Friday, November 13, 2015
Monday, September 28, 2015
Wednesday, August 19, 2015
As I walked back from lunch, waiting at the stop light, an orange butterfly flew past me, made a loop back; as I watched this gentle creature breeze by, I became lighter; I felt a flutter inside of me as I soaked in the sun; the light changing from red to green, my gait reflected the lightness of butterfly wings.
Yesterday was the first day of my night course. I needed a science course and an introductory geology course fit into my schedule. I would have preferred an online class. There was one being offered, but it started later in the semester, which would mean a condensed workload, and when I read reviews for that teacher, it didn't sound like it would be a pleasant experience, so I chose to stick with the full term, sitting in class for three hours each night. I've had to give myself pep talks and asked hubby to do the same if he saw me wanting to quit. I only need this one class; that is incentive enough.
On my way to school, I drove past the field of sunflowers; and though it wasn't windy, I imagined them bobbing their happy heads; I wanted to be in the field, join those sunflowers and fill my soul with their glee.
When I had previewed the textbook before class, the topics themselves were of interest to me. I love the earth, so why was I apprehensive about the class? I had also found the instructor's website and had a sneak peek at his approach and grading. My apprehension increased slightly, but I knew that if I put my mind to it, I could do it. I would have to learn the vocabulary and get used to viewing the earth in a scientific way.
I have to say that when I got to class, once the instructor started setting up, I felt a little more at ease. He said hello to a few familiar students from his past classes and a general hello to all of us sitting there, as we waited for the clock to strike 6 o'clock.
Some interesting tidbits that I noted:
-Although this course is going to be very difficult, which he emphasized, I think I'm going to be fine. I will put the work in that I need in order to succeed.
-We won't be writing essays. We have homework questions every week. When someone asked, the instructor replied that no, he does not want complete sentences. He prefers bullet points.
-Email works best. Even better, if we ask yes or no questions and put them in the subject line, so he can respond quickly. A tip: The shorter emails will likely be answered first.
-He does, in fact, believe there are stupid question, so he had a slide with those questions pertaining to some class logistics, and said he wanted to get them out of the way so as not to embarrass anyone. I gave a chuckle. I disagree, but he has a sense of humor; and I surely love that in a human, and especially in a teacher.
-He has a passion for his subject. He has a day job in his field, so he teaches part-time. He tells us he's passionate. More importantly, it shows.
-Ironically, as a person who studies earthquakes, he did not feel the most recent one we had a few days ago.
Even though I only need this one class for the goal at hand, I will still continue to take classes here and there. I'm really looking forward to what we're going to learn in class. I like the teacher's approach, he's entertaining, knowledgable, passionate.
Maybe since I've mostly been taking online classes with the exception of a live class last semester, most of the classes have been English courses or a business and/or accounting course here and there. But something that stood out yesterday was that we do a lot of "unpacking" of terms. My philosophy instructor from last semester also used this term when we came to concepts that, well, we needed to unpack. It's probably something that I'm only picking up on now because of the nature of both of these courses.
100 degree days are behind us for now. I can't believe how much cooler it is now. Walking back to my car after class, I was surprised at how mild the weather was. The nice thing about taking a night class is that I'll see the moon each night after class. By the time I'm home from work, I'm inside for the remainder of the day, and I miss out on the lovely moon, moon child that I am. Last night it was a crescent moon, seemingly hanging from a low branch in the sky.
Tuesday, August 18, 2015
I feel like I'm on a roulette wheel with my thoughts and writing. The ball spins and spins, like my mind, creating possibilities, memories, recalling memories, creating new memories, recording observations, but with this wheel, the numbers become placeholders for words and thoughts; each one an entry point into a place of exploration. Only, these many spinning possibilities keep spinning; the wheel becomes stuck with possibilities.
This morning, as the wheel turned, a book was my entry point. Just reading a couple of pages was enough for that slight shift, just enough to awaken a sort of luck to awaken my writing muscles a little bit further, flexing them in a way that sent a message that you will write these two words down and make a sketch and you will come back to this later and you will post this to your blog journal.
Entry point. Those two little words led me to a roulette wheel and what I was actually reading had nothing to do with anything, but something in that particular moment in time clicked.
And now many hours later, as I enjoy my lunch break, taking spoonfuls of delicious food, then returning to my notebook to continue with the morning spark, I am on that wheel; my entry point is right there–right here; always there.
Writing is good for the soul.
Writing and posting to my blog journal is good for my soul.
Even when something ails me, I need to push through it. Pushing through can only bring my body's equilibrium back to a place of balance. These things I know, yet countless times, the words stay in a certain limbo, like the bouncing ball that can't find its place, slips into the slot and out again, finally settling on a random place on the wheel.
And is it really so random?
Wasn't it supposed to happen at this exact time and place? Or perhaps it had enough time commingling, jetting this way and that–when, the moment you look away, there it appears: A sense of order, of opening and closing–a pulse of life that cannot be contained, a sense of spinning, that spins and spins and spins until it can spin no more and must find a place to land, but only when the self disappears into the background.
And then before your eyes, it slips into the lucky number, the words fall into place, the entry point of many open up and you walk right in, tentative at first, then you reach the end; and you know the wheel will be there, always there when you're ready, only you won't know when you're ready, but something deep inside of you that is outside of yourself will know and you will be there to answer.