Tag Archives: teacher as transformer

[HOW MANY MOMENTS MUST (AMAZING EACH]

I enjoy e. e. cummings‘ poetry. I read it several times and it reminded me of my other reading today. I read Alfred North Whitehead for part of the afternoon. It has been pretty circular as well, but at the end it comes to the same point. Life is full of uncertainty and mystery which is what is worth embracing. A good portion of life is missed if I am not attentive and mindful of the world.

how many moments must(amazing each

how many centuries)these more than eyes

restroll and stroll some never deepening beach

locked in foreverish time’s tide at poise,

love alone understands:only for whom

i’ll keep my tryst until that tide shall turn;

and from all selfsubtracting hugely doom

treasures of reeking innocence are born.

Then, with not credible the anywhere

eclipsing of a spirit’s ignorance

by every wisdom knowledge fears to dare,

how the(myself’s own self who’s)child will dance!

and when he’s plucked such mysteries as men

do not conceive–let ocean grow again

East Coker

As I write, I am beginning to see learning as based on hermeneutics. We learn the world by reading it. We learn about our self by turning in and listening. In all this, we observe and hopefully find meaning. It could be in the form of words, images, and is just as easily what is left out. T. S. Eliot reminds us of the challenges of learning language and finding meaning them in. We learn, unlearn, relearn all in cyclical fashion. We read the world and try to make new sense of it with each iteration as we move back and forth between the whole and the parts to make sense of either. It might seem all a waste, but perhaps it is not.

So here I am, in the middle way, having had twenty years–

Twenty years largely wasted, the years l’entre deux guerres

Trying to use words, and every attemp

Is a wholly new start, and a different kind of failure

Because one has only learnt to get the better of words

For the thing one no longer has to say, or the way in which

One is no longer disposed to say it. And so each venture

Is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate

With shabby equipment always deteriorating

In the general mess of imprecision of feeling,

Undisciplined squads of emotion. And what there is to conquer

By strength and submission, has already been discovered

Once or twice, or several times, by men whom one cannot hope

To emulate–but there is no competition–

There is only the fight to recover what has been lost

And found and lost again and again; and now, under conditions

That seem unpropitious. But perhaps neither gain nor loss

For us, there is only the trying, The rest is not our business.

The Week End

I was sitting in the library this afternoon and this began to form first in my head then on the screen. Usually, there is an intermediate phase and I jot something down. This was more spontaneous than normal and I think it is a bit rough around the edges, but I liked it when I re-read it.

The week end–

Sabbath arrives;

I disconnect–

I find new rhythm;

Here, I am soul full–

Here, my soul retrieves me.

It’s a mystery–

Reveals undefinable spaciousness;

Sans mots–

Without sound, it rescues me;

Yet, I hear its voice–

It offers refuge;

It guides me home.

The Red Wheel Barrow

When I make life complicated, it becomes more complicated and entangled. I felt rushed this afternoon. I have class, I needed to finish two papers, and wanted to do some reading. I took a deep breath and it got simpler. I uncomplicated my day by letting go a bit and seeing what was important right in front of me.

When I step back a bit and let life find its path, it becomes much simpler. This does not deny life’s complexity, but complexity and complicated are different. The first looks for patterns and the other ties knots around and among things. Complexity is in many ways reflected in the mirror of a simple life and what it reveals. Sometimes it is the obvious things that are right there in front of me only waiting to be acknowledged like a red wheel barrow.

In a few words, William Carlos Williams brings to life the simplicity in life which helps me wend my way through the complex relationships and patterns.

so much depends

upon

a red wheel

barrow

glazed with rain

water

beside the white

chickens.

Making Contact

I spent most of the last two days working on a course paper about leadership and hospitality particularly as the latter may or may not occur in digital settings. It was interesting, but reciprocity and trust are critical in community building. They emerge out of hosting one another and making contact in some real way.

Virginia Satir, a psychologist and poet wrote this poem about the need to reach and touch one another in relationships. We create meaning through meaningful contact. It is easier to build community in face-to-face settings, but not impossible in virtual settings.

I believe

The greatest gift

I can conceive of having

from anyone

is

to be seen by them,

heard by them,

to be understood

and touched by them.

The greatest gift

I can give

is

to see, hear, understand

and to touch

another person.

When that is done

I feel

contact has been made.

Tilicho Lake

I used to ice fish. I went with others and would catch a few, usually more than others. Once I caught my fill, I lay on the ice and with my head covered watch fish swim past. Different fish move at different paces. Northern pike ease past the hole and whitefish move much quickly. There was never certainty. I did not know if I was going to catch fish and see fish. Some lakes were too deep, but occasionally a fish would come up the hole and catch a breath of air.

I used to feel like I could leave everything behind and just be. It is much like when Kathy and I hike in the mountains. There is a being that does not count on any certainty. It just is. David Whyte wrote this poem. I think the prayer of rough love is just being there, in the moment, and ready for what comes. There is a beauty in that and I think a fearlessness I need to cultivate.

In this high place

it is as simple as this,

Leave everything you know behind.

Step toward the cold surface,

say the old prayer of rough love

and open both arms.

Those who come with empty hands

will stare into the lake astonished,

there, in the cold light

reflecting pure snow,

the true shape of your own face.

Making Peace

Denise Levertov wrote this wonderful and I think it is a good way to bring my week to an end as I head to Sabbath. Stephen at Grow Mercy posted this earlier and I did try to share it with those who follow my blog. It did not make it over and this was the next best thing I could do to get it to you folks. Take a moment and visit Stephen’s blog.

I used a lesson plan with my students where we talked about a culture of war and a culture of peace. They had to describe each one and we did them separately. We have many more words that come to mind when we talk about peace. I filled whiteboard, they would share for an hour, be disappointed when it was over, and the quiet ones were always present. There is a presence in peace. The students ran out of ways to describe a culture of war very quickly.

A voice from the dark called out,

“The poets must give us

imagination of peace, to oust the intense, familiar

imagination of disaster. Peace, not only

the absence of war.”

But peace, like a poem,

is not there ahead of itself,

can’t be imagined before it is made,

in the words of its making,

grammar of justice

syntax of mutual aid.

A feeling towards it,

dimly sensing a rhythm, is all we have

until we begin to utter its metaphors,

learning them as we speak.

A line of peace might appear

if we restructured the sentence our lives are making,

revoked its affirmation of profit and power,

questioned our needs, allowed

long pauses. …

A cadence of peace might balance its weight

on that different fulcrum; peace, a presence,

an energy field more intense than war,

might pulse then,

stanza by stanza entering the world,

each act living

one of its words, each word

a vibration of light–facets

of the forming crystal.

Coming Out

I spent a good part of the day reading Taoist material, namely the Chuang-Tzu. Eastern philosophy and its teaching are mostly about being rather doing. It is about being mindful, attentive, and being part of the larger whole and not outside. A quote I came across was “People cannot use flowing water for a mirror; they use still water for a mirror.”

Mark Nepo captured the need to be and allow ourselves to become one with the world in this poem. In unity, we find wholeness and come out in the world.

While there is much to do

we are not here to do.

Under the want to problem-solve

is the need to being solve.

Often, with full being

the problem goes away.

The seed being-solves its

darkness by blossoming.

The hear being-solves its loneliness

by loving whatever it meets.

The tea becoming-solves the water

by becoming tea.

Don’t Quit

I wrote in my journal today that it seemed only a couple of weeks ago that I could not seem to find much material. I sent out some emails and the bounty is amazing. One professor of curriculum studies sent me almost 1000 pages of PDF materials and names. At the same time, I came across another professor of curriculum studies who looked at curriculum through a post-modernist and chaos theory lens.

I was never close to quitting but it underscores the sense of impermanence in life. Things are never static. They move along into the next moment.

Edgar A. Guest’s poem seemed right in light of the turnaround. It means lots of reading but the writing is slowly emerging that goes along with it.

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will

When the road you are trudging seems all uphill,

When the funds are low and the debts are high,

And you want to smile but have to sigh,

When care is pressing you down a bit,

Rest, if you must—but don’t you quit!

Life is queer with its twists and turns,

As everyone of us sometimes learns,

And many failure turns about,

When he might have won had he stuck it out;

Don’t give up, though the pace seems slow,

You might succeed with another blow.

Success is failure turned inside out

the silver tint of the clouds of doubt

And you can never tell how close you are,

It might be near when it seems afar;

So stick to the fight when you are hardest hit

It’s when things get worse that you mustn’t quit!

Modern Life and Activism

Thomas Merton, the Trappist monk, shared this many years ago. It resonates even more in 2013 as we find ourselves entrenched in busy lives and struggle to find our way out of the activism and overwork. He suggested it is a form of violence on ourselves that does not let us find restful moments. The more inner peace we have the more we can share it with others. We host ourselves first and others feel invited into the banquet that results.

“There is a pervasive form of contemporary violence … [and that is] activism and overwork. The rush and pressure of modern life are a form, perhaps the most common form, of its innate violence.

To allow oneself to be carried away by a multitude of conflicting concerns, to surrender to too many demands, to commit oneself to too many projects, to want to help everyone in everything is to succumb to violence.

The frenzy of our activism neutralizes our work for peace. It destroys our own inner capacity for peace. It destroys the fruitfulness of our own work, because it kills the root of inner wisdom which makes work [and life] fruitful.”