Teachers

Teachers

As a kid I had many teachers. Not always the ones you would expect. The ones I had at school weren't that important bar one or two. The first was the holly tree in my "garden"* and the second a standing stone "down the yard".

The holly tree was a circle of holly trees under and around a huge old tree. It was tall (I know everyone is tall to me) but it was over 25 feet tall. I made this "my den" and even built a fire pit from old breeze blocks  carefully clearing a circle free of dropped leaves and keeping a bucket of rain water near by. Even when it rained most of the water would fall outside the dome of it's leaves. There was something about this place even my "family" recognised because all our dogs that died were buried on the edge of this tree. It wasn't like we didn't have space for them to be buried elsewhere. The tree had a male quality to him. When he appeared to me infrequently he was a thing wizened old man with a long grey beard made of semi solid blue smoke.

He was a comforting presence. Never intrusive. I made my first staff out of his body. I recycled a sun and moon earrings and tied them so they hung above my fire for a year and a day before adding them to the staff. They eventually fell of but I had the staff until someone's small child broke it while we we walking. (Oddly enough we are not still friends).

Mostly he would just nudge me in a certain direction about things, though I would also make marks and channel on occasion (one being a semi circle with an V or arrow shape through it with symbols at the end). This was something I had never seen but drew a lot, only to see it again in some Pictish designed jewelry but they meaning is still "unknown"  

The standing stone was a boundary marker and rather than move it they had built a pig pen sort of around it. 

Most of the time it didn't "do" anything. Yet sometimes I could feel it "calling me", often waking me before dawn. I would go and watch the sunrise with it. Then walk a lap around the farm making sure everything was okay. I would leave it small stones, or flowers, or even flower knots I was always making. 

I had my "imaginary" friends in the house too. Mr Brown (he wouldn't tell me his name until years later) who was squat, robust and brown. Brown leathery weather worn skin, brown cap, brown clothes, brown boots. He was fine, but surely, but got me into trouble bringing me things,or moving and hiding other people things. Anna was the ghost of a serving girl who died. I will forever remember her very cold feet as she would lie with me sometimes to "get warm". I am quite she it was her that threw around my sisters things when she was vile to me. She would talk to me when I was doing house hold chores and show me what to do. Sometimes I would pretend we were sister, which we both found comforting.

My "mother" was a teacher too. A music teacher mostly. She had only a few ways of being around me. One was her "teacher" mode. Authority, repeating phrases about practice layering guilt and disappointment or sudden flare of barely contained rage. Then she discovered "therapist" where she had her "listening face" and "unconditional positive regard" (which was not warmth, authenticity or care). Over the years I have made countless excuses for this. She was an un-mothered mother, she was terrified of losing her status and acceptance of "the Farm" community and household if she stood up for me, she was barely coping herself; but all these are half truths. The truth is she never wanted children. The truth is I was "Daddy's girl". The truth is the more she withdraw her care (I don't know if she could have loved me) the more I looked after myself and I didn't need her. The more I didn't need her the more she withdrew. While the abuse I suffered at the hands of her "real family" was awful, that utter neglect of my well being , that I failed to see as abuse, was so much worse. So much more invasive. So much more damaging. 

People and friends sometimes comment on how strong I am. I am steel and boot leather. I am tough. It comes easily to me. Being strong was the only choice for me. Being soft, being open and vulnerable, loving and kind is a choice I make every single day.

In my teens and late twenties I found some teachers of the Craft but most were disappointing to me. I wanted this mythical supportive figure, a Sensei, finally I decided to embrace myself as teacher and students flocked to me.

I found this weird. I was so young after all. Yet in finding was to explain what a standing stone taught me, having to put it into words I learned, and still learn a lot. I will re-read, read around a subject I think I know and I always learn something.

Of course I had no idea caring about your students is a big no-no. I loved them, feed them, took them to my hearts and they often broke them when they left (all students leave, it is their nature). I thought at first I was doing something wrong. Yet it turns out it was the opposite. The moment when a student sharpens their tone and say "I know" they have lost ears to hear with. Their time with you is over. Like a sponge at saturation point. Sometimes I am suprised. Sometimes I am saddened. Sometimes relieved. Teaching is very hard work. For every hour a student puts in I put in two or three.

Often they don't understand how it used to work. They often have little discipline, that makes me "the bad guy". I feel moments like that because I see flashes of my "mother's" rotes. Sometimes people don't "see the point" and I don't want to explain I want them to discover the reason when they do it. Me telling someone something is never as powerful as them learning it directly for themselves. 

I love teaching. I love being a teacher. Nurturing someone's spiritual growth is easy for me.

I think I will open a circle or school and teach the Key soon. I have no idea how it will happen yet. Yet I know it will.

*Think meadow with large tree which got mowed twice a year 

Bright Blessings xxx