Reading Of Dear History

I read lots of books and articles and essays and poems and blogs and songs and ideas and dreams and names to my children. And for the most part, I can not get my youngest son to be quiet and remain still enough, so that I can get through a short story or two, but tonight something happened as I was reading that has never taken place before.

Tonight I read them Saul Williams, Dear History, no one moved.

My normally active, rambunctious son sat still and not only allowed me to finish the poem but two of the others that followed it. Never before has anything like that happened. My husband didn't have to try to get him to remain in one spot. His oldest sister did not have to coax him into sitting besides her as I tried to rush through the remainder of a story. It was peaceful, still & the energy in the room was unlike any of the energy that we normally have during reading time.

Below is an excerpt;

Dear History,

For too long have I pondered your meaning, memorized dates of battles, years of servitude, decades of injustice, named eras after movements, mourned the extinction of species, cursed founding fathers, worn vintage suits and cloaked myself with references of your hold on me.

I have walked through museums wondering how it is that greatness had lived and died all before my time. Parts of me feared becoming great because..."

http://clutchmagonline.com/newsgossipinfo/saul-williams-dear-history/

I could not help but wonder about the effects of Saul's letter on my children tonight. What kinds of seeds did I plant tonight, what kinds of seeds were begin deposited into their fertile growing minds? Because there was defiantly something that took root as I read Saul's poem to history. I heard it in the silence --and saw the flicker in their eyes -even felt the warmth that circulated itself all throughout my room.

They heard something that remains hidden from me and my adult eyes. Especially Pharaoh. He, a toddle full of youthful energy moved not a bone or made not a stir -and I read over three pages. If I could have, I would have continued to read forever. Just read into my mouth grew dry, get a drink and begin again.

Read until walls & barriers were knocked down and replaced by bridges. Kept reading until the Congo began to overflow with love & peace.

Ceasefire.

I hit on something with tonight's reading. Something that can not be explained but had to be experienced and something that had to be acknowledged & appreciated --just like peace. I saw the electrical force fields of energy that moved about, enveloping them individually. I saw what they heard, what they felt, what they understood, what they believed, what seeds were deposited.

I saw THEM as I read them the poem. If I scared easily, I would be frightened because something was in my home tonight. I watched as words controlled the tempo of tonight's poem, instead of the usual story. I watched as passion and enthusiasm made its point. When I came to the end of the poem, no one spoke a word. No one. Not even my youngest daughter, who always has to give her take on the character, or tell me that she did or didn't like it. She just got up out the bed, walked over to me and gave me goodnight loving. That's it.