This is it

Again, not about Michael Jackson.

Welp, you guessed it.  I don’t wanna go home.

I’ve spent every night these last 4 or 5 nights saying good bye to people I honestly love from the bottom of my heart, spirit, mind, and whatever other entity I have to love with.  These people were strangers to me three months ago, but now they're dear friends, which is problematic because they life in India! Here I am thinking, “Please don’t send me back to America, please,” when before back in June I thought, “Only 63 more days….only 62 more days….only 61 more days…” and so on.  Now I only have regret for those first few weeks about not taking greater advantage of my surroundings and wealth of blessings right before my eyes.

Today before lunch all of the staff and students gathered in the dining hall while I was presented with an award on behalf of  the founders of Karuna Home  for my volunteer work.  I felt simply grateful and happy until taking a group photo after which students one by one walked to me, some crying, most laughing, smiling and yelling, saying “Thank you” as they hugged me and shook my hand.  At this point I totally lost it by submitting to my emotions and crying publicly.   As I walked the corridors and classrooms of Karuna today, I touched each pillar and each face of the students’.  I gave kisses and hugs liberally and cried randomly as I would turn a corner, or hear a particular student’s voice.  On one of my walks down the corridor a sweet nun (my dear friend now) said to me, “Isn’t it nice to cry for something good?” It certainly is.  

Oddly enough, when I was waving from the car window to the teachers and students with whatever was left from the tears I had in my head, I felt so much pain at looking at the teachers’ eyes.  I took my time and circularly scanned each of their faces and hands and thought, “These faces and hands do such good work in the world.  I love these faces and hands.”  I really do.  I scanned their faces and took pictures in my heart that I will treasure always.  One teacher was holding on gently to a rambunctious student, smiling deep into my heart while she waved goodbye.  Another teacher laughed and cried and waved her hand like a butterflies wings with a twinge of bitter joy.  Another teacher simply stood alongside with his hands held together smiling silently.  Another teacher stood beside a pillar far away from the crowd blowing me kisses and signing, “I love you” as tears fell down from her gorgeous eyes.  Another teacher held a student’s hand and laughed, yet frowned as she said the words, “Good bye” and “Thank you.”  I can’t remember all of the staff’s faces perfectly, but I can tell you this: they had peace in their eyes.  I am choosing to remember the peace and gratitude that I witnessed instead of lamenting about the fact that I won’t be seeing these people for a long time, or possibly ever.  It's far too painful to dwell on such a fact because these people gave me a gift I can’t ever repay with any amount of teacher trainings or boxes of supplies: they gave me unconditional love and examples of true compassion and tenderness toward the human condition.  This I am grateful for (Yoda?).

The teachers use the behavioral strategies I taught in the trainings.  They actively engage in the teaching methods I taught.  These teachers even are using the data sheets and new objective format that I trained on, and they do it effortlessly.  One particular teacher often calls out to me from her classroom as I walk the corridors and says, “BB, come to my room, just one second!” I skip into her room with excitement to hear her next question and to see her progress.  She asks detailed questions about taking data, fading prompts, etc., and then she puts the knowledge into practice.  I could have never dreamed that my coming to India would result in anything that resembles what I’ve just described.  This same teacher has proven her diligence over and over again in other observations as well, as she uses positive behavioral supports like a champion, and without reservation!  She looks so natural in action.  All of the teachers look so natural in action.  All of the teachers approach me with specific pedagogical questions daily, and they arrange with me times to discuss questions.  I know it’s been said before, but this has just absolutely floored me time and time again.  These teachers who work tirelessly six days a week from 8 until 4:30 are approaching me for additional training.  Such humility and determination.  Never have I seen something like this in all my life.

The last moments in the classrooms today were spent sitting cross legged on the ground in my favorite chuba watching the students draw.  I sat among them watching their drawings progress, slapping my thigh repetitively saying, “Dang it!” as tears relentlessly gushed out of my face.  One teacher laughed and took a picture telling me to save some tears for later while the other teacher scolded her and said to put my attention elsewhere.  During this I noticed that two other teachers in the classroom were decorating the letters I wrote them with the art supplies and silently they wept.  I was surprised, yet grateful to see their love.

Well the car was started and the children were grabbing my hand yelling “Good bye!” and “Thank you!” and I continued crying, of course, while holding their hands with one of my hands and supporting my tired lonely head with my other hand against my chin.  It was a murky picture I took with my eyes today of the teachers’ faces, but it was a rainy, murky, loving, living picture I took that is etched into my heart forever. 

Thank you, Karuna Home.  Thank you, Rinpoche.  Thank you, Geshe La.  Thank you, teachers.  Thank you, physiotherapists.  Thank you, family and friends.  And thank you, students.  I love you and will think of you often and practice what you taught me as well.