Tea, Fire and Boredom

Princeton’s Teachers

I woke up this morning and looked out my window. There was a white stuff covering almost the entire lawn. For the briefest moment I thought “OMG SNOW”. I turned out to be a white tarp in preparation for reunions. My first thoughts of the morning move slowly and rarely represent a coherent picture.

The beat of the campus moves at a different pace these days. The rushing mass of students flowing about the campus has been reduced to a mere trickle. The daily surge of people into the dining hall has all but dried up. In a way, I have been savoring this unique time. It is (and remains) a time for friends to leave, but time alone is the best time for reflection. I tend to enjoy situations that include small numbers of people. The conversation in the coffee shop, the nighttime walk. It provides an ideal time to think without the hum of other people invading your meditation. I find it difficult to really enjoy myself if a group of 20 other people do their best to shout as loud as possible about some trivial (if not humorous) detail about monkeys, clubs or school. I find that such groups and “conversations” (if such shouting matches can qualify as talking) are an active hindrance to my long term happiness and well being. I’d sooner listen to the voice on the wind, for it has a much deeper wisdom to tell.

I spent the evening walking around campus. The campus at night (given that it’s not the weekend and drunk idiots are wandering to their watering hole) is generally desolate and quiet. Exploring its nocturnal secrets is always enjoyable. I feel I have not learned anything profound in the daily grind of students, pressures and noise of the campus. Perhaps I can find Princeton’s wisdom hidden in the night. I passed several trees, each bearing the new growth of spring. Even with color blindness, I found it easy to compare the difference in brightness of the new green leaves. Nature painted them a different color to mark their youth and innocence. These trees have waited all winter to sprout this new growth. I have not such patience. While I shivered within my heated dorm, each tree stood as a silent guardian in the snow. They have seen generations come and go and laugh and cry. Trees do not move, but their knowledge of their Eden is full and deep. If only the students would listen to their rustling voices upon the wind. They could find a whole new set of teachers literally waiting outside their door. I am no tree hugger. I have had much more sophisticated (and non-physical) relationship with these trees. How many of us have marked the memories of our childhood with a favored tree that we would climb or sit under or watch grow. The pulse of a tree moves slowly and carefully. Never moving, never rushing. Waiting for the moment of new spring. Waiting as the students and squirrels and wind rushes around in the daily grind. Such things and people come and go. I wish to live up to the calm demeanor of a tree.