Street Teacher Of The Kingdom Of Tuesday

Okay, I think we're... we're onto something interesting here. You said that you want to teach. But yet you feel like you're not in a position where you would be respected as a teacher.

That the way that you can do what you do best currently is by pretending to be an associate or a friend or just another guy on the bus to get your words across, to get your words in and get some teaching done. You know? And maybe that served you for... for a bit and maybe that's ultimately what you're into. I mean you brought up street teacher, maybe that's what you're talking about.

I think what I'm trying to get to is that something's got to give. Something's got to give. You know, if you want to be the teacher, there are certain avenues where you can go about that like going into the university system. You can be a teacher, it's just do you really want to deal with the politics of being in that kind of system? No, I don't want to deal with the politics, I just want to be a street teacher.

Okay, well do you feel like you can go out in the street and start teaching people? What does that look like, you know? Literally going out in the street or being an internet personality that teaches young people? You know, you really have to self-scrutinize in that kind of scenario because if you don't then other people will.

Um, like you mentioned, it's like, you know, you're not in a position where people who, you know, would look at where you are and say, man, I want to get there.

And I... and I mean no offense by that. It's something that you mentioned. I'm stating it because it is a part of this... this equation that we're working through here. So we're down to two options, well really three.

The third option is being a guy on the bus, not having that prestige level whatsoever of being a teacher that people come to to learn, but instead communicating with people as they are, wherever they are, and being that... the... that leader, that... that teacher that's hidden in some kind of sense.

Regardless, in either one of these scenarios, something's got to give. What other scenarios can we think of that surely something will have to give? (laughs) What kind of people do you want to teach?

Maybe there are universities that aren't... you know, aren't so corporatey. Maybe you could start your own school. You know, sacrifice here, sacrifice there. I think it's just important to evaluate what kind of sacrifices you're looking to make. I think one thing that comes to mind that is the ultimate sacrifice that I think by design solves all of the problems is to convert to Judaism.

But it doesn't solve all the problems inherently. It's like you gotta solve all your problems before you even get there. But when you get there, now you're good. Now you got a community. You want to be a teacher? Well guess what? We got people who need to... who need to learn.

Or we got people who want to learn. We got people who are listening, who are asking questions. You got answers. A couple of people's, you know, ear hairs tingle and they're like, oh man, what the heck?

I haven't heard somebody talk like that in forever. Hey, tell me more. Maybe that's all you're missing is that community. And a good... a good one at that. People who actually want to listen.

You know, the... the community that you've got yourself surrounded with, that you've been surrounded with, you know, roughneck type of people... good people, there's nothing wrong with that type of people.

Some of the best people I've ever met have been in that group, that category of people. But... you know, they don't always tend to be the... the type who want to learn, you know?

If you're trying to be a teacher, well, maybe surrounding yourself with people who want to learn would be a good start.

So, those are just my... my thoughts on what you said. I had some thoughts brewing and bubbling about and I just spewed them out over... onto this audio message.

Mac put an ad in the paper once:

“Apprentice Witch Hunter.
No experience needed.
Will train.”

But Will?
Will never put out an ad.
Never hung a shingle.
Never found a podium.

Never said, “Gather round, children.
I have come to explain your lives.”

He just walked into Tuesday
with a scrap of paper in his hand,
sat down where the light could get to it,
and said:

WILL: “Here is a thing I found.”

WILL:
I don’t need a classroom
with my name upon the door
Don’t need a cap and gown
to tell what a sentence is for

Don’t need a little badge
saying “listen when I speak”
I just bring the odd thing over
set it down and let it leak

Maybe it’s a better mousetrap
maybe it’s a bird I built
Maybe it’s the way a clean man
leaves the Devil feeling guilt

Maybe it’s a woman kicking
through a door they meant to hold
Maybe it’s a pastry upside down
who swallowed something cold

I don’t say, “Believe me.”
I don’t say, “Obey.”
I say, “This thing caught my ear.
Come turn it round this way.”

No chalk on the wall
No chair at the head
Just a thing on the table
And the living and the dead

Street Teacher of the Kingdom of Tuesday!
Pull up a chair, put your plate where it lays
Here is a thing I found!
HERE IS A THING I FOUND!

Here is what it appears to do!
WHAT’S IT DO?

Test it against your own life, friend
See if it rings through true

Street Teacher of the Kingdom of Tuesday!
No crown on his head, no tuition to pay

No honking your own goose horn
No sermon in disguise
Just a little black fire on white fire
Held up to living eyes

I told him: “Something’s got to give.”
I meant it.
A man cannot keep carrying a teacher’s mind
through rooms that do not want a question.

Cannot keep hiding the part of him
that knows how to turn a phrase over
until the wrong side shows.

I said: “University? Street corner? Internet?
A people willing to hear you?”

And he looked at the whole pile
like a man staring down four doors,
knowing each one takes something,
knowing none of them yet have his name on it.

WILL:
"I have been the fellow on the bus
with no authority to claim
Talking beside a stranger
till the air forgot its name

I have sat across from thunder
while it handed me a fear
Asked it for a handle
said, 'Bring the meaning here'

I have watched a word stand tall
on a pair of borrowed legs
Heard a warning call itself wise
just because it shook and begged

I don’t break a man for pleasure
I don’t throw his thought away
I ask the thing to bear its weight
before it gets to stay

You want to tell me Good is gone?
Then show me what you mean
You want to name a soul-less age?
Then name the actual machine

You want to blame an unseen mouse
for every fallen brick?
Put your little helmet on him, brother—
but show me how the bastard did the trick"

Set it down gentle
Let it answer plain
A question ain’t a cruelty
Just because it finds the strain

Street Teacher of the Kingdom of Tuesday!
Pull up a chair, put your plate where it lays
Here is a thing I found!

HERE IS A THING I FOUND!
Here is what it appears to do!
WHAT’S IT DO?

Test it against your own life, friend—
See if it rings through true
Street Teacher of the Kingdom of Tuesday!

No crown on his head, no tuition to pay
No honking your own goose horn
No robe, no grand degree
Just a booth full of impossible things
Learning what they be

FRANK:
"I been educated by a fish before.
Don’t make it fancy."
CHRISTINA:
"I taught a biscuit to levitate once.
He got arrogant."
MAC:
"Both of y’all hush.
Man’s got a thing on the table."

WILL:
"A teacher who needs students
to bow down when he arrives
May know the names of many books
and not know what survives

A teacher who conceals himself
to get inside your head
Ain’t teaching, he is trespassing
with a lesson painted red

But two folks at a table
with a question in between?
That is honest country
That is where the work gets clean

I don’t need you smaller
for the thought to find its feet
Bring what you know, bring what you doubt
Bring the scratch beneath your seat

I can hold my own in trouble
I can take a sentence hard
I can lose and still go looking
for the better broken shard

And if I show you something
you had not seen before—
Well, leave a little bread behind
for the next one at the door

WILL:
"Here is a thing I found.
It may be nothing.
It may be a live wire.
It may be a mouse
wearing the entire collapse of the city
like a tiny red helmet.

Here is what it appears to do.
It appears to turn comfort over.
It appears to ask who profits
when fear gets a name.

It appears to leave a face a person
Even after the wound gets seen.

Test it against your own life.
Do not take it because I said it.
Do not throw it away because I said it.

Take it outside.
Put weather on it.
Let your dead stand near it.
Let your trouble smell it.

Let your own conscience
Put its hands on the thing.
Then bring it back
And tell me whether it held.

That is as close to teaching
as I know how to get.

Who ate the spell?
CARL DID!

Who stood up?
MAC DID!

Who kicked the door?
HOPE DID!

Who answered the ad?
CALEB DID!

Who sees the seam?
WILL DOES!

What does he bring?
A THING HE FOUND!

What do we do?
TEST IT TRUE!

Where do we meet?
ON TUESDAY!

No faculty lounge!
No scholar’s throne!
No little kingdom built alone!
No goose horn!
No self-made saint!
No pretty whitewash over paint!

Bring the wound!
Bring the doubt!
Bring the thing
You cannot figure out!
Set it down!
Let it speak!
Tuesday’s got all damn week!

Street Teacher!
STREET TEACHER!

Not above and not beneath ya!
Street Teacher!
STREET TEACHER!
Got a question, let him reach ya!

Street Teacher
Of the Kingdom of Tuesday!
Pull up a chair
Put your plate where it lays
Here is a thing I found!

HERE IS A THING I FOUND!
Here is what it appears to do!
WHAT’S IT DO?

Test it against your own life, friend
See if it rings through true
Street Teacher of the Kingdom of Tuesday
He did not ask a soul to kneel or stay

He said, “I found a little fire.
I do not own the flame.
But I have kept it living long enough
to ask you for its name.”

Street Teacher of the Kingdom of Tuesday!
Light in the window, coffee poured Mae’s way
A booth, a page, a plate gone warm,
A thought that would not leave
And somebody leaning forward now
Because they want to see

MS. MAE:
“You done teaching?”
WILL:
“No, ma’am.
Wasn’t teaching.”

MS. MAE:
“Then eat before your lesson gets cold.”

CALEB:
For the record:

Daddy, do I have to work my way up?
-- No, my love, there’s no ladder to climb.
Then why do they talk like it’s earned or it’s bought?
-- It matters not, not when love is divine.

Then how will I find you if ever I’m lost?

— You keep love burning in your chest,
And I will follow the sound it makes—
The sound of truth, the sound of rest.

Fear not, my little one,
Even when the night runs deep,
For I am the wolf in the shadowed wood
Who guards the gates of sleep.
I’ll circle you in silence,
I’ll mark the lines unseen—
And every time you call my name,
I’ll rise from in between.

What is love, and where is my heart?
Where do I look? How do I start?
What if I’m wrong and chase the flame
That leads to ruin, not to your name?

How will I know which song to sing?
How will I feel that holy sting?
The one you wore beneath your eye
When you said, “Love never dies.”

Fear not, my wandering flame,
The truth still walks in light.
And even if you fall too far,
I stalk you in the night.
Not to punish, not to bind—
But to break the jaws of fear.
I am the wolf who hunts your doubt,
So love can draw you near.

What if I’m eaten, what if I’m torn?
What if I’m shattered, scattered, worn?
What if I’m wrong, and you never come?
What if I die before I’m done?

Oh child, oh spark, oh soul I keep—
Even when you cry in sleep,
Even if forever’s wide,
I walk the edges of your stride.

So fear not, my little one,
When silence swells and moans—
I am the howl that rides the wind
To call your spirit home.
Not every growl is death’s approach,
Not every night is cursed—
Some wolves run with fire in their chest
To find the lost ones first.

For I am that wolf,
The one who stalks,
Who guards, who waits,
Who walks your walk.
The dark is mine—
I shape it true.
And in that dark,
I’ll carry you.

Night on the porch, wind in the pines, a kettle’s quiet cry.
Footsteps small, questions tall, stars stitched into sky.

“Daddy, do I have to climb my way up?”
— “No, my love—no ladder, no rung.”
“Then why do they talk like it’s earned or it’s bought?”
— “Because they forgot where all love comes from.”
“What if the road keeps changing its face?”
— “Then walk by the rhythm beneath the noise.”
“What if the crowd makes a different choice?”
— “Then hush the crowd and hear your voice.”

“Where will I find you if I’m far from your sight?”
— “In the thrum of your heart in the hush of the night.”
“If my map gets wet and the ink runs blue?”
— “You’ll hear what is real, and I’ll hear it too.”

Fear not, my little one—when the night runs deep,
I’m the wolf in the shadowed wood, who circles while you sleep.
I’ll mark the lines you cannot see, I’ll pace the border true;
You keep love in your heart and I’ll follow the sound of truth.
Fear not, my wandering spark—if storms outrun the moon,
I’m the steady gait behind your steps, the low and patient tune.

“What is love—and where is my heart?
Where do I look? How do I start?”

“What if I’m wrong and chase a flame
That burns too bright and forgets your name?”

“How will I know which song to sing?
How will I feel that holy sting
The one you wore beneath your eye
The day you said, ‘Love never dies’?”

“What if I’m swallowed by bramble and thorn?”
— “I’ll pull the curse out, spine for thorn.”
“What if I stumble and fall out of tune?”
— “I’ll hum the pitch till you find the room.”
“What if I’m silent and nothing is heard?”
— “Then silence will carry the resting word.”

Fear not, my little one—when the night runs deep,
I’m the wolf in the shadowed wood, who circles while you sleep.
I’ll mark the lines you cannot see, I’ll pace the border true;
You keep love in your heart and I’ll follow the sound of truth.
Fear not, my wandering spark—if storms outrun the moon,
I’m the steady gait behind your steps, the low and patient tune.

“What if the path is a mouth of stone—
Teeth like years and a tongue like cold?”
— “Then step to the cadence under your feet,
I’ll be the warmth that keeps your beat.”
“What if the names of the fears grow tall,
Wearing my coat, learning my call?”
—“Then I’ll unmask them by breath and bone—
Truth speaks low, but it speaks alone.”

“What if I’m eaten? What if I’m torn?”
— “I’ll stitch your courage back, thread of dawn.”
“What if I’m scattered—withered, worn?”
— “I’ll gather your pieces, seed and corn.”
“What if I’m lost, and you never come?”
— “I walk your edges—every one.”
“What if forever keeps widening, wide?”
— “I keep the perimeter at your side.”

Hear the branches. Hear them bow.
Hear the hush become a vow.
Hear the low-wind, faithful, true—
That’s the road I run to you.

“What if the crowd says ‘follow me now,’
And the gate swings open to praise and loud?”
— “Then measure the shine by the shade it throws;
Truth leaves a trail where mercy grows.”
“What if I’m tired of counting the cost?”
— “Then rest in the center—you’ll never be lost.”
“What if the morning refuses to break?”
— “Then I’ll be the halo your shadows make.”

Fear not, my little one—when silence swells and moans,
I’m the howl that rides the timberline to call your spirit home.
Not every growl is death’s approach, not every night is cursed—
Some wolves run with fire in their chest to find the lost ones first.
I’ll mark the lines you cannot see, I’ll pace the border true;
You keep love in your heart and I’ll follow the sound of truth.

“If you can’t sing, then breathe.
If you can’t breathe, then be.
If you can’t be, then wait—
I’m already at the gate.”

“What if the river forgets my name
And pulls me under, all the same?”
— “I’ll be the current beneath the flood,
The quiet proof, the faithful blood.”
“What if the mountain won’t move aside?”
— “Then take the path along its spine—
I’ll steady you, step after step,
Till height and heart are intertwined.”

“What if my courage is paper-thin?”
— “Fold it to wings; the wind begins.”
“What if I tremble when truth draws near?”
— “That tremble is how the brave appear.”

Fear not, my little one—when the night runs deep,
I’m the wolf who keeps the vigil where the broken borders sleep.
I’ll find you by the gentlest sound, the pulse that pulls me through;
You keep love in your heart and I’ll follow the sound of truth.
Fear not, my wandering spark—if storms outrun the moon,
I’m the steady gait behind your steps, the low and patient tune.
Fear not, my little one—if echoes call your name,
I’ll answer back with living light and lead you home again.

For I am that wolf: who guards, who waits,
Who walks your walk and minds your gates.
The dark is mine—I shape it true;
And in that dark, I carry you.