the driven, or the parking

 

a buffet of emotions

I find that my default emotional setting

easily slips into sorrow, tears,

rage against how much the Light

is buffeted by the Dark,

I have earned the relative ease of my retirement,

the many decades I worked to help with

the psychic bleeding I saw within my students

and to help them know that each is a "work in progress,"

that the vision of who each felt themselves to be

was surely of the best the universe was able to allow,

that the tentative, anxious self before me,

was more of love, of wholeness, of the right,

than each could easily hold and release,

now I am past that way to minister to the young,

I did it well

now it is others' charge to continue

to see the child, to know the child,

to allow the child to move forward

into the power of self inherent within them,

now I need to grasp and embody what my "calling" is now,

how I can serve the future

by continuing to give to the world out of love,

while also accepting from the world

the grace I have earned,

the Puritan within me seems to need to get a grip.

by Henry H. Walker

March 3, ‘26

what a show!

 

Seussical, and the CFS Village

the Middle School pulled off a magnificent show today,

Seussical the Musical,

once again a community was created,

built on individuals being unique

and true to what amazing work 

each could release from their efforts,

so that the sum of the parts

is of multiplication more than of simple addition,

so that simultaneously the self shines bright,

both as a part and as a whole,

something lived onstage today,

and will live, and thrive, a few more times,

we should celebrate the village

that pulled it all together,

and we should celebrate every individual person

who gave their all,

so that each shared performance created a life,

like all lives,

that flared bright, 

and then will pass away.

by Henry H. Walker

February 18, ‘26

a remembrance ceremony

 

A Celebration Of Life

a person dies,

we can feel empty,

a connection severed,

so that we can no longer

dance to the warmth and knowing 

of each others' eyes,

no longer share a laugh,

the companionship of travelers

who huddle together and share moments,

for however brief a time the universe allows,

when the charge no longer is enough

to power the enduring,

a circuit breaks,

and the reel with us together

plays out and ends,

what do we do then?

besides rage at loss

and the death of the light?

often we are held in the faith of religion

and console ourselves with belief in the persistence, somehow,

of the unique self we love so much,

and imagine it much the same, just removed from us,

I am more drawn to meeting death

with a celebration of life, well-lived,

we may be challenged by any look forward,

for the one we loved can no longer be here with us,

so, instead, we should look back

and celebrate who they were

while they had the calling, the energy,

to work wonders with their life,

when we celebrate who they were, what they did,

we look deep into their eyes

and see them for the glory

they were able to release unto others

with the fullness of who they were,

a death is a loss, but it can also be a celebration

of the gains each day of their life

created, built, connected,

our relationships then stay true to who they were

and to who they helped us to become.

by Henry H. Walker

February 16, ‘26

our love for him

 

Robert Bittle

Robert Bittle

I knew an extraordinary person and teacher,

one who was born for the classroom,

who saw every student as an individual and of enormous worth,

he was gifted with both seeing them

and finding accessible paths they might wish to follow,

he helped countless students believe in themselves

and helped many of his colleagues rescue themselves

to help those students move forward,

his love for wife, kids, and grandkids,

completed him,

Robert had many gifts:

a wicked sense of humor,

who else would be born on April 1?

his clever mind could take the most mundane

and twist it to reveal the hilarity within,

though he could also be outrageous enough

to get a book thrown at him by the clerk of a meeting,

nothing ever got by Robert:

when we were as fools,

he didn't suffer that foolishness gladly,

when challenged by the gifts and needs of our nine year old son,

he improvised and found how to both support 

and to challenge Aaron in math,

Robert and I both taught American history in middle school,

and I was both excited and challenged

by his innovative ideas to create games

that were like the proverbial "spoonful of sugar"

to help get the student involved 

with people, place, events, themselves,

to explore the consequences of decisions

so that the past and present speak clearly to us

of how we might find the future we want,

social studies the discipline he most believed in,

just as how he was with challenging students,

so did we who worked with him

need to work to get to know him, to appreciate him,

Robert and authority never were friends, 

his sense of rightness bristled at authority,

Robert challenged Carolina Friends School as a student,

and I am glad we were enough like Robert to see the gem below his crust,

music has long been how the universe and he soared together,

for the guitar and music friends allowed him to transcend

into word and melody brilliance,

letting his creative soul blossom and shout,

as health challenges worked to hold him back

from much of who he is,

the guitar too much for him,

and then the dobro, too,

he left the school and thus much of who he is,

I wish we as a school had been able to let him know

that as an educator Robert is of the best

that any school can hope for:

Robert saw the students, loved the students,

and made the world a better place

because of who he was and what he did,

 the cruelty of the disease that beset him

should not distract us

from who he has been at his best,

his grandchildren know they are of the center,

from his love of them

just as he is of the center,

from our love for him.

by Henry H. Walker

February 17, ‘26