I am really tired of people telling me how great of a leader Gandhi was and what style of a leader Martin Luther King Jr. was and selling me books about being successful when their success is predicated on my buying the damn book. I do not for a minute think that Gandhi was great because he had a Franklin Covey Planner or that MLK gave moments of his time to analyzing whether he was an affiliative or visionary or democratic leader. They were just guys with a lot of charisma and integrity who worked really, really hard at following what they believed in - and got followed as a result.
What is wrong with trusting introspection? Why can't we believe that the source of efficacy or efficiency lies within everyone and a little quiet time would reveal what we need to do what must be done? Why must everything be codified and analyzed and preached about and assessed and dissertated on? (is that a word?) Why am I spending moments that could be for real reflection and centering on reading this stupid over-drawn crap and financing the lifestyle of some narcissistic leader-of-leaders, flying around the world talking about his "Big-Picture?" Why do I never fit into any of the categories they describe? Perhaps because there's no book about getting your shit together that involves learning about yourself and what's important by reading like a maniac, working your teen-age ass off on a cultfarm, facing your demons in the guise of 800 mini musicians a year, and watching and watching and waiting and waiting in labor and labor and more more labor, and learning and learning again and again, that you can't lead and you can't teach, and you can't tell. You can only shut the hell up and think and pray and act and listen and when you
do have to be in charge, ask really, really good questions. Then shut UP SHUT
UP! and listen to the answers and think and pray about what they mean and act and think and listen some more.
Maybe I just think this because the end of the year is (as usual) making me hate the sound of my own voice. I can hardly finish this because I'm actually to the point where I don't even like the sound of my own type! I made my friend feel terrible yesterday because I took the most innocent comment completely the wrong way. I actually said to him, "oh. You didn't mean to be hurtful? ok. I'll just go ahead and feel better then." What is happening? Where is the sleep promised to the pure of heart? Maybe it's not "no rest
for the wicked," but "no rest
makes the wicked."
Oy Veh!
So the good thing of today was little S singing playground chants he learned from my students.
He looks right up at me as I buckle him into his car seat:
"Little Sally Walker, walkin' down th street.
Di'n't know what to do, so she stops in front of me, singin'
Hey, girl, do your thing, do your thing, do your thing
Hey, girl, do your thing, do your thing, now STOP!"
Finally, a refreshing thought from Lucille Clifton, whose poetry I recently re-encountered to my great delight and benefit. I've even been making some small paintings to accompany transcriptions. (see above)
female there is an amazon in us
she is the secret we do not
need to learn.
the strength that opens us
beyond ourselves
birth is our birthright
we smile our mysterious smile.
