Tear down the walls!  Deconstruct the language!  Wash away the thinking!  Exams are killing the young, sucking out their souls and mangling their senses until they are completely absorbed with their ‘future’ and the present has been sacrificed at the altar of arbitrary qualifications and random grades.  Joining the armies of the empty and the ranks of the frightened, your boys and girls stare from their lifeless eyes like fish on a slab, and are imprisoned in a world of make-believe.  Fairy-tale princesses glide by whilst their muscled young men loll contentedly like tom-cats ready to prowl out into the night of stark cold lights and drunken screams whilst the grass grows quietly through the relics of their dreams, leaving them like rusted limousines of lies.

Can you live in uncertainty?  Can you walk through a wood, over a moor, by the sea, by the river, along the trail of a mountain, through the dry, dusty desert, and the lush green valley, and not know where you are going?
What if there was a place in the world which said: you can do exams, but exams are not on the curriculum?  How can your child keep all her options open?  How can he keep up the pace of this global race, and how can she fulfill her potential… be happy?

He was really quite a small man, white hair swept defiantly over a shining nut brown dome of intelligence.  His eyes had the quality of depth and fullness that is not uncommon among many South Indians and the voice that seemed to join the wind still had that Asiatic feel.  He sat straight-backed, trembling hands gripping a white handkerchief….  A man may make statements, a man may ask questions, a man may challenge; but if all those that listen do is to stare in awe, wonder and reverence, then that it would have been better if that man had never lived.
What if there was a place in the world that was about learning about life; not just someone’s idea about life?  What if I, a man whose thinning white hair and stiffening joints, could engage with the vigour of youth, absorb the tears of young eyes, the smiles of laughing faces and listen to the passing of life in the understanding of an exploration which would not be fettered by fear and expectations, but revel in an ocean of possibilities.  Look at the hands of the maker, the planter, the painter and the poet; their fingers are at work, their bright eyes open; and their minds touching a stillness that has no possessor, no separation.

What if there was a place in the world where there was a sense of discovering together?  She would always touch the giant redwood when we passed; her long golden hair shrouding her face as she pressed against the soft trunk and her hands flattened as if gently communing through their touch.  She would say that it was like returning to an old friend, no need to explain the absence, just taking up where they left off.  The tree stands in a grove and is flanked by others that reach up to an extraordinary height; today it is dark with the rain and the branches drip amid the thickening gloom…its stillness reaches into her, an unbroken connection of wood, water, flesh, bone, blood and earth.
The seed is growing; the flowering may take a while in the presence of the dead weight of inertia and brittle certainty.  Courage is needed at every cautious, but steady step.  Nonetheless, the plight of the young cannot be left to their first faltering, clamorous demands, neither with the smooth, unctuous piety of those that exploit in the illusory game of success and failure.  It has to be with the rough-hewn, mistake-ridden, half-blinded adventurers who have seen a light shining dimly in the distance, and have some understanding that it is learning, a learning that cannot be measured.