I learned a few years back that wonder is stifled in extraordinary ways. During Covid I was talking with a student and asked him, “Are you able to get outside and move around to get some exercise?”
He said, “You kidding, Klein, I live in the ghetto. I can’t go outside.” He sounded disappointed that my ignorance of this fact was illustrative of my white priviledge. His tone was right, and I kick myself for asking a dumb question like that now and have learned to think twice before asking.
I’ve since learned, sometimes it’s dangerous inside, as I was told by a grandmother that she and her granddaughter had to duck for cover when bullets were sprayed into their home because a loved one was associated with a gang and they thought he was in there. The gunmen had the wrong address.
My student’s statement reminded me of an organization in South Central LA called A Place Called Home, an after-school program to keep inner city youths off the streets, away from gangs and aspiring for more. It’s a special place. They have a studio for students who want to record music, an art studio, dance studio, a playground with a soccer field and basketball courts. When I was there a few years ago, they had college counseling trailers where students could go to prep for ACT and SAT. A Place Called Home provided a safe space where kids could get the basic necessities for survival and an extended family of deeply caring adults who provide an emotional safe space.
We had a day during the holidays where we would serve food to families, and you could see the lines of depression written on some faces. The world can be brutal to people and you could see its history on full display in their defeated postures. I can still recall sitting with a man, as he ate turkey, mashed potatoes, salad, corn, and stuffing as we talked. His eyes glistened and he had an optimism that was inspiring. He was smiling throughout the small talk of our conversation until we broached the subject of “getting away.” Then he looked serious as he tried to recall the last time he escaped somewhere. Much to his horror, he suddenly realized that his eight-year- old child had never been on a vacation out of the state. The look was replaced with a deeper realization and an understanding that his life was passing before his eyes.
A counselor told me there were kids there “who have never seen the ocean.” We were only 45 minutes from the nearest beach, with LA traffic maybe an hour, tops. Nonetheless, kids live in the ravages of the concrete jungle, where there’s a liquor store or bar on every corner, miles and miles of ramshackle businesses that have suffered neglect and fallen into disrepair over the years and concrete for every inch of ground with the 10 Freeway that runs through the middle of it. Kids were coming home to single parents who work two or three jobs to keep their heads above water, but sometimes they drown in the abject poverty and discouragement and succumb to worldly pressures.
Dreams can energize in ways we never consider. We have a unique day at school called “Wonder Day.” It’s a day where students and teachers go off into the city together to bond. Teachers share their love for life and teach students about themselves. Some people love gardening and go to the botanicle gardens, others love theater and teach acting exercises, some make friendship bracelets, some kayak while others tour museums, visit the “rock hall” and favorite downtown spots or workout with a coach.
Poverty of the spirit, in the literal sense, is a nagging pain one learns to live with. You grow accustomed to it, but negativity and limitations are the visible scars you bear. My streetwise friends who see the hard realities for what they are focus so intently on them that they forget the necessity of dreaming. The mental cotton brain candy of the television or video games gives you a rush and you slumber and pacify the senses in order to keep going. In the meantime, the spirit is attuned to passivity and mediocrity. Less and less people are reading and triggering the imagination to open new worlds.
As we begin this school year, I’m reminded that teachers carry books, pens, crayons, markers, and construction paper in their arsenal of tools in the battle against ignorance, but the mightiest trick in overcoming the drudgery of everyday mediocrity is the magic elixir of inspiring wonder.
There’s a thousand ways to stifle the mind from wondering, but one sure way to inspire it and that’s through opening the portal of wonder through meditation and reading what’s written on your heart.Like the canvass of a blue sky on a clear day, the expanse of infinite promise on the horizon, something is calling us to tap the pineal gland of potentiality. The gentle lap of waves attuning to the biorhythms of nature, a gentle breeze and the breath of the ocean whispering sweet nothings inviting us to listen deeply to a sacred call. The golden sun channeling light, touching the sinews of soul and exorcising yesterday’s follies with a hint of grace and sweet elegant simplicity in recalling common experience – seeing the “universe in a grain of sand,” a kingdom in a blade of grass and our feet firmly grounded while the musings of poetry and potential dance all around us.
spirit beat 