Tuesday, September 25, 2012


Patience seemed to be the strongest force in my day yesterday. Nothing seemed to be rushing or running or pushing ahead. Whatever happened seemed to happen in a slow and resolute manner. Whether it was me scanning the sections  of my lesson plan, or my students strolling down the hall toward my class room, or the trees outside shifting in the soft winds, everything was done with neither haste nor carelessness. That’s strange, because it might have seemed, to an observer, that there was much earnestness at school yesterday. Kids could occasionally be seen dashing down the walkway, and probably a few of us teachers took our students swiftly through a lesson now and then. But, still, there seemed to be a sense of serenity at the heart of everything. Inside any rushing was an essential, all-pervasive peacefulness. Things sometimes happened quickly, but always carefully and perfectly. A wonderful symbol of this was something I saw at the end of the day, when kids were boarding buses and others were racing around on the athletic fields. I saw a car parked in front of the main entrance to school, and inside it, reclining in unreserved stillness behind the steering wheel, a woman was peacefully sleeping. Games were starting on the fields and I’m sure cars were, as usual, speeding along the nearby interstate, but inside that car there was a persistent stillness. In a sometimes hysterical world, stillness and patience prevailed there. I passed by on the way to my car, wishing the woman – and our world – a refreshing rest.

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