You don't belong here!

Following a promise I made to myself I am working on my stories for children - every day a little bit.

 'The box of impossible things' is my most current piece of writing and has been born out of my anger about fitting people, particularly young people and children, into boxes. It annoyed me tremendously just how much the primal need of children to belong is being abused. This human needs makes them (us) like a sponge for all the 'Do's and Dont's' passed on with often the best of intentions; the intention of fitting in. Yet, how often do we look into a person with open eyes to look what they might bring?

Funnily, as the story is taking shape I am welcomed this morning by a song, a beautiful cover version of a tune I shouted along to as a teen - Creep by Radiohead. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XFkzRNyygfk ... it evokes all the feelings of not fitting into the little mountain setting I grew up in. Stunning and magical as it might have been the boundaries of what is acceptable behaviour and what kind of thinking is the right kind are rather narrow. Apparently this can be explained by the narrow valleys enclosed by ridged mountain ranges. Oh well.

I recently learnt that even in my most desperate attempts to act and behave 'normal' I was noticed to be ... 'quirky' ... a loving way of saying 'different' I guess. With this revelation that I simply won't ever manage to 'fit in' I rather came to enjoy the company of others who equally push boundaries. So I began to unpack my 'box of impossible things' and went on a quest of finding out how we end up with an array of convictions about ourselves that ultimately make us a shadow of our true potential self.

It starts with a desire to be 'loveable', worthy of your family's love.
I overheard a mum telling her sons "Nobody likes boys who..."

It saddens me that we are made to think that we have to 'work' in order to be deserving of love. How dare we decide at the onset of a young life to impose our criteria of what makes a person loveable onto a perfect little being? But what is most excruciating is knowing that we actually mean well in doing so. We desire an easy life for them - a successful life (according to social norms)... a life full of love and positive things.

We don't want it to be hard for others to love our offspring.

This young female author has captured her pain with fitting the bill of being 'loveable' in this quotation:

"You are terrifying and strange and beautiful, someone not everyone knows how to love.” Warsan Shire

In prescribing what a person ought to be like in order to be deserving of love we ask our children to disregard aspects of who they are and most importantly their feelings, which can act as signposts through life if we learn how to read them. These parts are put into a box and are hidden away, leaving an emptiness, a person who might fit in, a person who belongs but at a huge cost.

Instead I wonder if we could ask what that particular soul can bring to us and help them reveal who they are and what gifts they carry.

And when we struggle to love their uniqueness because it challenges us can we be responsible enough to look inwards, finding what parts in us are responding to who they are, that we ought to deal with?

'The box of impossible things' is a story that attempts to address these questions. Escorted by a sweet picture of a toddler who recently very adamantly said 'No!' to me as I asked her if she could show me how sisters behave nicely I accept her sentence 'You can't say this'. It reminds me just how conditioned we all are and how much the story is only aimed to be a seed to encourage more little girls and boys like this one.

After all, who am I to say that their game, which was annoying for me to watch, was not 'nice' for them.

Your misfit par excellence

A poem.

PGCE 
concrete everywhere
windows which never open
a copy of life 

pressure mounting each day
my life is drifting away
left dark and empty 

where are the people?
where do they keep heart desires?
beneath the levels? 

hectic storm of paper
copying, cutting, running out
buzzer, empty tears 

laughter at the verge 
of madness taking over 
trainees at their limits

whose demands are mine?
strings pulling us like puppets
caught in nothingness 

bodies without soul
dried out by pressures and demand
smile. the holidays 

asses your teacher.
anything else: "I love you"
improve on your slides

Metamorphosis

My heavy eyelids are determined to remain shut as my soaring head tugs its seams with every sounding of the alarm. Another day. How long has it been? It must have been years, or so it seemed, since I had woken without the immediate whistling in my ears and the lists of things to do filling up all my headspace with the first thought I allow to form; the end of a stunted night.

In autopilot modus I somehow find myself in the bathroom applying the mask for the day. How did I get here? I am not quite sure and somehow I stopped asking myself where these moments are lost. The newly acquired skill of sleepwalking is now a familiar start into the day. I trust everything I need is packed. Although I cannot be certain because my old ally – my clear mind – has vacated my body. Instead I hop from one moment to another, zooming in and out of situations, crucial points of information are filtered from the flood of well meant input that drives my system to near-crashes by the minute; the filter is not successful yet and needs improving – point number 876 on my list.

It must have been a few months ago when I had given up taking it all in. Ever since, the world has become a haze. Days must have been shrunk to bits of their former elaborate cycle and conversations have been reduced to bite-size instructions. It is all about the shortest way to accomplish the goal: survival. The sacrifice is an isolated, fleeting, yet, work-brimmed shadow of a life.

On the wall of the stuffy staff-room I read “13 days”; the number left to D-Day. People around counting how many more lessons of the most dreaded classes are left – 10 times left with the stupid Yr7’s; only 6 more with the unappreciative Yr11’s; in-between I notice a “but I will miss Yr9, they are so lovely”. I zoom out and switch off – self-preservation mode.

Tears tremble down my face as I am handed a “Certificate of Appreciation”.

A tender breath of life tickles my face and I feel a weak pulse back in my dry arteries; the deed is done. Collapsed, I sob on the shoulder of a friend. I strip off the suit of armour I grew, stepping back into an altered reality. As I tip my toes into the new now I not only stretch my days back to their natural length but my sight becomes clear and the ever-present haze eases slowly.

The realisation comes: I made it. 

Have I been transformed into a teacher?

Almost.

Amongst Women.

The weekend ended with a beautiful 50-something sitting in the buff, showing how beautiful a body can be at any age… her breasts, I swear, were as firm as the ones of a 30 year old. Pure, raw, uncensored female beauty against the stormy weather of the Forest of Dean that embraced our gathering. In the midst of this ancient, wild and temperamental setting I was challenged about what I perceive to be femininity, about the power that lies within a woman connected with herself. I also learnt that I can see beauty in many things, even hairy lady parts and armpits.

I would not call myself an active feminist, because I still prefer the feel of silky, shaven skin (maybe only because I have learnt to do so, but nonetheless I do). Beyond these superficial expressions of femininity though I believe in equality of gender; not because we ought to be the same or living the same way, but because we are invaluable to one another in our differences, bringing what the other does not have, or only has to a limited extent.

Resisting of going into a dull reiteration of how the domination of the male over the female for many thousand years has shaped our view of the feminine and put us 'second place' (as it's obvious and we all know), I nonetheless recognise that we have become - that I have been - afraid of our emotions, our animus, our sensuality, our immense wisdom and power. For being great, truly great, extraordinary so to speak can be a lonely place. Women have learnt to hate other women, envy other women in their wonderful brilliance. If only we could acknowledge our gifts and cherish each other for them… instead we fight, compete over all kind of trivial things such as jobs, status and (not so trivial) men.

Being amongst women showed me that power that lies in a togetherness. In this realm of the intuitive we gather our power; and I was stunned at just how uncompromising this place is. Once I began to listen to my gut, the nitty gritty inside in a circle of women I sensed the truth. The truth buried beneath layers upon layers of 'rules' and 'norms' illuminated my life as centred around a need to help the world with my all, to a point of exhaustion. At this point I could not take the 'bullshit' anymore.

What bullshit?
All of it.

It took me a while to sense into what exactly it is that pissed me off, confused me and threw me off balance in the week since this workshop. What threw me is the delayed unfolding of this realisation. The folly is that I have been working on myself for about 10 years to be content, happy with myself - yet I would put this happiness in jeopardy to help others to reach their potential. Women have linked their own value for too long in their endurance of putting up with bullshit… any kind, whilst keeping a smile and making others feel as comfortable as possible, forgetting about our own needs; maybe even being too 'humble' (stupid!) to receive enough in return.

First, I unveiled my own idiocy of believing that I could help anybody learn how to walk, talk, do or become by being there, supportive, loving and accepting nothing in return… Too many women in teaching? Care jobs are women's domains! etc… We (certainly I did) still believe in self-sacrifice for the greater good and get patted on the shoulder for how 'strong' we are.

I actually learnt fairly recently not to do that anymore; it does neither really empower nor help the other. More importantly I learnt to be open to reap my harvest, indulge in it and hand over to the divine when my work is complete. I can let go of things now when my part is done to the point that I could do it. I begin to look out for myself, take care of myself.

Generally, as emphatic woman, I would also look at people I adore and see straight into their darkest places, see their souls and love them wholeheartedly. What I did not know is that in this I was putting myself second, because I somewhat picked up this 'natural order' - second behind pretty much anyone (friends, partners, colleagues). It is a risky business as it throws one off balance and leads one to exhaust their own resources in favour of the other. At this point resentment and anger are born.

Looking at this beautiful woman, sitting in our circle bare to the bone, in all her glory, I saw that this time is over.

No more bullshit and foul compromises that don't balance out. By all means grow your body hair if you wish to say "No more bullshit!". However, I decided to live the life I desire, in the frequency that flows smoothly. All that is on that frequency I embrace, love, cherish and enjoy being enough just as I am to receive the same in return. I am now harvesting the crops of my labour at the right time and following the natural rhythms… I'll keep you in the loop on how I am faring.

Yours!

Keep your carrots - I don't like them!

We were asked to think of a metaphor to describe the experience of teacher training so far. "Surfing" was mentioned as well as "Sex" … exhilarating at times, needs practise and it can be tricky to get it right.

Taking a step back and looking at not only my experience with teaching - e.g. standing in front of a class teaching MY subject - but at the whole setting of this experience, I could not help but feel like an over packed donkey with a ridiculous load strapped on my back and an overweight rider digging his heels into my sides. To get me going a sad little carrot is dangling in front of me, trying to motivate me to walk up a path that is the fastest, not most sensible way to the top.

"Where is the positive in that metaphor?" I hear the lecturer asking the one student who compared her experience to the arena of the "Hunger Games". There was none. Actually, here is the real problem I am facing packed in one confrontation: Why trying to find the positives of swimming in a sewer?

Coming from the lecturer there was a faint, understated acknowledgement of the experience being difficult, but in the same breath a solution was offered - a positive attitude! That will carry us through the (difficult, challenging, crazy busy) time ahead. Between the lines the message was clear: "Shut up and get on with it…" followed by a tired "...we are in the same boat and cannot change any of it even if you are moaning and we understand."

Feeling like an overloaded donkey, I listen to the input telling me how I could link my lessons with other subject areas cross-curricular to make my contributions to the education of the nation even more worthwhile; so the load is getting heavier as I am listening. The carrots dangling in front of my nose come in form of grades, job prospects or merely verbal patting on the back for withstanding an ever-growing flood of targets seemingly unharmed. Keep your carrots! I don't want them.

I happily take on board ALL those fantastic suggestions, incorporate them into my plans, translate them into outstanding teaching, making the school experience of children fun and engaging. I do enjoy working with children. I still believe they are the most precious aspect in changing the world and I feel privileged to listen to their ideas, sense their wanting to do well and make something out of their lives. It's a brilliant experience.

What is not brilliant is the initiation into this process of education, neither is the process of education in itself. To offer another metaphor education (at university level as well as school level) is treating people like we do our food. We force-grow it in horrid conditions to harvest an end-product that might look like a tomato, but lacks flavour and substance. The process is defined by time-pressures, production targets and quality assurance dictates the shape of the outcome. Nothing in this is natural.

I dare to say that teaching is not all that difficult and certainly not impossible to master - it even could be exciting if the parameters were different. I know my cohort will grown naturally into fantastic teachers because they care, they want to do well, they like working with children and they feel passionate about their subject. Given time and nurture they can become ripe, plump and juicy tomatoes (or any other fruit or veg they fancy being!) as that is what they decided to be. Why beat people in the process and develop them under taxing conditions and try to sell it as "surfing" or "sex"? It is not. It's messed up and I don't want to sweet-talk it, looking for positive aspects of it to distract from the screaming faults in the system!

It's a well-established, complex and stuck process. The fact that we are asked to focused on the positives and the prospects that we can expect after years of scrutiny and endless hours of work simply shows that everybody is aware of the sickening processes going on. Yet, instead of adopting a vocal, critical French way (cultural stereotype thrown in!!) demanding a revolution, eyebrows are raised for the lack of positivity. Hence, in a "keep-calm-and-carry-on" manner we are asked to soldier on for the queen and fatherland in a battlefield of exploding targets, mine-fields of opinions and ongoing scrutiny without asking if this is a "war" worth fighting.

On purpose do I compare my journey now with a battlefield - an excessive metaphor. Our experience of teacher training was contrasted with Nelson Mandela's journey towards freedom to highlight how much worst it could be and that we should adopt some of his resilience in the months to come.

I refrain from engaging in this further as it would result in another page of blog-entry.

The bottom line is that we are creating our reality and a lot of how we experience reality is dependant upon our take on things. Thus, I decided I don't want carrots, I am no pack-donkey and I shall take from this experience what works for me and remain critical of what does not work in the hope that even more people than the 50% of teacher trainees that drop out of teaching within the first 5 years, stand up and stop perpetuating a system that is foul.

Yours,
a shook-up Urban Yogi

impatience of the heart

Sitting down to write a blog entry a book title of a novel I have been trying to read caught my eye: "Ungeduld des Herzens" by Stefan Zweig translates into "impatience of the heart". In this moment I recognised a common thread running through today. On several occasions I saw the longing in people's hearts for something. This longing was often linked to external factors - living abroad, a new home, a fresh love; all of those things promising something.

Is it the promise of becoming closer to who we truly are, to find a peace we sense is inside us?

Back home a friend wished me that 2014 will unfold smoothly for me - be "easy". Yet today I sincerely told another friend that with all it's challenges, shadows, dry spells and frustration  I am not wishing a "better" year than 2013. It was a tough year, no doubt, but it was needed. My internal struggles and changes manifested in the outside and it was messy. Now, at the beginning of 2014 I am open to what comes... not actually having a plan other than a picture in my heart, a sense of what my truth is/"looks like" is okay.

Don't get me worng, there are a few things in the configuartion of my external life that made me wonder what internal wiring might be hooked up incorrectly. For instance I pushed myself to my physical limits, in spite of the awareness of that danger I got sucked into a hectic, unhealthy system. The faulty wiring I identfied as me wanting to meet the external success criteria (good girl program!)above my own validation. In addition my "ENOUGH" button is not working well - it needs a lot of pushing before the light goes on (Tyroleans are tough program!).

In these slow winter days - dark, rainy and stromy - I was able to retreive my balance. With it came the recognition that all I am impatient for is to live my life according to my values, at a pace healthy for me and in tune with what matters... it's certainly not about targets or evaluations. It is also not about the external factors per se, although a calmer environment to London feels in line with a balanced life. More than all of that the impatience in my heart can be stilled simply by being with myself, by being me and allowing the time for life to unfold.

In my dialect we have got a saying that translates as "I don't feel myself anymore" (I g'spiar mi nimme)... once I am out of touch with my body, my senses, my self, then I am in a bad place as I lost peace and confidence in life. Without this sensation I grow impatient, sensing something is missing.

That is the moment to claim one's time and listen to what the heart has to say, what it desires beyond the external comfort we long for too.

Writing those lines I feel that this could be THE learning of 2014 for me.

With that in mind I shall boil the kettle and drink some tea!

Yours,

Are Navel Gazers bad people?

One statement a friend put on fb, as she was reflecting on her life at the end of 2013, stuck with me as the dawn of 2014 broke: Enough navel gazing!

With the briefest thought of "is this directed at people like me?" flashing through my mind I asked myself am I a Navel Gazer? By definition, navel-gazing is "complacent concentration on oneself or a single issue at the expense of a wider view." With relief I came to the conclusion that no, I am not a Navel Gazer, but only just. I feel my self-indulgence of writing about a journey, MY journey, towards finding balance in life has come with a critical take on my and other people's actions and has by no means come at the expense of a wider view of things - at times because others have thrown these "wider" views at me!

Nonetheless, I must say these blog entries have evolved around my navel, my universe, me. So I looked at a second definition of the term in question and it states... "Excessive introspection, self-absorption, or concentration on a single issue". No, I don't scrape past that definiton with a blog dedicated to one single quest - living in the heart (e.g. in balance with oneself and thus the world). At this point I have got to ask not only myself, as that would be navel-gazingly inappropriate but everybody, if "Navel-Gazers" are bad people?

Many people fight to protect their  navel, their world and what it entails, mainly out of fear, to not be confronted with what is out of line in their lives. Walking through life blinkered like a horse, to stay on a track that has been decided once upon a time and has since been ignorantly followed, is what I associate with navel-gazing.

Seldom is navel-gazing applied for liberation, as I want to argue I do. Throughout 2013 I have met people who fought to break free from hindering structures (be it physicalor mental ones) to live their facon of life, or at least to come closer to living it. Certainly my friend would have to agree that a degree of adoration for one's navel is surely appropriate and must not be put on par with the insular depiction of navel-gazing she has - quite rightly - criticised in her post.

For this very reason I conclude that
a) not all Navel Gazers are bad people,
b) navel-adoartion is indeed okay and
c) I shall continue on to indulge in sharing my thoughts with the aspiration of liberation.

An openly navel-adoring Urban Yogi

Vive le nombrilisme!

(http://a400.idata.over-blog.com/500x304/1/82/93/34/NOMBRILISTE.jpg)

...& a B.A.L.A.N.C.E.D 2014 to you all!