:Teach only LOVE:
decades old
mantra
borrowed to
build
my teacher
self
my
conductor self
my self
self.
An intense
focus
to hide the
truths
my foibles
character defects
traumatic childhood.
[“Oh, stop,” says my therapist
self.]
I feel a
whine whipping towards howling.
“You try pouring Love through zoom!”
And, I do
act with Love—
I feel
think and act from that golden island.
Pour love
and care into the cold giant flat glass screen.
I can’t
feel the vibrations of others
who no
longer sit near me
as they
learn to play or
perform in
ensemble.
I can’t
smell them nor
the scent
of their victories
their tensions
fears hopes anger
their love
or their day-to-day-ness.
I can’t
hear the true tone of their note making
can’t hear
the breaths
can’t touch
them or hug them
or bask in
the rippling, tender
vibrations of
their smiles.
Nor, can
they feel
the truth
of my concern
over their
sufferings—
the depth
of my love
crushed into
aerialized electrons
eeking
through insulated
fragile
copper wires
my tiny scattered
sparks
reorganize somewhere
else.
My voice
chasing after
brokengarbled words and notes.
Somewhere
there lingers
smells of
morning coffee
and buttery
toast
or juice or
cereal or eggs
or no
breakfast at all.
Where morning
or afternoon
sunlight
glances
diagonally
through
swirling dust
motes
captured on
the screen.
Motes slowly
drifting
clouds
sparkling minutia.
(I never
mention this to students.
They might
not understand
the beauty
of life now goes on
beyond touch or
taste or smell
or how I miss sneezing
after
breathing them in.
They might
be offended
or shamed.
I don’t
know.)
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