Just how it is..

Feeling much more relaxed and energised after a brief lunch break, the girl responds to the school's call to get back to work by standing up with a stretch and a yawn and slowly making her way to the gym.

She would have preferred to sit a good while longer, absorbing the oxygen rich air under the tree, allowing her thoughts to settle, breathing and being with the source of energy within.

She had noticed before now how quickly the changes happen in the school environment. No time to delve deeply into anything or process the experiences effectively at all. Not like she's accustomed to, anyway.

Walking into the gym there's a teacher playing a bit of b-ball with a few of the boys, some of the other kids standing around chatting or sitting on the floor and a few others still wandering in.

She notices the boy who had approached her after the music class was amongst them, playing very confidently. He was oblivious to her, and this suited her fine.

There were a couple of girls nearby and one of them is watching her. 'Heard about you giving him the cold shoulder.. with a flick of her eyes at the boy.. he's pretty hot but he's the principal's son and full of himself. You made the right move.'

The teacher soon blows a few short notes on a whistle, pops the ball into the equipment room, quickly marks the roll without any perceivable reaction to there being a few students away, looks over the students briefly and says 'Right, let's get out of here, it's too nice a day to be cooped up inside!'

A few eyebrows raising, a few shoulders shrugging, everyone happily enough accompanied the teacher out into the open and down to the school oval, a circular track surrounded by bushland on three sides and adjacent to the football field.

Most of the children are standing around the teacher with an attitude of mild expectation, some are still in their little groups, chatting. 'At some point we're going to need to walk together and talk about what we'll be doing in gym this year, but first I'd like you all to just move around and do whatever you feel like doing.. some of the kids were looking at each other quizzically.. you might like to have a race, or a walk, do some exercises, whatever. Just move around is all!'

Some people you don't have to tell twice! Within seconds some of the boys have organised a race to the football goal and back and are off and running, shouting and laughing the while.

The girl looks around, sees a strange mist rising from the ground far over and in a cleared area off the edge of the oval and begins taking a few steps towards it. She notices that although some of the kids have walked off, most of the kids aren't doing anything, and a couple of them are looking at her with something undecipherable in their eyes, something akin to fear perhaps, anyway she shrugs and begins to run, fast as she can, feeling the rush of wind on her face and in her hair, the sheer joy of a quick burst of energy which is soon transformed into doing some cartwheels just for the fun of it and then skipping towards her destination.

As she leaves the oval onto the cleared area of long grass she sees it's not mist but smoke, rising from a huge pile of sawdust which is darkened and with grass growing all through it around the edges.

It reminds her of the hot steam coming off the compost heap at home, and she's wondering about digging it up a bit to see what's going on underneath to create the smoke.

Standing on the heap she is feeling the heat through the soles of her shoes when she notices the teacher is blowing the whistle louder and more urgently this time, and waving her to come back.

She sees the group is walking around the track, and the group that had the race is nearby, laying on the ground laughing and recovering. The girl who spoke to her in the gym is sitting near the principal's son and laughing with them, but he's ignoring her. So that's how that is..

Approaching the teacher, she's advised 'We don't go near there. Everyone, just stay on the track oval from now on please.'

They begin to walk around the oval and the teacher speaks to them of the circulatory system, breathing and how oxygen is supplied to the muscles, and also asking them to feel their body whilst walking, feel the muscles working, how the balance changes, how the breathing adjusts to the activity.

It's a beautiful walk, with birds calling from the trees and shrubs around the oval.

They get to where the sawdust pile is, and now some of the other children are interested in the smoke. 'It's on fire!' Some of them begin to walk off towards it and are called back by the teacher. 'We need to keep away from that sawdust, it's dangerous and needs removing. Time to get back to the gym now and talk about the course.'

The cleared area was a garden project that had been initiated the previous year but had lost momentum. The sawdust had been donated to provide pathways and for mulch and was now decomposing. The project has been under re-evaluation for almost a year, and may sometime be reopened, but meantime it's a matter of keeping the children away until a decision is made.

Back in the gym with the musty equipment room, the teacher outlines the course material which will involve some sports activities, some games, some gymnastics, athletics, dance and a little study into diet, fitness and the need to stay healthy, drug education, sex education, elements of movement, dance, road safety, swimming and water safety, communication, self esteem and personal development, etc, etc, etc. All this in a one and a half hour class a week! The girl asks whether it's necessary to study all this stuff and questions how they'll get through so much in such a short time. With a shrug and a friendly kind of scrunch of the face, the teacher says 'We all have to work to the curriculum. Most of it will be homework. It's just the way it is, darling.'

Walking over to the art room for the final class of the day, the girl is pondering how some elements of this school experience may be positive, but they seem to be overwhelmed by the machinery of the place. She doesn't really feel like she's in a creative space, and is wondering what kind of artwork she's going to do in this state of mind.

Enough school yet?

On the way to find a tree to sit under and eat some fruit, an old habit the girl had picked up from her early years climbing trees to pick fruit and eat either up there in the branches or on the ground with her back against the trunk, maybe reading some poetry or stories of people's lives or travels, long days with plenty of time to think about stuff and see behind the surface to the mystery of things, before she has even got out of the quadrangle, amidst the noise of classes breaking up for lunch a boy's voice says something she doesn't quite decipher and she keeps walking, her body and brain needing nourishment.

A hand grabs her shoulder and this time the voice is clearer, though the same could not be said of the inner process creating it. 'I said do you wanna go out? Me n you?' She turns slowly and smoothly and lightly brushes the boys arm so his hand comes off her shoulder.

One day about four years previously the girl had been walking through a park early in the morning.

She had followed some wiki links that lead to a rare bird that lives in and around the park and has a peculiar call only heard just before dawn, and she wanted to hear it in person.

There was a small group of people doing some tai chi, and she watched them whilst waiting and listening. The gentle movements helped her relax and brought her to presence.

Eventually the bird song did begin, and she was struck by how mournful it sounded. She knew this was simple anthropomorphism, that the bird was calling to identify itself to others of it's species, yet she acknowledged the feeling and wondered at it's mystery as she followed the sound off into the bushland surrounding the park.

Picking her way along little animal tracks and gullies, she was finally close enough to catch a glimpse high in a tall tree of a quite unremarkable, small brown bird, which somehow deepened the mystery of the sound.

Returning to the park, the tai chi group had finished their slow, synchronised movement and it looked like they were throwing each other around! She went over for a closer look and when a couple of them looked up and smiled she went over for a chat.

They showed her how by staying relaxed we can deal with a much larger aggressor by simply diverting their energy, that by not using strength we don't ask them to use strength, and we can allow them to do other than their intention. She was fascinated, and joined with the group on many mornings over the following year or so, according to her way of learning what, when and with whom she chooses.. her unschooling way.

So as she brushes the boy's arm off her shoulder it is done not so much with her arm as it is a result of her body movement as she turns towards him and moves away a little at the same time. He hardly even notices. She really is hungry and just wants to go, but responds anyway, probably because she is hungry and a bit edgy.

When our inner message is to nourish our body and for some reason we don't honour our body thus, there's a disconnection between our inner feminine and inner masculine, and our actions are perhaps not as wise as they may have been.

'Do you feel we have a deep connection?.. with a piercing look..' There's a harsh kind of laughter in his eyes 'I'll give you a deep connection that you'll feel!.. grabbing his groin with his left hand..' 'Yeah, I'm beginning to wonder if your brain is connected to anything else.' She turns to walk away. 'Frigid bitch!' She stops, turns to face him with a hard look. 'That is sexual harrassment. I'm reporting you.' 'Hahahahaha, go right ahead. Whatever.' He walks off laughing.

She quickly ducks into the principal's office just before leaving the quadangle and outlines her grievance. 'They're teenage boys, what do you expect?' 'What I expect is respect, always.' 'Look, you can file a formal complaint, it's a lot of paperwork and it won't go anywhere. He'll just get detention and then he'll treat you even worse.' She notes the look of finality in the principal's eyes, the resignation to the inevitable, and feels the futility of taking it any further.

As she walks past the deputy principal's office she hears a stern voice saying 'It's just crowd control, mate. And stick to the curriculum. If you start 'connecting' with them they'll walk all over you. Now if you want to keep your job... she has now paused outside the door.. and shut that door will you. Love hearts for a mark! I'll be keeping... ... ...'

As her English teacher closes the door he gives her a look of quiet desperation.. just the beginnings of the look she's just seen in the principal's eyes.

She finds her tree and eating an apple feels the support of the trunk help her tune in and relax, allaying the feeling of despondency, and the food nourishing her body.

She had been feeling she'd had enough of this school and was inclined to go home and get away from this place of rules, bells, rudeness and control, but now, feeling a little energised is actually looking forward to this afternoon's class, Physical Education. 'Just what my body needs, some running around n stuff, yeah!'

Anti-school? No.. unschooling

After leaving the English teacher to process his awakening and his newfound commitment to change the system from within by being here for the children, the unschooling girl skips across the small quadrangle to the music room. As she slips into one of the desk seats the teacher looks up with a little nod and smile before going back to thumbing through a small stack of CDs.

Very soon the rest of the children shuffle, stumble, get pushed into and swagger into the room amidst a cacophony of chatter, shouts, laughter, throwing of bags onto the floor and dragging of chairs which slowly subsides as they settle in for their first music lesson.

The girl had a bemused smile throughout all this as she observed the room. A couple of music charts, a whiteboard, a laptop and CD player. Not a musical instrument in sight, but there is a promising looking cupboard across one end of the room.

It strikes her as a little odd that the group of children has moved holus bolus from the English classroom to the music classroom, as though they are all expected to be interested in the same thing.

The teacher suddenly says 'Ah, that'll do nicely' and places a CD in the player, turns to the class and asks 'Does anyone play any musical instruments?' The girl, seated near the middle of the group, slightly off to one side, said 'I play ukulele and dulcimer.'

A few giggles erupt from here and there and the teacher says 'A simple hand will do.. she notices there are a few hands in the air.. There will be opportunity to play in the school band next year. This year we will learn about music, some music history and theory and play some simple instruments.. with a quick glance at the cupboard wall.. and we'll begin with listening to some music.

Pay attention, because I will be asking questions later.'

A quick press of a button and classical music begins to fill the room, just like that. Huh. Ok..

The girl closes her eyes in appreciation. It's a full bodied piece, rich in imagery, which isn't quite what she would choose, however it will do. We make the most of what we're given.

The experience with the English teacher has left her with a need for relaxation.

It is certainly energising living authentically but it is also draining. It requires a lot of work, work that cannot be done unless we know how to do it, and once we do know, it is work that must be done, for to sit and say nothing is not wise, it blocks the flow and closes us off to self love, and that's just not healthy in any aspect.

So she sits, listening, relaxing, tuning in, finding source and recharging.

Suddenly she hears the music teacher's voice, loud now and threatening, 'How dare you go to sleep in my class?!' She thinks 'Oh man, you've got to be kidding me!', opens her eyes and sure enough, the angry eyes are upon her. 'Well, what have you got to say for yourself?' Hmm, seeing as you ask... aargh, she looks up to the ceiling and down again with a sigh of submission to the process to return her gaze to the teacher who meanwhile turns to switch off the CD player in order to hear the girl's reply.

Meanwhile the boy, the story writer slips from his chair and out the door to quizzical looks from a couple of the other boys.

He knows from experience that no-one will miss him, really notice or care that he's gone. His spirit had been crushed years ago in early primary school due to some intensive and persistent racial bullying, and he had since then become invisible, avoiding attention, never answering questions in class though he invariably knew the answer, his voice silenced, writing being the best way he could feel alive, albeit in another world.

He had been sitting just behind the girl, in line with her and the teacher, and thought the accusation was directed at him. He hadn't been tuning in to source. He had no self love whatsoever. Music was another transport to the other world, away from this one.

He knew this piece well, and had been experiencing a phantasmagorical dimension, flying through far alpine mountain passes, ancient stonework and tunnels when the teacher's words shattered the illusion and he was faced with those terrible harsh eyes and the spectre of public humiliation.

He doesn't leave the room consciously much at all, it is just that he feels he will pee himself and needs to get to the toilet. As it happens, on getting outside he doesn't need to pee but just to get away so he walks home.

Out of fearful reaction, the boy's brain has just closed off some core networks, and he will never see with inner vision again, or appreciate music anywhere near to the extend where he lived the music as before. He won't be ok after all.

The girl, completely unaware of what has happened to the boy, along with everyone else on the planet, including the boy, says loudly, clearly and firmly to the teacher, and the group, 'Asleep.. Asleep! Y'know, when I was listening to that wonderful music I was probably more awake than you have been for a long time, maybe in your entire life!' 'What exactly do you mean by that? Are you on drugs, young lady? You had your eyes closed the entire time!'

There are a few snickers around the room at the drugs reference, and more than one child knows something is about to happen. 'Uh-oh', 'Here we go', 'Better get ready to face the music'.

The repartee is quickly silenced by a flash of the teacher's eyes.

Meanwhile the girl is breathing in and out, saying to herself 'Relax now', tuning in and feeling her connection, her gentle words arising from source, 'How long is it since you closed your eyes and listened, really listened to a piece of music? Let it carry you away and bring you to presence at the same time?'

The teacher's brow furrows, eyes flicking around quickly, alighting on nothing in the external. Snorting once gently, head nodding slowly a few times, 'Ok, let's listen to it again, eyes closed and we'll finish it this time, everyone.' and restarts the CD.

Just before they close their eyes, the teacher catches her eye with a piercing look of appraisal and gratitude, a few almost imperceptible nods of the head, met with a scrunch of the girl's lower lip and a lift of her chin followed by a slight smile and a knowing look. There were a few groans from some of the children but many, and not the least the teacher closed their eyes to bliss out and be transported by this powerful music.

When the piece had reached its crescendo and settled to silence, the teacher after a minute asked the girl 'Who was your music teacher in primary school?' Another child chimed in 'She didn't have a teacher, she's anti school!'

She looked with knowledge in her eyes at this child 'No, I'm not anti school or I wouldn't be here. I unschool. I learn with my family, with my friends, wherever, and whenever. I do what I feel and what I want, follow my bliss. It's awesome!.. and turning to the teacher.. music, I learn myself, and with my friends and family. Sometimes I take some lessons, but usually I just play.' 'Yes, but can you read music?' 'Well, my friend who teaches piano says she doesn't know anyone who can sight read as well as I can..' 'So where did you learn to do that?' 'Learned m'self!'

There was an odd kind of tension in the room as the children began to pick up their bags and leave, more thoughtful perhaps.

'Just one more thing..' She turns to look at the teacher, who is definitely seriously thoughtful. 'Mm-hmm?' 'What are you doing here?' 'When I was little, my parents practiced strewing.. a quizzical look from the teacher.. you know, scattering things and ideas around for me to pick up and explore as I chose, and I kinda got used to it,.. they're alone in the room by now.. so now I see all these different kinds of schools around the place and I'm just picking them up to have a look, see what they're all about and whether they will assist me in my process.' 'And have you learned anything?' 'Oh, yeah, I'm learning, but I'm always doing that!' 'Alright, I'll see you next week, and we'll listen to some more music, hmm?' 'Umm, yeah, well, next week this may not all be here. There's only now. It's been real. Seeya!'

She walked out into the fresh air, 'Lunchtime, and I'm frikkin starving! At least they've got something worked out right around here!'

Unschooling?

First days of high school, and children from the local primary feeder schools are mingling together. Some know each other, some are meeting for the first time, some are not meeting anyone.

It's still the first week, and the children have already settled themselves into favourite seats by this the second English lesson. The teacher calls the roll, and while doing so places a graded piece of paper in turn on each child's desk. It is a project which the children had done in the first lesson, the task presented was to write a short story in the one hour provided.

After the teacher has finished the roll process, he notices one child has his hand up. 'Yes?' 'Why have you given me such a low mark?' 'Do you think you deserved a higher mark?' 'Well.. it looks like most of the other kids have written only a page or two.. he is being generous here, most had written about half a page and a few children a page or so.. I've written 10 pages and yet I seem to have gotten a lower mark.' 'Yours was copied.' 'No it wasn't!' 'Well not copied, but you've just written out a story that you've read.' 'I've never read a story like that.' 'Now you stand up in front of the class and admit that you copied that story!'

By now, some of the other children are speaking up, voices chiming in from various points in the room, 'Leave him alone!', 'He does write stories', 'He's always writing stories', and then one girl's voice with the strength of authority stops them all short with 'You are not fit to learn with these children.' The teacher, who had previously been cool, friendly, hip, suddenly turns stern and says to the girl 'Get out of my class. Go up to the headmaster's office.' 'You'll be the one turned out of this class. Let's have a vote.. all this rapid fire.. who wants this pretender removed from this classroom?' Every youthful, energetic, stood over, sick of the hypocrisy hand shoots into the air. 'You may well have already destroyed this child's creative flair, this boy who you know nothing about, who you are humiliating and asking that we become complicit in your crime. So what if his story sounds like something you've read before. He's only a kid.'

The teacher, who after all had become a teacher for the noblest of reasons, to help children to learn and had somehow become co-opted into the machinery of child control, sits down in shock, and his eyes begin to well with tears. A few children begin to giggle and the girl says gently, 'shhhhh, witness, witness..' and the teacher sobs right there in front of them all, his eyes on the floor in front of him.

He finally looks up with a look of wonder in his eyes, looking at the girl who says 'Witness the awakening of the child, and the shedding of the adult skin!' and 'Now, sir, you may be capable of learning with us!'

She turns towards the boy who is still standing.. perhaps she could have guessed he had been on the point of running from the room, slamming the door and going home to grow bitter and never write creatively again.. and says 'Please, read it to us, I'd like to hear it' and she sits down.

Still standing, the boy begins to read. His confidence is shaken and his voice halting and shaky, despite having all through his primary school years regularly read his stories to the assembly without any self-consciousness whatsoever. Soon enough though, the story carries him away and he becomes the characters being swept on their journey on some epic adventure. When the story reaches its end, he seems to come back to himself and sits down, looking a bit shy.

The girl says 'I liked it, it's a transport to the imagination. Thank you.' The boy gives her an ever-so-nervous smile. He'll be ok.

The teacher gets up, walks to the boy's desk, crosses off the 2/10 he had previously circled there in condemnation of the work, writes 'A simple number will not suffice to judge this work, even if that were an ethical thing to do' and draws a love heart around the encircled grade. He's ok.

The teacher looks over at the girl who is smiling 'What school did you go to?' 'Short answer? My family unschools. I'm here by choice, of my own free will.' She has now stood up, put her few things in her shoulder bag and slung the strap over her shoulder. 'Where are you going?' The girl seems to light up, her eyes widen with an enthusiastic joy and she's about to say something inspired then with a sigh she relaxes and says 'Short answer? The bell went five minutes ago.. and with a wink.. I'm off to meet my music teacher!'

The class seems to awake as one with chatter, chairs shuffling, things dropping to the floor and one desk toppling over. The girl picks up the desk on the way out and places it neatly where it belongs and says 'Y'know, if you want to generate any meaningful discussion in here, get rid of these desks, or at least place them in a circle! Seeya!'