Today I've been thinking a lot about learning, both because of my "Analysis of Teaching and Learning" essay for Adolescents in School, and because my days dedicated to learning at college are limited. This thought process brought me across two lovely poems about learning, teaching and growth by Rumi. So much of his work I wish I could tattoo behind my eyelids, as reference points throughout my days and years.
Two Kinds of Intelligence
There are two kinds of intelligence: One acquired,
as a child in school memorizes facts and concepts
from books and from what the teacher says,
collecting information from the traditional sciences
as well as from the new sciences.
With such intelligence you rise in the world.
You get ranked ahead or behind others
in regard to your competence in retaining
information. You stroll with this intelligence
in and out of fields of knowledge, getting always more
marks on your preserving tablets.
There is another kind of tablet, one
already completed and preserved inside you.
A spring overflowing its springbox. A freshness
in the center of the chest. This other intelligence
does not turn yellow or stagnate. It's fluid,
and it doesn't move from outside to inside
through the conduits of plumbing-learning.
This second knowing is a fountainhead
from within you, moving out.
You Are the Only Student You Have
You are the only faithful student you have.
All the others leave eventually.
Have you been making yourself shallow
with making other eminent?
Just remember, when you're in union,
you don't have to fear
that you'll be drained.
The command comes to speak,
and you feel the ocean
moving through you.
Then comes, Be silent,
as when the rain stops,
and the trees in the orchard
begin to draw moisture
up into themselves.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Saturday, April 23, 2011
a day of silence, public spaces, expectations
Yesterday I took a day of silence.
Well- not quite a whole day...
I woke up at 8 to get ready for a job interview in bath, and proceeded to mime my way through breakfast and destination questions by my roommates. Except a couple words spoken right after waking (hard to remember silence while in that state) I maintained silence until I got in my car to drive to Bath. Surprisingly, even that brief 2-hour window of silence seemed to make me more aware of speaking, and more inclined to choose my words with consideration and listen deeply. Thus the job interview went well- I did not feel nervous at any point, and enjoying our conversation about the teacher and students in an educational system that prizes attitude, hard work and effort far more than ability, intelligence or talent. I had several errands to run for multiple classes and stopped by cooks corner afterwards to get supplies for photo and more paint for the labyrinth. These were spaces where I did not want to inconvenience others by maintaining silence- it seemed far too difficult and frustrating for everyone, so i tried to maintain silence unless necessary.
When all of this was over, a little after noon, I settled into a more pure silence for the rest of the day. This was initially frustrating. I had just had this amazing job interview and I wanted to talk to my roommate and loved ones about it, ask for advice on how to proceed. Thursday night had been a little surreal (live folk music at the pub with the entire drunk hockey team participating and a broken bike) and I wanted to tell my roommate about it. Instead- I got home, arranged some flowers, made a post about my mindset the last couple of weeks, and decided to go outside and enjoy the (still somewhat weak) sun. I packed my backpack with Rumi poetry, Thich nat hanh, my old journal and a blanket and headed out to the quad.
While I don't want to say this was a mistake, it was very odd to be in a busy public space but silent. I felt periodically like I was doing ethnographic research on social life at Bowdoin College, relaxed in the sun, and isolated from everyone. I had sent out an e-mail about my day of silence to closer friends, and wore a button that said "I am taking a day of silence". Most people, however, didn't know how to handle this change in social roles, probably especially because I am a talkative person.
My biggest surprise was the questions: So many questions!
As soon as people found out about the silence- from my roomate, to good friends, to acquaintances- they would try and engage me in conversation. Usually by asking me questions like "what is this for?", "Have you broken it at all? How?" or various other things virtually impossible to answer without words. It felt like being trapped in a never-ending silent game of 20 questions. My roomate, excited about some romantic developments tried to talk to me about them to the mounting frustration of both of us. "That's a good sign right?" she asked as I nodded emphatically and tried not to pound my head against the wall. "Can we talk about this tomorrow morning?" I typed into my computer. Thus, being in public places, and interacting with people was extremely frustrating- it felt anti-mindful to be in those situations, despite what I learned about myself (I am not good at answering questions with merely 'yes' or 'no'). Several friends were very content to just talk at me, and some were happy to just sit in silence on the grass or read some poetry. Ironically, passing around the frisbee was the easiest. I threw with some friends for 30 minutes or so without needing to say anything- although I often verbalized sounds to show sympathy or approval for catches and misses. These noises were integral throughout the day- I never realized how much we DO communicate without words and the tone used in that form of expression is hugely meaningful- more so than the words used to verbalize the tone.
The best moments in my day of silence were mindful practices: Vinyasa yoga and walking the labyrinth. After a bit of frustration on the quad I was excited to go to yoga, release those negative feelings, and focus my attention on my body. The hour and a half class was wonderful, and left me feeling far more calm and comfortable. After dinner I went and walked the labyrinth, an experience that brought a lot of emotions close to the surface. I did not know the high school physics teacher well, or ever have a class with him, but he was a sweet and friendly man and had taught my sister. This week he died while glissading in the mountains, leaving behind a 3-year-old daughter and his wife. I haven't known how to react to this information. As I discovered with my grandmothers death in december: being far away always makes it harder for your emotions and body to understand the reality of loss. Walking the labyrinth and meditating in the center I began to think about my family and other loved ones and how tenuous our grasp on this world are. We are never secure in our happiness or our families against disaster. There could be a tsunami or an armed conflict or simply an accident that causes death and destruction and rocks my family to the core. This doesn't make me afraid- there will always be the unknown and unexpected, and there is little we can do to have a full life and mitigate those fears. However, it made me grateful. It made me appreciative. It made me want to give them love and health and safety, to be a positive force in thier lives.
I don't know how to characterize my day of silence- it definitely wasn't a simple experience and I didn't end my day in a state of 'zen'. However- it was a powerful tool of self-recognition helping me understanding my roles and relationships. It also brought me to another glimpse of that universal humanity that we all share- our deep similarities as people on this planet.
As annie dillard said in "This is the Life":
Say you have seen something. You have seen an ordinary bit of what is real, the infinite fabric of time that eternity shoots through, and time's soft-skinned people working and dying under slowly shifting stars. Then what?
Well- not quite a whole day...
I woke up at 8 to get ready for a job interview in bath, and proceeded to mime my way through breakfast and destination questions by my roommates. Except a couple words spoken right after waking (hard to remember silence while in that state) I maintained silence until I got in my car to drive to Bath. Surprisingly, even that brief 2-hour window of silence seemed to make me more aware of speaking, and more inclined to choose my words with consideration and listen deeply. Thus the job interview went well- I did not feel nervous at any point, and enjoying our conversation about the teacher and students in an educational system that prizes attitude, hard work and effort far more than ability, intelligence or talent. I had several errands to run for multiple classes and stopped by cooks corner afterwards to get supplies for photo and more paint for the labyrinth. These were spaces where I did not want to inconvenience others by maintaining silence- it seemed far too difficult and frustrating for everyone, so i tried to maintain silence unless necessary.
When all of this was over, a little after noon, I settled into a more pure silence for the rest of the day. This was initially frustrating. I had just had this amazing job interview and I wanted to talk to my roommate and loved ones about it, ask for advice on how to proceed. Thursday night had been a little surreal (live folk music at the pub with the entire drunk hockey team participating and a broken bike) and I wanted to tell my roommate about it. Instead- I got home, arranged some flowers, made a post about my mindset the last couple of weeks, and decided to go outside and enjoy the (still somewhat weak) sun. I packed my backpack with Rumi poetry, Thich nat hanh, my old journal and a blanket and headed out to the quad.
While I don't want to say this was a mistake, it was very odd to be in a busy public space but silent. I felt periodically like I was doing ethnographic research on social life at Bowdoin College, relaxed in the sun, and isolated from everyone. I had sent out an e-mail about my day of silence to closer friends, and wore a button that said "I am taking a day of silence". Most people, however, didn't know how to handle this change in social roles, probably especially because I am a talkative person.
My biggest surprise was the questions: So many questions!
As soon as people found out about the silence- from my roomate, to good friends, to acquaintances- they would try and engage me in conversation. Usually by asking me questions like "what is this for?", "Have you broken it at all? How?" or various other things virtually impossible to answer without words. It felt like being trapped in a never-ending silent game of 20 questions. My roomate, excited about some romantic developments tried to talk to me about them to the mounting frustration of both of us. "That's a good sign right?" she asked as I nodded emphatically and tried not to pound my head against the wall. "Can we talk about this tomorrow morning?" I typed into my computer. Thus, being in public places, and interacting with people was extremely frustrating- it felt anti-mindful to be in those situations, despite what I learned about myself (I am not good at answering questions with merely 'yes' or 'no'). Several friends were very content to just talk at me, and some were happy to just sit in silence on the grass or read some poetry. Ironically, passing around the frisbee was the easiest. I threw with some friends for 30 minutes or so without needing to say anything- although I often verbalized sounds to show sympathy or approval for catches and misses. These noises were integral throughout the day- I never realized how much we DO communicate without words and the tone used in that form of expression is hugely meaningful- more so than the words used to verbalize the tone.
The best moments in my day of silence were mindful practices: Vinyasa yoga and walking the labyrinth. After a bit of frustration on the quad I was excited to go to yoga, release those negative feelings, and focus my attention on my body. The hour and a half class was wonderful, and left me feeling far more calm and comfortable. After dinner I went and walked the labyrinth, an experience that brought a lot of emotions close to the surface. I did not know the high school physics teacher well, or ever have a class with him, but he was a sweet and friendly man and had taught my sister. This week he died while glissading in the mountains, leaving behind a 3-year-old daughter and his wife. I haven't known how to react to this information. As I discovered with my grandmothers death in december: being far away always makes it harder for your emotions and body to understand the reality of loss. Walking the labyrinth and meditating in the center I began to think about my family and other loved ones and how tenuous our grasp on this world are. We are never secure in our happiness or our families against disaster. There could be a tsunami or an armed conflict or simply an accident that causes death and destruction and rocks my family to the core. This doesn't make me afraid- there will always be the unknown and unexpected, and there is little we can do to have a full life and mitigate those fears. However, it made me grateful. It made me appreciative. It made me want to give them love and health and safety, to be a positive force in thier lives.
I don't know how to characterize my day of silence- it definitely wasn't a simple experience and I didn't end my day in a state of 'zen'. However- it was a powerful tool of self-recognition helping me understanding my roles and relationships. It also brought me to another glimpse of that universal humanity that we all share- our deep similarities as people on this planet.
As annie dillard said in "This is the Life":
Say you have seen something. You have seen an ordinary bit of what is real, the infinite fabric of time that eternity shoots through, and time's soft-skinned people working and dying under slowly shifting stars. Then what?
Friday, April 22, 2011
failure and gentleness
This last week I recieved many assessments back from professors- and many, while positive, were not without criticism. This is wonderful- but develop it farther. I liked what you did here, but perhaps you could answer this question as well. I found myself increasingly frustrated by this lack of pure affirmation. Wasn't I, for the first time, truely engaging with my learning, undestanding my classes as a space for my own growth and understanding? Wasn't it still enough?
These sentiments seem to resound everywhere these days. My carefully crafted resume, listing years of accomplishments, attempts and versatility, was unsuccessful at finding me a job. To be honest I haven't even applied to that many jobs, perhaps for the same reason I am struggling with my grades: failure.
This universal fear has been nibbling at my confidence recently, making me doubt my intelligence, ability to work hard, and especially my "hireability" (whatever that actually means). Lisa, our meditation teacher last semester, once told me to be gentle with myself. This is a hard thing to do when I feel a constant pressure and desire to be better. Ironically now I even feel some measure of failure in the area of 'self-gentleness'. Katie, my education professor, pointed out that part of the transition out of college is this new kind of critique. The times when I turn in a paper, get a grade, and forget about it are gone. Instead, criticism is the norm, and nothing will ever reach perfection. Especially me. With this in mind I am trying to strive with gentleness. To treat myself patiently and with respect for all that I do accomplish. This is not easy for me- in fact, it is far harder than beginning meditation or holding my temper ever was. Self-doubt and self-blame, the right and left hands of failure, manifest slowly and insidiously. That is why practices like meditation and yoga need to be a daily part of my life by allowing me to have a greater awareness and forgiveness of self.
I just discovered this poem by rumi which speaks well to this struggle. As is often the case it was the first i read today:
You may have heard, it's the custom
for Kings to let warriors stand on
the left, the side of the heart, and
courage. On the right, they put the
Chancellor, and various secretaries,
because the practice of bookkeeping
and writing usually belongs to the
right hand.
In the center, the Sufis, because in
meditation they become mirrors.
The King can look at their faces
and see his original state.
Give the beautiful ones mirrors,
and let them fall in love with
themselves.
That way they polish their souls
and kindle remembering in others.
A close childhood friend once came
to visit Joseph. They had shared the
secrets that children tell each other
when they're lying on their pillows
at night before they go to sleep.
These two were completely truthful
with each other.
The friend asked, "What was it like
when you realized your brothers were
jealous and what they planned to do?"
"I felt like a lion with a chain around
its neck. Not degraded by the chain, and
not complaining, but just waiting for my
power to be recognized."
"How about down in the well, and in
prison? How was it then?"
"Like the moon when it's getting
smaller, yet knowing the fullness to
come. Like a seed pearl ground in the
mortar for medicine, that knows it will
now be the light of the human eye.
Like a wheat grain that breaks open in
the ground, then grows, then gets
harvested, then crushed in the mill for
flour, then baked, then crushed again
between teeth to become a person's
deepest understanding.
Lost in Love, like songs the planters
sing the night after they sow the seed."
There is no end to any of this.
Back to something else the good man
and Joseph talked about.
"Ah my friend, what have you brought me?
You know a traveler should not arrive
empty handed at the door of a friend
like me. That's going to the grinding
stone without your wheat. God will ask
at the Resurrection, 'Did you bring Me
a present? Did you forget? Did you think
you wouldn't see Me?'
Joseph kept teasing,
"Lets have it. I want my gift!"
The guest began, "You can't imagine how
I've looked for something for you.
Nothing seemed appropriate. You don't
take gold down into a goldmine, or a
drop of water to the Sea of Oman!
Everything I thought of was like
bringing cumin seed to Kirmanshah where
cumin comes from.
You have all seeds in your barn. You
even have my love and my soul, so I
can't even bring those.
I've brought you a mirror. Look at
yourself, and remember me."
He took the mirror out from his robe
where he was hiding it.
What is the mirror of being?
Non-being.
Always bring a mirror of non-existence
as a gift. Any other present is foolish.
Let the poor man look deep into
generosity. Let the bread see a hungry
man. Let kindling behold a spark from
the flint.
An empty mirror and your worst
destructive habits, when they are held
up to each other,
that's when the real making begins.
That's what art and crafting are.
A tailor needs a torn garment to
practice his expertise. The trunks of
trees must be cut and cut again
so they can be used for fine carpentry.
Your doctor must have a broken leg to
doctor. Your defects are the ways that
glory gets manifested. Whoever sees
clearly what's diseased in himself
begins to gallop on the Way.
There is nothing worse
than thinking you are well enough.
More than anything, self-complacency
blocks the workmanship.
Put your vileness up to a mirror and
weep. Get that self-satisfaction flowing
out of you! Satan thought, "I am better
than Adam," and that *better than* is
still strongly in us.
Your stream-water may look clean,
but there's unstirred matter on the
bottom. Your Sheikh can dig a side
channel that will drain that waste off.
Trust your wound to a Teacher's surgery.
Flies collect on a wound. They cover it,
those flies of your self-protecting
feelings, your love for what you think
is yours.
Let a teacher wave away the flies
and put a plaster on the wound.
Don't turn your head. Keep looking at
the bandaged place. That's where the
light enters you.
And don't believe for a moment
that you're healing yourself.
-- Mathnawi, I, 3150-3175, 3192-3227
Version by Coleman Barks
(Developed from the translation by Nicholson)
"The Essential Rumi"
HarperSanFrancisco, 1995
These sentiments seem to resound everywhere these days. My carefully crafted resume, listing years of accomplishments, attempts and versatility, was unsuccessful at finding me a job. To be honest I haven't even applied to that many jobs, perhaps for the same reason I am struggling with my grades: failure.
This universal fear has been nibbling at my confidence recently, making me doubt my intelligence, ability to work hard, and especially my "hireability" (whatever that actually means). Lisa, our meditation teacher last semester, once told me to be gentle with myself. This is a hard thing to do when I feel a constant pressure and desire to be better. Ironically now I even feel some measure of failure in the area of 'self-gentleness'. Katie, my education professor, pointed out that part of the transition out of college is this new kind of critique. The times when I turn in a paper, get a grade, and forget about it are gone. Instead, criticism is the norm, and nothing will ever reach perfection. Especially me. With this in mind I am trying to strive with gentleness. To treat myself patiently and with respect for all that I do accomplish. This is not easy for me- in fact, it is far harder than beginning meditation or holding my temper ever was. Self-doubt and self-blame, the right and left hands of failure, manifest slowly and insidiously. That is why practices like meditation and yoga need to be a daily part of my life by allowing me to have a greater awareness and forgiveness of self.
I just discovered this poem by rumi which speaks well to this struggle. As is often the case it was the first i read today:
You may have heard, it's the custom
for Kings to let warriors stand on
the left, the side of the heart, and
courage. On the right, they put the
Chancellor, and various secretaries,
because the practice of bookkeeping
and writing usually belongs to the
right hand.
In the center, the Sufis, because in
meditation they become mirrors.
The King can look at their faces
and see his original state.
Give the beautiful ones mirrors,
and let them fall in love with
themselves.
That way they polish their souls
and kindle remembering in others.
A close childhood friend once came
to visit Joseph. They had shared the
secrets that children tell each other
when they're lying on their pillows
at night before they go to sleep.
These two were completely truthful
with each other.
The friend asked, "What was it like
when you realized your brothers were
jealous and what they planned to do?"
"I felt like a lion with a chain around
its neck. Not degraded by the chain, and
not complaining, but just waiting for my
power to be recognized."
"How about down in the well, and in
prison? How was it then?"
"Like the moon when it's getting
smaller, yet knowing the fullness to
come. Like a seed pearl ground in the
mortar for medicine, that knows it will
now be the light of the human eye.
Like a wheat grain that breaks open in
the ground, then grows, then gets
harvested, then crushed in the mill for
flour, then baked, then crushed again
between teeth to become a person's
deepest understanding.
Lost in Love, like songs the planters
sing the night after they sow the seed."
There is no end to any of this.
Back to something else the good man
and Joseph talked about.
"Ah my friend, what have you brought me?
You know a traveler should not arrive
empty handed at the door of a friend
like me. That's going to the grinding
stone without your wheat. God will ask
at the Resurrection, 'Did you bring Me
a present? Did you forget? Did you think
you wouldn't see Me?'
Joseph kept teasing,
"Lets have it. I want my gift!"
The guest began, "You can't imagine how
I've looked for something for you.
Nothing seemed appropriate. You don't
take gold down into a goldmine, or a
drop of water to the Sea of Oman!
Everything I thought of was like
bringing cumin seed to Kirmanshah where
cumin comes from.
You have all seeds in your barn. You
even have my love and my soul, so I
can't even bring those.
I've brought you a mirror. Look at
yourself, and remember me."
He took the mirror out from his robe
where he was hiding it.
What is the mirror of being?
Non-being.
Always bring a mirror of non-existence
as a gift. Any other present is foolish.
Let the poor man look deep into
generosity. Let the bread see a hungry
man. Let kindling behold a spark from
the flint.
An empty mirror and your worst
destructive habits, when they are held
up to each other,
that's when the real making begins.
That's what art and crafting are.
A tailor needs a torn garment to
practice his expertise. The trunks of
trees must be cut and cut again
so they can be used for fine carpentry.
Your doctor must have a broken leg to
doctor. Your defects are the ways that
glory gets manifested. Whoever sees
clearly what's diseased in himself
begins to gallop on the Way.
There is nothing worse
than thinking you are well enough.
More than anything, self-complacency
blocks the workmanship.
Put your vileness up to a mirror and
weep. Get that self-satisfaction flowing
out of you! Satan thought, "I am better
than Adam," and that *better than* is
still strongly in us.
Your stream-water may look clean,
but there's unstirred matter on the
bottom. Your Sheikh can dig a side
channel that will drain that waste off.
Trust your wound to a Teacher's surgery.
Flies collect on a wound. They cover it,
those flies of your self-protecting
feelings, your love for what you think
is yours.
Let a teacher wave away the flies
and put a plaster on the wound.
Don't turn your head. Keep looking at
the bandaged place. That's where the
light enters you.
And don't believe for a moment
that you're healing yourself.
-- Mathnawi, I, 3150-3175, 3192-3227
Version by Coleman Barks
(Developed from the translation by Nicholson)
"The Essential Rumi"
HarperSanFrancisco, 1995
Saturday, April 9, 2011
unexpected labyrinth perks, waldorf, the siren call of nature, yoga or sleep?
The weeks after spring break are always a whirlwind, but these were particularly impressive in the number of things on my to-do list and the number of things i can reasonably accomplish in a short period of time. Foremost amoung them is the labyrinth project, finally reaching the beginning of construction as of saturday. An unexpected perk of the project, and of a lot of self-designed projects i've been working on, is the opportunity to meet and interact with adults. While this may sound like a normal part of life for some 21-year-olds, most of my semesters at Bowdoin held very little quality time with adults other than professors while in the classroom. I have always made an effort to get to know professors better than that, and often used office hours or meetings during meals to have great conversations. The labyrinth project this semester, as well as a photography project about aging with an interview component, both facilitated much deeper and more frequent interactions with professors, staff, and community members. The conversations accompanying labyrinth scheduling, funding and logistic-ing often range to much larger concerns about becoming an adult, getting older, marrying and raising kids. I've found these conversations (some of them actually TAPED) to be invaluable already- a surprising source of guidance for a soon-to-be unmoored college graduate.
On Friday we visited the Waldorf school in Freeport, an experience that immediately made me want to become a Waldorf teacher. The classes were interesting for a college student like me, as many public school classes are not, and the students were constantly engaged, both questioning and answering about the material. When asked during break if they ever got bored everyone pretty much shook thier head, or wrinkled thier foreheads- "Well, not in SCHOOL." said one girl, as if that concept were somewhat crazy. Unfortunately, visiting the Waldorf school required a very early awakening, thus I was pretty tired when we got back to campus- with still a whole list of things to do ahead of me. I needed to interview and photograph Sue from the church for my photography project, grab a meal (I was starving), pick up the canvas from the shop, buy supplies for construction the next day, and make it to yoga from 4:30-6:00. Somehow, upon arriving back on campus, I had a leisurely brunch with Benzvi, and then we went to the quad to enjoy 15 minutes of passing a frisbee in the sun. As the numbers playing grew, my awareness of time fell away... until i looked down and saw that it was 2:30 and discovered a missed call from sue- oops! The sun and the grass, after so many months of snow and cold, is practically irresistable.
After the interview- a pleasant and calming conversation- I had 30 minutes left before yoga, and had scheduled to pick up the canvas at 6pm. Part of me had already considered just going home, showering (it had been three days) and sleeping until dinner. The question became: sleep and a shower or yoga? Which is ultimately more refreshing and fulfilling in the midst of such a busy day? Although at first I really thought sleep would win out, I realized that my mind would probably not feel rejuvinated by a 40ish minute nap, squeezed between two activities. I would probably wake up tired and crabby, wishing i was still in bed, and lose momentum for the rest of the evening. Yoga, on the other hand, would allow me to actively relax my body, focus and still my mind, and spend a little time on my spirit as well. You can obviously tell what won.
So I decided to buy some erasers for the construction in the union, change at home, and bike to yoga... which was glorious. definitely the right decision (and a good thing to keep in mind during busy and exhausting days). Unfortunately, I was so relaxed afterwards that I went straight home, showered, and ravenously headed towards the dininghall for dinner. At 10pm, sitting with some friends in the tower, I sat straight up- Oh shit. I had completely forgotten about the canvas for the labyrinth. My self-distain and horror at this mistake were hard to curb. It's funny how when we forgot something like that- a friend's birthday, an important errand- we have a visceral reaction to it. Our bodies clench up, especially around the stomach, our teeth grind, our eyes open wide. I wonder how similar this 'panic' is to the fight/flight response nature developed for moments of danger. Everything worked out just fine- i picked up the canvas at 8am and there were no consequences of my negligence, but that feeling stayed with me all night until the next morning, despite my inability to change the situation or the usefulness of feeling bad about it. I probably should've done what I did earlier- forgone a little sleep to meditate and clear my mind, allowing myself some self-forgiveness and clarity.
Don't go to sleep one night
What you want most will come to you then.
Warmed by a sun inside, you'll see wonders.
-Rumi
the breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
don’t go back to sleep.
you must ask for what you really want.
don’t go back to sleep.
people are going back and forth between the
door sill where the two worlds touch.
the door is round and open.
don’t go back to sleep.
-rumi
On Friday we visited the Waldorf school in Freeport, an experience that immediately made me want to become a Waldorf teacher. The classes were interesting for a college student like me, as many public school classes are not, and the students were constantly engaged, both questioning and answering about the material. When asked during break if they ever got bored everyone pretty much shook thier head, or wrinkled thier foreheads- "Well, not in SCHOOL." said one girl, as if that concept were somewhat crazy. Unfortunately, visiting the Waldorf school required a very early awakening, thus I was pretty tired when we got back to campus- with still a whole list of things to do ahead of me. I needed to interview and photograph Sue from the church for my photography project, grab a meal (I was starving), pick up the canvas from the shop, buy supplies for construction the next day, and make it to yoga from 4:30-6:00. Somehow, upon arriving back on campus, I had a leisurely brunch with Benzvi, and then we went to the quad to enjoy 15 minutes of passing a frisbee in the sun. As the numbers playing grew, my awareness of time fell away... until i looked down and saw that it was 2:30 and discovered a missed call from sue- oops! The sun and the grass, after so many months of snow and cold, is practically irresistable.
After the interview- a pleasant and calming conversation- I had 30 minutes left before yoga, and had scheduled to pick up the canvas at 6pm. Part of me had already considered just going home, showering (it had been three days) and sleeping until dinner. The question became: sleep and a shower or yoga? Which is ultimately more refreshing and fulfilling in the midst of such a busy day? Although at first I really thought sleep would win out, I realized that my mind would probably not feel rejuvinated by a 40ish minute nap, squeezed between two activities. I would probably wake up tired and crabby, wishing i was still in bed, and lose momentum for the rest of the evening. Yoga, on the other hand, would allow me to actively relax my body, focus and still my mind, and spend a little time on my spirit as well. You can obviously tell what won.
So I decided to buy some erasers for the construction in the union, change at home, and bike to yoga... which was glorious. definitely the right decision (and a good thing to keep in mind during busy and exhausting days). Unfortunately, I was so relaxed afterwards that I went straight home, showered, and ravenously headed towards the dininghall for dinner. At 10pm, sitting with some friends in the tower, I sat straight up- Oh shit. I had completely forgotten about the canvas for the labyrinth. My self-distain and horror at this mistake were hard to curb. It's funny how when we forgot something like that- a friend's birthday, an important errand- we have a visceral reaction to it. Our bodies clench up, especially around the stomach, our teeth grind, our eyes open wide. I wonder how similar this 'panic' is to the fight/flight response nature developed for moments of danger. Everything worked out just fine- i picked up the canvas at 8am and there were no consequences of my negligence, but that feeling stayed with me all night until the next morning, despite my inability to change the situation or the usefulness of feeling bad about it. I probably should've done what I did earlier- forgone a little sleep to meditate and clear my mind, allowing myself some self-forgiveness and clarity.
Don't go to sleep one night
What you want most will come to you then.
Warmed by a sun inside, you'll see wonders.
-Rumi
the breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
don’t go back to sleep.
you must ask for what you really want.
don’t go back to sleep.
people are going back and forth between the
door sill where the two worlds touch.
the door is round and open.
don’t go back to sleep.
-rumi
Sunday, April 3, 2011
my first retreat, clocklessness, less rigid lifestyles
On thursday night my mindfulness and practice class went out to the coastal studies center for an over-night retreat in which we would have a protracted period of silence and lead/participate in certain mindful practices. This is a journal entry I wrote in the morning while we were there.
(Friday April 1st)
"Sleeping without an alarm was strange- I had trouble tursting myself to relax because I could not depend on my alarm to awake me. Although Katie is reliable and promised to wake us with charms, having the wake-up be not only outside of my control but a mystery in the middle of the night (have I been asleep 2 hours or 6?) was hard, it made me somewhat restless. Even when sleeping beside Sean I feel responsible for getting myself (and him!) up and starting the day. I know there are many things to do, even on a weekend. I hope I can learn to let go of this compulsion and, without anxiety, embrace a scheduless day every once and awhile. Before today I hadn't realized how much I rely on clocks- particularly my watch, something required over the summer by our crew boss (and adopted permanently since then). My scheduling is directly linked to the artificial hours and minutes with which we catalogue the day. Nepal was a much more relaxed, disorganized, and clockless society, although I had trouble appreciating it. My guess is it would've been easier to embrace my experience there if i had had more grounding or been part of a program. This is why sean and I must travel and live somewhere abroad after graduation- get out of the clock-filled world for awhile.
A good life-goal is a week without clocks, not on vacation in another place but at home, perhaps during a break (organized or natural) from required routines- work, school, kid's school, etc.
Is there a way to have a watch without becoming married to it and a need to follow it's guidance?
I hope so."
(Friday April 1st)
"Sleeping without an alarm was strange- I had trouble tursting myself to relax because I could not depend on my alarm to awake me. Although Katie is reliable and promised to wake us with charms, having the wake-up be not only outside of my control but a mystery in the middle of the night (have I been asleep 2 hours or 6?) was hard, it made me somewhat restless. Even when sleeping beside Sean I feel responsible for getting myself (and him!) up and starting the day. I know there are many things to do, even on a weekend. I hope I can learn to let go of this compulsion and, without anxiety, embrace a scheduless day every once and awhile. Before today I hadn't realized how much I rely on clocks- particularly my watch, something required over the summer by our crew boss (and adopted permanently since then). My scheduling is directly linked to the artificial hours and minutes with which we catalogue the day. Nepal was a much more relaxed, disorganized, and clockless society, although I had trouble appreciating it. My guess is it would've been easier to embrace my experience there if i had had more grounding or been part of a program. This is why sean and I must travel and live somewhere abroad after graduation- get out of the clock-filled world for awhile.
A good life-goal is a week without clocks, not on vacation in another place but at home, perhaps during a break (organized or natural) from required routines- work, school, kid's school, etc.
Is there a way to have a watch without becoming married to it and a need to follow it's guidance?
I hope so."
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