EMFs

'Oh shit, mum, the blender! I saw it on the shelf as we walked out!'
Hannah and Rachael had been driving for a couple of hours now.
The stress mildly induced from leaving dad and the boys has by now dissipated, as has the initial excitement, extreme, from hitting the open road.

'Have a look behind my seat, on the floor under the sleeping bag.'

Hannah rummages around a bit and pulls out a box. 'Hand Operated Geared Food Processor'.. she looks doubtfully at her mum.. 'Will this actually work?'

'That raw carrot cake you've been nibbling on?.. I used it to make that last night, to test it out!'

'Sooooo.. there's no power where we're going? Not even solar?'

'Some people have power, some solar, some choose to live with no electrical conveniences.. we'll see, but either way, this machine will be cheaper if using the grid, will draw less from a solar system, and won't suffer from a blackout!'

'Dad sure did build a good solar system, hey mum.'  'He sure did, honey, but y'know, even so it was one of the things I needed to get away from.'  Hannah's brow crinkles.. 'How so?'

'Did you notice that box out in the carport?'  'Umm, yeah, kinda..'  'It's called a Smart Meter, and it reads and records data relating to electrical usage, etc and relays that to the power company. It produces powerful emfs which can affect people's health..'  'emfs?'  'Electromagnetic fields. Many people have been getting sick from them, and I feel no trust in these meters.'

'So what about dad and the boys?'  'The Smart Meter is something I care about quite strongly, whereas dad isn't concerned so much about them. We don't need to agree on everything, and while I respect his choice, it's my responsibility whether these meters are in my experience or not.'

Hannah has partially set the blender machine up in her lap while they are talking, and is turning the handle to see how the blade mounting spins. She grins at her mum.. 'It's gonna be good exercise..'

Rachael grins back.. 'Especially making chocolate balls!'  'Oh mum, chocolate balls! We should have made some before leaving!'  'There's a rest stop up ahead. Let's pull over, set up camp and make some!'  Hannah spins the handle of the blender.. 'And no emfs, hey!'  Laughing, they pull off the road into a free camping site, set up camp, make chocolate balls and other treats and settle in for a sleep. 'Simple food, good feelings and no hassles.. mum, we could live on the road forever!'

Rachael, quietly nodding to her daughter, is gentle and kind in feeling with her response.. 'And our close, connected community?'  'Mmmm.. yeah.. how far do we drive tomorrow?'  Rachael is smiling, and with a yawn.. 'We'll be there in a day or two.. goodnight sweetheart.'  'Night, mum.'

Hannah stays up late reading by torchlight until, listening to the night animals living their lives free of emfs and even the very idea of lack, drifts off to sleep.

Freedom to move..

Hannah wakes early and slips out of bed without disturbing her sleeping family.

She nibbles a raw cacao ball and sips some green smoothie her mother has made the previous day, leaves the quiet house and jogs down the street towards the park where she knows the Tai Chi group will be practicing their art. The discussion this morning is about how to deflect incoming forces without using strength, using an opponent's strength against them, with the group working in pairs pushing hands against each other and rolling the partner's arms aside whilst moving gently out of the way. The work is related to life experiences and how to flow around issues rather than meet them head on and cause conflict or get stuck. They finish with a slow performance of one of the sets of movements, with a newfound understanding and fullness of feeling.

After the session Hannah sits with her back to a tree off the edge of the park, listening to the birds and munching on a dried banana she has unwrapped from a cloth in her pocket. She is wondering about where she is stuck in her life and how she might flow around the issues.

When Hannah arrives home it's still early and dad and the boys are still asleep. Her mum is doing some light cleaning in the kitchen and tending to some of the food prep. Rachael looks up with a smile as Hannah walks in, and asks if her daughter would like some food, her voice barely above a whisper. Hannah chooses a peppermint tea and asks Rachael if they can have a chat.

Sitting on the verandah, sipping their tea in silence, Rachael is peacefully waiting for her tweenage daughter to begin the conversation, knowing how it takes time to martial one's thoughts enough to express with clarity. She watches her daughter's face as she sips her tea, eyes closed, a gentle smile, connecting to source. Hannah opens her eyes to gaze into her mother's.. love looking at love.. and begins her movement.

'I've been trying to find close, connected community by looking in the schools around me, and found there is nothing there for me but disconnection. The kids are all socialised in ways that don't allow them to be their true selves and are not capable of the real connection I need. Many are so messed up by terrible parenting that I can't help but feel pity for them.' Their eyes are still connected whilst they both take a sip of the hot, fresh deliciousness.

'It's like I've been looking around with a torch inside when what I need is out in the sunshine. I want to do is travel and find an unschooling community.'

Rachael sits back in her chair and closes her eyes to be with her thoughts.. her seemingly conflicting thoughts. She had been considering for some weeks negotiating some time away for herself, and to now was leaving those thoughts alone, waiting as it were for a confluence of events..

She loves her husband dearly, but in many ways he just doesn't get her approach to parenting and unschooling, which initially didn't seem to be an issue, but now she is becoming aware that the rearing of children is a joint effort, and if one parent is not on board with the process the children's potential to fully be themselves will be negatively affected.

She feels a need to get away, but cannot gain clarity on how this can be done or on what is in each child's best interests.

Also, she is pregnant, and is very much thinking of the environment she wishes to bring this child into, including the duration of the pregnancy. She hasn't advised her husband of her pregnancy, and she knows it will be some time before he notices. There are some aspects of birthing that he doesn't understand and disagrees with her with his arguments based on misconceptions, and she just doesn't want to go into it this time.

She also has been concerned about the lack of unschooling community in their local area and has had no ideas on how to address that, other than developing online community which helps but is not enough.

Now with Hannah's question a series of little shifts occur within her self and possibility begins to open. She checks in with her intuition, how does her body feel about staying and getting Hannah to work it out here somehow?.. she feels tension in her belly. How does she feel when she considers leaving to travel and find close, connected community?.. she feels relaxed, expansive. The wisdom reflected in her body is telling her to go.

Rachael decides to run it by her online friends, and already has a general idea where they will make their first destination.. an area with a high density of close online unschooling friends, a ready made community. She places her now cold tea on the table and looks up at her daughter, who has picked up the book on unschooling she began reading the previous night. Hannah looks up immediately and places the book in her lap.

'Yes, you and I shall go on a little road trip. Dad and the boys will be fine. There's a wonderful area we can visit, stay with some friends for a while and find what we are asked to flow with.'

Hannah lay back in her seat with eyes closed, tears rolling down her cheeks.. 'I knew I could count on you, mum.'

Rachael lifts herself from her chair and walks towards her daughter, who springs from her seat to join her mother in a hug.. 'When can we go?' 'Tomorrow.' Rachael is an empowered woman who lives in the moment, and when she makes a decision based in love, her life becomes a love action.

They pick up their cups and go inside to begin preparations for the journey.

'Oh mum, this is all just so exciting!'

Home is where the unschooling happens.. where the heart is..

Late that night, sitting on the verandah, plucking gently on the strings of her dulcimer, just doodling, deep in thought, the girl's mother sitting nearby doing some work on her laptop, she is feeling conflicted. She stops playing and places the dulcimer on a small table nearby. She picks up a book and begins to flick through it.

This is a book that Rachael, the girl's mum has left there.. strewing again.. in the hope her husband will pick it up. He is on board with unschooling but just doesn't seem to get it. She recognises that he needs a broader knowledge base for them to be able to deepen their communication.

It has been sitting on a low table against the wall, amongst the stones, crystals, bones, leaves, feathers, seeds and the like that Rachael has gathered to leave in this 'interesting things' area.

The book is a brilliant offering from one of the early unschooling advocates and spells out the issues with the education system as it has been developed, the need for individuals and society on the whole to deschool, and the importance of unschooling.

Playing music usually creates focus and peace, but now there is a tension in her and she feels the need to talk. There is only sound of the crickets, the occasional flurry of taps on her mother's keyboard, the sound of the boys playing a game inside.

She looks up at her mother who immediately looks up from the keyboard with a calm expression, a little smile.

'Mum, school's fucked.' 'Over it, huh?'

Hannah, the girl, has had a look at every school in the area, enough to satisfy her curiosity.

A couple of them she has heard enough about on the grapevine.

Two of the others are religious schools which take students from 4 through 18 years of age and she had taken a look at them the previous year. She found these were the worst schools for gangs and bullying, but the strangest thing to her was the authority of the teachers.

The bizarre idea that learning can happen when someone else is telling us what and how to learn!

This last school she had attended for 3 days, longer than any of the others, perhaps because it was the last one, and although she is glad of the experience, it is enough.

'School is like a broken model, say like a model airplane that doesn't work because of a design fault. We can't fix it. We need to start over, redesign from scratch. I'm still not anti-school, but I recognise it is a broken model that can't be fixed and needs to be thrown out. We've learned what not to do.'

Rachael is looking at Hannah with an understanding smile, nodding gently with bright, moist eyes.

Hannah is now reading the book again, more intently this time.

Rachael, deeply happy, closes her laptop and goes inside to prepare a hot cocoa and snack for them all.

The boys, her husband and two young children, twin boys 9 years of age, pause their game and accept the supper with gratitude. Still talking about the game while they munch, Rachael picks up a few things and leaves them to it. She loves the connection her husband has with the boys.

Out on the verandah, Rachael places a little tray with a plate and cup next to Hannah, who looks up, her brow furrowed in concentration. 'This book.. how long has it been sitting here?' 'Oh, a while..'

Rachael had placed the book there a few months ago. Her husband had picked it up just once, flicked through it and put it down. He somehow seems to have the idea that he knows it all already, that unschooling is all very simple, and it is, but it is also very subtle and complex. A lot to know about what to do, and even more about what not to do. She can see some issues on the horizon, and is living on trust at present. The have found a way through so many other obstacles, together.

Hannah has finished her snack, stretches her arms up high, gets up and gives her mother a hug 'I love you, mum.. they snuggle into each other, feeling connection and presence, love.. I'm beginning to get what you've been doing for us.. Rachael's tummy quivered as though she would cry.. I'm going to sleep with you guys tonight.'

Hannah had left the family bed a couple of years ago to sleep in a raised den hanging by chains from the ceiling in her room that her father had made at her request. It is very cozy but now she feels like nestling with family.

'There's something I need to talk with you about, but I need a sleep and some time to tune in first.'

She picks up the book and goes inside. Her mum smiles and cleans up, heart glowing.

The boys are in bed by now, and with sleepy smiles they wriggle over to allow their sister to snuggle into her spot.

What is art, anyway?

Ok, rows of desks in an art room.. not a great sign.. but not being judgmental the girl decides to sit and begins to doodle on a piece of paper that has been placed on each desk.

The teacher comes in hastily, looking stressed, and his hands are dirty.. a good sign.. and he quickly washes them in a huge stainless steel sink just as the last children find a seat.

He explains that he is also the school's football coach.. she doesn't quite know what to make of that.. and that they have just finished an extended practice session for tomorrow's match.

The teacher then runs through an introduction of what they will cover over the year, some art history, colour theory, painting and drawing, and collage.

He asks if there are any questions before they begin. A few hands go up. One girl asks if there will be any pottery.

Her mother is a potter and she has dabbled quite a bit, even turned pots on the wheel, glazed and fired. She loves the firing process especially, the excitement of not really knowing what's happened in the kiln until the door is opened.

She is advised they will make a coil pot in the 3rd term, and the teacher brings their attention to a few pots on a shelf, fired clay with no glaze. He does the firing in the holidays. There is more scope for pottery later on in the school life, especially in 4 and 5 year's time.

A boy asks if there will be metal sculpture. His dad works in a scrapyard and he's always getting odd bits of metal and welding or bolting them up to make useless things, usually funny. People have been telling him he is a metal sculptor. But no, no metal sculpture at this school.

Another girl asks if there will be printmaking or photography. She looks agitated as he just shakes his head at her.

This girl has had an interesting time of it since kindergarten when her teacher there had asked the children to draw her, a portrait. She had turned her crayon on it's side and covered most of the page in a yellow field with a few soft orange misty swirls through it. The teacher asked where the portrait was and the child replied that she didn't know the teacher yet so couldn't draw her. The teacher had said it's simple to just draw an outline, and the child had replied that people don't have an outline. Then the teacher had told her to draw an outline.

The child's parents were sensitive enough when in tears she had shown them the work and relayed the accompanying criticism to withdraw her from that school and search for a school that would foster her artistic talent, which was already apparent at 5 years of age.

They had tried another local government school, but didn't get past the interview process before they knew it would be no better.

They had tried a community style school but found the artwork, although encouraged there, was restricted and with religious overtones and kept searching until they found another community school which had a child lead approach, but only accepted children up to 12 years of age.

The teacher now flicks through some images on a screen. They are what appear to be hastily drawn copies of works of art, and the teacher reads from a book in a monotone a brief outline of each work and artist. The agitated girl is looking angry now, and rudely asks the teacher if he drew those images himself. He replies in the affirmative and adds that they were drawn a long time ago.

The teacher now places a plaster cast sculpture on the front desk and asks the students to draw it. There are angles and curves, many planes and faces. Then he draws an outline sketch of the work on the white board, in the same vein as the art history drawings and advises the children it should look something like that. The agitated, now quite obviously angry girl stands up, shouts at the teacher 'You're no art teacher! I'm not putting up with this for one more minute!' and leaves the room, slamming the door so hard that some artworks fall off their shelves, including one coil pot which breaks into a few pieces. The class is stunned and the teacher looks angry as he walks over and picks up the fallen artworks. He says he's doing the best he can, and that he's done his training.

With a cold feeling, the unschooling girl recalls a conversation she overheard between two women when she was visiting the local art gallery. She gets email notifications of exhibitions and events at the local art gallery and museum and enjoys using these resources and others nationwide. The women were discussing a local school art teacher and how many students he had alienated, how much talent he had ruined and how sad that is. She realises she is in the classroom of that very teacher. She is about to follow the lead of the angry girl and get out of this retarded place when a loud hooter is sounded. The teacher notifies the class it's a signal for a special assembly.

The school is notified that a child has been found dead at home, a suicide after leaving school during the day. The unschooling girl doesn't hear much of the principal's address, just that the school wants to head off any rumours or gossip, and asks that the children show respect to the family and friends of the poor child. She realises with sadness no-one had noticed that the boy, the writer, had not attended gym or art that afternoon.

What they aren't told, because no-one thought it relevant, was that when the boy's mother arrived home there was some classical music playing on the boy's ancient record player, and one word written on his notepad: Blind.

He had gone home from the music class, thought he might do some writing to take himself away for a while, but nothing arose. He put on some music to escape to, but he couldn't relax and his inner vision was completely blank. The years of torment, starting with racial bullying when he had moved to this country, this town at 5 years of age and followed by years of bullying and hiding himself from the world as much as possible, all arose within him and he felt like nothing and no escape from the emptiness.

He filled a bath with warm water and cut his throat with a broken disposable razor.

Walking home this afternoon, tears falling down her cheeks, the unschooling girl sees a car pull out of the school carpark and drive towards her. Something flies out of the driver side window and lands in the roadway.

The principal's car continues on past her, the principal's son intently looking down, busy with a game or texting, whatever. Neither notice her.

She walks up to where the brown paper bag from a local fast food chain has tipped it's contents on the road like an ad for a decadent society, or the school saying 'Now there's some art for ya', picks up the cups and paper, slips it into the bag and wanders towards home to put it into the various recycling bins, a habit from working in environmental and cleanup groups.

She normally allows her feelings full expression, but doesn't want to have a tearful outpouring in front of the school so she begins to run. She needs to get to one of her special places which will help her process this pain and raw emotion before going home.