Went out more than a bit late this morning. The sun on the
horizon was already nestling among the budding branches. I am always
amazed at the amazing things, the new things, the astonishing things, the
touching things, the little things I see and hear walking the streets day
after day, month after month, year after year when I am aware. Today it
was a fallen pine cone forlonely lying in the middle of the street, a lone
echineaca scouting the way for the others in the bed, an array of
amaryllis trumpeting the spring, roses polka-dotting the landscape, a pile
of grass clippings heaped on a curb, the rivulets of collected dew on the
car window in my driveway, a clumsy bumblebee humming as it worked to
borrow into the wood siding of my house, the metallic cadence of a
woodpecker high above me rapidly drumming on a power generator, a squirrel
jumping from branch to branch. At first, superficial glance, each seemed
so unimportant, so trivial, so ordinary. And yet, with an awareness, there
is nothing nothing small or insignificant or common about any of them.
They all had a way of adding up to a magnificent experience. The ordinary
become extraordinary. It is magic; it is mysterious; it is majestic. It
wasn't always so. Until a decade ago, in another life, I was not
completely open to these things. I was not totally listening. I was not
completely seeing, I was not be aware. And, I sadly missed many grand
things. I cut off from all this around me--and in me--and the magic,
mystery and grandeur had yet to be born.
And so it is in the world of academia.
That is why I some years ago I enacted for myself and struggle to
obey a set of awareness "rules of the road" to enforce my teaching credo:
"constantly be aware that the classroom is a gathering of 'ones,' of
diverse and individual and unique and sacred human beings." It is from
which all the other rules flowed:
"Care. Don't just mouth it, live it."
"Focus on the student and his or her learning."
"Notice the unnoticed."
"No one's face gets erased."
"No one goes nameless."
"No one is left in the background."
"No one is hidden in the shadows."
"Every student is valuable."
"Never treat every student in every class as the same."
"Every student starts with a clean slate. Don't judge a student
by the ring in her belly button or the tattoo on his arm or the whispers
of other people or a GPA or the accent of her speech or the color of
his...."
"Love every student. It's OK to be disappointed or even
frustrated, but don't stop loving them as persons."
Some have asked how I do that. With difficulty, I assure you.
And, not always successfully. My usual answer is that I meditate before
each class and focus myself. I do. Lately I have found that to be an
inadequate answer even for myself, especially when I have back-to-back
classes and have to shift gears without a second of hesitation and
respite. How do I do that? I do that by struggling--and, once again, not
always successfully--to teach hard with a light touch, soft eyes, gentle
mouth, and a kind heart. I teach like that because I practice, practice,
practice. What do I constantly practice? No, not technique or method or
technology however important they are. And, I am not a magician with a
mind-boggling trick or a card sharp with an ace up my sleeve.
I constantly practice constant awareness: constant awareness of
where I am, constant awareness of who I am, constant awareness of the
surrounding circumstances, constant awareness of who each of the students
are, constant awareness of the hazards and traps. Like some prey walking
in a dark jungle, my eyes are constantly moving and my sense are
constantly on full alert. To do that, I practice slowing, stopping,
focusing, and being still. I practice listening, seeing, feeling, and
being still. I started with struggling to be aware of something as
ordinary as water. Slowly I was sensitive to the currents of saliva in my
mouth. I was conscious of the and puddling on my eyes. I began to feel,
what I came to swear was down to the molecular level, the emerging
formation and flow of each globule of sweat. My seeing, hearing,
sensing, and feeling swam the unimaginable sites and sounds and sights
and forms of water everywhere and all around me: the shower, a cup of
coffee, a glass of soda, a fountain, the fish pond, a puddle in the
street, a water fountain, a water sprinkler, the drowning humidity. You
will be amazed how slowly something as ever-present and common and ordinary
as water becomes magnificently wondrous. Individual notes merge into a
stirring symphony. Individual strokes appear on a spell-binding canvas.
I assure that if you can master looking and being still, you will
see. Sense and be still, and you will feel. Listen and be still, and you
will hear. It took time and effort. I had to patiently give it time and
effort. I took all the time it took. I put in all the effort it took. I
practice when I was alone and slowly used it when I was among others.
Still do. I paid attention to what surfaced from below the waterline of
my consciousness. I cultivated my sensitivity above the waterline. I paid
attention to my thoughts and feelings, to paraphrase Deuteronomy, when I
rose up, when I walked along the way, and when I laid down. Still do.
What I call "a sixth sense" is really a capacity that is exercised
by the constant opening and scanning questions seeped in awareness: "What
is going on here?" "Who is here?" "What am I hearing?' "What am I
seeing." "What may happen?" "What would I do if such and such happened?"
A constant word, a constant intimate partner of awareness, is
"constant." Constant keeps your awareness honed. Constant keeps your
awareness strong. Constant keep your awareness open. Constant keeps you
always reaching out and always responding to the sights, sounds,
movements, and smells. Constant is the enemy of dull and routine.
Constant keeps you awake so you never do anything in your sleep. It is
being able to withdraw into silence and motionlessness without pulling in
your antennae, and being able to come back in a flash when the signal is
picked up. Constant is one of those conditions that makes sure awareness
is awareness.
You see, awareness isn't something that is turned on and off. The
effort is to be constantly aware, to always know something is
ever-present, to always know that something is going on at all times all
around you. It takes effort, like my walking. It is not tiring or
boring, like my walking. To the contrary, it is invigorating; it is being
alive. There are times I can feel each hair on my body. With the
awareness mysteriously comes a gift that has a newness and freshness about
it. The more I became aware the more I have an appreciation of and
affection for each person, especially myself. It is doggone exciting and
uplifting.
It took me a while to realize that constant awareness isn't just a
bunch of mental calistenics, some daily exercises reserved for a
cubbyholed moment, a "couple of sets" that you do for ten minutes each
morning, a period of yoga here or a session of Tai Chi there. Awareness
isn't like muscle, to be developed by exercising and flexing. It is not
the end product of a series of logical steps. It does not emerge
miraculously as a result of embracing some beliefs.
Awareness, as advocates of yoga and Tai Chi will tell you, is
lived every moment. It is an attitude. It is an attitude towards
yourself, towards other people, what they are attempting to express.
Awareness creates appreciation. Awareness is respect, value, worth. It is
interest, understanding, sensitivity, sympathy, support, encouragement.
I was once asked what was my worst day in class. It was a time
when I was unaware. It was a time when that gift of affection was lost.
It was lost for a reason. It was when I fell into the trap of letting
routine replace awareness. I closed my openness. I turned off the current
to my antennae. It was when I stopped listening and seeing for that
moment, when I pulled the communication plug out from my soul.
Be aware, the search for good teaching and teaching to do good is
to be aware, constantly aware. And since what it is and who it is to be
aware of is forever unique, each search is a unique and constant effort.
Learn to be aware of what is really being said. Learn to look at what is
really there. Learn to let the totality of the situation dive below the
waterline into your gut. Set the response button to "delay." You'll be
amazed how much you can see, how sharpened what is between the lines and
behind the scenes becomes.
There isn't anyone who cannot become aware. Just practice
looking, listening, smelling, feeling, and being still while keeping the
pedagogical stuff quiet. You will find a way of working with your
opportunities in the course of which you will build strength: strength to
believe, strength to hope, strength to dream, strength to venture, strength
to create, strength to make the right choice, strength to sustain,
strength to touch, strength to make a difference.
Make it a good day.
--Louis--
Louis Schmier [EMAIL PROTECTED]
Department of History www.therandomthoughts.com
Valdosta State University www.halcyon.com/arborhts/louis.html
Valdosta, GA 31698 /~\ /\ /\
912-333-5947 /^\ / \ / /~\ \ /~\__/\
/ \__/ \/ / /\ /~\/ \
/\/\-/ /^\_____\____________/__/_______/^\
-_~ / "If you want to climb mountains, \ /^\
_ _ / don't practice on mole hills" - \____
Make it a good day.
--Louis--
Louis Schmier [EMAIL PROTECTED]
Department of History www.therandomthoughts.com
Valdosta State University www.halcyon.com/arborhts/louis.html
Valdosta, GA 31698 /~\ /\ /\
229-333-5947 /^\ / \ / /~\ \ /~\__/\
/ \__/ \/ / /\ /~\/ \
/\/\-/ /^\_____\____________/__/_______/^\
-_~ / "If you want to climb mountains, \ /^\
_ _ / don't practice on mole hills" - \____
