The One – “Song 4: Separation” Segment 3

First published April 29, 2019...

Today’s post brings us to the one-third point in this fourth Song. This portion brings us to an up-close and personal teacher-students “moment.” Something powerful begins. A great seed is planted. Hopefully, the quickening pace will please and delight readers. This teacher is not cut from ordinary cloth, and one wonders how many teachers would take the time to meet students on this psychological level. No matter. The game’s afoot!

My teacher drops to the floor, sits cross-legged

            and suddenly, towering over him this

            feels all wrong – not my place but my head hums

            in my ears, so he has to be the one

This keeps me from startling like a scared dog

            I slowly sink down silent facing him

I hear chirping rustling birds in green vines

            outside open windows there is no time

The teacher cocks his head inquiringly

            as if to ask the time or direction

I see he will wait to dust for me to

            be the first to speak, so like the one-note

            peeping sparrows clinging to the trembling

            vines, I whisper, “Something different you said.”

“Oh that! Of course! Of course!” he cheeps right back

Now in a deep and serious voice, “but that

            depends on the difference you are wanting.”

Anger flares up in me. I flush and glower

            Old frustrating heap of locked up secrets!

            I want to beat his chest with hot, balled fists

                        and demand he tell what he’s hiding

            Just now the sound presses heavy inside

            my thoughts, shifting my intention to more

                        cunning ways.  I will drag this old man out

                        if it takes all night and another day!

I breathe in long and exhale. “You said you

could see that we are different.  How is that?”

My seeming simple question undams floods

            of rushing words banked by two wild gesturing

            hands that shape and flutter their meaning so 

            I am not sure whether to follow them

            or listen, and settle in to try both

“Well, let us speak not of two but just you

            since your good friend isn’t presently here.”

I make a point not to speak of others

            when they are not here.  It seems low stealing

            of information that is owed elsewhere.

So, as you ask, I will speak of only 

            one – that is, of you – the one sitting close.

I can see your treasures bright as any

            gold hoard piled high in a sly dragon’s cave.”

                        A dream-scent of a dark green cave wafts just

                        under my nose.  Owl-like I blink both eyes.

            He doesn’t notice as he rumbles on

 “You are one who’s so different that even

            a blind one can see your light, feel your heat.

Such ones as you make others ill at ease

            in their compared darkness, but you mistake

            your light for a kind of dimness.  You try

            to hide yourself, but like a blazing lamp

            inside a slatted box your beams slant out

            and paint the darkness.  Such is your quickening.”

I almost catch his meaning. At least I

            feel its good intention, but I’m puzzled

He sees my knitted brow and stops his talk.

Silently, he nods, shakes his head, and says,

“My friend, forgive me. I’ll contain myself.

You see your good light dazzles me as well

You were born of stars and to the stars you

belong, but between, you find yourself here.”

He pauses, looks out the vine-hung window.

“Do you hear that sparrow singing out there?”

“I hear many chirps. There is more than one.”

            But silently I wonder how he knows

            that I’ve been listening to these noisy birds

“Yes, you are right, but listen closer now.

Do you hear a difference among those birds?”

I close my eyes and listen hard like when

            I focus on my inside sound and this

            helps me hear each bird amid the many

Soon I hear one who though farther off is

            chirping madly as if alarmed or with

            something most urgent to communicate

 “Yes, now I hear one making more noise by

            herself.  She may see some danger they don’t.”

“Perhaps,” he says, “or perhaps he sounds for

            other reasons.  It matters that you hear.”

“So what?” I say and toss my head as if

            dismissing and move on to bigger things.

“Your voice is like that white-throated sparrow.”

            He leans close to speak the unfurled secret.

“Your need to sing is much stronger because

            you see so much.  You will never settle

            for anything but the wide world and its

            potent song and you will go to any

            length to hear it.  Just so, you are different.”

Something in me feels his meaning because

            such words have come before in nightshade dreams.

            where I’ve mapped familiar sea and star ways

The odd teacher speaks more, leaning closely

“Like these sparrows we all share some outward

            common feathers.  But in our sparrow-hearts

            lie the difference a kindred bird can see.

Most people are content among the vines 

            and branches close to home, but you are not . . .”

“I hate this place!  I hate all these people!”

My voice roars out before I can stop it

            but I’m not sorry now the words are out

“It is quite natural for your time.  Some day

            you may remember us with something more.”

“I have to leave!”         “You will soon enough.”

“Do you think so?”      “You can count on it.”

“But when?”                “The instant you’re truly ready.”

“When will that be?”   “You will know for certain.

            Now excuse me.  I’ve lessons to prepare.”

 I am relieved that this is ending for

            tears are welling up and my throat is thick.

“We can meet for talks often, if you like,”

            he says as we rise.  I nod twice sharply.

“For now, remember who you are and that

            all is right with you.  When people say things

            otherwise, it’s what’s in them, not in you.”

 “Thanks.” I can barely whisper and turn and 

            hurry out the door in early twilight

My feet make light upon the path away

I am thinking hard of stars and small birds

Of the dragon words he spoke, one on one

            to me, not Jani, and unexpected

            leaning against an oak tree glowering

Jani waiting, looking down, kicking dirt

Background

Teacher-student relationships can be some of the most important meetings in the lives of young people. A teacher worth his/her salt nearly always wishes for contact with students outside of the classroom in service to their emergence as full-fledged human beings. A skilled teacher/mentor will gently but intentionally draw out the main issues the student faces, not offering easy solutions, but rather, in the interest of the student’s self-discovery, and growth in personal insight. This teacher has such skill.

Exploration #1: Do you approve of the teacher’s approach, i.e., seeing the main character alone, and without Jani? Is the approach appropriate for the age level he is addressing?

Exploration #2: Why does the main character suspect that the teacher is “the one.” At this point, is it possible to ascertain what this search is about?

Exploration #3: Can you interpret the excerpt below, spoken by the teacher to his student?

Such ones as you make others ill at ease

in their compared darkness, but you mistake

your light for a kind of dimness. You try

to hide yourself, but like a blazing lamp

inside a slatted box your beams slant out

and paint the darkness.  Such is your quickening.”