Fired and Freed Again is a fictional account of an actual experience and the final chapter of Moments of Awakening

Man was not born to be mechanical, but to become conscious.” Nicole




Chapter-Sixteen




“Fired and Freed!” were the words Tommy wrote on the shithouse wall back in 1959. And, it wasn’t too long after reading these words that I was fired from my first full time job and rightly so, after coming in to the company parking lot with a several drunken navy buddies and insulting the boss. This time the firing was not at all justified. However, just like the first time, it was the best thing that ever happened to me. And, I wonder, how many times do I have to be fired before I learn that my real work is to become more conscious, to know myself, that my real work has nothing to do with earning a living, that awakening is much more important than our daily bread.

When I stop a second to think about it, I realize that the way I was fired is a perfect example of how our system works. The suits who don’t know anything about how the classroom works are the ones who do the hiring and firing. These suits, some who have never been in the classroom and most who get out before they learn to how to teach, are the ones that decide curriculum and how subject matter should be taught.

The incident that led up to my being ousted started during my sixth period class. It had been an excellent day, and on my sub notes I had written excellent behavior for all four of the preceding classes. I had joke around with the students explaining that I was a little unsure of overhead projectors and “Smart Boards.”

“When I first started teaching, you know, we didn’t have no chalk boards, or white boards, or stuff like that. We didn’t have no pencils or paper. But, we still did our math. We carved it on rocks," I said and demonstrated how I would hammer the math into the rock.

“You guys think that you got it hard carrying home your pack backs. My students had to struggle with these gigantic rocks, and carve their homework around the camp fire.”

“You lived back then, Mr. Daley?”

“Were there dinosaurs back then?”

“Yea, the wealthy kids got to ride home on their pet, but most had to lug the rocks home by hand….”

The kids enjoyed my banter and most went straight to work. The few times I got angry with a kid, I caught myself and watched the anger without identifying. I attempted to Remember Myself, at the same time with some success. I got identified from time to time, but stayed very conscious. Even fifth period, which was the first of two remedial classes with lots of behavior problems, went well. Even when a couple kids went into the room store, and took candy without paying for it, I kept my cool and just left a note for Mrs. C.

Sixth period went bad before the kids were even in the room. Earlier in the day, I had stayed outside and waited for most of the students to line up before I let anyone in. Now, at the end of the day, I’m slipping a little. I take in a breathe of fresh air, and think that after just on more period my day will be over. I picture myself in the backyard slipping a glass of Merlot and taking in the winter sun. An earlier comer asks if he can go inside. “Yea, go ahead,” I tell him thinking that the aide inside will talk care of him. A couple of his friends sneak by. Before I know it a dozen kids are inside. I look in and see most gathered at the school store. Go damn it, I tell myself knowing I’m going to have a hard time getting them in their seats before the bell rings.

“Alright, let’s get seated. Everybody in their seats right now. And make sure you are sitting in your assigned seats,” I yell at them. Moans and groans from the students and little movement toward their seats. I write a large X on the white board. “That’s one minute after school. You can earn it back, but you better get seated right now,” I yell.

“You can’t keep us after, it’s Friday.” “I ride the bus.” “My mother picks me up right after school.” the students tell me.

I add another X. “That’s two minutes, now lets get seated. Once you start your work, you can earn your minutes back,” I tell them. Most students head for their seats. The bell rings. All but three are seated. “O.K. what’s your name,” I shout at one of the boys.

“Carlos,” he tells me.

I write his name on the board, and add the second boy’s name. The last student to be seated, a brown hair girl with painted lips, and huge earrings slams her book on the desk as she takes her seat. “What’s your name?” I ask.

“Why should I tell you?” she answers.

Several students call out the name Juanita. I write her name and add a check.

“What’s that for? You didn’t put a check by their names,” the girl tells me.

“Just shut your mouth. Don’t say another word. Shut your mouth and keep it shut!” I yell at her.

The students react to my harsh words with moans and tittering. I add another X. “O. K. that’s three minutes. Now let’s quiet down! Get started on the warm up,” I yell turning on the overhead projector. Most of the students begin copying the math problems as I use the seating chart to take roll. I discover that Juanita is in the wrong seat. “O.K. Move up here where you belong,” I yell pointing to her seat in the front row.

“Mrs. Court moved me back here yesterday,” Juanita tells me.

“Well, I’m going by the seating chart,” I yell at her.

“You can’t do that,” she tells me.

“Oh no?” I ask her and write another check by her name. “One more check and it’s support room,” I tell her. Juanita moves to her seat shaking her head.

The students finish their warm ups and pass them in. “Alright, we need to get started on today’s assignment. I know some of you have a life. Get it done and you won’t have any homework,” I tell them.

“Mrs. Court doesn’t give us homework on Fridays,” several students tell me.

“This Friday you get homework if you don’t finish in class. So, quiet down and get started,” I yell. I realize that I am giving off a very mean attitude, but somehow I can’t get myself back into a better state of awareness. It’s almost like I’m trying to play the bad guy role.

Several hands go up as I finish passing out the review worksheets. “This is review. Notice the first five problems. Above, it gives the chapter and lesson number. If you don’t know how to do the problem, before you ask me or Mrs. Brown for help, go to the page in your book. That’s why we have review. It shows you what you’ve already learned and what you need more practice on,” I tell them. Good advice, but I spout it our in a mean
authoritarian way.

A couple of hands stay up. “Did you look up the samples in your book?” I ask Carlos.

“I left my book home. Can I share with Jessie?”

“O.K. But, if you guys start playing, you’ll have to move back,” I tell him.

I move to another raised hand, see that Billy has his book opened. “I read it, but I still don’t know how to get the answer,” he says.

“Did you do the practice problems? There’s five of them right there,” I tell Billy pointing to the page.

“Yea, but I don’t know how.”

“Here,” I say putting my finger on the first example. “Read the description and copy the example step by step. You do know how to read don’t you?” I say walking away to the next hand after telling Billy that I’ll return after he’s had time to copy.

After helping several students to find the right page in the text, I look back at Carlos and see that he and his friend are laughing and fooling around. “Alright, Carlos, back in your seat. I told you no fooling around.”

“But I ain’t got no book,” he tells me.

“That’s not my fault. Back to your seat,” I bark.

“He can have my book. I don’t need it,” Jose tells me.

“Thanks,” I tell Jose, and erase his name from the
board.

There are at least a dozen hands raised. As Mrs. Brown and I race from student to student the clock ticks slowly. When I glance at the clock from the back of the room what seems like an hour later, I see that there are still ten minutes left. Most of the students are hard at work. I walk to the front and erase one of the X’s. “O.K. Keep up he good work and you can earn the other two minutes back,” I tell the class.

“The dude can’t keep us after when we ride the bus. I ain’t staying,” Juanita says in a loud whisper to the girl behind her.

Write the stupid bitch a referral, I tell myself thinking of the extra work I’ll be making for the V.P. and support room teacher. Instead of writing the referral, I take Juanita outside. “One more word out of your mouth and you go to the office. Understand?” I tell her.

“Send me to the office,” she answers.

I leave Juanita standing outside and go back into the room. After pushing her desk against the whiteboard I go back outside to get her. “Now, sit here. Face the board and get started on your math,” I say and hurry off to help a student in back.

When I look up I see Juanita turned around and shouting something to the girl behind her. Half the class has stop working to see what I will do. You gotta write a referral, I tell myself.

No, that’s jus’ what she wants you to do. You got to show her whose boss," another ‘I’ tells me.

Instead of writing the referral, I walk to the front of the room, and placing my hands gently on the side of Juanita’s head, I turn it to the front. “Now keep your head to the board, and don’t say another word,” I yell.

There’s not a sound from the classroom. “O.K.,” I say erasing the remaining X’s. If your name’s not on the board you’ll get to leave when the bell rings. “Not yet. Not yet,” I hastily add as several students close their books and start to pack up. “We still got five minutes,’ I say looking at the clock.

Finally the bell rings. Several students jump out of their seats.

"Hold it! Hold it! Did I say dismissed?" I shout at them. When all of the students are back in their seats, I say, "O.K. Except for Carlos and Juanita, dismissed."

“How long do I got to stay?” Carlos asks.

"Move up front, here" I tell him pointing to the desk next to where Juanita's desk should be. "Move your desk back," I tell Juanita as the students make their way out. Mrs. Brown waves good-bye and hurries out to yard duty.

"What did you do wrong?" I ask Carlos.

"I wasn't in my seat, and I argued with you, and I fooled around with Jesse," Carlos tells me.

"O.K. Goodbye," I tell Carlos.

"What did you do wrong?" I ask Juanita.

"I didn't do nothing wrong. I wanna go to the office and tell then you twisted my neck. I hate you," she tells me with tears in her eyes.

"Oh, come on, I'm not mad at you. Just tell what
you did wrong, and I'll let you go. There's no sense in us being mad at each other. Let's make up and forget about today," I tell her hoping I won't have to waste my time at the office.

Juanita sits with a scowl on her face. "O.K. Let's walk to the office together."

"I ain't going no where with you. I hate your frigging guts," she tells me.

"O.K. Go," I tell her.

Son of a bitch, I tell myself as I clip my notes to Mrs. Court's lesson plans and grab my jacket.

The principal and vice principal are out of their offices doing supervision.

I walk into the counselor's office and tell her, "I really screwed up. I turned a student's head to the wall, and she said she's going to report me to the office."

"Well, you better write an incident report, Mr. Daley."

"Can I wait 'til Monday?" I ask thinking how I'm wasting my time off.

"You'd better write it now," she tells me and pushes forward an incident form.

God damn it, I tell myself as I write out the report: "Juanita was out of her seat when the bell rang. I asked what her name was. She wouldn't tell me. Several students called out her name and I wrote it on the board and added a check. When I began taking roll using the seating chart, I found that Juanita was not in her assigned seat. I told her to move to her seat, and added a check to her name. When she argued about the check, I told her one more check would mean a referral. As Juanita continued to misbehave, I moved her desk to the chalkboard, and told her not to turn around."

I push the report to the counselor. She does a quick read and hands it back. "You better include what the student is complaining about," she tells me.

I add to the report: "In a few minutes, I looked from the back of the room and saw that Juanita was turned around talking. I walked to the front of the room, put my hands on her head, gently turned it to the board and told her to do her math."

The counselor tells me she'll give the report to the vice principal, and I take my leave. Passing the front office I see no sign of Juanita. Good, I tell myself thinking that she probably has gone home. She'll cool down over the weekend and forget all about it, I tell myself. At my car, I realize that I don't have my jacket. I hurry back to the sub office, get Mrs. C.'s classroom keys, and hotfoot it to her room. My jacket is not there, and I figure I must have left it at the counselor's office.

The counselor has a student at her desk. I see my jacket on the back of the chair. Grabbing it, I head back for the front and spot Juanita sitting in a chair in the waiting room. She shoots me a look of pure hate. I take a quick peek into the principal's office, and see Mrs. G. talking on the phone. I give her a wave expecting that she'll ask me to step into the office. She waves good-bye and I take off for my car.

In my back yard, I take a sip of Merlot, and figure that Juanita has lodged her complaint by now. Poor kid, I'm thinking. She probably went home to get her mom to come to the office and she wouldn't. I jus' hope they don't say that I caused permanent damage to her. Another glass of Merlot and I'm thinking why worry about it. At most you'll get a lecture from the V.P. But, from now on you'd better believe I'll write a referral....

Saturday night around eleven thirty I get a call from an Endsville police officer. She tells me that Juanita agreed with the report that I wrote and said that she wasn't hurt. "There will be no criminal charges, but you'll have to follow up at Mountain View," she told me.

Well, at least I'm not gonna get sued, I think and cuss myself out again for being so stupid. Why didn't you jus' write a referral you stupid bastard....

Monday morning I call Mrs. G. expecting that she'll tell me to stop by her office when I come in to sub on Wednesday. She explains that they are handling the incident at the district office and that I'll have to call human resources. I call and ask to speak to the assistant superintendent for human resources. A voice mail from his secretary tells me to leave a message and they'll get back to me.

I sit near the phone all day Monday waiting for human resources to get back. Tuesday evening I give Speedo a call thinking he may be able to refer me to a lawyer just in case they're not going to give me my job back. Speedo tells me he knows an excellent lawyer in Alameda. He gives me the name and phone number and says that I can tell them he referred me. "These valley lawyers don't know shit. This guy will knock their pants off. You ought’a sue the girl's parents too," he tells me. I figure I won't sue the girl's parents, but I begin thinking about how much I should ask for in my suit against the school district. What, I average twenty thousand a year. I figured on subbing five more years. A hundred thousand would be just about it, I tell myself.

Wednesday, I call the lawyer's office and leave a message on the voice mail. I find the firm's web page and shoot them an email. Thursday morning, I call Mrs. G. again. I tell her I'm getting kind of bored sitting around at home. "I'll bet you are, Mr. Daley. If we could handle the incident here things would go much faster. The district office is so slow in doing anything," she tells me. I call the district office again and the human resource secretary tells me that she will try to set up a meeting with the assistant sup. for early next week.

Hearing nothing from Speedo's lawyer, I check with C.T.A. Retired and find that I'm eligible for one hour's free consolation.

On Friday, two weeks after the incident, I go in for an interview with the assistant superintendent. He and another assistant and a secretary meet with me in the conference room. "Tell us what happened," he says.

I go over the incident beginning with how I made a mistake by letting students into the room before the bell rang. I explain that I didn't touch Juanita in anger, and that she admitted that I didn't hurt her. "I made an error in judgment. I should have added the third check to her name and given her a referral," I tell them.

"How do we know that it won't happen again," Mr. Mavis asks.

"I taught in the Endsville School District for twenty five years and never had a bad evaluation, or an incident report. I've substituted at Mountain View for five years without an incident. I've given a lot of thought to what happened and I can guarantee you that I will never touch a student again," I tell them.

"Well, we'll have to check with the site administrator. We'll get back to you in a week or so," Mavis tells me.

Three weeks later I receive a letter: "Pursuant to the Substitute Teacher Contract, Article III, your name has been removed from the substitute calling list. If you have any questions or concerns, please contact the Human Resource Office."

The C.T.A. lawyer tells me that I have no legal recourse. "Your contract says that the district may remove substitutes from the list at will. The only thing I can suggest is that you write a letter asking them to reconsider."

So, I shoot off a letter: "In response to your letter of January 5, I ask you to reconsider my removal from the substitute list.

"Though my touching the student, Juanita, showed a lack of judgment, both the police report and Juanita's statement indicate that she was not hurt. I realize that I should have continued to use the district assertive discipline plan, added another check to her name, and sent her to the office. If I am returned to the substitute-calling list, I will adhere to the assertive discipline plan without deviation.

"How can you be sure that I will not touch a student again? I taught in the Endsville School District for some thirty years, and worked as a substitute for nearly five years. In that time, I never had a negative evaluation, or an incident where I touched a student.

"I regret the inconvenience that my lack of
judgment has caused. I hope you will consider my request."

So, here I am now in mid January with no job. And it's the double pull again. On the one hand, I worry about my credit card debt, and how I'll come up with the extra money to help with my grand kid's college expenses. "Will I ever work again?" I ask myself.

On the other hand, I have all this free time, time to write, time to enjoy my yard work, time to work on my spiritual development.

Reading Bennett's book, Is There life on Earth, I find that Gurdjieff's question, “What is the sense and significance of life on Earth and human life in particular?” applies directly to my situation. Working as a substitute gave me a little extra money, but at what spiritual costs. Do I really need the little extras? That little extra that will pay off the credit cards. "Jus' get out'a debt.... Jus get out'a debt. Work a little harder and get out'a debt," I'm been telling myself as I walk through the years.

And, what about spiritual debt," I ask myself.
Fired and freed, I have a little more time to look at the spiritual debt that I owe. Bennett explains that Gurdjieff taught that to be a real man, one has to develop first real 'I' and then one must die to that 'I' in order to develop Essence which is what connects one to the cosmos. Sitting in my back yard and focusing on the winter morning, I see that the many 'I's that make up my being are nothing but conditioned reflexes to the environment that I experience thought my different centers.

To develop real 'I' one must first observe the many 'I's that pop into existence due to changing circumstances. Real 'I' is able to make contact with the instinctive-moving center, the emotional center, and the thinking center all at the same time. As I watch the big white clouds floating in the deep blue sky, I sense the pressure of the chair that I sit on. I hear the twitter of birds coming home to nest. I smell the dampness in the air. I feel a surge of love for Mother Earth. And I hear the silence of my thinking center.

In the silence a vast inner space is opening. I sense a connection to that which is beyond the words that I use to describe it. Time and thought are quiet as the earth turns away from the evening sun.

Again, I think about Bennett's description of how one most work on ones self in order to escape from the prison of conditioning. First, we must recognize that we can develop higher bodies. We have the physical body that is already developed to some extent at least. The second body is Real I, a psychological force that can control the different centers. It can only be developed through constant self-observation that allows one to see and put a stop to the many separate 'I's that come into being as we react a conditioned way to external circumstances. The third body is Essence or what Jesus called the Soul. It comes into being when we die to the second body.

January ends and there is still no response to my letter from the district office. I can’t believe that the Superintendent, Dr. Franklin, who I worked under when he was principal at Mountain View didn’t even acknowledge my letter. I remember once when a parent complained that I was too hard on her son. I invited her to come in and observe an English lesson. “Not only did she drop her complaint, but she was very impressed with your lesson,” Franklin told me after her observation.

And, again I realize that the suits in the front office have no idea of what goes on in the classroom when Mr. Earl tells me that the sub who took my place when he was out last week left the room in shambles. “Broken pencils and sun flower seeds all over the room. Half the kids did no work at all. They told me she took roll and then went to my desk. She never got out of her seat the whole day….” And this is a class where I worked really hard, but kept complete order.

So, I search for another job, but without too much enthusiasm. Who is going to hire me when they find out I was fired after thirty some years with the district? I ask myself. Some mornings I wake up with a sense of failure. What good is all my attempts to reach higher consciousness when I can’t even get up the extra money to help pay for Bella’s tuition? I ask myself.

I’m sitting at a barroom table working on my tax return. A man I don’t know is working on his return also. We finish and I find that I will be getting a small refund. This really good, I’m thinking since I’m not working now. The man sitting next to me says he’ll have to pay a large sum and that he has no money and no job.

At the bar, I tell the bartender that I’d like to buy a beer for him, the guy from the table, and myself. “I don’t have any money with me. Can I put it on a tab?” I ask.

“Sure,” the bartender says and draws the beers. As I nurse my beer, I’m thinking that it’s good that I’m not working. It’s O.K. If you get a little intoxicated, you’re walking home any way, I tell myself.

Walking home, I’m telling myself, No matter how bad things are for you there’s always someone a little worse off.

Vance and I are walking through a green meadow. “You know, what I think about doing some times is jus’ taking off. Like, hitching to San Francisco and like if I see a guy unloading a truck, ask if he needs some help. You know, earn my living doing odd jobs and going wherever life might take me,” I tell Vance.

“That’s a mighty hard thing to do. I don’t know of many who have done it.”

“There was this one guy. I think he was doing it. I met him at Science Camp I think it was. He knew one of the naturalists. Whenever he needed a place to sleep, he could always come into camp.”

“It’s a mighty hard road,’ Vance tells me.

It’s a warm spring evening. I’m lying on a grassy patch at Science Camp. I see one of the naturalist’s houses across from me. I notice that they have an ugly green plant fenced in with chicken wire. It’s so comfortable here. I might as well sleep right here. De heck wid de cabin, I tell myself. I take another look at my surroundings finding that I’m right in the middle of the headquarters area. Closing my eyes I get more and more comfortable. Just as I’m about to doze off, I open my eyes and see large dark clouds floating above me. It’s gonna rain, I tell myself as I rise from the ground thinking that I’d better find my cabin now before everyone’s in bed.

I’m standing on a high mountain ledge that looks over a lush green valley and swiftly flowing river. Oh, there’s a cat, it’s a mountain lion, no a puma, I tell myself. There are a couple young people walking towards the river. “Watch out for the puma!” I call to them.

I’m at the edge of the river. The puma comes racing toward me. I throw up my arms and brace myself. When I open my eyes, the puma is gone. I make my way to a trail that leads back up the mountain. To my left is a spotted leopard. No, it’s a spotted puma, I tell myself as I watch it trot toward the water.

Halfway up the mountain I get off the trail to examine an ancient stonewall. There must have been an intelligent people living here thousands of years ago, I tell my self as I marvel at the stone work that curves around the mountain for dozens of city blocks.

I walk into the faculty room at Mountain View. Several teachers are seated at small tables. At a back table, I see Ellen, a good-looking young teacher who taught here several years ago. One of her students is standing by explaining how he wrote a really good essay in the library yesterday. "I spent more than a hour working on it. It was the best thing I ever wrote. I left it on the table. The librarian must'a thrown it out," he tells her.

"Yea, I saw him working on it. I’m sure it was an A paper," I tell Ellen.

"Well, next time turn it in and You'll get an A," Ellen tells the boy.

"You know, I just finished the best piece I ever wrote. Don't tell anyone," I tell Ellen and the boy and tell myself, Yea, I'm sure Gerald can keep a secret for at least two minutes.

"It's the final chapter of my novel. I call it Fired and Freed Again. You won't believe this. I got fired just for turning a student's head like this," I tell Ellen and demonstrate by placing my hands on Ellen's head and attempting to turn it. She resists and gives off a frown. "Just like that but from the back."

"I'm sure the front office administrators hate you for doing that," Ellen tells me.

"The staff here doesn't hate me. They don't even know what happened."

"You'd better get seated. The meeting's about to begin," Ellen says indicating that I should take the table in front of her.

I am seated at the table with sheets of poster paper. I lay out the paper trying to make an outline of my story. I get up from my table and begin tacking sheets of clothe to the wall. This is stupid, I tell myself. You ought to concentrate on your writing. That's what you do best. I'm outside at the fence next to the bus stop. I'm taking sheets of cloth from the fence and trying to fold them into neat piles. Again, I think how stupid this is.

Fired and Freed. Though there are days when I tell myself, If only I had sent Juanita to the office…. Most days now I use my extra time for spiritual development. We have to develop the material aspect of ourselves. We have to be able to support ourselves in the material world. But, that it is a relatively easy task. Real effort has to be spent on spiritual development. The Essence doesn’t grow unconsciously like the body does.

We have to stop lying to ourselves. Gurdjieff said that man could be defined as the animal that lies, as man’s lying to himself is one of his chief features. “I’m not an alcoholic. I can quit drinking any time I want,” old Sage told me as he tilted and drained the last of the bottle. “I didn’t steal the money from the back desk. It’s not my fault when you leave money out where anyone can take it,” my sixth grader tells me. Most of our lying is lying to ourselves because we are unable to see ourselves. All we can see is the image that has developed over time through conditioning.

To observe oneself, we must first develop Observing I, a psychological force that can observe the different ‘I’s without being critical. Next we develop Deputy Steward a group of ‘I’s that work together at self-observation. Next, and I’m leaving out several steps, we have to develop Real I. We can only develop Real I through Self Remembering.

When you Remember Yourself, you are conscious in all of your lower centers and can begin to hear Higher Centers.

As I walk through the orchards this winter, I try to put into practice the words that I’ve learned from the Work. I make a conscious decision to Remember Myself. Shutting off internal dialogue, my eyes sweep the vast expanse of truck fields and orchards that stretch the valley all the way to Mt. Olso. The wind whips against me jacket, and flows through my hair. My heartbeat quickens as I lean into its force. A wave of joy bounces from the earth and fills my very being, as I stop a ‘writer I’ from putting it into words.

First you must Remember Yourself, then you must die to yourself, a ‘work I’ tells me. My body continues to walk the dusty road, but there is no ‘I’ inside the brain. The brain being totally empty allows the Spirit to enter….

Bennett explains that Gurdjieff taught that man can give off higher energy vibrations that help keep the whole cosmos working for perfection. To give off this higher energy, he must develop higher centers. Man asleep loses all his energy in identifying and negative emotions. In order to awaken we must observe are negative states and not go with them.

Once a man awakens and begins to Remember Himself, he is able to shut off the past and see what is. This seeing what is releases energy that can go into the development of Essence.

It's a spring morning from the middle of the San Joaquin Valley, the Valley that feeds the world. Saturday morning lawn mowers and trimmers eat at the silence. I sense a steady rush of wind. My chest rises as I take in a fresh breath of air. My eyes open wide to the immense blue sky that circles our globe. A rush of pure joy flows through my mind and body as all my 'I's melt into the "Otherness."

There is time from here to there in the material
world, but there is no time in the psychological world, Krisnamurti tells us. And as I sit in my backyard, not having a job frees the mind of material time and allows eternity to enter until a thought interrupts and turns off the magic.

What if she wrecked the van and is afraid to tell us, runs through my mind as I remember how Bella explained that her boy friend forgot he was to follow her up from Bakersfield and didn't get the day off, so she'll bring the van on Saturday...."

Time and thought, an 'I' tells me. You are
thinking from the past and projecting into the future with your worry....

All at once, the Saturday morning yard work ceases. Wind whips through the silence. A black and white jay breaks into a song of pure joy. She holds the morning in her crisp clear chirps

Pay attention! Pay attention! a work 'I' tells me, as I walk through the windy late March morning. And I realize that I never pay attention. Not paying attention to the detail is one of your features, the Work 'I' continues.

I catch the 'I' talking to me and go back into the silence of the morning, hundreds, no thousands of acres of almonds, and walnut trees spread out the valley floor. One by one the tiny leaves climb upward to taste the sun. The wind caresses my mind and body as two black crows wing their way toward Mt Olso. The pass between the lower and upper mountain ranges weaves toward the south. A flight of gray white starlings flits over the canal and circle the orchards to the south. The full waters of the canal rush down hill toward the coast some sixty miles distant.