It Is What It Is

“It is what it is,” Teacher says, stepping back from his creation, a structure made up of boxes and balls of varying sizes, a handful of flowers tossed in for good measure.

“But what is it?” Irreverent Student says what we’re all thinking.

“Oh, my. You don’t see it? Goodness.” He strolls around his stage, a hand draped over his chin, his other hand cradling an elbow. “You don’t? None of you?”

He skips down the steps, strolling around the seats in this classroom.

Slipping my sweaty palms under my legs, I try to avert my eyes.

“None of you, really?”

He approaches Hope, the model student, and my mood brightens. My joy doesn’t last.

She shakes her head. Teacher moves on to other classmates, who echo Irreverent and Hope until he has nowhere else to turn. “You, Writer. What do you see?”

What do I see? I consider backing out of this like my classmates. He knows I won’t.

“Um, I see …,” I glance toward Teacher before approaching the concoction on his stage. “I see what my classmates see, sir, but I also see more.”

I pick up one of the random flowers. “I see the beauty of this purple daisy. It’s more than just the flower. When I set it down on this cube, its lilac-tinted aura expands over this box. Because of this, what I see here is simply … beautiful.”

Looking past my classmates to our teacher standing at the back of the classroom, I wait.

“Perfect,” he says. “You may be seated.”

Great, I’m off the hook, but I’m still lost.

“This creation of mine is what it is, and to each of us it represents something else. Let us say this structure is your life.”

Irreverent injects himself into the discussion again, “That thing looks like one big piece of crap that’s just gonna come crashing down.”

Nodding, Teacher agrees. “Yup, I see where you might see that.” He pulls one red rubber ball from a corner of his structure and half of his construction clatters to the stage then down the steps to land next to our seats. “Oh, my goodness,” he says. “I guess that’s that.”

“What good came from that, sir?” Hope asks. “Your piece of work is ruined.”

Teacher turns to me. “Writer, is it ruined? Is that indigo aura still there?”

Unfocusing my gaze, I look for the aura that surrounds everything that lives. Past Teacher’s solidly purple and blue aura I focus on what remains of the structure. “Yes, sir. The indigo aura is still there.” Something catches my attention.

“In fact, sir, the indigo seems to cover more of the, um, building, than before.”

He seems amazed by that fact, then I realize I’m just playing into his plan.

“My children, let’s assume this structure is our lives – the boxes and balls are a hodge-podge of lessons and experiences, some more stable than others, the flowers are memories.”

He tugs at a small box. Nothing falls when he walks away with it in his hand.

“Sometimes, experiences destroy us while we take other experiences in stride, knowing we are stronger. What you need to realize is that there’s no going back. This structure will never again be what it was at the beginning of this class.”

He twirls his hands and a purple flower appears in his fingers. He sniffs at it. “Sweet,” he says as he hops off the stage and approaches me.  “What you see, therefore, is what you get, dear ones. If you expect to live a hard life, that is what you will get. It’s called the Law of Attraction. However, if what you expect is the sweet perfume of the lilac, that is what life will bring your way.”

He bows and hands the flower to me.

“Thank you for your participation, dear Writer,” he says.

“Hey, not fair,” Irreverent Student screeches. “I participated!”

Teacher smiles, nodding. “Yes, you did, dear Irreverent, but, what you don’t understand is that, even though you participated, your expectations remain the same.”

He holds open the door to the garden.

“If what you expect from life is crap, as you say, then ….” With a flourish of his arms, the tall man in the blue baseball cap disappears, replaced by a glorious blue and purple dragonfly.

“It is what it is,” Teacher says.

 

Class dismissed.

 

Until next class, dear friends.

 

Sincerely,

      The Dragonfly’s Student

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