The dragonfly comes into the classroom with mysterious fanfare blaring from invisible trumpets. Before he reaches his desk to transform into our teacher the question confronts him.
“Teacher,” the irreverent student says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I have been faithful and patient. Why do good things never happen to me?”
The dragonfly circles my classmate. “You are impatient, my child.”
“No, sir, I am VERY patient. I have been waiting and praying and I come here every week, but nothing good ever happens to me. It’s always everyone else who gets good news.”
The teacher flutters to his area, a small stage topped by a desk in front of a pristine chalkboard, and becomes the man we know him to be, tall and lanky with a baseball cap set at a rakish angle. “Good morning, my children,” he says, hooking his thumbs through the loops of his faded blue jeans. He turns to our irreverent classmate. “You are impatient, my son.”
The student straightens as if to argue again.
Teacher raises a palm toward him. “Please sit, for now. I will explain.”
In defiance of his normal temperament, our classmate kneels and waits, his eyes begging. It actually creeps me out a bit at first, then I remember story-time in elementary school and I join him, sitting cross-legged in front of the stage.
Teacher takes a seat on the steps to his area. “Good things are always happening to us, you included. It is perception that keeps our eyes closed.”
Irreverent Student prepares to argue, but teacher won’t pause long enough to allow him a way into the discussion.
“How long were you waiting to join my class?”
We all know the answer. The waiting list is long. Many of us waited years. Our classmate, however, was allowed admission within a few months of application.
Again, teacher doesn’t allow time for a response, only for understanding. “You weren’t forced to wait nearly as long as others.”
Awed, our classmate finally jumps in, “Why is that, teacher?”
“Because you approached; most students typically wait.” Teacher steps to the chalkboard. Then, pressing a thin, white piece of chalk between his fingers, he begins to draw shapes and twists. “The things that happen to us are always good. It is our perception that imagines them to be anything but. The good news is that as we get closer to the Source of all that is, our insight becomes more clear.”
The random lines and loops he has drawn begin to take form. He is drawing a dragonfly, complete with the colors of the wings our teacher sports as that creature.
“This is me,” he says. “You come to me for guidance toward Source.”
My classmates and I, captivated by what seems to be an honest, direct answer, nod.
“I cannot find you, so coming to me is the first move. You must want to learn.” He glances toward the irreverent student before drawing a football. “Let’s say this is you. Firm, focused, deliberate.” He shakes his head. “But, no, you are not inanimate. You are the quarterback, represented by a football.”
Sometimes teacher seems to be grasping at straws in the dark.
“Let’s say you are not a very good quarterback.”
The classroom erupts in chuckles.
“You say you are not lucky, I say you just miss the mark, at times. But, always, the ball advances. Sometimes you hand it to a teammate who moves it for you. Sometimes you tuck the ball under an arm and run it in. And, as you advance, you get closer to your answers and more good things happen for you.”
Our teacher walks toward us again, marking his steps with his words. “You asked about bad things. I propose that bad things do not happen to you. As you continue the lessons, that lesson will become more clear to you.”
He stops in front of the original questioner, kneeling in front of Irreverent. “As you continue your evolution as a student, the answers will flow more clearly. You will understand that good things have always been within your grasp.”
He rests a hand on the classmate’s shoulder, using the leverage to prop himself back to his feet. He returns to the stage, setting into motion the pictures on the blackboard: The quarterback leads his team down the field. The whistles and crowd cheers of a championship game surround us from invisible speakers as the team advances toward the dragonfly, which hovers over yellow goal posts.
“This quarter you may not be winning, but your team is advancing. Have faith that the goal line is within your reach and Source will work with you. You only need to make an effort to meet Him half way.”
He swipes a hand through the air and the chalkboard erases, to be replaced by directions for our next project.
“That is all, dear ones. I leave you to work on the assignment.”
He nods toward me and fades into his alter ego, leaving me as his TA for today’s lesson. I will share the homework once I understand it.
Be well, my friends,
The Dragonfly’s Student