I haven’t written in awhile because, frankly, I have been questioning whether or not it is worth it to put forth so much of my own personal, spiritual energy into a public space. I am working on several manuscripts at the moment to document and disseminate my research and have let EduSpirit fall to the wayside because I haven’t wanted to invest much of my heart into a space in which I feel so vulnerable and raw.
Originally, when I created EduSpirit I understood it as a platform for ALL of us, particularly educators who wanted to share their heart-centered practices with other educators. I wanted to begin the dialogue and allow it to grow and blossom into whatever manifestation we deemed possible. But, as I plugged along with my videos, interviews, and blogging, I began to doubt what I was doing. I started to question whether or not my voice was heard and whether my efforts were futile.
Over the last week I have actively engaged in volatile dialogue with the Universe about the purpose of EduSpirit. My rantings (in the car ALONE, thank goodness) have gone like this:
Why did You edge me onto this path? Why I am DOING this? What is the purpose of this whole platform? Is there any impact of this work? Is anyone interested or listening? Should I even care? Why do You push me to do things that make me so uncomfortable and, better yet, why do I continue listening to You? And so on and so on …
The answers I have received are illuminating.
One answer given to me was through my husband and the dream he shared with me. His sharing went something like this (paraphrased):
“I was walking and saw a river. The river was muddy and deep. It elicited a feeling of fear in me as I approached it. Coming close to it, I felt compelled to reach down and feel into it with my hands. The water was dank, cold, and murky and, suddenly, beneath the surface, a hand jutted out of the water. It was pale, waterlogged, but strong. I instinctively knew what to do. I reached down and grabbed a hold of its forearm. As I pulled, a person emerged. It wasn’t just any person. It was me, but not me. It was my higher Self. On land, he stood before me. He was stalwart, formidable and full of peace. His intense strength juxtaposed against his gentle demeanor. I looked into his face. It was me, a mirror image. But it was also him, a better version of who I am on this Earth. He said he was working for me and putting energy into all the things I hope for and want in my life.”
This recounting reminded me of a morning daydream I had recently. This daydream unfolded in this manner:
I saw a toddler just beginning to walk. She was unsure of her balance and would sway and topple as she navigated the trail on which she and her parents were walking. The parents would grab a hold of her body and redirect her gait so that she would regain confidence in her next steps. The toddler would smile at her parents and grip their hands every time she felt unsteady. The parents would then tell her, “Good job, sweetheart. You’re doing great.” The toddler knew she could walk the trail and make it home with her parents by her side.
Over time, as the toddler grew into a young five year-old. At five, she found herself on the trail again. This time her parents were ten feet behind her. Now, as a kindergartner, her feet were steady, her gait was straight, and her stride full of confidence. As she danced and sang on the trail, she looked behind her. To her surprise, she was all alone. Her parents were gone. Suddenly fear overtook her. She panicked as her eyes moistened. Where did they go?
She stood on the trail bewildered and then realized she knew the way home. She knew her parents would be waiting for her and that they had not left her in danger. Instead, she was completely safe and was being given her first opportunity of full independence. She took a moment. There was pride in her heart. She had come a long way from the time when she was two and shaky in her own feet.
Yet, she longed to hold her parents’ hands. Even though she no longer needed their support to walk, she still wanted to feel their grip and to hear their voices tell her, “Good job, sweetheart. You are doing great!” And, for the first time, she was angry. Why weren’t they there with her? Why didn’t they stick around to hold her hand and tell her how great she was doing?
Then, it dawned on her, the only way she was going to know she had the ability to walk home alone from the trail that connected her house to the market up the street was to do so with no help, no scaffolds, no validation, and no support. She had to trust in her own Self and rely on her inner capacity to navigate the world around her.
Both narratives provide me with interconnected messages.
In both, there was a moment in which a leap of faith and trust was necessary for inner growth. To (re)discover or uncover his Higher Self, my husband had to reach beyond his own fear – reflected in the murkiness of the water – and literally pull out the purest essence of his own being. In the daydream sequence, the little girl had to sever old patterns that would keep her tethered to dependence. For her, coming into her independence and full essence meant she had to walk the path alone to reach the next step of her journey even if it meant not having her parents physically visible or present.
EduSpirit is a leap of faith for me. I am both the man who reaches into the muddy, mysterious depths and the young girl who wants desperately to know she’s on the right path, but who must trust her heart as she takes tentative steps forward. I wrote in one of my first blogs that I would allow EduSpirit to evolve in the way that it is supposed to. Now, I must hold true to and claim this proclamation. For me it is about surrendering to my Higher Self and knowing that she is somewhere on the sidelines cheering me on with, “Good job, sweetheart. You’re doing great!”
Always with love,