Internal Reconstruction Due to Positive Changes

BW Abstract

My life has been experiencing some glitches and internal rewiring due to some very positive changes. I am now one month into my new position as a coop preschool teacher of the paperwork free variety. I document by photos and conversations, and I am in charge of the program, but not the administration. All I have to do is develop relationships with children and parents and provide a safe stimulating environment that responds to their needs as individuals and encourages social interactions. I am very good at these things. Parents who put their children in this program are aware of our policy of child centered, play oriented learning so I don’t have to sell them on my philosophy and style. And best of all I do not have to do social service work and spend half of my time writing down what happens every day. We just do things. Mostly I inspire, observe, set limits and provide caring and conversations.

Now that I have transitioned into my new schedule and dealt with all of the feelings that come with the change of community. I did not move, but I left some friends and comrades in arms at my Head Start job and some families that I had grown close to. Whenever I make these transitions I go through a period in which my priorities fly up in the air, and I am not very good at juggling. I tend to be a one task at a time person. So writing remained up in the air for a while. Now I am feeling the rhythm and have started to catch all of my flying priorities. I even wrote a poem though I am not sure why it has such a strangely fatalistic tone. I am feeling very positive about most of my life even though things get a little overwhelming at times. But hey when a poem comes in from wherever they come from, I just write whatever comes through.

One More Day

Another chance to move

about in this small space,

Sweep a corner clear,

Chalk an outline of where

I will fall

With small

Adjustments that amount to

millions of still frames,

most of which I will

forget,

keeping only the ones that

mean the least,

flat, transparent images

unable to hold feeling,

as if they belong to someone else,

who is like me,

but seen from a distance,

flickered movements strobed

onto my mind screen,

an eyeball, a razor, a black-bearded man in a

tutu endlessly repeated,

infinitely varied,

until all possibilities are

exhausted.

This entry was posted in All part of the process, change, developing relationships, discovery and recovery, doodles, Dreamtime, poetry, Teaching and Learning, the end is the beginning, thinking in words and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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