“Rivers know this: there is no hurry.
We shall get there some day.”
― A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh
problems. big and heavy. strewn across my path. i strained to move them.
we might pass each other at the copier.
you in your problem bubble and i in mine.
we would shuffle off
with worksheets piled high, like lollipops for toddlers on long car rides, allowing us to eke out 5 minutes
to check email, slurp cold coffee, take that last deep sigh…
“ready to do battle” teacher face. ON.
in charge of everything and everyone. it hurt to the bone marrow.
do not dream…do not. dreaming is dangerous, it shows on the face: vulnerability.
scared to hurt, pieces of broken dreams lying shattered.
i sob and sob. heart swollen with buried dreams.
each of you drift into focus. from dots in the distance to limbed smiling bodies to hug.
you and you and you, and…you.
people who dream with the lights on. who say things ALOUD that were only said in the secret part of my head.
connections pull me up. way up. ahh. i see far off and into the future.
i stretch to explain what i see. no need for yoga.
it hurts from growing. brain knitting all the time.
dreams. creep. in. like a silent cat. i don’t see them enter. but one day. i wake up and they are here.
LOUDLY singing and marching and dancing around.
a liquid landscape. always mixing, new reactions, layers of connection.
spider-silk strong. invisible and flexible. dream to dream, heart to heart.
we all walk in.
children of various ages and an adult person.
we sit in a circle and talk. steaming drinks in hand (we buy a kettle or two in this dream).
conversations sculpting our vision into plans.
we negotiate the implementation of the curriculum.
together in the open. this is not a course.
a course is set for you.
a course has winners and ribbons and a start gun. no more course.
(and why did i ever want you to run it, anyway? it had been run by 1000’s before you. ludicrous to run the course over and over again. divvy up the resources of life based on how closely you can stick to the course. predetermined by me. by my definition of what it should be. and the gun i held to your head did not hold bullets. no. instead it held failure and killed you just the same.)
how will this work for you? and how about for you? we decide what the words mean for us, within each of our lives.
we talk more. esoteric and grounded. it is hard. it is honest. no games. no gaming. no badges. no worksheets.
we connect to each. to our own story. we connect, beyond cold cement walls, to warm beings who live in far off places. each of us creating their own unique pattern of connection.
each, finds their story. the one we have been dying to tell the world. the one we did not know. until we connected to it. we find our way to tell it. building it out of eclectic materials.
there are many problems to be solved. children, know them, so much better than me. i will trust them to find and solve the big problems.
i bend to support. and then… i see students flex to support me. to support others. strands weave into a shape yet unknown.
warp and weft. over and under. over and under.
this is the start.
the start of my dream.
this will be our dream. i won’t own it this time.
a connected classroom. each has to create it. children and adult connected to something greater than themselves.
connected to the yin and yang of dreams: impossible and possible.
we sink in. deep. into the weave of we.
“This is not the wisdom of the crowd, but the wisdom of someone in the crowd. It’s not that the network itself is smart; it’s that the individuals get smarter because they’re connected to the network.”
― Steven Johnson