I am, was, and may always be a seeker of a simple and practical philosophy of life – what’s it all about? And why?
“You dot the i In line with the I, as far above the I as the I is high.” My Grade 10 penmanship teacher was demonstrating on the blackboard at the front of the classroom. Mr. Steele was as an artist with his fine handwriting. I was in awe of the gentle curve of the lines he seemed to make so effortlessly. Penmanship, for him, was a fine art. Alas, I seemed to have no sense of co-ordination. My hand and fingers did not produce the graceful writing that some others could. I tried and I tried, as the old song goes, “but I haven’t yet.”
“Johnston.” I jumped to my feet. Had I been daydreaming? The other students were staring at me. Mr. Steele may have called my Maiden name for the second time. Was that why he yelled it?
“Come up and demonstrate writing the letter I in lower case.”
I obeyed, and yet I dreaded the outcome. How many times had I been there before and suffered the same sneer from my teacher and snickering from my classmates. They knew that my handwriting was a hopeless mess, a lost cause.
I dreaded going to this required class of secretarial studies. I seemed to believe that I’d make a great office assistant and would learn about the world of business from a front row seat. I just had to suffer out the school year, subjecting myself and Mr. Steele, who seemed to feel that I was an insult to him, just by being in his class, to a weekly, or was it a twice-weekly time of tension. I ended up skipping some of his classes and having friends submit any take-home assignments for me.
And then the year was over, and I learned that Penmanship would be a required course in the new school year that would begin in September. I was devasted. I so very much needed to study for a secretarial career, but I knew that I couldn’t go through another year of abuse from Mr. Steele. My self-esteem was never in a high state of health, but one more year of verbal abuse and public shaming and I’d be apt to crumble. I dropped out of school and started to look for an entry job as a typist. At least my typing skills were of high quality, and because I had always been an avid reader, so was my spelling and sense of literary style. All that was missing was an opportunity to prove my skills.
Our destiny may have been prepared for us. While I was looking for typing work, a friend of a neighbour was planning to apply to the local chocolate factory. They were hiring, but she didn’t want to go alone, and asked me if I would please go with her. I agreed but had no plans to accept a job there. Why did I agree to go with her? I was simply, one more time, playing a people pleaser. She was not accepted. She was too short, but I was just right. I was hired.
So now, there I was, a factory worker. My mother was not impressed. It would be two years before I found work in a typing pool for a shipping company. At least I was now in the door of an office, if you could call a room of typists, each trying to keep up with the others, without going too far ahead of any of them, an office. Perhaps all workplaces have a secret code of comradery. There was so much I still had to learn about how to give my best without offending anyone. It’s a workplace skill, I guess.
Time passed quickly and I became a married woman before I was out of my teens, and then a mother. How do people adapt to changing roles? I do hope that most adapt easier than I did. I seemed to need to just pretend that I knew what I was supposed to do. Am I still playing that game now, with my spirit teacher? I strongly suspect that I am. After all, what do I know about human communication with people I can’t see? Is it a form of mind control? Or attempted mind control? And why would anyone, human or otherwise, even want to control my mind? I have enough trouble doing it myself.
Dear readers, I had planned to explain how I became interested in spiritual philosophy. It may simply have developed out of my lifelong interest in philosophy. I liked the questions it asked, as I have always needed to ask questions. What kind of questions? Like what’s it all about, and why? The simple seeker books share an interaction between me and my spirit teacher, in which I get to ask questions to my heart’s content, and Spirit chooses which if any to respond to. He has his own agenda, teaching me and anyone else who cares to listen, simple timeless wisdom that has been shared to Him.
I hope you enjoy the interaction between us, and the relationship that we seem to have developed with each other. Would you call it impersonal? Familiar? Intimate? Or is it simply the unique style or way in which each of our inner teachers generally relate to their students. I say our inner teachers, for Spirit tells me that we each and all have an inner teacher who is always with us, and guiding us, whether we’re aware of their influence or not. And, as the old saying goes, when the student is ready (whether she’s aware of being ready) the teachers will make us conscious of their presence. It happened to me in a very mysterious way. But that’s a story for another time. For now, whatever you believe about Life, I hope you enjoy the simple seeker books.
Love,
Jean
(simple seeker)
