The Miracle of You

One of the most beautiful things about nature is the way it settles into itself. No matter the condition, it simply holds on and emanates. It is absolutely phenomenal. Mountains, trees, stars, planets, whirlpools—the dance of the cosmos.

And all of it has completely surrendered to what is. 

It may be the case that the more we surrender to what is, the more reflective we are of nature. Of our own nature.

And the more we’ll emanate.

The body functions without interjection—blood in the veins rushing oxygen to and from every inch of our being. The one keeping us alive. Persisting. Letting us know when something’s wrong. 

The heart beats on.

This body, a biological organism just like any other. And the way it operates is fascinating. 

The miracle that is the functioning life of a dog, a dove, a blue whale—such is the miracle of you. 

Such is the miracle of everything.

Dear Departed

My dog departed recently. About two and half weeks ago. She was 14 years, 3 months young—to the day.

The following evening, I was tutoring a student—a third grader. Sometimes I bring over “Finish the Picture” prompts for them to fashion a partially drawn image into whatever they’d like. 

This student drew my dog, Lady, as an angel.

She still doesn’t know she passed.

After students finish the picture, they write a story about it. (Minor detail: this particular prompt contained a spider in one of its spaces.) Busied with writing, she encouraged me to write a story of my own.

So I played along, penning about Lady going to Heaven and meeting my childhood dogs: Pepe, Patches, and Sweetie. They’d prepared a gift for her—a spider in which they could all occupy any time they’d like to come and visit me. 

A spider—two legs for each of them!

I tucked the story in my briefcase and carried on.

Grief has been heavy. Earlier today, I went up to the skydeck—it’s beautiful here in the mountains. Soaking up the sun while journaling has been necessary therapy.

I got to thinking about Heaven while I sat up there. The bedtime story Heaven. The one I don’t really believe exists in the traditional sense.

But I thought about who might be there to greet me. Some are still alive—I was just imagining them because they’d be in my heaven. 

And I thought about Lady. And Pepe, and Patches, and Sweetie. And just then, a furry little spider crawled out from the deck beneath me, and I smiled as it scurried slowly across the panels of wood. 

Scurry. Stop. Scurry. Stop. Scurry.

And finally, slowly dip below the deck.

Slowly, steady, my heart resets.

Dance

Recently, I’ve fallen in love with movement. Stretching. Sensing. Dancing. The way my lungs expand and contract while breathing. The way the sunlight moves through space, kisses my skin and shimmies away. I close my eyes to heighten my sense of touch, to be completely immersed in the art my vessel creates through each muscle and nerve. 

I imagine this is what trees must feel in the evening breeze as they're gently rocked to sleep.

A year ago, I moved to a small space between Main and Los Angeles Street in Downtown LA. There are sirens, alarms, 24-hour traffic patterns, and erratic noises from drug-addicts wandering the streets. Ironically, my life has never been more silent.

Embracing movement, harnessing sensation, and allowing my body to bathe in the light that it is has transformed me from the inside-out. My essence is no longer a stranger who occasionally knocks—it is an intimate connection, an ever-present dweller in my bones.

…

Harness your being

lullaby swim

beam from a place within

see without eyes

sense without touch

simply exist—

it’s enough.

Photo: @nataliekarpushenko

To the Class of '22

Dear Graduates,

I know what you’re feeling right now. It seems like I snapped my fingers and 18 years have passed, but I recall well those moments leading up to graduation. Knowing I was about to part with what I’d known my whole life, with whom I’d known my whole life, ready to travel off to uncharted territory for my next venture. Only one thing was going through my mind—

I can’t believe I’m already graduating.

It sneaks up on you. One minute, you’re a freshman looking at the seniors in the halls—wow, they look OLD. The next, you’re getting your diploma, a young, accomplished adult yourself. 

I wish I could see your faces as you take the stage during this monumental rite of passage.

Though I will not be there, I want you to know something—great things await, and it’s up to you to embrace them. Yes, you’ll continue to face challenges, ones unlike any you’ve experienced, but you will get through them. You’ll get through them with the same strength and persistence and hurt and tears that carried you here.

And that hurt—that hurt is not a bad thing. Muscles tear in order to build. Seeds crack in order to blossom. Struggle is in the fabric of our being, and I implore you—do not let it destroy you. Know that you—and you alone—have the autonomy to see the world in a better light. To see struggle as necessity, to see failure as opportunity. To become better than the anger and hatred that too many allow to consume their lives.

To quote Henley, you are the master of your fate, the captain of your soul.

So as you close this chapter and begin anew, hold your pen with conviction, your head with optimism, and above all, trust the unknown. I promise you—that trust, that faith, that belief—these make all the difference.

And what a difference you've already made—there’s no one in this world who can do what you do, who can be who you are.

And who you are is brilliant. 

All my love,

Mr. Morelli

Photo: @morysetta

Wonder

 "The other world is this world rightly seen." - Nisargadatta Maharaj

Sometimes I'll wake up in the middle of the night semi-conscious—not enough to glue together very tangible thoughts, but there's this kind of hyper awareness of my own existence. I lie still, eyes closed, completely in awe of the fact that I'm alive, that somehow, after what seems like an eternity of darkness, emptiness, my being emerged to travel with the earth and sun and their trillions of neighbors. 

It's as if I'm being born for the first time.

And it's too surreal to capture without some sort of magnificent poetry or prose or burst of creative delight, perhaps even those not enough to do it justice.

There's a video that went viral a few years back—a 29-year-old woman has a device installed in her ear, allowing her to hear for the very first time. 

Her reaction?

Tears. 

The nurse's voice is enough to make her buckle. Smiling uncontrollably, she is overwhelmed by the beauty of sound.

Most of us are endowed with the ability to hear, but when our alarms ring in the morning, we're more likely crying for different reasons.

Do you remember how immaculate the world was when you were a child? Every sight cinematic, every smell ripely pungent, every favorite food unparalleled ecstasy. Slipping down a plastic slide, swinging forth and back on wood, hiding and seeking—these pleasures were joyous in ways we hardly recall.

And we get it—over time, we grow used to our surroundings, used to the patterns of being alive, and the brilliance we harnessed with fireflies in jars slips freely back into sky.

Worse yet, we become prone to pessimism, expecting things to go wrong. But whether our lives are ordinarily mundane or a constant struggle, we tend to miss what's all around us—the immaculate, indescribable beauty of the cosmos.

Sure, we look at the stars on a clear night and manage to scratch our heads once in a while, but apathy turns our eyes elsewhere and we're back in our homes with our cell phones and screens.

We shouldn't feel guilty about that. But we should be aware of it. Perhaps the awareness alone is enough to catch a glimpse of what we felt as toddlers, if only for a moment. Maybe we'll sip our coffee more slowly and allow its aroma to fill our souls. Maybe we'll look at the sky when we're stuck in traffic and revel at the beauty of its vastness. Maybe we'll even be overwhelmed at our bodies' capacity to breathe, our hearts' persistence to beat, our brains' ability to cognize and think.

After all, the other world is this world, rightly seen.

Photo: @cosmuniversecol

Finding Peace

In my mid-20s, I was diagnosed with an anxiety disorder. Life was hell for many years prior because I had no idea what was wrong with me. All I knew is that I’d cancel on my friends last minute, fear I wouldn’t be able to get out the door to work, and at worst, lay on the floor crying out for help in an entirely empty apartment. (My turtle was there—he’s the real MVP.)

It was my sister who tipped me off to the idea that I was experiencing anxiety. She told me to get to a doctor, so I went to a primary care physician. That didn’t help much.

I’m not sure if it was months or years after that, but it got to a point that I couldn’t leave my apartment. I thought my life was over. I only had my family to call, and they were all halfway across the country. 

There’s some messy details I don’t care to mention; what matters is that my father, alongside his wife, flew out to San Antonio to get me back on my feet—literally. And I can’t recall who told me exactly—I believe it was my mom—but someone suggested I call a friend to come over and at least get me through the evening.

Definitely didn’t want to do that. What I was experiencing was very personal, and quite nonsensical for anyone who’d not been exposed to anxiety or OCD. But I fought my hesitation and called a colleague I had at the time—he came over, and whether he knows it or not, I’m not sure I would’ve gotten through that night without him.

He assured me I was okay, that he’d never noticed anything unusual about me despite the “demons” in my head telling me otherwise.

Fast-forward to my dad’s arrival. Since I was basically incapacitated, he and his wife had to do some deep digging to find me a good psychiatrist. Pretty much all the in-network doctors had a wait list at least six weeks long. 

So we ended up going out of network, and I’m glad we did. The doctor listened to my story, diagnosed me as quickly as I’d fallen, and recommended a counselor to help me through what would be the beginning of a long path to recovery.

I went to two or three different counselors before finding Martha. When I walked into her office, she didn’t ask me any questions or tell me to lie down on a long leather couch.

Instead, she simply told me to have a seat and close my eyes.

I’d like you to inhale very slowly through your nose. Inhale as much air as possible; fill up your lungs to capacity.

Once you can’t take in any more air, hold your breath for a moment, and release the air naturally through your mouth.

That’s it—slowly inhale through your nose, exhale out your mouth.

Now, I want you to continue breathing, but do your best to relax your toes when you exhale. Simply release all the tension you feel in your toes.

Good. Now, release that tension in your feet, your ankles.

Keep breathing. Focus on your breathing.

That’s it. Now relax your legs. Use your mind’s eye to search up and down your legs—find any tension there, and let it go.

Tense up your muscles and release them if it helps.

Now focus on your bottom. Relax all the muscles there.

I want your entire body from the waste down to be completely relaxed. No tension. Just let it all go. Relax.

Inhale slowly through your nose, exhale out your mouth.

Let’s move to your abdomen. Do you feel any tension there? Let it go each time you exhale. Every exhalation will allow you to let go of that tension you feel. Take as much time as you need.

Move to your arms, your shoulders, your fingers, your hands. Breathe in, hold it for a moment, then exhale. Relax all your upper limbs when you exhale. Again, take your time. Make sure you're relaxing every finger, every muscle, every joint.

Relax your neck. Stay focused on your breath.

Feel the muscles in your cheeks, your forehead. Let the tension go.

Allow your entire body to simply exist with ease.

Now, just breathe for a few minutes in silence.

Good. Now, I want you to imagine a bright light surrounding you, absorbing you. Every time you breathe in, you’re breathing in the power of that light. 

Let the light fill you up completely.

When you breathe out, imagine all those negative thoughts you’ve had—all those negative feelings you've felt—leaving your body. Picture the negativity as a black smoke exiting your body as you exhale.

Let it travel far, far away.

Breathe in the light. Breathe out the darkness.

Do this for as long as you’d like. When you’re ready, open your eyes.

I was in tears. All of the pain and hurt I’d been carrying for eight years was gone. Just...gone.

I’ll never forget one of the last things she said after that first experience of meditation: You can access that positive energy ANY time you'd like.

And I still do. 

There is always peace in us. It’s literally there for the taking; we simply need to know and practice the methods to retrieve it.

I know you’re going through a lot right now. Life isn’t easy. There’s so much on our plates, and our minds never seem to put anything to rest. 

But I promise you this—you can access that positive energy any time you'd like.

Just practice what Martha showed me all those years ago.

May you have a wonderful Fourth.

Photo Credit: @indg0 (Instagram)

Chasing Dreams

 

ACTs were fast approaching, and it was time to start applying for colleges. My sister was attending Illinois State University, and I’d always taken comfort in having her around to show me the ropes. After all, she did precisely that in high school, so why should college be any different? And I’d already visited her at ISU—she, the doll that she is, looked after me as I got absolutely inebriated from consuming exactly two and a half beers.

In my defense, I would have been lucky to weigh in at 120 lbs at 16.

Anyway, it was a no-brainer—I applied to ISU where I’d be accepted to study elementary education and later earn my Bachelor’s degree as a certified teacher for grades K-9.

My interest in working with kids began around the same time I discovered I was a lightweight (completely unrelated). One of my first jobs was in my hometown’s Bartlett Park District, and I was afforded the opportunity to work with children as young as four. Most notable was coaching the littles how to play soccer and basketball, a feat I was fairly successful at when the minions weren’t tackling me to the ground. But I definitely wouldn’t have gained their affinity if it weren’t for a coworker who showed me the ropes—basically, I learned that all you need to get their attention is a little (okay, a lot of) enthusiasm. So I capitalized on that, and despite my introverted tendencies, I became somewhat of a natural as an instructor.

I’d go on to work with kids in several different settings: summer camps, before/after-school programs, one-on-one tutoring, clinical classroom sessions, and eventually, student teaching (which, oddly enough, was in San Antonio—long story short, my university offered education majors some “alternative placements”, and there’s a certain allure to 70-degree weather in January when you’re a Chicago native).

Now, I’d seen my fair share of challenges over the years, but nothing really prepared me for student teaching. I remember begging my co-op teacher, Mrs. Padgett, to stay in the classroom as much as possible, but she was a great mentor and knew when to kick me out of the nest. Granted, I flailed on the way down, but eventually landed on two feet just in time to walk the stage for graduation.

To my surprise, that same school called me for an interview about six weeks into summer. I didn’t flinch—my mother and I packed up a U-Haul and scurried our way down to San Antonio. I was officially a 5^th grade teacher at Nichols Elementary School.

And I sucked at it.

My first performance review was terrible, and I was immediately placed on a TINA (Teacher in Need of Assistance) in order to strengthen my classroom management skills. Fortunately, my principal and colleagues were excellent advocates, and by the end of the year I was exceeding expectations across several domains in PDAS (Professional Development and Appraisal System). Yeah...it’s worth noting there are about a zillion acronyms in the field of education. You’ve been warned.

This became the norm—I spent several more years teaching 5^th grade, then 4^th, but something unprecedented happened after about six or seven years in. My heart wasn’t in it anymore; I wanted a new challenge, something that would help me grow as an educator and a person. So I took the ELAR certification exam in order to pursue my next professional endeavor.

It wasn’t easy; I was a primary school teacher trying to secure a position in high school, and for years I kept hitting brick walls. Even my administration at the time suggested I apply for positions in middle school to boost my chances of landing an interview, but something about that didn’t sit right. It was time to step up my game.

After making a few calls, I learned about a two-week English-Lit workshop offered in the summer. I signed up immediately.

So there I was with my Bachelor’s in Elementary Education sitting among refined secondary English teachers, many with Master’s and PhDs in Literature. But I was a natural fit, and the district leaders running the workshop helped me land a couple interviews.

The first one was a bit forced and awkward, but the second felt like providence; I sat down with the principal and academic dean for what seemed more like a casual meeting over coffee than an actual interview. At its conclusion, I knew that my years at Nichols had come to an end.

After just over a semester of teaching Pre-AP English I, I was promoted to level lead (our lead at the time was promoted to instructional coach at a separate campus). And after two years, my department leaders and administration saw fit to give me the privilege of teaching English OnRamps, a dual-enrollment college course on rhetoric.

Holy crap.

I’d gone from teaching fourth grade to teaching a college-level course in just two years.

As I reminisce, it almost doesn’t seem real. How did that 22-year-old kid who could barely manage a classroom end up teaching college rhetoric? Truth be told, I had a lot of help from friends, family, and colleagues, but more importantly, I had a belief in myself that never wavered.

It doesn’t matter if the odds are stacked up against you. Goals, no matter how audacious, are worth pursuing. Will you fail? Absolutely. But as Prince EA says, there’s no such thing as a smooth mountain. Trust the failure. Trust the doubt. And when you make it to the peak, you’ll realize you aren’t even close to finished—there’s a whole mountain range ahead.

So start climbing.

Photo Credit: @phibstuff (Instagram)