a lot, really. Maybe it's everything.

Exhaustively.

So what I really wanted to do today was paint on a mural. And what I am really doing today is sitting with my debaters, because they are kicking lots of butt, here at the State Qualifying Championship.

I keep reminding myself, bringing my attention back to the certain truth: the universe brings me what I need. I wanted to be out of here, to be at school, to be working on the mural, but in reality... I am here. The sun is shining. The students are succeeding. A lot of energy put into this team is actually paying off. I cannot be upset at this.

Even though the day is not going as planned.

The night ended late. I drove a vanful of students back to school, arriving minutes before midnight, and not a single parent was there to pick up. It's little things like that, waiting five minutes for their parents to arrive, that really... make me carry the sigh. I complained aloud for a minute, and then reminded myself, this too, which feels like the worst thing, may also turn out to be the best. T and I talked about that, then, when I drove her home. About the way she freakishly lost her evidence, minutes before she was due to leave for the tournament, and how it may have actually been the best thing that could have happened, and why she did so well last night. We can believe that everything is there to turn out for the best thing, put our energy into making gifts from all the situations we unfortunately find ourselves in, and that is worth more than accepting defeat.

So we come back around to the truth that I keep focusing on.
This too could be for good.

Sometimes it is harder to believe. And sometimes, even while I simultaneously believe that, I am also overwhelmed by impact of missing, and I wait and wait for the growth that I yearn for, but it takes many days until the oak tree can provide for us shade, under which to rest, under which to sleep, to hug, to kiss, to be.

And until then, may we bear the intense heat of the sun. And may it strengthen us.

Initially.

More dreams with radically different plots and endings. Usually it takes my subconscious a lot of time to catch up to what's actually going on in my life. But right now, it's practically instantaneous. I have already dreamt of my new place, these growingly familiar streets. In that dream, one of my students had started to drive my car, and I was pretty angry with her about it. Not so much because she dinged it, but because she wouldn't listen to me.

These lately dreams indicate what I already know in my consciousness to be true: we do not know how this ends. On some level, we know it ends with better-thans and stronger-thans. But beyond that, in the midst of what is merely growth and growth is unpredictable and energy is alive, we get no more assurances than that this is what is necessary to the development of our consciousness.

So there's that.
And this, too, shall pass.

The morning begins early. I did not quite sleep through the night, as has been typical lately. Yesterday, having had a quite different kind of dream, I slept until one minute before my alarm. I reveled in the rarity of that, and felt grateful for my first 8+ hour night in a very, very long time.

The weekends have lately not meant rest, but merely more and different kind of work. Today I will practice appreciating that, and noticing whatever good and unique things there are for me at my last high school debate tournament of the season. And tomorrow, I will appreciate working on the mural for Sean. I spent a few minutes alone with the mural last night. Feeling triggered for the part about the energy, and knowing that it's all... it's all one thing.

I feel the loss sometimes very heavily, even as life continues to move forward the way that it must.

Yesterday in the copy room during lunch, I was sharing some of my perspectives about perfection, and J was surprised. "This is Kay saying these things?" he made a comment like that. And I said, simply, "Sean died. A lot of things that used to be important aren't anymore." And then I shared about all the fears I confronted in South Africa. That I fell apart. That I was alone. That I didn't understand. All of it. And now I am confronting my final summer fear -- that we wouldn't make it -- and in the face of the worst of things, you are allowed a strength to surmount them. You find that they are horrible, horrible things, and still, we are all alive.

What more matters for that? The fireworks of Festival? No, I don't think so. What if we always all just did our best, and that was enough?

That's what I'm moving towards. And I don't even have to strive, because my best is already within my grasp today, in this present moment. My best -- ten minute writing, ten minute run, breakfast and coffee sitting at my table that overlooks this city, another day, another bit of work to see through. Two pigeons that soar across the sky. One day we fly too.

Gratefully.

Sometimes it's hard to say an honest thing.

It's best to stay here, in this present moment, with the things that are around me. The things that I am currently experiencing. This is a busy, away weekend. One of many that I have encountered this past school year, and one of the last that I will experience. This is my second to last tournament of the 2011-2012 school year.

Today we have speech events, and I do not have a ballot.

I will spend the next hour reviewing Meta-Writing packets from my 9th graders, and drinking warm coffee, and nibbling on a muffin.

I am proud to say that Project Nourish is going well. Yesterday, I exceeded my daily calorie requirement, which felt like gluttony, but which I know is actually vital for gaining weight. I hope to gain 5-10 pounds in the next couple weeks as I work to cook for myself, learn meals, and nourish the body that is mine. Yesterday, I mostly ate good foods, but since I did not cook for myself, it wasn't the healthiest. Probably more butter, salt, and sugar than I would have eaten if left to my own devices.

Tournaments are good times for eating food.

Yesterday I struggled to bring my attention back to truth constantly. My mind wanted to wander to the answers, which cannot be given to me because I would not be able to live them. I don't get to know how this ends, and I must be available to receive the thing that the present moment has for me. I am slowly growing into the truth that I have not messed this up, and in fact, cannot mess this up. That what is happening is right, and that it will become even more right.

Sometimes I am possessed with the joy of expectancy, and I know that something is happening that is beyond what I could have ever hoped for or imagined, and I am giddy with the possibility that I will receive the thing I have always desired. But other times, I get lost in the loss of what I had, and worried that the mistakes of my ignorance have ruined everything. But of course, that's the exact mindset that caused all the pain in the first place, and so I know, I must leave those worries behind and move into a new sense of peace and security.

So, like the 9th graders with the resonant ringing of our mindfulness bell, I bring my attention back again and again to the truth that resides in the core of my being. The truth he told me, that I have always struggled to believe. What his grandfather told him long ago, These things take care of themselves. I am already four weeks stronger than I was four weeks ago, and in an appropriate place of wondering and darkness.

We are growing. That is the most important thing.

I am grateful for the growth. Such necessary growth. I am grateful for the love seedlings that are growing in my heart, for the delight of love, and how it feels to adore. I am grateful for conversations with some of my debate students this weekend. A nice long three hour conversation with K, full of the stuff of our real lives, for how we could relate to one another as two young people, and how we can exchange our weight and find ourselves lighter afterwards. I am grateful for the way the fog settled in on the mountains in Moorpark, and how it made everything look a little like a movie. I am grateful for all the food I have consumed this weekend. I am grateful for a long-into-the-evening conversation with my roommates last night, again, exchanging the weight of our lives, and remembering trust, which resides in the heart of love. I am grateful for drinking coffee with M this morning, and remembering who we are as people, remembering the journey we took to get this far, remembering that sometimes when we don't get the thing we thought we wanted, that doesn't mean we have failed in any stretch of the imagination. I am grateful for supportive conversations from everyone -- Nana, brother, sister, parents, friends -- and I am grateful for the strength I have had to continue to believe in goodness at the end and in the middle of the difficulty. I am grateful for lots of songs that have been anchored at my lips, melodies that capably lift my spirits. That remind me that this is not the end, this is not the end of us. We will shine like the stars, bright, brighter. I am grateful for long emails that contain a lot of wonder, and for short emails that contain adorable pictures of small animals. I am grateful for a friend who lets me grieve and cry, for a therapist who reminds me of what I know, and for every winter tree that is barren now, and for every tree that is inching towards Spring (without striving -- but just because that is the way of the seasons -- and us, too, we are seasons).

I am grateful for a round off that allows me the space to exhale, drink this coffee, eat this muffin, remember these things, and be.

Attentively.

This is the attitude: the present moment has everything I need.
The attitude is not "tragic," or "ironic," or "hopeless," or whatever other label that I could give to describe all that is happening.
It is simply,
Is.

Like e.e.cummings wrote, and I have oft-remembered.

"There are certain things in which one is unable to believe for the simple reason that he never ceases to feel them. Things of this sort — things which are always inside of us and in fact are us and which consequently will not be pushed off or away where we can begin thinking about them — are no longer things; they, and the us which they are, equals A Verb; an IS."

The now.

So here is my now.
I cannot hang a shelf in my old apartment that I took down.
I tried three separate times, and it is not happening. I did not cry for frustration, although I was frustrated.
Then I came to Le Stat's, purchased a $2 cup of tea that I did not really want, for the privilege of using their Internet, which I cannot connect to, although I have logged off my computer and logged back on, and restarted.

The Is.

The present moment has everything I need.

It has love songs that I can sing to, and mean every word. How long I waited for my heart to posture this way, and now that it is, I cannot help but still feel grateful, even as things twist towards loss. It's okay. We need to lose some things, in order to have open hands to receive others.

Everything's not loss.
But some things are, and that's hard. It is as hard as I can bear today, and tomorrow, I will bear it maybe slightly more gracefully.

The Is has support from everywhere.

The Internet started working. I emailed, blogged, and researched some possible dreams. I have felt myself drawn to art, and towards art education. I don't know that public schools... are ultimately the place I want to be. It's been a good past five years working in public schools, but there's a sense of fragmentation in public schools that I am not sure I want to invest my life into. Sometimes I think, "If I don't, who will?" but then I think, "What will I do with my one wild, precious life?" and I think, I want to pursue peace. It is not up to me to save the world. I want to seek alignment and harmony, and maybe it's not my job to fix a public school system that seems pretty bent on continued disintegration and unhealth.

It's my job to pursue life, to accept its mystery, it's pushes and pulls, and I am moving steadily towards that. In the past few weeks, I have found myself grounding myself on everything I know that is good for me, so that I do not fall into any kind of despair about that which I cannot understand. Running, good sleep, morning routine, meditation, worship, writing, art. Good things. Still there are days where it's hard to believe in hope when I cannot feel it, and when I am too tempted to believe the needling voice that says that I can mess it all up. But I am becoming more aware of how painful that voice is for me, and for others, and I am noticing it. I am noticing its power. I can notice that it's not true, but sometimes feelings deceive. I don't want to believe that as I lean towards love, I can make any decision that messes it all up. I want to believe that love covers over all iniquities, and that, while I haven't loved perfectly, I am still growing towards more love, more compassion, more harmony, more peace. It is such a lot to remember all the time. I will become this, though, with every moment that I do not surrender to fear.

I am reminded of these words that were written to me a very long time ago, and I mean them, today, too:

"I say 'Yes!' to the internal powers of peace, love, and forgiveness that I possess the ability to stoke the fires of, and I say 'No' to the less powerful abilities granted to me through fear, anxiety, and anger."

Imaginatively.

[This is another past writing -- from January 31, 2012 -- that I wrote during the Meta-Project with the Little Einsteins. Certain images from this story continually come to mind, and I wanted to share. The prompt was about a journey. Jose summed it up aptly: You walk somewhere, find an object, find a sidekick, face an obstacle, and overcome it.

This is consistently one of the most beautiful writings that I do with my students. I love to hear how they interpret this singular journey structure. I love to discover what they find. What they face. Especially, how they overcome. When I shared my writing, they were impressed that I didn't use my sidekick or my object to overcome my obstacle. They didn't know this, but I was impressed too.]

I am hidden away in the forest. I've come here to find answers to questions which are thorny like cactus, like pine needles, like those little burrs that get caught in your socks when you're hiking.

The blue sky is overhead, directly. There are only small shadows. The birds sing common songs, and I just sit, centering myself, examining the trees & their pines, their scraggly branches that seem to touch the heavens. And I sit.

I am aware of a cool breeze. It seems to kiss my bare arms & neck. I feel goose pimples raise, and I sigh. It's a tired sigh. It took a long time to get this far.

I stand to leave, and as I do, I see a can opener. Yes. A can opener. I wanted my totem object to be slightly more inspiring, but oh well. A can opener. I don't have any cans, but I trust that this object will prove useful to me on my journey, so I pick it up, and walk away.

I slide down the boulder where I'd been resting, wiping off the dust on my hands and bottom. A deer darts by, and when it sees me, stops. It is a small deer, a doe, probably, with large black eyes. It stares at me curiously, and unafraid. I follow the deer deeper into the meadow. She glances back at me every so often, as if to make sure I am coming.

Don't worry, deer, I am coming. And I've got a can opener!

The meadow has tall grasses, and sprigs of wonderfully scented mint or thyme. I'm terrible with the names of plants. Oh, that's lavender, though. I can tell by its overwhelming fragrance, which I breathe in deeply, and it fills me.

We come to an enormous, rushing river. My deer stops, waiting. I know now that she has brought me here for herself, too. She needs to get across, and so do I, we both do. It is moving so quickly. I touch it & find the water is icy. I don't know how we can possibly get past it.

Then I know. It's not simple, but it is. We have to have courage, have faith. We just jump in. We swim until we are both tired. We almost die, but we don't. We do overcome. I lost the can opener, though. Maybe we don't need all the things we think we do, when we first find them. Maybe the things we most need aren't things at all.

[The line... "We almost die, but we don't" is the one that reminds me to have hope, even in the midst of this seemingly endless, raging river.]

Essentially.

[Written during the Meta Project on February 2, 2012 - but an appropriate post for a day about love... and me, I prefer my love to be true. The prompt was: Write, for 15-20 minutes, a description of a turning point in your life. Write quickly. Don’t worry about grammar or spelling. Be as specific and detailed as you can. What led up to this turning point? What happened? How did you or others or your environment change? When did you realize that this was a turning (right away, long afterward)? How do you feel now, looking back on it?]

It was February twenty-ten. I smile to remember that this was not so long ago. Things were not so different as they are now. In the summer of oh nine, my eyes fell in love. So much in love. So much in spinning, sparkly, holding-me-tight love with raindrops dancing on los adoquines and you. You beside me.

I knew there was something miraculous about this, about who I'd become. We continued to talk long after I'd left, and all I wanted to do was return. Return to you, to this, to love, to mi principe.

But in February, something shifted. I began to build love, not sparkly love with unicorns, but the kind of love that stays, or at least, the kind that might stay.

At the time, I was so young. I did not know the difference between these things -- fantasy & love. I went back to see about the prince, and found there only so many shadows.

The hills, once green, were now brown. And I sat alone at a cafe that I'd found & loved, and even there my breakfast came with papayas, which I hate, and I couldn't help but begin to see, you cannot go back to fantasies, because they fade away.

I didn't know it was a turning point at the time. I am truthfully only beginning to see. Sometimes it is still tempting to want things that aren't real. But looking back, I see. I do see. What feels real isn't always, and what feels false isn't always.

Once I was cotton candy, now I am steel cut oatmeal with almond butter and raisins that you bring me in the morning while I lay in bed, thinking thoughts like these, readying myself to face another day.