The moon and the morning star adorned today's sunrise. One blackbird on a neighbour's roof sang to the ocean, calling its long white tides to release the sun. Looking out, I thought, as Mary Oliver does in her new book, "Softest of mornings, hello. And what will you do today, I wonder, to my heart?"
Yesterday I spent a little while in a crowded store and, upon getting home, had to wrap myself in a shawl and rest. This is what society can do to the introvert. But later on I remembered fallen petals and riverside blossoms, so I went out between thunderstorms for a small and quiet adventure on my own. The flowers were gentler company than shoppers, and I felt restored.
This morning, I read a quote by Thomas Berry: "Teaching children about the natural world should be seen as one of the most important events in their lives." The semantics of this actually made me sad, because if we teach children about the natural world we are treating them as separate from it. We are making shoppers not gardeners.
Rather, I think, let's teach children within the natural world, and raise them in a paradigm that they are as much a part of it as the singing birds and the early stars and the slow bright fall of a petal. Let's have, instead of a lesson, simply a way of being. This is why I love Waldorf education, despite its various flaws. It brings children up, and opens them out, as natural beings within the natural world.
(I miss my connections with Waldorf education. Maybe one of these days ... well, who knows? A book? A website? A teacher certificate? A playgroup in my home?)
May the day do magic to your heart.