I teach a lot of young people. They are mostly decent, honest and hardworking adolescents — their eyes brimming with inquisitiveness. What is behind the facade, however, if I were to be really honest with myself, is boredom. In their hands they possess the universe — the Internet: they are God controlling infinity. What can I truly say to them that sparks the intellectual curiosity that was normal in the “seekers” of my generation? I am no Platonist (1) but I do draw a distinction between people who accept what is and those few who contemplate what could be. I find that one of the few things that have any relevance at all is just telling the truth: the truth about you, a real person – albeit aging. They have little to no time for the pontificators or the embellishers. They want the raw facts. What was it like in the “old days?” (in what many see as the Jurassic Period, (2) with small dinosaurs still running around).
Perception: what does this really mean?
I am learning to ski: yes it is true. I was born in Canada and all Canadians can ski: right? If I tell this to people they stare at me totally dumbfounded. “How is that possible that you can’t ski: were you not born in a snowstorm?” is the standard question. Well, where I grew up there was no snow. “No snow!” is the incredulous response. These questions are always slightly tinged with the belief that you are either outright lying or you have been removed from the society for a prolonged period of time – prison, for example. The truth is that in my hometown on the west coast of Vancouver Island (1) there was rain, and lots of it – wet and cold winters – but virtually no snow. The other day, after finishing another brutal training session (When I say brutal: the body looks like it has been lucky to extract itself from the ring after losing ten rounds), I got in a taxi to return home. The taxi had four active screens playing different images, advertisings or programs. This was in tandem with the outside traffic whizzing by. “Wow,” I thought to myself. “This is what sensory overload (2) really is.” Now, I am old or experienced enough to allay my budding panic. I can return to my domicile, take a shower, get dressed and do my yoga or go for a walk in the park – or both. I know how to regulate the exterior stimuli that assail the self. I do not intend to stimulate or pacify my fears with any external substance to help the body and mind calm down. This, however, is not the case with millions upon millions of people. The old use mostly alcohol or drugs and the young social media. In either case, it is an escape from self-development: the inquiry that each individual must take to mature and improve. We are simply not developing our critical thinking skills because, like any athlete, the mind needs to be trained. Raw, unfiltered data of any sort is just that: raw unfiltered material. It is information that can make no sense to the mind. I recently listened to a song that was littered with profanities. I remarked that this is normal when you lack the vocabulary to adequately express yourself. You must resort to something succinct and expressive: “That shit’s broken.” Violence is the same: when I cannot explain what I mean (this along with my rising frustration and anger), I lash out at you physically.
How do we learn to truly think?
This week, I was troubled by an image that continues to plague me. It shows a young woman doing a nonsensical task and it touches on the question of why she could not see it for what it was? Not far from our house is a dealership that sells expensive and exotic cars. The structure is new, having only been completed last year. It has the latest technological creations: glass walls that extend into the stratosphere, an overly-large revolving sign, a dynamically-moving electrified screen that showcases the latest vehicles and, most importantly, modern landscaping. The grounds are the most interesting because, though somewhat limited, they include an in-ground sprinkler system. The water system is remarkable due to the fact that it only worked for a day before it was crushed by a salesman moving a car. Water and its attendant substance, mud, do not mix on the tire wells (1) of pricey vehicles — necessity thus forced a repair. This was done, not by digging up the damaged water pipe but by tiling and concreting the offending area. We all know that water is ubiquitous and soon the puddles had returned. The work had been completed, however, and the job was left just like that, in an inferior state. This necessitates the continual cleaning of the surface area to dissuade the encroaching boue (2) from smudging the tires and clothing of the “well-heeled” clientele. Now for the image: The other day, I passed by the abovementioned building on my way to work. There was a young woman feverishly sweeping leaves on the moist escarpment. As she was cleaning, her broom touched the plashes spreading a thin layer of dirt everywhere. A fool could see what was going on. Why didn’t she stop? The answer: she had been told to clean the outside of the structure. She had simply not questioned that the fundamental premise was flawed. The water continued to leak making it impossible to actually cleanse the area.
Life: how do we savor its bouquet?
I find that one of the greatest conundrums that an educator faces is to how to reconcile the joyous and boisterous faces that you see on your students in a high school classroom with the desultory and seemingly embittered twenty-something-year-olds that sit on their scooters at a stop light or stand listlessly scrolling on their cell phones virtually everywhere else. The reason, “in a nutshell”: unrequited angst. They have not been given the tools to deal with an increasingly complex “universe” — their universe. When I have been told all my life that these are the rules of “the game of life” and I work diligently and play the contest well and now this; I am allowed to be shocked and resentful, am I not? To stumble into a job interview that goes positively, only to receive a trifling bit of money and a laconic and nasty boss is, to say the last, earth-shattering. The look on their faces has already been painted by Van Gogh (1853-1890) in the Potato Eaters. (1)
Wake up and smell the roses.
As I left the office the other day, I chanced upon a little girl wearing a ballet tutu: she was holding tenaciously to the hand of a man. It was a scene right out Degas’ sculpture Little Dancer of Fourteen Years.(1) What was to be remarked on, unfortunately, was the demeanor of her father (I assume the man was her father). He had a blank, vacuous expression that could only be called disinterested to the point of disdain. The little girl seemed not to notice and bounced along in happy abandon as children seem compelled to do. “What was wrong here?” I asked myself. It was obvious that the man had missed the moment. We are afforded a limited amount of intimate occurrences in life and this individual had surely bypassed one of them: such a pity, such a tragic waste! I wanted to run up to the man and say, “Look! Look!” I didn’t, being reserved and polite. This whole scene led me to reflect on our “wakefulness.” Are we alive or are we just automata floating through temporal space waiting to be expunged. My observations would conclude less of the former and more of the latter. The answer most pundits believe is related to the Internet and more specifically social media. (2) We are slowly being “dummy downed.”(3)
Your own little piece of magic: do you deserve it?
I am sure you can identify with this: it comes upon you quite unexpectedly. You can be walking or talking or engaged in some inane activity. It builds softly in the back of your mind, slowly muscling itself to the forefront of your consciousness. It is initially as extremely confusing as it is remarkably rare. And then, there it is – joy: unsolicited, stunning and exciting – joy! You are filled with gratitude to just be alive. But is this an isolated quality only experienced by a lucky few?
Continue reading Your own little piece of magic: do you deserve it?
Where do the lessons of life reside?
I am always reminded that often the real lessons of life lie in chance encounters or in simple situations. These occurrences present golden nuggets of wisdom that are dangled before our eyes. They must simply be grasped. We sadly often miss them, or at least I do. The great philosophers and sages do have eminent parables to relate and clever treatises to promulgate. The thoughts of the individual “just getting through life” are often as profound, however. I was on a series of public buses in a recent trip and, as always, I took the opportunity to speak to the bus drivers. I find them to be a fascinating group of individuals because they have “none-stop” social interaction. They are more occupied, from a work-time related perspective, than any profession I can think of with perhaps the exception of the doctor, dentist or teacher. They come in all shapes and sizes, ethnicities and are equally balanced between men and women. I think they are extremists, as well. They either hate people or love all of humanity, including the grubby, the unwashed and the downright rude. On my sojourn, I had two interesting conversations: “So, do you enjoy driving?” I inquired. “What! You mean for work?” was the riposte. “Yes,” I acknowledged, “for work.” “I hate work. Anyone who thought up this concept of work is full of b*** s***.” Now that is an “eye opener” at 6:00 in the morning, especially when on your way to said work, I am sure. “What if you enjoyed your work,” I probed. “Then, it wouldn’t be work, would it?” the “el stupido” being silently uttered with the eyes.
Real Food: can you taste it?
I remember my friend’s family farm in Poland, 40 or so years ago. It was very typical of a 19h century farmstead (Poland went into societal shock in 1939 and didn’t really begin to recover until the 1990s, it only became free from Soviet suzerainty in 1989). I was there in the late 1970s, so I was right in the middle of a “time warp.” The things I most remember about the farm were the smells and the mud. The mud was truly ubiquitous: it was on my shoes, on my clothes; you could feel the tiny granules of mud’s byproduct, dust, on your skin and even in your mouth.
Fear of Success: forewarned is forearmed
I recently had the opportunity to visit some old friends on the continent: I had a lovely time. It has been quite a number of years, however, since I have been in Europe and I had forgotten the tremendous contrasts between the various strata of society. This is especially noticeable because of a pervasive sense of affluence. On the one hand, you can walk along the Champs Elysees in Paris and have a light meal in her many bistros and restaurants, all the while observing the bejeweled throng passing by: on the other “main,” this is contrasted by the many misshapen lumps that sleep on the metro ventilation grates or in the transportation system’s numerous subterranean tunnels. This led me to thinking, “Why would a person totally surrender the fight for life?”
I am sure that everyone in the human condition has been subjected to failure and defeat but, intrinsically, we get up and start again: much like the young child who loses his balance. How can you every come to a point that you are struck, thrown down and do not attempt to stand once more? How do you ever allow yourself to become a broken spirit? It must begin with the concept of the Sisyphean task: “Beginning with Homer (1) in Greek mythology, Sisyphus was notorious for being crafty and dishonest. As a punishment for his trickery, Zeus (2) sentenced King Sisyphus to endlessly roll a huge boulder up a steep hill. He was sentenced thus because his intrigue and duplicity surpassed that of even Zeus himself. Zeus accordingly displayed his own cleverness by ‘enchanting’ the boulder to roll away from King Sisyphus. However, just before he reached the top (and freedom) the stone rolled backwards towards the unfortunate king, forcing him, once again, down the hill: Zeus consigned Sisyphus to an eternity of useless efforts and unending frustration. He repeated this task on a daily basis.”
If you could not see any level of hope, you are consigned to failure. Dr. Viktor Frank (1905-1997), a World War Two death camp survivor, wrote extensively on the concept of faith in a better future. “He concluded that the meaning of life is found in every moment of living; life never ceases to have meaning, even in suffering and death. Frankl offered the thought that for everyone in a dire condition there is someone peering down, a friend, family member, or even God, who would expect not to be disappointed. The good doctor concluded, from experience, that a prisoner’s psychological reactions are not solely the result of the conditions of his life, but also from the freedom of choice he always has, even in severe suffering. The ‘inner hold’ a prisoner has on his spiritual self relies on having a hope in the future and, once a prisoner loses that hope, he is doomed.”
We stumbled on in the darkness, over big stones and through large puddles, along the one road leading from the camp. The accompanying guards kept shouting at us and driving us with the butts of their rifles. Anyone with very sore feet supported himself on his neighbor’s arm. Hardly a word was spoken; the icy wind did not encourage talk. Hiding his mouth behind his upturned collar, the man marching next to me whispered suddenly: If our wives could see us now! I do hope they are better off in their camps and don’t know what is happening to us.’
A thought transfixed me: for the first time in my life I saw the truth as it is set into song by so many poets, proclaimed as the final wisdom by so many thinkers. The truth: love is the ultimate and the highest goal to which man can aspire. Then I grasped the meaning of the greatest secret that human poetry and human thought and belief have to impart: the salvation of man is through love and in love.”(2)
The reason that those poor souls thrust their emaciated and sickly bodies upon sterile benches at night, and most of them succumbed, is because they lacked the ultimate love: the love of self. There, tragically, is no school or course that one can enroll in because this perception is self-taught. There is truth in the fact that this phenomenon is nurtured by external stimuli, but it is the self that alone can truly embrace it. These individuals, in my estimation, fear success. A wise friend of mine once said: “It is easy to be unhappy but difficult to achieve happiness.” Success in any form, therefore, is not easily attained: chronic failure (long-term homelessness, for example) must equate with laziness: cruel, but truthful. An Eskimo proverb from northern Canada leaves us with a thought: Perhaps they are not stars, but rather openings in heaven where the love of our lost ones pours through and shines down upon us to let us know they are happy. (Parts of this article were published in April 2011)
A closing thought: It is to be noted that it is easy to lose your path in life. This is where the love of family and the counsel of good friends allows you to reposition yourself and your thoughts. It could be said that those without some form of suffering, physical or mental, have never truly grown. They have never seen the depths from which to crawl back from. I am always most interested in what makes a man stop and reside in the “underworld” until they leave this mortal plane. It would seem to make no sense, but many, many do it – the drug addict, the alcoholic, those in bad relationships, the broken, and the unwashed — why? It can only be because of bad relationships, with the self and with others. Unless one has mental problems, there can be no excuse but sloth for the reason that people fail to discover their meaning in life. The sluggard is wiser in his own eyes than seven men who can answer sensibly. (Proverbs 26:16)
To sum up: This week we spoke about striving to never give up the fight to uncover the beautiful you. All of us are presented with this opportunity.
A small joke: A doctor examining an elderly patient said, “Don’t worry, you should live to ninety.” “I am ninety,” the patient wailed. “You see, I was right.” replied the doctor.
Just for fun – Joe Cocker – With A Little Help From My Friends
This week on your great walk, please contemplate your indestructible spirit.
Every day look for something magical and beautiful
Quote: Believe: Then goodness and wealth will come to you.
Footnotes:
1) Homer is best known as the author of the Iliad and the Odyssey. He was believed by the ancient Greeks to have been the first and greatest of the epic poets. Author of the first known literature of Europe, he has had a lasting effect on Western thinking.
Whether and when he lived is unknown. Herodotus, the great Greek historian (484 BC-425 BC), estimated that Homer lived 400 years before his own time, which would place him circa 850 BC.
2) In Greek mythology, Zeus was the god of sky and thunder. Zeus is identified with the Roman god Jupiter.
3) Man’s Search for Meaning, Viktor Frankl: (ISBN 9780-6716-4670-7)
Culture shock: falling out of your “comfort zone.
I always remember having to stand in front of my class in Grade One to give a presentation on what my father did for work. This experience is still indelible some fifty-five plus years later. My memory was seared by two poignant realizations, among others: firstly, speaking publically is an uncomfortable occurrence and has to be practiced and re-practiced to achieve even a semblance of skill and secondly, not everyone has a father. In our class, many, those who were mostly poor, didn’t. All-encompassing was a choking sense of shyness; as I began to talk, my throat constricted and I felt as if I was going to faint. What steadied me was the visceral terror that I had of failure and its concomitant punishments, both at school and at home. This was a time of “Spare the rod and spoil the child.” The relatively modern phenomena of public emotions (think weeping with fear) and of ADHD (1) hadn’t yet been invented.
Continue reading Culture shock: falling out of your “comfort zone.