Reflecting on how naked it feels to make or learn, compared to the comfort of critiquing and teaching—and how wonderful it is, after all.
In April of 2020, living under stay-at-home orders, my daughters and I began the “Quarantine Sonnet” Project. Each day, we each tried to write a sonnet, and we posted them on the wall of our hallway!
Beginner's Mind So easy to assign, critique, explain, To rest in pride of knowledge, pride of place, Forget the plunge to making, cold as space, That puts aside the ego, and the sane. When critics write and teachers learn again They face the fear that humans have to face They know they're dust and cannot run this race They wait to dive, all naked in the rain. But oh! The sweetness of the tumbling fall The heady, humbled, headlong rush to grace. All props cast off, they feel the body's call The strength that's human, here, now, in the race. The greatest saints are humblest of us all: Each day they have a miracle to face.
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