Through Their Eyes
I know nothing. Yet, through the eyes of Teachers, I have learned a lot.
On my own, I do not know what’s best for others. I must ask and then rely upon them to tell me what only they know to be best for them.
I do not know how to teach people; I have learned I must listen so I know how to present what I have absorbed in such a way that inspires a voice inside them - perhaps even a fearful, rarely-heard, timid voice - to exclaim, “Ah, ha! I see!”
I cannot understand someone else’s journey until I see it through their eyes.
I cannot motivate others; I must seek to understand and accept how they motivate themselves.
I cannot regulate or legislate outcomes for others; second-guessings and all attempts to control others serve no useful purpose above feeding my own, sad, insatiable ego. I might guide when asked … but, come what may, others must be free to determine their outcomes and consequences. I can only prepare them to evaluate their own destinations with what I have learned.
To learn I must cease being haughty, judgmental, arrogant, and full of myself. It is obscenely vain for me to think I know what is best for anyone else. I must rid myself of such stunted and self-serving beliefs.
It is a betterment that I have learned humility. After all, how can I judge others when I am uncertain of where my car keys are at this moment? And in such moments I think, ‘How is it I possess this gift of introspection? Who bequeathed such a grand and terrifying thing to me?’
Clearly, I owe that gift to Teachers of all ages, sizes, genders, talents, skills and experiences.
I must cease believing that I know anything on my own. Oh, I have retained some little bits of information throughout the years, yet, even then, those bits came to me through the eyes of others: craftspeople whose mindseyes envision art and who then use their hands to inspire my soul; the architects and physicians and nurses and waitresses and field hands and road crews and flyfishers and scientists and public safety professionals and other invisibles whom I shall never meet but they dream and their dreams become real things I can see and because of them I see improvements in the human condition; the child who innocently laughs while observing the absurdities of existence and reminds me to look past my stuffiness and acknowledge that I, too, am often absurd but I am also o.k.; the techno-nerd who chips the future into bits-and-bytes, then designs things I can use to see and learn of and, perhaps in some inevitability, travel into the Universe beyond the atmosphere of my tiny tribe.
Teachers. They have shown me things beyond horizons I could not see without their eyes, such as the notion that humans may never travel to other planets. The mortal body is too fragile. When Earthlings travel to other planets it may well be in the form of things we have learned - our consciousness, our energy, our memories, and the code for our DNA, all conveniently stored aboard devices that make the timeless trip to then link with other energies and populate other planets in immortal frequencies carried within sequences of zeros and ones - the very same zeros and ones we learned in primary school.
Teachers. It is through their eyes that I learn. When I read I learn through the eyes of others. When I listen I hear what others have seen. Having seen their examples I am compelled to create, to write, to paint, to sing, to question, to analyze, to dance, to build, to run, to fly, to listen … and to learn even more … and to know I shall never learn it all … and for Teachers, the joy is in the journey.
I am because I interpret the Universe through a lens of eons of vistas and visions as seen through their eyes. I am indebted to them for the gifts of their insights.
Ah, there is peace in the wisdom that while we may be self-directed and self-reliant, we are not self-generated. To believe otherwise is a silly, selfish delusion.
When I rid myself of my self-imposed limits, biases, and fears then, maybe, just maybe, someone will describe me as “skillful” and, if I am truly fortunate, as a “friend” and, if I am sublimely blessed, someone will call me a “teacher.”
After all, it is through their eyes that every “Ah, ha!”, the mysteries, untold stories, discoveries, selflessness, critical thinking, and acts of generosity and kindness become irrevocably and forever interwoven as the fabric of true civilizations.
(Please consider using the buttons, below, to leave a comment or to share “It’s About The Future” with your friends and co-workers? Thanks!) - s