As many of you have heard first-hand, I and my laryngitis have been busily working on our future as a lounge singer/ motivational speaker against smoke inhalation for at least a few weeks now. It certainly hasn’t helped to be doing crazy school-wide events or running an assembly for 1200 students when you have to welcome everyone but the mic.... not working. So you get to do the shout out in the most literal sense. Nice.
But it perversely could be helpful when you are required to spend a balmy, san-francisco-october weekend indoors.... For 16 hours.... Because at least you can pull the pity card and, in your voice that sounds like a boy in the throws of adolescent hormonal changes, you can blink and whisper to your professor that you just might not make it through the day.
In one very complicated sentence, he simultaneously tells me to do what I need to do (that'd be.... Um option a. LEAVE?) AND changes the ENTIRE agenda of the day to have the whole class do a healing ritual on me (E, you either predicted it, or you 'manifested' it. I choose to believe the former, b/c otherwise I am gonna have to be pissed, girlfriend sistergirl. You don’t even know your power).
Professorial Opening Statement, 9:12 am: "This is a weekend in which we work on more practical applications of healing and art.... And around that I will do some dance and poetry with you."
On board is the first half of our agenda. On board is also the second half of the agenda, reportedly.
Feel free to check out the photos. A treat to the person who can figure out the board agenda most accurately:
Yes, that does say, "You are 1/2." There were objections to this one from some in the group. Good to know what we all find objectionable here.
So today I learned my professor was once fired from this illustrious institution. It turns out he was fired for none of the behaviors that I have outlined for y'all this semester so far; he was fired for giving everyone in his class As. Greeeeaaaaaaaaat. Which might make one wonder how it is we are all here together again. This would be confusing were we not already in an alternate universe.
9:16 am: My friend Other Horrified Student is MIA.
9:54 am: Other Horrified Student has arrived to find people in a circle crying as they check in. And he looks very, very worried. He sits on a stool at the end of the room, one cheek away from fleeing.
10:06 am: "Sacred space is not bound by space or time." Yes, it just keeps following me around, this blanket of the sacred. I feel a bit warm, really. Maybe a little feverish, actually. Can someone open a window?
10:10ish -11-something a.m.... Proof that time slows down when shit starts happening. This was the longest 50 minutes of my life, and that is only slightly an exaggeration. I experienced being healed by 30 wonderful, beautiful, well intentioned people. I am pronounced "looking better" and patted on the back for my good work. Words fail me; I bite my lip a lot. Surprisingly, my voice is no longer raspy. In fact, it has completely left me. Maybe in a 'screw this shit' moment. But again, it just might be the shock of the whole experience. I remain truly beyond words to describe this chunk of time. How fortunate for all of you.
11:40 am: Taking our focus off formerly-known-as-sick, shell-shocked me, we have moved on to a guided visualization in which we stick our Inner Critics in lock boxes within our minds, proof that healing too has room for violence. I am no fan of locking everyone up, but word on the Inner Critic lockdown movement. Now we are drawing or writing what we saw. We are not to question what we saw in our visualizations. I saw many things. Most appeared related. Some appeared to be focused on wishing I had worn socks on my feet. I call this my Inner Coldy. I also saw a sandwich. I saw lying in grass. Are visualizations and fervent desires distinct?
Maybe I can manifest a sandwich. Falafel? Hmmm, I love falafel. I am getting a cleansing real time here. He waves a wing at me while I type this. Sage smoke makes my eyes water a little, but I can type and stare at him at the same time. He is healing me and I am ungrateful, unworthy, and increasingly concerned about my mental health as I begin to appreciate him in an odd way. I thank him.
In his efforts to heal me, he sets off the fire alarm. Sometimes you manifest too much power. We ignore the bell clanging of the fire alarm; we continue to draw/write. Perhaps he will be fired for this. Which certainly means he can’t be rehired for at least one more year. He puts down books in the four directions of the Medicine Wheel. He offers crayons and markers to the Medicine Wheel, too. I make a mental note to donate some Smelly Markers to him, since they make everything in my life a little brighter.
He reminds us that Art-Healing in hospitals can be a lucrative career. He is very practical in his own way. At least my teacher has not changed his name to something just-a-little-more-'Native,' in the stereotype sense of the word. He retains his Judeo-Christian boy name. Bless him for that. The fire alarm, realizing that it will be forever ignored, somehow resets itself without anyone actually coming in to make sure we are alive. This must be manifesting or the divine feminine. Or perhaps the patriarchy hatin' on the divine feminine? My ability to become sarcastic has grown leaps and bounds in this class. What joy. I know what we all wanted was a sarcastic Sarah.
Lunchtime comes and we are set free. I go off to lie down on the grass. And eat a sandwich. A symbol of both connecting these two worlds I am to spend my Saturday in and making my dreams a reality.
TO BE CONTINUED THIS AFTERNOON....
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