Even the Stars Fall

Here’s a short reflection on life’s ups and downs written during a bit of a low point this past fall. I find it oddly comforting.

Even the stars fall.

Ascension is not better.

Descending is not worse.

Depth is good.

And the ride down is a breeze

As soon as you stop telling yourself that it’s not.

The ride up can be breezy, too

As soon as you drop the story about

The ladder and the struggle.

In fact, maybe it’s you who is

Standing still

with the Universe orbiting your perfect self.

7 of 7: THIS IS IT (Start Right Where You Are)

No more excuses.

Today is your day to begin.

Start Right Where You Are.

The Isle of Skye

What if there was
another you who lived on the Isle of Skye?

And what if, in the soft light of that
other home,
you forgot to think the thoughts
that hold you back?

What if, in the mist,
you knew all,
you forgave all,
and you remembered to be
oh so gentle with yourself?

What if you, on the Isle of Skye,
could just breathe,
wearing a warm sweater
and half a smile?

And what if your heart’s own work just flowed out of you –
lipping in between the endless hills and endless sea – a balm unto the world?

Ode To The Drama Teacher

Ode To The Drama Teacher

And as you stand there: Aghast

Because we’re three days from Opening Night and

Ado Annie still doesn’t know her lines and

The Dream Ballet is a Nightmare and

The Light Board Op just got Detention…

Let us now praise You.

You, the Permanently Fatigued.

You, the Loyal-to-the-Point-of-Self-Neglect.

You, the Keeper of a Thousand-and-Eleventeen Secret Dreams.

You are the one who makes it all Look So Easy.

Who would have expected that the most important Skill you learned getting your BA
Was Juggling?

Juggling Paperwork and Personalities and oh, right – weren’t you supposed to have a
Private Life around here somewhere?

But even though you are Sick to Death of
Spoon River Anthology

You still puddle up every time you hear
There’s A Place For Us

No matter how Off-Key.

And while you still remember when you
Brought the House Down in
Midsummer

You now love This House.

You have created a House where any child – no matter how Flamboyant, no matter how Shy –

Can embrace their Inner Ethel Merman (and thanks to those English 101 classes you now must teach, you are keenly aware that using “their” in the previous sentence is increasingly considered correct and honestly, it’s really the only sensible answer as writing “his or her” is as damaging to poetry as the participle that dangles.)

And you have created a House where any child – no matter how Flamboyant, no matter how Shy – can dive straight to the Deepest, Darkest, Quietest corner of human suffering and bring a room of teenagers – and yes, you, too – to silent tears.

You have made a Home for the Misunderstood

A Family for the Misfit and a

Safe Spot to land no matter how bad The Mid-Terms are.

Because despite all the Budget Cuts and The Paperwork and

The Meetings about the Meeting to Schedule the Meetings and

The Truancies and The Parents

Dear God The Parents and

Did we mention The Paperwork?

Nothing on this Green Earth compares to watching a group of kids
Learn the true meaning of Ensemble.

And nothing compares to the pure joy of watching The Ones whom you knew would Eventually Get It

Finally. Really. Get It.

And nothing nothing nothing compares to The Confidences shared in low tones as they seek you out in

Your Office,

The Choir Room

The Front Seat of the Van on the way home from Fullerton.

You aren’t teaching Drama.

You are teaching Life

Which we all know is a Comedy – a Chekhovian Comedy – but a Comedy nonetheless.

And you aren’t teaching Choreography

You are teaching them to Dance.

And you aren’t teaching them how to be a Character.

You are teaching them how to be Themselves.

So here’s to you –

Making room for Art in a world that seems to have no room for Art.

(Because, by the way, that room has been re-purposed as the new Standardized Test Prep Center – you don’t mind rehearsing outside, do you?)

And here’s to you –

Scrounging around for new shows that somehow match the sets you already have

Because some Genius on the School Board has

Recently Announced that not only can you not perform Huckleberry Finn

Or Anouilh’s Antigone (probably because he couldn’t pronounce it) and

Given the flap over theScene from M. Butterfly last year, I guess
March of the Falsettos and The Vagina Monologues are

Out of the Question for the Spring

So Oh Dear God it looks like it’s going to be
Arsenic And Old Lace one more blessed time.

But that’s OK

I love Arsenic And Old Lace.

So here’s to you –

Making room for Another Coffee Mug with
Those Damn Masks on them

Making room in the Chorus for
Just One More

And

Making room for Each and Every Child

To Be

Star.

© 2011 Samantha Bennett
If you would like to share or reprint this poem, I’d be honored. Please be sure to credit me properly by including my full name and website address (© 2011 Samantha Bennett, https://theorganizedartistcompany.com).

An Ode To The Overwhelmed

And as you stand there

Late again

Because you forgot to allow time to park
And the elevator was slow

And you left 10 minutes late to begin with
With your shoes that pinch

And your pants that are a little too small
Since you started eating white bread again

And as you paw through your bag
Looking for the suite number
That you’re not sure you wrote down to begin with

Let us now praise you.

You, the untidy.

You, the careless.

You, the easily distracted by sparkly things.

The money you spend on late fees alone
Could feed a family in Africa –

Which reminds you that you meant to send in the kids’ Unicef money and
Forgot.

And that despite your best efforts,
You rarely eat a square meal,
You almost never get enough sleep

And exercise seems like a word that magazines have developed
Just to make you feel bad about yourself.

But you are good and brave.

You, flying by the seat of your pants

Making it work

Putting out fires

Saying your prayers

And dancing your dance of now and later and maybe and

I’ll–have-to-call-you-back-on-that-could-you-send-me-an-email-to-remind-me-to-call-you-back-on-that?

As innocent as each morning’s sunrise,

You are a fount of good intentions.

Your good humor is as graceful as a baby giraffe,
Even if that joke you were trying to make to the hotel clerk fell flat
And your toast at the wedding came out sounding a little….funny.

But you have gifts that no one knows about.

You have the strength to bend in the wind

You have the joyful spirit that loves a good belly laugh,

You have the wisdom to understand that everything will all come out all right in the end and

You have the faith to light a candle rather than curse the darkness.

That is, if you could find the book of matches from that romantic restaurant that you went to for your anniversary but since you didn’t have a reservation they made you wait at the bar for half an hour during which you had two appletinis and the rest of the night is a bit of a blur.

So much for the overpriced lingerie.

You are beautiful.

Frazzled and overworked and underpaid

You are the one who forgot your wallet

And forgot your receipt for the dry cleaners

And forgot your keys which you just set down five seconds ago, so where could they possibly have gone?

But you never forget to say, “I love you”

And you never forget to give a big smile to that nice parking guy

And you never fail to show endless patience when the

Too-tightly wrapped and overly-conscientious start to offer their Oh-so-helpful suggestions about how you might feel better if you would just learn to alphabetize your spice rack.

You are beautiful.

So, wear the lingerie on Monday for no reason.

And why not just refuse to participate in the bake sale this year?

And give yourself a compliment for something you did well today.

Because you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.