The Kindly Chaos of a Hobopoet

A Serendipitous Encounter

The sun cast a golden glow as I, the wandering hobopoet, found my way to yet another haven of creativity – my sixth school invitation as a poet in residence. Armed with my book, "The Wandering Lamb," my hatter's hat perched jauntily on my head, and a heart brimming with dreams, I stepped into a world where the mundane transforms into the magical.

In the structured labyrinth of the learning box – school – I met a child whose spirit seemed ensnared by the rigidity of the system. Yet, within the confines of this box, a miracle unfurled. For two hours, this child sat, his focus unwavering, as we delved into the depths of imagination. His response was a tangible testament to the power of validation, a crumpled piece of paper filled with his heartfelt gratitude and creative expression.

The Cry of Life

But this child was not alone. Another young soul approached me, holding a poem that resonated with a depth far beyond his years. The poem, "The Cry of Life," spoke of the delicate dance between existence and self-discovery:

You are alive, so is everything else
Just step outside, have a sense of self.
Like a bird with a broken wing longing to be free,
Wishing it could fly like a bumblebee.
Like a caterpillar, it starts to look for a direction,
They may not know what a wonderful future,
Like a leaf it doesn't fall far from the tree,
On a rainy day, play is the key,
So lifting up your other self or climbing a tree,
Just listen closely, you may hear the birds' melody.

This profound piece, emerging from the heart of a year 5 primary student, opened doors through Husserlian theory, inviting a deeper understanding of being and becoming.

A Mother's Gratitude

Returning home, my phone buzzed with a voice note from a mother. Her message was a poignant reminder of the impact we can have on others. She shared how both she and her daughter were navigating the labyrinthine process of ADHD statementing. "The Wandering Lamb" had become a shared narrative, a beacon of understanding and connection in their journey.

The Butterfly Farmer

Amidst these moments of connection and revelation, a poem etched on the wall of a university captures the essence of my next book and my progress as a researcher. Let me tell you about the Butterfly Farmer.

He lived away from the eyes of the world;
But within the hearts of many.
Each morning, he would be found in a small shed at the bottom of a garden.
Within this shed, he would be at peace with the hope of the first flight of a butterfly.

When the time was right, he would pack a small bag and journey to a nearby woodland.
Looking up through the trees, he walked.
Tending to the chrysalis as the jewel of possibility,
Each thought a new butterfly.

There he is, sat in his meadow under the talking tree,
Opening a small ornate box, the hinges creaking,
Each chrysalis splits, and the new form pushes into the new world,
First to emerge awareness, then existence, followed by consciousness and becoming.

Within all that is existence, there lies hope.
Within all that is consciousness, there lies faith.
Within the nature of becoming, there lies love.

Wing ink left and drying as the muscle and sinew is stretched out in preparation,
The farmer is simply there,
Looking on in agape love and peace,
Watching as each jewel emerges and catches the warming morning sun,

The meadow fills with sweet heat and summer possibility,
Organic, pure, real, and owned,
The skies above the farmer fill with the soft sound of butterfly wings,
He falls back, resting against the assurance of the talking tree, knowing it's done,

Lungs full and heart happy.
This is what he always wanted,
A space of safety for his fragile, beautiful butterflies.

The Journey Ahead

And so, the children came, one after another, a small line of those who felt seen and were happy to unmask just for that moment. It was a blessing and a genuine conclusion for me, a hidden disabled academic still battling with the system. Yet, as my Substack image suggests, I am a resilient and happy Sisyphus who will simply smile and place another foot forward.

In these moments of serendipity and shared stories, I find my purpose crystallizing. My role, if there ever was one, is to create spaces that feel safe, to foster neuro-inclusion and psychological safety. As I push forward to find a genuine home for the #hobopoet, I am reminded that the journey itself is the destination, and each connection is a step closer to creating a world where creativity and kindness reign supreme.

This path to the diamond gardener has become synonymous with my #phdofwhat – a genuine journey into understanding the depths of consciousness and the beautiful role of the wet wing ink of the butterfly. The imaginal cell clearly says to me, at least, that the caterpillar does know that one day it will become a butterfly.

Seeking Solitude and Support

Let the whimsical tales of the #hobopoet continue to inspire and heal, one heart at a time. As I feel the need to return to solitude, I am also faced with the wonderful request for yet another box of books to donate to those who attend the Quiet View. This peaceful retreat has been unbelievably supportive of both "The Wandering Lamb" and my next book.

If you believe in the power of stories and the magic of imagination, I would love to connect and discuss potential collaborations or support. Together, we can create a space of safety and creativity for all. Check out the Quiet View at their website to see more about this incredible retreat.