Three Days

© 2011 David Parker

The truth? I flew to Idaho and back in three days to do a little housekeeping 2,500 miles from home.

There were pugs who jumped on top of tables to lick the cream out of my coffee and a boat that pushed through a thin layer of ice on the surface of the lake. In the middle of the lake was an island. On top of the island was a house with lots of windows full of people who don’t care if anyone sees them throwing rocks. In fact, they encourage you to throw your own rocks, or at least stop carrying them around, but no one casts the first stone. There was music that glittered with the water reflecting mountains dusted with snow. A child entrusted with a knife sat criss-cross-applesauce on the counter to help cut vegetables for dinner. Self reliance. Some kind of pasta with rabbit. A toast to me. To us! A world of plastic sea creatures, a sprawling spiral, on the child’s bedroom floor. Confidence that it is beautiful because she made it. Smiles. Hugs that don’t pull away. Affirmation.

An Invitation: You give away your anger, your only power, and trade it for a new one, a truer one, on the promise of a net that will appear only if you jump. But you know the net is there because of how you began.

Can you remember? When you were just barely a speck, a few cells glued together by your own spirit, glowing and warm inside of your mother’s belly? She doesn’t even know you’re there. But you know. And you are perfect. And your life holds nothing but promise. The universe adores you. You are a beautiful, beloved secret. Your world is a soft place filled with the faint sounds of your mothers laughter and the ins-and-outs of her breath when she’s sleeping. You remember. That’s not a question. You began there. We all have that in common. And your spirit, your cellular glue, has a voice that isn’t afraid because it hasn’t learned fear yet. This is mine. Hello.

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Faith and Baby Steps

© 2010 David Parker

About a month ago I met Faith, and ever since, I’ve been carrying it around like a new born baby swaddled up in mind-maps and golden tickets punched by me. I’ve discovered that faith (in people and in my own ideas) takes a lot of trusting and a hell of a lot of baby steps.

Today I counted and I have about eight projects in the works. Several of them will appear here, as baby steps. The first is a series of installments about how I became a teacher. Last year was a very discouraging one for me as an educator. I started off this year feeling frustrated with the educational system in general and defeated in particular by the experiences I’d had in my classroom. I used to feel like my career choice was meaningful, that I was accomplishing some truly humane purpose, but as I met people in industries outside of education (especially artistic ones), I became increasingly disenchanted with my profession.  From this disenchantment came the founding of an interdisciplinary arts organization and the beginning of a writing project. Because I’ve only ever understood anything through story, and because I can’t do anything well that I don’t perceive to be meaningful, I decided that the only way for me to make sense of my profession and find the meaning I have been missing was to go back and tell the story of how I arrived here. You can find those installments under the category “Becoming Ms. Reed.”

Sight-Seeing on Lysithea

© 2010 David Parker

For the past few days, thoughts have been popping in my head like Christmas ornaments: delicate implosions that crunch underfoot. Their tiny shards have embedded themselves in the folds of my brain, glittering like secrets. I’ve been opportunity’s call girl, chauffeured around my own town. See! Look! There! The world around me has graciously collapsed, and is now speeding, tumbling towards a fate of my own making. A fate I brewed from melted stars, metal birds, and horizons devoured by the fiery mouths of setting suns.

So this is what it feels like, doing what you love? Like you have a secret moon in your mouth? Like the world is hugging you while you walk around inside of it? Like listening, on repeat, to the liquid sound of your favorite person’s voice and the laughter that shatters it?

Like when you realize that your favorite person’s voice belongs to you.

Where I’ve Been

I’ve been madly, furiously, scurriously writing myself into a frenzy. What have I been writing about? It’s a super-secret, sacred, sacrilegious piece about a sanctuary sanctified by the light (as in Lucille Clifton’s light that insists upon itself in the world). The piece and the light and the praise-Jesus-praisin’ will grace this Internet space in a few more days. I’ve just got to get it all dressed up in its Sunday Best.

And now, a disclaimer: While I set out to post something everyday, I have learned that writing I’m proud of generally can’t be finished in a day. And sometimes I get sick of writing something (ANYTHING!!) just to put something up. It was a good exercise for a month, and it trained me well, but I can’t keep up that kind of pace. Not with a four-year-old and a full-time job. Let’s just say I’ll be here mostdays. But that doesn’t mean I’m not writing. I am. Everyday. Girl Scout promise.