“Some people hear beings that are not corporeal,” Teacher mumbles, more to himself than to anyone else as he walks in. He stops and looks around, seemingly just noticing us. “Some people hear beings that are not corporeal, and that is as it should be,” he repeats.
“What the fuck does that mean?” Irreverent Student bellows.
Teacher barely glances at him as he moves toward his stage at the front of the room. “It means some people who are alive in the same time and space as you can have conversations with people who have passed on to the other side.”
“And that’s normal?” Clyde’s question throws Teacher off his stride.
“No, actually, it’s not. Not yet, but maybe one day if those of you on Earth can pull her vibrations up enough.” He turns from us and most don’t hear what he says next. “Seems hopeless right now.”
The feeling that cloaks him reaches out toward me and pulls at the joyful anticipation I had felt before class started. I was looking for answers today.
Hope doesn’t feel the cloak yet, “How can we do that? Help Gaia, Mother Earth?”
“Oh, my dear.” He watches her in silence for what feels like a long while before turning away and returning to his stage.
The long while was long enough to give that cloak of darkness access.
“Teacher?” Hope’s question follows him up the steps.
“It is simple, my dear.” He grabs a marker before turning back toward us. “It is too simple. Many of you are simply not ready.” He tosses the marker back into its tray.
“I’m ready,” Hope says, her voice betraying her with its meekness. She’s not ready. Not anymore.
Teacher shakes his head sadly.
We’ve had this talk before in our tutoring sessions. I know the pain he is feeling. We may think we’re ready, but even I’m not ready sometimes. It is oftentimes difficult to ignore decades of human indoctrination.
“My children.”
I am struck by the desperation in his voice.
He drops into the white leather chair at his desk and clasps his hands together in a motion only I recognize as he steeples his fingers and leans them against his lips before dropping them in a softly clenched fist on his lap — he snuck in a prayer.
Finally, he leans forward again, propping his elbows on the desk. “Many of you want to believe, You want to live closer to your spiritual essence. That is the reason for your being in this class, after all. It is not fair of me to lay my mood on you.”
“Teacher,” I say in a voice meaning to convey the love I feel for him and his situation, “what happened? Why are you in such a mood. Was it something we did?”
My question seems to awaken him.
“Oh, my dear, no. Please don’t think that. I am sorry.” Placing his hands flat on the desk, he stands, straightening his purple Guayabera over his blue linen pants, an action that triggers memories of my Cuban-American youth . “Oh, no, my dear. It is not you. I am sorry for bringing my mood.”
He claps his hands twice and a set of bongo drums appears center-stage. He taps them quickly like one would tap fingers on a desk. Instantly, the sound fills me with joy.
“I am so sorry,” he repeats. “I guess you can use this as a lesson.”
He drums his hands over the bongos. The hollow variations of the tapping reverberate around the classroom and inject themselves into my heart.
“The lesson, I suppose for me, as well, is how feelings can transcend one person to infect another.”
He continues his rhythmic tapping as he talks. As the sound continues, I catch glimpses of my classmates reacting softly. Some bounce their heads, others rock gently in their seats. Irreverent seems unaffected until I catch a slight tapping of his fingers on his lap. The sound is truly rolling through us.
“As this rhythm touches you, dear students, people’s emotions affect each other and affect Gaia, Mother Earth.”
Tap, tap, tap-tap.
“When Humans feel love, that love is felt by each person they interact with.”
Tap-tap-tap-tap.
“The love rolls around the room, around the town, around the Earth; It’s a beautiful thing.”
Tap. Tap. Tap-tap-tap-tap. Tap.
“But anger travels twice as far and twice as fast. It’s an easier emotion to own. What anger brings is more anger sevenfold. So every angry emotion felt multiplies itself seventy times seven times and lowers our vibrations and Gaia’s vibrations.”
Tap, tap, tap, tap-tap-tap-tap.
“It’s a shitty thing we do to each other.”
He taps out a furious, jungle-type beat before slamming his hand for a final bang that shocks through me and digs into that place in my heart that’s not healthy.
“Fear travels faster and farther still.”
“So what do we do, Teacher?” Even though he swears this mood of his was not our doing, I wonder what news came to him when he talked to his Spirit friends before today’s class. I wonder if he knows.
“Try to steer clear of the dark feelings, the ones that lower your vibrations. The ones that infect your friends and spread like wildfire.”
My guilt is too heavy now to keep hidden. “I’m sorry, Teacher.”
He straightens his Guayabera again before locking eyes with me. He taps a quick riff on the drums once again then, “Why do you continue to think this is your fault?”
Because it was. This entire lesson was for me. I completely get the impact of bongo drums on a person’s mood. This lesson was for me and my moment of doubt.
This lesson was my clarity.
Much love to you, dear classmates. I continue to be, most assuredly,
The Dragonfly’s Student
The Dragonfly's Student 