inward jot

Me teaching. And learning. Every morning, especially one like this where I woke to ready babies for school, my thoughts everywhere and wishing again. Sick of self wishing and hearing those wishes swim and drive around in my head like some 16 year-old recently licensed. Morning… what I want more of but can’t have but I refuse to let this writer descend into any such thought sludge. No. I can’t do it. I won’t. Last day of April, first day of birthday month tomorrow, where I turn 39 on the 29th day. What am I doing, learning, learning from this morning and driving seeing myself where I need be. But enough that, enough me. You and your dream… where you’re going and what Emerson said, enthusiasm and greatness. Our attitude is it, the key, the promising spree of autonomy and the ideological helix of the Nowness of Now and the music of later, your There, reaching your there.

Didn’t sleep as well as I’d hoped, and that’s my doing staying up too late, having another glass of that Zin, watching a favorite show rather than take notes for today’s lectures but oh well, I say over and over in my attempt at life-lesson and productivity. I’m writing, aren’t I? Plath on the perceptive plate, oui? So then… into the day, our day to make our day ours so wildly the day itself forgot what it wanted. Want to learn something, something about you and your aims, your life and its story, all lessons associated, then write a letter. To you. Oui, toi. In my inward jot this morning I tell Self to go so far outside of any teaching box or pattern, professionalism, that others study you. Do the same for you, reader. Emerson as well instructed us to go where there is no path and leave our own trail. OUR Road, taking us to our own lessons and purpose, purposefulness in this morning’s notes and chords, remembering the character I met yesterday, she and I back and forth, sparring with lines and verses, no winner only instruction for this writer. Need that sensation and envelopment to remain tangible and for, in, with proximal sight.

Music returns while I think and organize laptop’s desktop a bit more… coaxed into new composition and presence. I’m teaching me, about me, so I can speak with some presence to the SRJC students, those who paid to be in that room, who expect something, who expect value from me and my presence. Share your morning with others, I’ll tell them, learn from each other’s morning, what they saw, what they did, the vagility of thought, how they precipitate ideas new. Or, just casual thought, something to further entertain. Learning, here, after asking myself, “What are you going to do?…Where are you going?” The lesson and pedagogy to such — Decision. And I decide now. You, decide when you decide, need decide by. Repeating, reciting, like Plath, “I am I am I am.” Finding new poetry in these morning sittings, coffee and water, keys, jazz, me, the new me, and the Me I’ll before long be.