B. is learning techniques to cope with her loss of peripheral vision. Reading is one of the first things the glioblastoma has taken from her. She said she has trouble listening to audiobooks. Her mind wanders.
My mind used to wander, too. I could sit and listen to anything. I still can’t. But I began listening to podcasts on my runs a few years ago. When I walk the dog. Commute.
I remember where I was on the trail when Mary Oliver told Krista Tippet about her childhood. Alluded to abuse. I remember it was autumn and the upward slope of the trail was covered in orange leaves.
I remember the green canopy over the trail near the picnic grounds, where I heard about Darwin’s theory of beauty. I remember my breath. I remember exactly how tired my body was at that point. I remember hearing the ducks, which seemed like an illustration.
When I was in high school and college, I’d remember returning to a textbook to find again something only on the edge of my memory. About a quarter into the book, on the left side of a spread, three-quarters of the way down the page.
The last gift my ex-husband bought me was a Kindle. It was a thoughtful present. But all wrong for me. We were separated and I had just spent a fortune on a 12 foot bookshelf with a sliding ladder for the tiny apartment. But I tried the Kindle. I found myself reading the same “pages” over and over and retaining nothing. At first I thought I was losing my ability to concentrate. I was worried.
But I don’t think that is it.
We no longer have textbooks at school. (Not even online, but that’s another complaint.) The students are finding there’s no need to “learn” anything by rote. No need to retain information, because they can google in a fraction of a second and find an excerpted answer. And move on. No time for nuance.
And our curriculum requirements have changed to reflect this. Embrace it. The students are graded now on their ability to reflect, consider, evaluate.
(Don’t get me started on the dangers of indoctrination/random subjective – and ultimately uninformed – opinions and evaluations. I have heard colleagues endorse factually wrong statements, saying it is the student’s opinion and that the actual fact is “just one opinion”, and it is important to support the student’s own perspective. On something about which they have neither personal experience or acquired knowledge. Oh. I got myself started.)
At best: not only does this create an enormous gap among the “strong” and “weak” students, it is unfairly biased against students who process the world physically. It discounts their intelligence.
I am completely conscious of the possibility that at my age, I am “old fashioned”. But I have seen struggling students use actual “cut and paste” techniques on paper and have a conceptual breakthrough in terms of understanding how to arrange the flow of an argument. I have colleagues who use building blocks to show students how Bloom’s taxonomy works. How academic progression is “built”.
I think a lot of people see this as using elements of the physical world as a metaphor for conceptual thinking. But I honestly believe this is backwards. I believe our conceptual thinking is an abstraction of the physical world.
I think I am going to stop using the world “mindfulness”. It puts me in the wrong “frame of mind”. I think it encourages me to take on the role of the know-er rather than the role of the flow-er. And that sounds incredibly stupid and I am so glad I am not writing a book about it.
This time last year I was ill. I was beginning to lose my grasp of reality. The waiting list for a specialist is over 6 months here, so I was on sick leave. Making paper. Sewing books. Painting. Writing, of course. Sometimes by hand, sometimes on the keyboard. I love this keyboard. It is cheap. Most of the letters are rubbed off already, but the keys are almost reminiscent of a typewriter. Mechanical. They push back against my fingers. They ground me. My mouse is a rollerball that looks like a sea creature. I light the oil burner and drop rosemary into the bowl. Today I hear the rainwater draining through the pipe from the gutters.
I have to pee.
When I am in the flow, I don’t feel “mindful” at all. I feel free and fully integrated into the world.
That you should quote Dylan Thomas! Last night I watched Set Fire to the Stars. In it, Thomas says something about liking humanity more when it sleeps. I don’t know if he really said that, but I’ve been thinking about it since then: before bed last night, on this morning’s run.
It’s too late now to recall anything I might have thought while sleeping.
“The world is too round now, too constant.” (a line from my own unpublished poem). It seems now humanity never sleeps. And seeming is everything, isn’t it? We are aware of every individual atrocity over the globe. We wake to bring into our awareness a bombing that happened somewhere turned toward the sun, while we were turned toward the darkness. Isn’t it odd that the closer we get to omniscience, the more occupied we are with our own significance?
I don’t think we were meant to know it all. What is it they say? We can handle five close friends, 150 acquaintances? How many instances of man’s inhumanity toward man can we take in? What if we all took care of our small circle of physical presence? Did what we could to make it right. Not a new thought, I know.
I have been reading about immersive theatre. There is a theoretician who describes the form as one of “aestheticised experience” rather than an aesthetic experience. That is: we are not viewing a painting (or a play presented under the premium arch) and having an aesthetic experience, we are having an experience within the environment the theatre-maker creates and we objectify our experience: our experience itself becomes the aesthetic object.
My problem with this is that it is not possible to share this with other people. You and I cannot have the same aestheticised experience. While we may not respond similarly to a painting, we are at least viewing the same aesthetic object. We will respond at individuals to a shared experience. But this is far more isolating.
When I think about this, I get cold. I’ve been trying to put on a finger on it, but I think it actually frightens me. How is this “art”? It feels like anti-communication.
At the same time, I am completely seduced by the sensual immersion that this theatre turns attention toward. It is almost as though the theater form is bring us what we miss the most in our lives- no not bringing it, but just an elaborate illusion.
That last bit was a slight digression. Where I was going with this was the idea that we are presented with information continually. We receive and mentally complete narratives (often conflicting) about things that are occurring across oceans. It seems to me this is a form of object-making. This is where fiction and fact do blur. With no real-world basis for information, we create our individual story of the present from our imagination. We pick and choose from a table overflowing with options. Yeah, I know what they say about “echo chambers”, but there is a huge variety of materials out there to construct our personal experiences. We are so damned creative. When we do this, aren’t we objectifying life instead of experiencing it authentically? Our lives as immersive theatre? Immersed by completely alone in the experience?
There is this guy named Diderot from the 1800th century who said that, while the actor is faking the emotions, the audience is not. But those emotions that the audience is experiencing are aesthetic in nature. Watching a film where a character you love dies, is not the same living through the death of loved one. “Real emotions, and real emotions, Fru Bloom,” as the Norwegians say.
Recently a friend on Facebook passed away. Someone whose story I had followed the past several years. I never met her. I never met her husband. I have no idea what there lives were really about. What is missing in his life now? I don’t know what their living room smelled like. What their laughter sounded like. Isn’t my sadness over her death an aestheticised experience?
I worry that I am becoming truly narcissistic. Or pyschotic. What is real? Is the popularity of Immersive theatre an indication of our desire to get back to a “real” world with sensual boundaries?
Of course the cliché is that life imitates art. And I know I sound like a pedant, but I earnestly believe that we become the stories we tell. We are fascinated with dystopia. I believe we have conjured Brexit, Trump – all this discord. I am honestly having difficult grasping what is real and what it entertainment. And this includes my own emotional and psychological responses. Am I just practicing for an apocalypse? My mother told me once that she used to “practice” for her own mother’s death.
I remember my Grandfather talking about how the internet was nothing but porn. How we wouldn’t buy a computer, because (apparently, to him) if you went on line to search for a fishing lure you would find nothing but porn images. But he was so wrong. It isn’t porn, it is meanness. Most of the accounts I follow on Twitter are literary presses and poets. And yet, it seems every third posting is sarcasm (literally: a verbal attack) or ridicule. Occasionally, an unimaginative “fuck you”. I am not off the grid, but discovered this week that more quiet time is healing.
On the other hand, maybe it is all porn: a graphic diversion in place what we really want? Connection.
Time is passing, I want to chose the environment in which I want to experience it. Running, oh, yes. As an experience, not a means to an end, though. Like sex at this age, perhaps? Nothing showy about it. Just being in the moment, not objectifying it – nothing to Instagram.
I liked your recollection of the 60-year-old lover. Shouldn’t we all bring all of ourselves to bed, each and every time?
Yes, but that is my point. 60 years-worth of self is much more interesting than 20. Which kind of brings me (oddly enough) to your frustrations with the school system. I get it. I do. But speaking as a teacher in that system, I have come to believe that upper secondary school is little more than hoops and perspective. And I believe a huge part of my job is to help kids see that.
My movement students as human cogs. (I have their permission to use the image.) Here is the video, if you want to see them in action go here.
I would actually love to prose a upper secondary school called “Hoops and Perspective”. I’d throw out everything except the subjects Bureaucracy and History. I wouldn’t seek to explain how the former works, but how to bite your tongue and push through it. Because that is all that is waiting for us once we have our little diploma. Proof we can do what is necessary to function in the culture: to keep a job when it demands absurdities of you. Few of us will leave in a world where we only have ourselves to answer to. Or only have to answer to the things that make sense. Is there any reason to make kids wait until their 20s to put that particular myth on the shelf alongside Santa?
(I read a great book a couple of years ago that talks about the purpose of religion. The author suggests Mormons are the perfect example of the social purpose. When a person will devote two years of their lives traveling around the world talking about a god who hands out planets to the good people once they kick off this Earth, you know they will make a good partner: stick by you out of loyalty – no matter how odd things get. I think of bureaucracy as a substitute for this kind of religious affiliation. A hoop that we jump through to prove we are trustworthy in terms of working with and for a community. Even when it is a stupid hoop.)
I think the take-away of the practice bureaucracy is for our youth to keep their creativity flowing, to value it, to value their subjective views/beliefs/experiences while acknowledging their experiences are subjective, and that no one needs to applaud them or provide external validation. It is my job as an adult to help them create a basis of self-esteem – not encourage their dependence on my (or anyone’s) approval. To teach them to see a grade in context, and not measure themselves by it.
I encourage creativity, but don’t believe it is my job to grade it. I grade why I can teach, what they learn, not who they are. Schools aren’t designed to be arenas for children to perform their talents and for us to applaud. And I think we have an obligation to teach children that they can learn things that they can continue to disagree with. It is also wrong for me to express and opinion or grade their quality of original thought. Lord, how they covet their “originality”.
There seems to be a fear that if one carefully and thoroughly reads a treatise one disagrees with, one might become contaminated or diminished. It is a fear that stops learning in its tracks. Worse: it snuffs out curiosity. It’s akin to superstition.
I would teach History because it is everything, and we are insignificant as individuals. What lasts are stories that rarely have anything to do with the individuals and truths. Certainly not any one person’s truth. Humility. That is the antidote to the trump-ing culture. We fight fire with fire instead of cutting off the source of the fuel. Even satire is a form of praise in that, by definition, it legitimises/acknowledges power.
Isn’t that what school is for? To prepare you for the real world? To make you realise that you are not the centre of the world? That it all kind of sucks. Then we can help young people find a way to live a meaningful life anyway?
I guess my school wouldn’t fly, would it? It’d be like opening a restaurant called Dead Animals and Stuff We Dug Out of the Mud.
I keep thinking: what was Thomas’s point to “set fire to the stars”. Kind of pointless, isn’t it? You know, stars already being on fire and all?
I am curious what he was thinking.
I should stop pontificating and be more curious.
If this were paper, I would consider tearing this up and starting again. Such depressing navel-gazing. I apologise for this.
I will question more. Tell me what you are questioning now. What you think while you are running…