The last morning
This was my last morning at the school. I‘d twisted my ankle a couple of weeks ago so I had to limp all the way through, but I didn’t care, as early in the morning the Michaelifest would be held. And that would be my last goodbye. A final knowing look at the building and the community I‘d spent that year with.
As I approached the school I walked into the yawning dawn that, little by little, remembered the figures of the earth. The trees, already slightly red-dyed by autumn, appeared to my eyes as I passed through the building and went to the playground where the ritual would be held. The bonfire was already burning in the middle, so I stood close to it as well as I could using one foot and observed the people I’d met during the year come out of the school’s wooden doors and walk to the bonfire. The children I’d spent so many hours with and many of my colleagues, who had supported me during the hard times, all of those faces became visible one by one by the touchless caress of the fire.
As everybody came, we formed a circle in order to tell the story of Michael, the archangel who slew the dragon. And as the darkness falls upon the earth every year (with an unusual dislike for Bremen, I shall say), and our inner dragon wakes up, we also have to fight against it, or so the festival goes. We sang songs and recited some verses together to embolden ourselves and face our dragons, and so we took morning’s hand till it was high enough to cast its light over the school and the playground and all those faces.
The school, the playground, those faces… all of them so dear to me.
I was tired, disheveled, aching from my foot and, more than anything, from my heart. As I stood there I felt this year had been like a poem. I remembered my first day of work. I was so excited. Working at a Waldorf school…. That was a dream come true!
However, my dream was not meant to be an excuse for either mindless enjoyment or unobstructed self-realisation, but an opportunity to get a glimpse of some truths about myself and the world. And that happened as the school and those who inhabit it became the reason I woke up every morning and left my house.
Playing with the children, trying to solve the conflicts that arose between them, accompanying them during lunch and being a witness of the community’s rhythm, rituals and inner being. That was my life for many, many months. And it put me in contact with myself and others with an unusual intensity.
The constant stream of happenings and daily victories and defeats were like a river that slowly eroded the walls I’d built to protect myself from the world. Once those walls fell, it was time for the actual realisations, only deepened by a 10-day meditation retreat that I attended during the summer.
And then, back to the school, with an awakened awareness of the preciousness of these last 2 months. I realised I had started to feel more like an observer, somehow preparing myself for my departure and, at the same time, how much closer to my heart the kids and adults that I’d met during my time were.
I remember one last weekend festival at the very end of summer, a sunny, open and clear Saturday in which I walked around the school over and over again. As I went around I found so many people, exchanging some looks or words (and cake, too) and I realised how deeply moved I was by every familiar face I came across.
Then came the Wednesday I twisted my ankle doing skate and my strong determination to still go to work not to waste my last days in bed at home. And, at last, the efforts I made to say goodbye to everybody one last time. After all that, came this morning, my last one there.
Then the fire was over, the ritual ended, and everybody started to walk back to the building. As I prepared myself to go back home one of the young girls I’d come to know came to me, smiled at me and gifted me some heartfelt words of goodbye. I returned her words and her smile, with that awkwardness that comes with honesty. Then we parted our ways.
As I saw her leave I understood then that it wasn’t the daily victories and defeats that I’d carry with me back home. It was all those faces I had learned to love deeply that would stay with me.
As I left the building I looked at it one last time and thanked it for everything. Then I started limping towards my house. The poem was over.
Gabriel was hosted by NaturKultur on our project co-funded by the European Union.
If you want to experience something similar to what Gabriel did, check out our open calls here.
