The blank page stares back, the rain rattles on the window, the city hums and wails… the mind wonders. What truths can be spoken about a life so fleeting? What truth can remain for more than an instant?
The lives of specks, inconsequential, to be sure, are yet the consummation of our thoughts. I of you, they of me, we of each other, but to what end?
I stare at the specks before me, and they seem so much more, so profound, and in great need, and I lose sight of the non-existent end. Somehow they transform their own inconsequential existence to one of such gravity that I have but no choice at all other than to devote my every thought to them.
How amazing are love and dependence?! How they profoundly transform a man’s philosophy and outlook in an instant, and alter one’s behavior more severely than paralysis itself!
These specks! Scholars still possessed of youth. Toughened by the world and it’s reality, yet still possessive of that tender innocence that melts the anger in my eye, the frustration in my mind, and inspires such sympathy in my soul. From where my vision comes I am still not sure, but I see through the vulgarity, insolence, malice, laziness and hostility. I see the attention starved, the guidance deprived, babes who yearn to suckle for but another moment in the warmth and shelter of their mothers bosom – who perhaps yearn unconsciously, never having spent a moment there… ever.
The question then arises to what degree has their potential been squandered, at what point can the human spirit no longer possess the strength to learn and soar? Which are my failings, and which are those of their parents?
How can I Know?
At the end of the day, at the end of the week – what more could I have done?
What more could anyone have done?
How long can a teacher live with the sense of failure - not knowing it’s cause?
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