This.

Sometimes something appears that captures everything you care about. Everything condensed into one powerful expression that needs no elaboration. Just this. It can be a song, a poem, a painting, a piece of music. It might be a sunset or floating in the lake or a gathering of all the people you love. In my case, it might be a music class that I want to wrap up with a bow and show to the world: “Here it is. Every single thing that is important.” Like the chorus rehearsal I just observed this morning with my brilliant colleague, Sofia Lopez-Ibor. Everything we would hope for a child, for a human being— intelligence, responsiveness, connection, joy, beauty, laughter, imagination—manifest in three short activities/ songs.    I think it’s important that each of us notice these things when we are graced with their presence. Share them as we will, though in full knowledge that my “this” that sets my heart soaring and soul singing and goosebumps rising may leave you cold. And yours may miss me in the same way. But still we notice them and speak them out loud, both to confirm the North Star of our moral, aesthetic, intellectual life and to let others know this is who we are and this is where we stand.    So alongside Sofia’s class was a video link she sent me that is a capital THIS!!! When I responded with “OMG!” she wrote back, “I know you very well, Goodkin!” Indeed, she does and I her, as we both follow the same North Star that makes these four minutes the essential expression of everything we care about.    Here's how I wrote about it on Facebook and at the bottom is the link to the video:  This. Nothing makes me happier or more hopeful. It is a reminder of everything worthy that we are encouraged to forget. Amongst these needed truths:    1)   To rise to power does not mean abandoning your humanity.   2)   No one is so important that they shouldn’t take time to sing with and tell stories to children.    3)   No one is so proud that they shouldn’t ask for help getting up from the floor.    4)   We had intelligence, heart and morality at the top for 8 years. Then a horrific second act with a welcome intermission and back again worse than ever, all of us squirming in our seats waiting for the curtain to close.    5)   Obama’s companion in joyful connection with young children is the leading actor in the 3rdact to come that promises a happier ending.    PS  I propose that instead of these absurd pseudo-debates during election years that all candidates have to publicly sing songs with and read stories to preschool children. Then let the kids decide who’s worthy.    PSS The video was tagged as “hilarious.” I object. It is not “cute entertainment,” but a profound Gospel-worthy reminder, “Unless ye become as little children…” Not childish, an adult throwing tantrums, but childlike—filled with a beautiful innocence, sense of wonder and natural compassion.   https://youtu.be/ahaX3y5lzg4?si=tmdMqbQGjzNWyVNI

Homecoming

The first thing I do each morning, as per agreement with my wife, is to empty the dish drainer before the rest of the day starts. And so a few years back, I wrote a poem about it.

 

Homecoming

 

Each night they spend in exile.

 

Each morning I return them to their home.

 

Lift the pots from the dish drainer and put them on the shelf.

     Carry the spoons to their drawer, 

            the bowls to join their nested siblings,

                    tuck the knives in their slots. 

 

 

Each day I teach, it’s the same.

      Carrying the children on the wings of song

              back to where they belong.

The Two Adventures

Michael Meade, that wise old storyteller and spokesperson for the Soul, wrote these words in a recent Blog: 

 

“… the deep psyche has a better design than the ego’s plan, the family’s requirements, or the culture’s map. 

 

That sentence already stopped me in my tracks. My parents were generous in granting me the freedom to follow my own calling, but it clearly was different from what they and my aunts and uncles and eventually cousins chose to do and think. Those iconic books of my late teens—Walden, Catcher in the Rye, Catch 22, The Autobiography of Malcolm X, How Children Fail, The Wisdom of Security, for starters, made it clear that the path I was seeking was not to be found on my mainstream culture’s map. The ego’s plan took more time to put in its proper place and is described by Meade as “the first adventure that involves the pursuit of happiness and the recognition that comes from outer accomplishments.”An apt description of my life from young adult to past middle age.

 

But that’s not the end of the story. If we’re alert and luck to live long enough “the second adventure of life involves the fulfillment of the inner longings and hidden destiny of the soul…it aims at a path that leads beyond the concerns of the daily world, yet it is of great importance for the continuance of that world… It involves stepping off the common pathways and going off the map that others have given us. The second adventure leads to the pursuit of wisdom, the kind of transcendent knowledge that enlivens individual life, nourishes genuine community, and helps re-create culture.”

 

The half-century plus of going off the map into the less-traveled roads of three authentic practices—Orff, Zen and Jazz—has certainly enlivened my individual life and sought to do the same for others. All three have blossomed in the fertile soil of community and sought to create and enrich community wherever I may be. And all three have something to offer a re-envisioning of a healing, healthful, joyful and sustainable culture. All have required some small measure of sacrifice, exile and difficulty of constantly swimming upstream, but the rewards have been far greater than the challenges. And continue to be.

 

After another gratifying day at school, going from the fresh, joyful, confidence of the 3-year-olds to more-cautious-to-take-risks 8^th graders, but willing to follow my strategies to unleash their jazz improvisational selves (and with great results in a mere 15 minutes!), I’m feeling how the two adventures of my life are joined at the hip. The willful accomplishments of my younger years always fertilized communities and enriched many children’s and teacher’s (but realistically, not necessarily all!) lives and did their best to create a culture with depth and heart. Especially teaching back in my old music room, side-by-side at Singing Time again with Sofia, I don’t feel a clear before or after or massive wood door dividing the two adventures. It’s all one glorious yellow brick road with the promise of Oz in each step of the way. 

Off I go again tomorrow, happily skipping down the road with the children opening our hearts, nourishing our brains and bolstering our courage. A grand adventure indeed!

 

Instructions for My Funeral

In 36 years of meeting once every two weeks, each meeting with a particular theme, the Men’s Group I’m in has covered a lot of territory. In one meeting back in 2010, we all wrote “Instructions for our Funeral.” Yesterday, we took to the stage of the Memorial Service for our eldest, Bernie Weiner, to read his poem. (See Feb. 15 post Little Man Clapping for more about Bernie). Returning home, I searched for my poem from that meeting and actually found it. Here it is, with an addendum I added yesterday:

 

To start with, the music.

 

Lots of it and don’t hold back. Some suggestions:

 

1.    Ockeghem’s Requiem, for starters. I know it's obscure, but there's a story there.

 

2.    Some Bach somewhere—organ or piano. Maybe play my 8th grade record of Prelude and Fugue in D minor. If someone can find a turntable.

 

3.     Some Georgia-Sea Island style or spirituals group singing with a soulful leader. 

             But keep Jesus out of it. You can say Spirit instead.

 

4.     Somewhere there has to be some Bulgarian bagpipe. And then people will say, 

              “So THAT’S what it’s supposed to sound like!”

 

5.     Of course, some jazz. Get someone to sing Haunted Heart with a jazz trio. Maybe Tenderly and the crowd singing along on Over the Rainbow.

 

6.    If people are going to beat their breasts, might us well put it to a beat and get some body music going!

 

7.    Balinese gamelan optional. Samba or New Orleans style for the recessional. 

 

As for the people, invite all the kids and teachers I’ve taught.  Make everyone check their cell phones at the door.

               Encourage some copious weeping freely vented. 

No embarrassment. Let it rip. 

    No polite veneers or turn to your neighbor with a friendly handshake 

and forced smile.

    No crap about going to a better place to rest. 

Show some rage at the brutal hand of death.

The acceptance of its loving embrace can come later.

 

And of course, humor. 

Laugh, cry, they're kissin' cousins. Let ‘em both loose!! 

Fall into each other’s arms. Hug freely and sincerely. 

 

Eat well. Dance. Flirt.  Talk to me. Tell stories. All of them. 

(Well, maybe not all. Discretion will still have its place when I’m gone.)

 

Let it go on to the wee hours of the morning.

Don’t schedule other appointments, 

unless it’s the last night for the Misfits/ Some Like It Hot 

          double feature at the Castro Theater. 

          In which case, by all means go and eat popcorn on my behalf.

 

These some first thoughts. I’ll get back to you with the details.

 

Or not.

 

—Dec. 5, 2010

 

ADDENDUM: 2026

• If anyone arrives in a Waymo, do not let them in.

 

• If someone reads a eulogy created by Chatgpt, interrupt them immediately and 

    firmly, but gently, escort them off of the stage and out onto the street. 

 

Why I Love Children

My first of two weeks subbing back at The San Francisco School ended yesterday and there wasn’t a trace of a TGIF feeling. I entered the weekend uplifted, energized, ready for more. Why? What is it precisely that I love so much about kids and the grand privilege of teaching them?

 

A few things come to mind based on the last few days (and the last 50 years):

 

• Fertile imagination and fresh thought: As I do, I didn’t simply play the Old King Glory game with the five-year-olds, but used it as a way to go away from their home (a colored carpet square) and back moving to the song without touching others and understanding the phrasing in order to get back on time. But always my mind thinks, “How else can we do this?” and I challenged them with many variations: Forwards, backwards, fast, slow, high, low, tiptoe, giant steps, jumping, galloping, skipping happily, stomping angrily, etc., etc., etc. 

 

One of them raised his hand with great excitement and said, “I have an idea! Let’s do all of them!!!” Meaning in one trip away and back, do each of them in the short 24-beat-song-length. I could have said, “That will never work!” but following his enthusiasm, I said, “Okay! Let’s try it!” Of course, it was sheer chaos, but I loved that his active mind was thinking and that he was fearless in suggesting it. And speaking of…

 

• Fearlessness: I gave the 2^nd graders a challenging little jazz arrangement that I usually reserve for older grades and they grabbed it by the tail, swung it around and played it perfectly with great energy and a swingin’ rhythm. Then I gave a couple of hints as to how to improvise a jazz solo— like start on the high A and find your own path down to the low A (in the La pentatonic scale) and dang if they didn’t come up with fabulous little solos! All jumped in with uninhibited confidence and the result was spectacular. 

 

At the beginning of class, I also had to run to another room to grab a missing instrument and gave them the assignment of memorizing the poem the piece was based on while I was gone. The words were written on the board and when I came back, they all were turned the other way reciting it flawlessly. 

 

• Working Well with Others: After playing the piece, those second graders had to choreograph a little dance to the stanza they had memorized and within three minutes, were ready to perform. Their ability to jump into the deep water and come up with something so quickly and effortlessly is light years beyond most adult committee work I’ve witnessed. 

 

• Determination: I set the 6^th graders on a fast-riding horse of a complex xylophone piece from Ghana and then watched as they got thrown off and immediately mounted again, each time with a better sense of how to keep their balance and only an occasional tip from me. And then the reward—the moment when the music clicked and they felt the thrill of the ride. 

 

• Fun, Fun, Fun: In my short time with them, I decided to play one of my old favorite games with the 5^th graders called Stations. Groups of three have to think of a combination of words that begin with a certain letter and silently act it out while I play the piano. All of the above came into play—their fearlessness, ability to work together, determination to come up with something aesthetically pleasing and boundless imagination in both their string of words (“Tina Turner teaching Tai-Chi to Turtles while tap-dancing on a tightrope”) and the ways they used their bodies together to create the scene.

 

I could go on. And luckily, I will go on next week and add the 8^th graders and 3-year-olds to my schedule. But you see why children are so far superior to adults. Not a one, left to themselves, is consulting a rule book to decide what to do or praying to a deity for success or choosing not to work and play together with another child who looks different than them. Not a one is refusing to consider an idea or thinking their idea is not worthy or is rejecting the notion that ideas are important. Not a one is worried about acting silly or how their body looks or afraid to try something new (like a jazz solo). 

 

Of course, some of that changes naturally when the teen years kick in and what Nature has in mind there is another investigation altogether. And some of the young children are already getting tied up in knots by religious indoctrination, traumatic family situations, the toxic leaking of more-confused-than-ever adult culture. Their body’s energy and elegance, their mind’s grand intelligence and curiosity, the Spirit and Soul’s sense of wonder and connection with the natural world is being de-railed by adult-approved electronic addiction, the full 360-degree radiance of their child spirit chopped down and splintered and narrowed by all of the above. Not to mention schools accenting all the wrong things, like dead facts and dull tests and meaningless answers to unimportant questions. 

But I’m here to testify that at The San Francisco School, that marvelous institution that miraculously has kept the thread of intellect, imagination, community and humanitarian promise unbroken, it is a supreme pleasure to spend time with each and every child there. And as testified in other posts, I get the same feeling from many of the other schools where I’m fortunate to guest-teach. 

 

Instead of TGIF, I’m feeling CWUM—can’t wait until Monday!

  

Scones for Breakfast

 

“Whatever it takes” has been my lifelong motto for pursuing the work I value and that includes getting anything I write that rings true out to an audience of readers. This Blog an obvious example of that, as well as my books and articles. But despite the way it feeds into the coffers of too-rich ungenerous men (Jeff Bezos), I also use Facebook in the same way. Sometimes re-printing something I’ve written here, sometimes commenting with something I don’t include here. 

 

The one thing Facebook offers that this Blog doesn’t is instant reaction from readers— both the number of “likes” and short comments. (This Blog also had a feature for comments, but for various reasons I turned it off). It’s an interesting way to take the temperature of the public mood by noticing which kind of writing seems to touch a collective nerve and which falls a bit flat.

 

For example, I recently shared the Anti-Fascist Dictionary post which I thought was both insightful and clever and got 34 likes, 7 comments and 3 shares. My poem TRUE DEMOCRACY got 55 likes, 2 comments and 4 shares. By contrast, my post about being back at The San Francisco School got 210 likes (in one day—more to come) and 20 comments. What’s the lesson here?

Three things:

 

1.   Personal rather than abstract. People are hungry to hear other’s stories more than their thoughts or ideas. They’re more interested in what something makes them feel than what it makes them think. 

2.   Inclusive. Something others reading it were part of, reminding them of a time and a place and a community that offered something memorable and uplifting to them. Ten of the twenty comments were from former students/ alum parents. 

 

3.    A respite from the daily horror. While I believe the direct confrontation with the consequences of not paying enough attention, not educating ourselves enough, not caring enough about justice to do the hard work of protecting it is the lesson we’ve needed to learn (one that has led to a massive awakening—10 million out in the streets in the recent No Kings Rally), we all would prefer to be left alone to live our lives pursuing the simple pleasures of friendship, satisfying work, good meals, walks out in the park. In the first No Kings Rally, I noted the sign: “If Kamala had been elected, I could be having brunch right now!”

 

The Facebook “likes” from my simple story of the pleasure of having done good work in a good place with good people and the blessing of being back in that place continuing to do all of the above, touched people so much deeper than the most insightful analysis of what is going down and what to do about it. The tightrope walk is how to acknowledge and celebrate our deep human need for normalcy without sliding back into denial and avoidance. To somehow hold together the two notions of the world as an out-of-control 4- alarm-fire edging toward full-blown catastrophe and the world as a warming fire with the family gathered around the hearth with hot chocolate and the sleepings dogs at our feet. 

 

Elsewhere I wrote about the difference between living defensively, having to constantly react to the next now un-surprising outrage (the AI photo of the Maggot-Man as God healing the sick) and living offensively, firmly grasping the ball and controlling the play to score the goal.

 

Three poems to accent our desire to just get on with living well.

 

At the Un-National Monument along the Canadian Border

By William Stafford 

 

This is the field where the battle did not happen,

where the unknown soldier did not die.

This is the field where grass joined hands,

where no monument stands,

and the only heroic thing is the sky.

 

Birds fly here without any sound,

unfolding their wings across the open.

No people killed—or were killed—on this ground

hallowed by neglect and an air so tame

that people celebrate it by forgetting its name.

 

What History Fails to Mention Is

               By Gary Snyder

 

Most everybody lived their lives

With friends and children, played it cool,

Left truth and beauty to the guys

Who tricked for bigshots, and were fools. 

 

Scones

By Ron Padgett

 

Snow falling from gray sky,

It’s time to bake,

scones, I mean,

and right out of the oven

take one and butter it,

with jam, teapot hot in hand,

and exult in the face 

of everything horrible.  

A Happy Groundhog's Day

The passing of time is deeply mysterious, always astonishing and perpetually just beyond our understanding. I write this from the pink chair in this sacred space where I witnessed and lived miracle after miracle— the music room of The San Francisco School. Over 50 years ago, I taught my first class here. 

Somewhere deep in my closet are the planning books from each of the 45 years I taught here and I’m curious what I did my very first class. There’s a good chance I played the game Old King Glory, inviting the “first one, the second one, the third to follow me” without ever imagining how long that line would march on into the future and how many children would be following behind me. 

And so I played the game again today in the same place, with the same tune, the same spirit, but of course not the same. One cannot step into the same river twice or twenty thousand times. But the river itself is a constant known, the cool, refreshing waters as welcome as ever, the soothing sounds of its flow music to the ears. The teacher—me—singing the song with a body traversed by time and etched with its markings, but the energy and delight and vision mostly unchanged, except perhaps deepened and heightened. The children all re-incarnations of each other, kids I recognize after two-minutes of music-making and mostly delightfully so. Even the edgy ones bring a smile to my face as I secretly think, “I know you. That behavior ain’t gonna happen here!”

 

Being back in my room is a version of Groundhog’s Day, but with the twist that that perpetually renewing day is just moving from joy to joy. No big lesson I need to learn beyond, “Keep going!” And instead of the same un-aging people every day, now it’s the son or daughter of the student I taught 30 years ago, looking —and sometimes acting—pretty similar to their parent. Or the grandchild of teachers I taught alongside carrying their character forward, of course, in new variations. 

 

I don’t know what I did in a previous life to deserve such everlasting and continuously renewing happiness, but I am grateful beyond measure to accept it.  Tomorrow, on to Day 3!