The Teacher Is Dancing Inside My Chest

In your light I learn how to love.

In your beauty, how to make poems.

You dance inside my chest,

where no one sees you,

but sometimes I do,

and that sight becomes this art.

(Excerpts from The Essential Rumi, translations by Coleman Barks with John Moyne, 1995.

After I prayed today and came here to my writing, as I usually do to gain perspective...I found a page of Rumi's poems open on my desk top.  I know I didn't open them  but there they were!  The above poem called to me even if it didn't seem to directly apply to my prayer request.  I felt compelled to share it here.

Then when I sat down all teary eyed and defeated...this came out...boom...like the water from my eyes.  Go figure! I got up feeling a heck of a lot better then when I sat down. 

I think I am meant to write poems...even sucky ones that could never be called "art" lol. Maybe that is where I will find the answers I am looking for...in my poems.  How cool is that? :)

It is all so good.

Recess

I have been sitting here for so long and I am so very tired. 
I want this to be over. 
I want the bell to ring so I can escape out there
into the sunshine I have been missing out on.
I feel helpless in this lesson…
it is like advanced calculus to a mind that is just learning long division…
I cannot make sense of it.

I have been here before.
There may be different textbooks, different classrooms,
but  You, the same teacher, in different clothing, offer me …
the very same lesson,  again and again,
explaining without words  
that I must master this before I can advance.
But I cannot make sense of any of it. 
 
I try to solve the  problems on my own but I don't know where to begin.
I press my pencil so hard upon the paper
 the lead breaks in frustration….
You just hand me a new pencil and motion for  me to begin again. 
“What is the point?” I ask…
"What am I to learn and when will I ever need this stuff? "
You just point to the page  and usher  me to continue.
 
“I am in pain!!! Am I just to ignore that??” I shout “What does it all mean?"…
You just shake your head as you walk back and forth past me …
slowly, purposefully, gracefully…saying nothing.
“Is this body not worth saving?  This mind? Am I to let it go?”,
I call out again to your back.
No answer comes from your silent mouth. 

“Do I give others control of my body…let them have it? 
Let them do what they will with it as it shrivels into dust?" 
You just smile at me then, your eyes twinkling with laughter
but still You say nothing.
 
“What if this thing consumes me?”
You nod in approval as if that would be a good thing. 
You tap the desk in front of me again, a cue to keep working.

I look down at the page…it is garbled nonsense. 
I fear I will never understand it. 
I feel the tears falling from my blurry, unseeing eyes
onto the scribbled messages before me,
leaving puddles of confusion everywhere,
obscuring the little bit that does make sense. 
Even my name in the upper right hand corner
gets washed away.
"This is a mess." I say to  You, the Being Who doesn't seem to hear me...
 "I know nothing. I am nothing." 
I bend my head and sob.

With that, I feel Your hand on my shoulder…
supporting me,  guiding me with no more than a gentle touch. 
The noisy clock on the wall stops ticking…
I can feel the breath entering and leaving my body
in a perfected rhythm beyond my control. 
I feel my heart being beaten by a drummer I cannot see.
I feel the pencil in my hand and somehow know it is a part of me,
everything is a part of me.
For the briefest of seconds, I understand everything by understanding nothing. 
I feel the most precious peace in not knowing.
It all makes perfect sense.

You smile at me in approval before you  walk away from my desk
and leave the classroom,  
with the door remaining wide open behind you.

The bell rings. 
I jump up.
Is it time to go? 
I look up to the clock that resumes its ticking
and feel the pain once again in my body. 
I sigh loudly. 
It is only recess.

Dale-Lyn, March 2020