Happy Teachers’ Day – my 1st ever blog is dedicated to the world’s Teachers and Educators

Today is celebrated as Teachers’ Day in India. It is one of the many ‘Teachers’ Days’ celebrated on various days, all over the world, all of them in celebration, acknowledgement and deep appreciation of the many Teachers in our lives.

Seeing as one of my earliest informal and unknowing teachers was from India, I thought it was a good place to finally get my act together to start the blog that I’ve been meaning to write for so long. So this is dedicated to him and to all my teachers, past, present and future, and to all the teachers and educators out there who have the power to inspire each one of us to be all that we can be, which invariably is so much more than we think we are.

We are all made of stardust and meant to shine. Sometimes it takes a lifetime of learning to realise that.

Some, like the little children & young people inspiring, teaching and leading the world and the world’s leaders back to their hearts, to the heart of all of Life on Earth, to reconnect with and learn to protect our Mother Nature, they, these amazing truth sharers simply lead by example as they shine their love and truth and empathy and compassion, because they can, because they haven’t had their vision shut off yet by the norms which conventionally silence, deafen and blind us, in order to allow the few to continue to divide, enslave, exploit and control the many.

As a Home Schooled child who had the advantage of also going to school for some of my schooling, I was able to observe and appreciate both the pros and the cons of both systems. I also owe so much to teachers who knew nothing of the lessons they were teaching me then and to the many teachers I am still learning from today. The more I learn the more I realise there is to learn and that in relation to all there is to know, that the truth is, I really know nothing.

One of the most hard hitting and abiding lessons I received as a young child, was the informal lesson I learnt from a humble rickshaw man when I was really little – perhaps around three years old. But it is a lesson I have never forgotten: about war and peace, about humanity and inhumanity and that we can all share knowledge and shine our light on the truth by grabbing it with both hands and taking full advantage of whatever means life makes available to us to do so.

This is the story….

Once upon a time, I, along with my siblings and mother piled into a rickshaw peddled by a rickshaw man clad in a ragged dhoti and vest in the blazing hot sun while we had the luxury of shade from the covering he extended over us. I remember his sweet kindly smile, pan stained and beaming with life. I remember how thin he was and how strong too, to be able to cycle all of us together.

As we moved through the streets I looked intently at the insides of the sun shade that was pulled over us. It was vibrant with colour: bright, gaudy blues, yellows, pinks and greens of many hues and red, so much red! It was startling in it’s content. It made such an impression on me that I can still see it in my minds eye, as clearly as if I was looking at it again in reality.

On one side was a scene of soldiers stabbing a pregnant woman in her belly with a bayonet, against a backdrop of other soldiers attacking and burning other villagers and their homes around them.

On the other side a soldier was swinging a baby high in the air, blood streaming from its skull where it had already been swung and hit the blood spattered rocks at his feet, while it’s distraught mother was held back by other soldiers. Again the central figures’ story was being depicted behind which additional attacks and carnage and inhumanity was also taking place.

At first my mother, keeping an eye on wherever it was we were going and on all of us too, paid no attention to the paintings. Then, seeing my eyes locked onto them, was absolutely horrified! She was furious and started to yell at the poor man about his distasteful and highly unsuitable and offensive art.

I will never forget his mild mannered, yet compelling response. My mother was an educated woman, a teacher. This man told her he was uneducated and illiterate but that he wanted to help educate people about how brutal and senseless hatred and war are and how it always hits women and children the hardest, and how it turns ordinary people into monsters who do monstrous things that they would never dream of doing in peace times.

He explained that on one side were Hindu soldiers attacking innocent Muslim families, on the other Muslim soldiers attacking innocent Hindu families.

He explained how people could get into his rickshaw if they chose, and it was his way of making the world a better place by making his passengers think about and challenge their preconceptions and judgements and not to let politicians and hatred divide and rob us of our humanity.

As he spoke, he spoke with such passion and confidence and a nobility of purpose that my mother became less agitated and listened. I was so impressed! This simple, uneducated man with his gaudy, brightly coloured, rustic art and its powerful message was educating my mother and unbeknownst to him, little me too.

In addition to his lesson on war and peace and on humanity and inhumanity, he imparted lessons I don’t think he realised he was teaching me: on humility and on how wisdom and understanding were not the preserve of the educated but of every heart, of how not to turn our eyes away from suffering, for turning our eyes away will not negate it but only allow it to continue and one of the most important lessons of all to shine our light fearlessly on the truth and that we all have the power to enlighten others around us, however lowly or inconsequential we might be or feel.

I have no idea if my mother remembers that journey in the sun, or if any of my siblings do. We’re not that kind of family. We don’t really talk about the things that really matter. Maybe that’s why I write and speak my truth whenever I can. Who knows. I just hope that you will have enjoyed this, my first blog and that you will subscribe and follow and share this and my future scribblings too.

Love light and gentle daisypetal hugs to you all.

Share love. Spread love. Be love.

I love you. Yes you.

PS I have no idea when I shall write again, but in the mean time you might also like to see these, the three talks I organised for the Small World Speakers Forum last weekend, as part of the wonderful Small World Summer Festival – Home to Home 27-31 Aug

These are the three talks:

‘Love, Inclusion and Environmental Action in these challenging times’, with Bernadette Vallely and Tina Louise Rothery:
https://www.facebook.com/love.anddaisypetals/posts/10158794800133506

‘Climate Justice and Border Imperialism’ with John Smith (son of Harry Leslie Smith) and Tess Humble:

https://www.facebook.com/love.anddaisypetals/posts/10158785945313506

‘The Future of Live Music and Festivals’, with Rowan McAllan, William Wiles and Connor Earley:
https://www.facebook.com/love.anddaisypetals/posts/10158786246673506