The Cloak

A strange feeling I have been noticing recently while teaching. I've become aware of a sort of quietness surrounding me when I am speaking or working with students. I might interpret it as harmony in the classroom, a condition of optimal learning; or I might see it as something a little more mysterious, ambiguous. Something is going on with my psyche that is creating a certain porosity, a kind of gown around me which is at once pervious and impenetrable. Perhaps it is my age or my demeanor or the inner conflict sometimes evident in my character. Perhaps it is a combination of these things, but I notice among my students, the way they regard me now, a respect--or is it condescension--that is alien to me. I'm not sure what to do with it, except that I need to be on my toes. I cannot become complacent in what I do, for as a teacher there is no better way to fall off the bluff. I cannot allow this strange new membrane to protect me too much; nor can I allow myself to depend upon it. It is not me, and I must work to keep spontaneity and my connection to individuals alive in my teaching and in my life.

However this odd feeling persists, I will need to explore it more. Maybe it is related to the wilderness I carry, the wildness that must, at last, be in the open. At the risk of appropriating the voice of Gandalf, I must learn to use this cloak wisely.