I have a teacher!


On July 9th, 9 július, I had my first Hungarian lesson.

It was a warm, sunny evening and I was waiting outside for the teacher to arrive. Filled with that type of anticipation that great things are about to happen, and a little nervous as well.

I see Eva walk up the street. As she approaches and extends her hand I feel my inner smile broadly reaching my lips. We hug because, well, I like to hug anyhow, but truly I could not contain my  excitement  in a simple handshake. She did not seem to mind.

Story: I post on Facebook about my initial foray into Hungarian and include a you-tube video of a vintage film of Hungarian couples dancing in what seems to be the kitchen of an apartment that I feel very much at home in. Home movie par excellence and sweet in many dimensions. It's a little difficult to explain, but it feels so familiar to me. Am I making this up? No, I don't think so.

 Facebook: I don't spend much time on those pages, but there is the feeling that I am putting all this out into the universe in a way beyond my own story-telling. I am grateful for that.

[Who knows where all this stuff goes to? All our thoughts, desires, actions?... "I do, I do", says the enthusiastic student as she raises her hand and excitedly awaits for the teacher to call on her.

 "Igen, Fern?"

 "All our thoughts, desires, actions go out into the universe. There, they are received by Source, who is excited right along with us. They are received by molecules within us and around us. And then they begin to transmit. To pulse a certain energy. It's like  the RKO tower that used to be shown at the beginning of movies in the 50's. Do you remember?  A tower with lightening-like bolts and waves  reaching out from its iron mass. And, then, those who resonate with this energy, aware or not, pick up on this energy, and it is shared, and grows, and morphs, and continues to make even more connections, create more possibilities."

"Nagyon jó,"  teacher is quite satisfied with this explanation. Now back to the story.]

This post leads to a conversation between me and a co-worker about Hungarian dance(she's a dancer).
Which leads me to saying, I need someone to talk to in Hungarian, which leads Megan to think of the woman who taught her Hungarian Folk dance, whose name she no longer remembers. She offers to ask some friends to find out. The tower is transmitting...

In itself, that conversation was so wonderful, it really didn't matter what Megan remembered or not.
It was the continuing of the weaving of the fabric of this story.  Excitement builds.  Possibilities are being created. A web woven, a grid filling in. An affirmation of my intent. We're digging it, Source and me.

I've been happily going about my daily routine. A little on-line Hungarian class, some Hungarian postings on You Tube(mostly folk-song and dance), a little Hungarian radio(Info-Radio Budapest 88.1), writing down some phrases and words that particularly catch my ear. A lot of parroting.

I'd like someone to talk to. I begin saying this more and more to many friends. You know, I want that flesh and blood connection that takes place in this dimension. Well the universe provides, seamlessly. And when that happens, I always know that I am on the right path. In sync, so to speak.

 On a whim I google "Hungarian Teacher".  I find a site that has lists of teachers of a myriad of languages. It took but two minutes to find Eva Kish , a week to connect, and another few days to schedule the first lesson.

Great Anticipation. Like a little kid on the first day of school, because that is basically what I was.
Even down to preparing my supplies(notebook, paper, pencils, eraser), Hungarian dictionary by my side.

We sit by the living room table. Eva on the piano bench, me on the chair.

Eva hands me some copies of pages of the grammar book we will be using. We put them aside for several minutes, as we embark on the alphabet. She pulls out a plastic box  with flash-cards. Flashcards. Tiny little flashcards with the Hungarian alphabet on them. All 44 letters. (I can see in my mind flashcards past-French and Hebrew most specifically.)

I am a 61 year old woman who is learning the alphabet. And with each letter I mimic, with each sound that finally makes it into my brain/tongue reservoir, a few more drops of sweetness enter my soul.

I am a little girl in absolute entrancement.

I remember reading someplace that somewhere at some point in time, perhaps in the Eastern European cheders of  the eighteenth century, the rebbe would teach the alphabet to the children and in order to  entice them to learn, would put honey on the wooden block on which the letters were carved. Each time a letter was learned, the child could lick the honey as reward. Eva doesn't need to offer me a reward, the letters entering into my bloodstream  and psyche are reward enough.

Köszönöm a segítséget, Eva.

Bye the way, it turns out that Eva is the dance teacher Megan told me about.