a need for chutzpah

 break through the shells

the pandemic forces us into technological fixes

to find some way to be distanced and still connected,

some way for education to happen

with teacher and students in different rooms

separated by mile upon mile,

separated by needing an interface to connect:

the computer, the Internet, Zoom,

helpful, essential, limiting,

I imagine learning and growing

as the student being inside an egg

and needing to find a way out,

to break through restricting shells

that both protect them and hold them back,

it takes chutzpah to assert now,

for the shell adds layer upon layer

that make it harder and harder to break through:

anxiety about health, about the country,

about self-worth,

about the sheer difficulty of the technology:

the audio can be challenging,

the video can reveal you at your most vulnerable,

the video an option you can choose to not allow,

the hesitancy all can feel

augmented by how much harder

assertion and connection is now,

some look to technological fixes: 

a new way to give assignments, tests,

a new way to enable work,

a new fix that might help,

I keep returning to the primacy

of the relationship of learner and educator,

that what is most important

is that I see the person,

hear the person,

know the person,

support the person so that they can find

an opening back into success,

what we need to do is to help what is inside the shells

develop the gumption and skill

to break free into the power

that calls to them to come out, and soar,

may we find a way even through Zoom and the layered shells

to nurture the power each craves to live and to release.

by Henry H. Walker

January 29, ‘21

beauty evolves every moment

 

A Spark

I learned a term today:

a spark bird,

how an intense experience with one bird, 

one species,

can spark a flame inside

that keeps on burning

and leads one out the window,

into forest and mountain and coast

in search of other birds

whose unique beauty

and unique sense of self

keep that first spark bright:

a nuthatch outside the classroom window

pulls a middle schooler out to it,

and the boy is hooked,

a saw-whet owl reveals itself

and sparks another young boy,

a warbler along a New England path

still thrills from childhood,

all the birding itself

a gateway to get one out into the world

where beauty evolves with every moment.

by Henry H. Walker

January 27, ‘21

they exult with the birds!

 

The Birders’ Bliss

what is one’s “bliss”?

what is it one can do

that resonates with the whole self,

so that actions feel they come

from the core of who one is?

the outside and the inside somehow integrated,

a joy then exists within you,

since who one is finds its way out

to make a difference,

and thus confirm the self-worth that can elude

our sense of who we are,

of what we can and should do with our moments,

today I joyed with three companions

whose have found themselves and their passion, 

their “bliss,” in birding, 

in seeing and appreciating

the feathered life that companions us,

that soars above us and leads us into wonder,

that comes to our windows

and pulls us into their look, their actions,

I note a centering 

my companions feel and live

and help us to find

as we see and know them a bit,

as we joy in a life

that they and the birds share,

how life can exult if we will but let it.

by Henry H. Walker

January 26, ‘21

the birding video can be accessed by this link:

https://vimeo.com/505023663

the snake in the garden

hard choices, the tougher paths

I am worried about the snake in the garden,

our students are good people

who want to do right,

yet distance learning makes the paths forward

even harder to find and follow,

there in their rooms

Zoom holds their tenuous connection

to teacher,

to fellow students,

to their choices:

whether to focus their attention, or not,

to bring up a point in discussion, or not,

to resist the smart phone’s messages and games, or not,

to have their video on, or retreat from being seen,

the snake whispers to them,

and it is hard for them to resist the easier paths

that pull at them to give in to temptation,

life is all about choice,

the better way can be hard,

despite what the snake whispers

their future is so much better

when they choose the harder way forward,

despite how taxing it can be,

despite what they have to give up,

they and we are being tested,

and I can not succeed unless they do.

by Henry H. Walker

January 24, ‘21

a story I almost hold

 

what story is written in the stones?

I love words,

for that is how I think,

the way thoughts and feelings

find shape and meaning within me,

and then, sometimes, find the way outside me

so that another can follow the ideas and emotions

I have sought to hold and release,

a great compliment of one to another

can be to feel and say that your words resonate with me,

express what I have felt before,

and yet I had not found how to say 

the insight, the truth, your words hold,

all of this comes to me,

and finds its way onto the page,

as I consider artifacts I have found,

whose story touches me,

even though I can’t quite hear it,

the story written in stone

and enduring for hundreds, thousands of years,

while the Earth turns

and time dissolves the writing 

of wood, fabric, bone, and flesh,

every individual spearpoint, 

hand axe, 

even every chip,

whispers to me,

and I am entranced with the imagining:

who stood here, who sat here, who crafted here?

Spear Point found in our garden last year

each imagining a fleeting glimpse,

A potsherd (piece of a pot)

recently, I chanced into finding a collection of artifacts,

just out our backdoor, by our outbuilding:

Cache found at base of first post

a perfect spearpoint, broken spearpoints,

a chunky stone, 

better and more varied scrapers 

than I’ve ever found before,

treasures of chunks of clear quartz

and impressive bits of black flint,

all of them as if a gift

to accompany a spirit on its way from this earth,

usually, it’s a glimpse of the past that I reach to grasp

and my hands pass through a fleeting glimmer,

this time the artifacts hold a story I can almost hold,

maybe of a loved one lost, 

these artifacts gifts 

to remember, honor, help,

our land gently slopes toward the east

where the sun rises,

maybe the spirit rose to meet the sun,

and the love of those long gone

is written in the stones I found.

by Henry H. Walker

January 22, ‘21

giving fiddling a bad rep

 a poisoned environment

for decades a poison has infected our government,

a willful denial that laws are needed

to figure how problems can be solved, 

how ways forward can be found,

whether in rights, or health, or leveling the playing field,

instead, those controlling Washington, D.C.,

have viewed government as existing to be enabler,

to enable the rich to get richer,

to enable corporations to run the show and buy the votes,

no wonder so many of my students today

did not want to watch the inauguration of a new President,

for they have no personal experience or evidence

that it matters who flies about in Air Force One,

that it matters who is in the Senate or House,

for those people don’t do anything to help their world,

I ask the students what we can do

to deal with global climate change,

and they can’t come up 

with either liberal or conservative ideas,

ways forward aren’t discussed,

Senators and Representatives fiddle while California burns,

I cried with hope today

for I am Old School,

I believe that there is a way forward,

that greed, masquerading as freedom,

is not the only answer,

I disagree that there is an invisible hand

that somehow keeps society on a good and true path

with no government as parent to help us choose better paths,

wisdom can come when ideas are shared,

and people are open to revelation and change,

my victory only possible and worth anything

if your victory comes along, too,

that fairness requires sacrifice,

that self-indulgence is a dead end,

the better angels of our nature can fly

if we but let them.

by Henry H. Walker

January 20, ‘21