There’s a  35 degree  chill in the dawning air.  A slight fog is muting the sharp lines of everything.  Wisps of steam are rising from my freshly brewed cup of coffee.  Standing by the Koi pond, listening to the soft music of the water falling off the rocks and seeing the smooth, graceful sweep of the koi, is my “just to” time when I just listen to my heart.   I love this silent time of day.  It is such an uninterrupted time. It’s so unhurried and slow-paced.  It’s so far away from mind chatter that I can stay in the moment with just myself.  It’s a time of clarity when I can pull together who I am, who I still might become, the distance between the two, and what I still have to do to close that distance.  It’s a time when I can be most intimate with my heart, my spirit, and my mind; when I can just quietly make room, softly invite in, silently listen, focus attentiveness and awareness until it all transforms in reflection and contemplation.  This morning, as I stood there in the graying light of the day’s beginning, my eye caught a tree by the pond and I silently asked myself,  “Are you just another tree or is there a pulsating miracle behind the bark?”    



	I don’t remember whether it was Whitman, Emerson, or Thoreau who said that what keeps you ablaze is greeting each day, walking through each day, and ending each night with a  joy and satisfaction that emits a fragrance like flowers.  I surely know what whomever said that means.  When you’ve been to the edge as my epiphany, cancer, and cerebral hemorrhage had taken me, it’s the mother of all sins not to have that wonderful feeling of just being alive, of delighting in living. For me, that means waking up and being excited and curiously restless to face the day ahead, and being very present with that day, and then going to bed knowing I actually accomplished something significant; that I knew I had lived the entire day.   I mean, there’s nothing more than that, really.  Nothing more.  



	I stood my the pond wondering what would happen to the environment within each of us if we brought into the classroom, to quote myself,  that “wonderful feeling of just being alive, of delighting in living,”   What would happen if we hospitably greeted each person.  Just think of the smile that would put on both our and their faces every day.  Just think of the delight it would inject into both our and their hearts each day.  Just think of the dance it would put in our step every day.  Just think of the fire it would feed every day.  



	I’m not talking about a current, static condition.  I thinking about a current dynamic mission.  It’s not actual; it is aspirational; it is promise; it’s faith, hope, and love.  It is a greatness of heart that unconditionally cares about each and  all.  It is soul to lift burdens and allow others to strive to be the person each is capable of becoming.  It is to see and listen to cares and concerns of others over our self-interest, to see each person as a dynamic “human becoming” rather than as a fixed “human being.”  Then, you constantly rediscover the human condition in each person in each classroom each day.  That is an ecstatic act of adoration I call “teaching from life.”  

	

	What got me here was an unscheduled  conversation I had with a past student I’ll name, Sam, whom I met a few days ago.  Let me tell about some of that conversation.



	I was about a quarter way through my morning seven mile power walk.  I was just about to step off a side street curb when a car turned onto the street, stopped, and blocked my path.  I went over as the window rolled down.  “Hey, Dr. Schmier.  I’ve been following your internet essays for a long time.  This time I saw you walking and decided to stop and tell you what you've meant to me when I was in college and still do after all these years.”

	

	We talked for a few minutes.  Then Sam said, “I’ve often wondered why and how you saw me when I couldn’t?  I looked at myself, but I never could see myself until you came along.  I remember you once telling with a forceful love, that’s the only way to described it, ‘See yourself; don’t just look at yourself.  Listen to yourself; don’t just hear yourself.  If you do, you’ll see you’re full of possibilities you didn’t know existed.’  I owe you a lot for helping me do just that.  I felt I was just so ordinary as best at the time until you made me feel otherwise.”



	“Well,” I answered with something like,  “you were never ordinary and I never thought otherwise.  I exercised my power to have faith in you, hope for you, and love of you.  When you do that, you’ll start to see how extraordinary the supposed ordinary is.  Everyone is worthy of being noticed; everyone is worthy of being seen; everyone is worthy of being listened to.  Everyone is worthy of your attention.  Everyone is a dynamic ‘human becoming,’ not a static 'human being.'  So, in my eyes, you weren’t ordinary.  I didn’t just look at the surface you like you and others did.  I saw the beneath the surface you.  I saw you with ’soft eyes.' I heard you with ’soft ears.’  And,  I cared about you with a ’soft heart.’  That way I opened myself to everything that was going on in the class, and I remained more fully present in the moment in the class with all my senses while focusing on each of you.”



	“So,” he smiled, “you admit you’re a ‘softie.’”  



	“Sure.  It’s called ‘lovingkindness.’  But, I’m a ‘challenging and caring softie.’  I ask in no uncertain terms that you not accept any ordinariness about you.  I demanded that you not accept being ‘just average.’  I demanded that you saw and heard yourself with your own ‘soft eyes’ and ‘soft ears’ so you could care about yourself with your own ’soft heart.’  I demanded of myself that I exert the time and energy to help you see you were something special, like you said, 'filled with possibilities you didn’t know existed.'”



	“I know. You said at the beginning of the class not to accept being mediocre, that we each can be an honors student if we were willing to do what it took.  Boy, was that a throwing down of the gauntlet.  I know all that now.  That was the purpose of those diary-like journals and those out-of-the-box projects.  That was not lecturing and testing.  You never did anything at us; it was always with us.  Like you said, and I never forget it, it was breaking barriers, building bridges, and creating community with yourself and others.  I’ve been struggling to that ever since.   You never accepted an ‘I can’t’ or ‘I’m not’ from any of us.  You challenged and stretched us in ways we never were.  It was like you said, and I have never forgotten it, it was breaking barriers, building bridges, and creating community with yourself and others.  I’ve been struggling to that ever since. You did that with each of us, and it sure worked on me.  I found I could be creative and imaginative in ways I never thought I could.  Still do.  You saved me.  You changed where I was heading.  For that I thank you, and I just wanted to say it to you this morning.”



	“Thank you,” I quieted said with a tear forming in my eye.  And, thank yourself even more for finding the courage to admit that you had to change course, that you could choose another path to walk, and that you did.”



	“You know, I still read your syllabus for that class every now and then.  Even show it to my children.  Say,” he then asked, “did ever really finish your reflections on burnout?  I really was getting into them.”



	Now don’t hold my reply  to these exact words, but they’re close enough.  “Yes, and no.  What you do during your ‘dash,’ whether you see, listen, and feel with ’softness’ or not will influence whether you’ll keep on burning or you burnout.  You have to dispel life-sapping tedium with a  meaningful vision, follow it, and keep it alive.  And as long as you have that vision in your eyes, ears, and heart, you’ll keep your resolve; you won’t lose the importance and good of what you’re doing.  Doing good work is a good way to live and work.  You’ll always find reason to be joyful and excited.  You’ll always be alert, attentive, aware, mindful, and alive.  You’ll always have faith in, hope for, and love of.  You’ll always open your eyes, ears, mind, and heart.  You’ll see beauty in everything and everyone.  You’ll always reach out to embrace and make a positive difference. You won’t allow yourself to be numbed or depressed.  You’ll just teach yourself over and over and over with purpose, meaning, joy, excitement, fulfillment, and satisfaction.”

	  

	We chatted a bit more.  Then, he drove off and I continued my walk.  But, now it was a different walk.  Sam put me into more of a pensive mood than I’m normally in during the time of these mobile mediative miles. 



	There’s more.  Later. 



Make it a good day



-Louis-





Louis Schmier                         		http://www.therandomthoughts.edublogs.org       

203 E. Brookwood Pl                         http://www.therandomthoughts.com

Valdosta, Ga 31602 

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