My students for this next year are reading Paulo Coelho's The Alchemist as their summer reading. I just finished re-reading it myself and am deeply struck by how appropriate it is to my own journey. Santiago faces inordinate challenges as he pursues his Personal Legend. At the same time, he is constantly reminded that "all the universe conspires in helping...to achieve it" (Coehlo 22). It is a beautiful paradox and underscores for me the mystery of my condition. I know that narcolepsy is one of the largest burdens I have ever faced, yet without it I doubt that I would have even achieved the mental stability I have of late. It is that balance that is allowing me to be an even better teacher and father and friend.
I also love the idea that there is a Language of the World - one that speaks to us all through omens and the natural world. Santiago sees things everywhere simply by being patient and watching. I know that much of my life has been serendipitous. Often, I am making decisions based on intuition and insight rather than logic and facts. I also know that when I trust those deep emotions, I am rewarded with great joy. Far too often, my logical and analytical mind either gets me into trouble or wraps me in so many knots that the tention is unbearable. Perhaps the best example of all is my narcolepsy. When I am teaching (or passionately engaged in conversation) I am rarely aware of my fatigue, but when I am alone with my thoughts (letting my brain process and re-process everything), my exhaustion can be extreme. Coelho does a remarkable job of vividly capturing the realities of how so many of us lose sight of our Personal Legend. How many times have I worried and wondered about my ability to "teach" because the narcolepsy makes me so tired? Yet, I know (in my heart and soul) that NOTHING fills me up like teaching. It IS my Personal Legend.
Of course, I also feel like I am still on the journey to achieve my Personal Legend. I am a good teacher, but I also know that I can be better. I can't be perfect, but I can be more aware of my students' needs. I can also be more focused on how I teach, making tangible progress for each student an achievable goal. One of the keys is to realize my strengths and my weaknesses. Another is to know that I am finite and limited. I can't do everything (let alone do it well), but I can work toward mastering specific skills with a limited group of students. Returning to our Grade 9 curriculum and working part-time are definitely steps in the proper direction.
Perhaps my favorite thing about The Alchemist, though, is that Santiago - who is so adept at understanding omens - still manages to fail on a regular basis. The idea that we (as individuals, groups, societies) can constantly succeed, or win, or whatever, is such a Western fallacy! The reality is that life is a struggle, and we do fall down, and thankfully we can get up again. In fact we rise even faster when we open ourselves to the love of those around us and particularly to the love of our God. It amazes me that The Alchemist manages to be a deeply spiritual (and religious - in my opinion) book without overtly promoting any faith or offending any faith - please realize that I say that as a Catholic Christian and have no idea if the book offends Jews or Muslims or some other faith. As far as I can tell, it is a book about deeply held beliefs that honors a multitude of traditions and gives a true sense of tolerance.
Like Santiago, I have always been drawn to the idea of omens and signs. I do try to watch the world around me to see what it says. I also feel the power of the desert and the ocean. I have spent more time near the ocean than I have in any desert, but both resonate within my core. My favorite novel, Moby Dick (yes, I am actually that dorky), has an amazing line in Chapter 23 - "It is in landlessness alone resides the highest truth." I think Melville felt what Coelho felt. We are most alive when we are cast out into the world. What is safe is wonderful, but risk allows us the chance to become truly alive, to find our Personal Legend. Narcolepsy is my desert/ocean in many ways. Talk about being "unshored," I feel like I am drifting alone much of the time. Yet, within that emptiness, there is power and strength. I can't be who my logical brain tells me I should be, but I can become who I am supposed to be by trusting my heart and my Personal Legend.
And, I did yoga for a second day in a row - yea, me!
Showing posts with label Literature. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Literature. Show all posts
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Emphatically Ender
I have no idea how many people have read Orson Scott Card's Ender's Game (or the numerous books that followed it in the world of the Enderverse), but I absolutely adore the entire series. I am also thrilled that Mr. Card is continuing the story with Ender in Exile that is due in bookstores on November 11, 2008. He even has a final Bean book in the works called Shadows in Flight. All of this is on my mind of late because I have been teaching my MITY course called The Enemy Gate is Down: The Stories of Ender, Bean & You. While I have been fortunate enough to teach some of my passions at MITY the last couple of years (J.R.R. Tolkien and King Arthur), I find the nature of Orson Scott Card's material to be compelling to me in a fascinating way.
Some of the draw for me is the philosophical and ethical concepts that Mr. Card instills within these works. He explores fascinating ideas in each book, pushing both his readers and his characters. Whether it is the ethics of self-preservation or the morality of loyalty over common sense, Card constantly challenges what each person believes. The other powerful element within this construct is that rarely does Card deliver a character or issue that is clearly good or evil. He forces the reader to examine cultural conflict, species conflict, ideas like murder and self-defense, vengeance, relativism, fundamentalism, traditional values, contemporary attitudes, peaceful resistance, and military aggression. I honestly believe that I could weigh the issues in any one of Card's novels for months and still not reach a definitive conclusion. As a result, it forces me (and I would guess others) to rely on my own insights and beliefs to place the events of the book within a framework. Thus, I grow in my own faith, just as the characters do.
Perhaps it is that growth that attracts me the most. Ender (Andrew Wiggin) in particular fascinates me. He embodies much of what I hope to be. Ender gives unconditionally, speaks directly and lives his life with honesty and purpose. Often, by simply telling the truth, he forces situations to become both volatile and healthy. Too often in Western culture do we allow ourselves to skirt the actual problems in our relationships. Andrew, though, refuses to do that. The outcome is often painful at first, but allows people to become whole again in the end. I work to achieve those same skills. The other element that stuns me is Andrew's ability to hold firm to his own ideals while still respecting those of everyone he encounters. In many ways, Ender is an ethnorelativist. Instead of judging everyone and everything through his own lens, Andrew forces himself to look at the intents of the other, as well as this person's beliefs and ideals. While such behavior can be uncomfortable, it is a tremendous way to connect with others and to show them that you honor who they are. It doesn't mean that you approve or even agree with their actions, but it opens the possibilities of communication. By meeting the other as equal, Ender accomplishes amazing things.
I would love to possess that ability too. I hope that I am growing in that way. I don't see it as changing my beliefs to fit with everyone else. Rather, I see it as a way to connect across the numerous issues that often divide humans from one another. We are so quick to judge that which is different and does not fit our own world view. Ender's attitude of mutual respect frees us, by letting us still hold our own views while also accepting those of another. We aren't saying that person's creed is better than our own, but we are also not placing ours above hers or his. What a better place our world could be if we work toward genuine tolerance.
Even though Ender has such an enlightened mind, I am also drawn to him because Card lets us see that his fears and insecurities still remain. As a child Ender is trained to command an entire fleet of star ships. He does not know that he is eventually commanding a real fleet, but eventually wipes out an entire sentient species. Initially, he finds himself overwhelmed by the news, but he recovers and becomes the amazing man I describe above. He even spends much of his life trying to re-establish the creatures he destroyed. But, even with all of that, Ender still harbors his own self doubts. He never does completely forgive himself. I have no idea if others feel that too, but that aspect of Ender touches me to the core. Although I often know cognitively that I am forgiven for terrible things that I have done, I still hold on to many of the darkest aspects of the shame and regret that I feel. Certainly, I work hard to let that forgiveness penetrate to the depths of my soul, but I also know that it remains in hidden corners, waiting for the low and exhausted moments of my life so it can rear back and strike me down yet again. Andrew Wiggin is everything I would love to be, but even he remains fundamentally flawed. That is impressive and makes these books great.
More than anything, Orson Scott Card's Ender and Bean books give me hope. I find personal inspiration in them, but I also see great messages for our world. At the core of most of them Card features brilliant children and young adults. He sees a wisdom in them that is often lacking in adults. More accurately, Card recognizes that the honesty and idealism of youth often get lost in the practicality and safety of adulthood. It thrills me to no end that I get to spend my life working with brilliant young adults. Our world likely would be a much brighter place if we extended more trust to them and let them have genuine power. Orson Scott Card forces us to see the world in whole new ways. We could all use that push to break our own paradigms. I keep trying to re-orient my own life to see things around me through multiple sets of eyes. Like Ender and Bean, when I am in the "Battle Room" that is life, I try to remember that gravity can suddenly disappear so I can adjust my perspective to know, "the enemy's gate is down."
Some of the draw for me is the philosophical and ethical concepts that Mr. Card instills within these works. He explores fascinating ideas in each book, pushing both his readers and his characters. Whether it is the ethics of self-preservation or the morality of loyalty over common sense, Card constantly challenges what each person believes. The other powerful element within this construct is that rarely does Card deliver a character or issue that is clearly good or evil. He forces the reader to examine cultural conflict, species conflict, ideas like murder and self-defense, vengeance, relativism, fundamentalism, traditional values, contemporary attitudes, peaceful resistance, and military aggression. I honestly believe that I could weigh the issues in any one of Card's novels for months and still not reach a definitive conclusion. As a result, it forces me (and I would guess others) to rely on my own insights and beliefs to place the events of the book within a framework. Thus, I grow in my own faith, just as the characters do.
Perhaps it is that growth that attracts me the most. Ender (Andrew Wiggin) in particular fascinates me. He embodies much of what I hope to be. Ender gives unconditionally, speaks directly and lives his life with honesty and purpose. Often, by simply telling the truth, he forces situations to become both volatile and healthy. Too often in Western culture do we allow ourselves to skirt the actual problems in our relationships. Andrew, though, refuses to do that. The outcome is often painful at first, but allows people to become whole again in the end. I work to achieve those same skills. The other element that stuns me is Andrew's ability to hold firm to his own ideals while still respecting those of everyone he encounters. In many ways, Ender is an ethnorelativist. Instead of judging everyone and everything through his own lens, Andrew forces himself to look at the intents of the other, as well as this person's beliefs and ideals. While such behavior can be uncomfortable, it is a tremendous way to connect with others and to show them that you honor who they are. It doesn't mean that you approve or even agree with their actions, but it opens the possibilities of communication. By meeting the other as equal, Ender accomplishes amazing things.
I would love to possess that ability too. I hope that I am growing in that way. I don't see it as changing my beliefs to fit with everyone else. Rather, I see it as a way to connect across the numerous issues that often divide humans from one another. We are so quick to judge that which is different and does not fit our own world view. Ender's attitude of mutual respect frees us, by letting us still hold our own views while also accepting those of another. We aren't saying that person's creed is better than our own, but we are also not placing ours above hers or his. What a better place our world could be if we work toward genuine tolerance.
Even though Ender has such an enlightened mind, I am also drawn to him because Card lets us see that his fears and insecurities still remain. As a child Ender is trained to command an entire fleet of star ships. He does not know that he is eventually commanding a real fleet, but eventually wipes out an entire sentient species. Initially, he finds himself overwhelmed by the news, but he recovers and becomes the amazing man I describe above. He even spends much of his life trying to re-establish the creatures he destroyed. But, even with all of that, Ender still harbors his own self doubts. He never does completely forgive himself. I have no idea if others feel that too, but that aspect of Ender touches me to the core. Although I often know cognitively that I am forgiven for terrible things that I have done, I still hold on to many of the darkest aspects of the shame and regret that I feel. Certainly, I work hard to let that forgiveness penetrate to the depths of my soul, but I also know that it remains in hidden corners, waiting for the low and exhausted moments of my life so it can rear back and strike me down yet again. Andrew Wiggin is everything I would love to be, but even he remains fundamentally flawed. That is impressive and makes these books great.
More than anything, Orson Scott Card's Ender and Bean books give me hope. I find personal inspiration in them, but I also see great messages for our world. At the core of most of them Card features brilliant children and young adults. He sees a wisdom in them that is often lacking in adults. More accurately, Card recognizes that the honesty and idealism of youth often get lost in the practicality and safety of adulthood. It thrills me to no end that I get to spend my life working with brilliant young adults. Our world likely would be a much brighter place if we extended more trust to them and let them have genuine power. Orson Scott Card forces us to see the world in whole new ways. We could all use that push to break our own paradigms. I keep trying to re-orient my own life to see things around me through multiple sets of eyes. Like Ender and Bean, when I am in the "Battle Room" that is life, I try to remember that gravity can suddenly disappear so I can adjust my perspective to know, "the enemy's gate is down."
Monday, April 21, 2008
Rhythm
I love poetry. When words dance and twist in powerful verse, I find rapture. What's more, the verse can be as simple as a haiku (which aren't so simple) or as complex as Shakespeare's plays (which are poetic even when they are not). I find poetry magical regardless of rhyme or rhythm or meter or structure. That being said, I do enjoy well done rhythm. Forced, or overdone, rhythms and meters can kill a poem, but broken patterns are the worst. In a poem, when the author establishes a particular cadence and maintains it for a time, the reader expects it to continue. If it ends or suddenly shifts, the reader is thrown, or at least I am. Drives me nuts! Now, poems do exist that make major changes, but the overall rhythm does still exist. A great example is Poe's The Raven. The meter shifts and slides throughout the piece, but one eventually realizes that the pattern is far larger than a few lines. The rhythm is repeated as an entire stanza at a time. Dazzling!
I raise the issue and Poe's poem, because I am searching for the pattern in my life's poem. I am sure I would feel something similar without the narcolepsy, but I often feel like my poet is radically shifting the cadence of my song. Many times, the rhythm shifts from week to week - sometimes, within a week. Given my reaction to written poems, you can imagine how well I cope with such massive alterations within my daily life. We all have bio-rhythms. I firmly believe that, but I also know that mine swing wildly. For an entire week, I felt fuzzy and out of focus. Now, I have no energy - none. Some of that is beginning the knee and back exercises. Some is not knowing my limits. But, how can I feel so unfocused one week and then be so tired the next. Not that much is different.
I cling to the hope that this current "Mike poem" is being composed by someone like Poe. Maybe, the rhythm is bigger than I can see right now. I might need to see weeks or even months before I grasp the full range that things will run. Granted, The Raven, while a masterpiece, is not a super cheerful poem. Still, I think there is wisdom in the comparison. The speaker in that poem is also facing loss. He, of course, longs for Lenore and eventually finds (or causes) his own captivity by the raven in the poem. I have also "lost," but I think I understand that what I have lost is not something I can (or even want to) regain. I simply want to find a rhythm, a pattern of normalcy. I guess my "raven" will be demanding that it resemble some clear cut schedule - "Mike will feel fuzzy for 7 days. That week will be followed by extreme fatigue week. Fortunately, good energy fortnight is in the hole." That is completely unrealistic, but it IS what I want.
I know my body moved through cycles before. It will continue to do that. I hope I have enough insight to recognize those highs and lows. If I don't, this journey will be LONG and not in any good way. When my energy drops, I need to accept it. When I suddenly have a burst, I should appreciate my good fortune, instead of demanding more and longer stretches of strength. All of that is easy to write and hard to live. Yet, I know that typing it all has given me a little more peace. Narcolepsy is rotten, and it makes dealing with even trivial concerns toxic at times. When do most of us tend to overreact? When we are run down and tired. Narcoleptics are always run down and tired, and sometimes, it gets worse. Remembering and recognizing that might be one of the best "rhythms" that I can find in this epic poem that is my life.
I raise the issue and Poe's poem, because I am searching for the pattern in my life's poem. I am sure I would feel something similar without the narcolepsy, but I often feel like my poet is radically shifting the cadence of my song. Many times, the rhythm shifts from week to week - sometimes, within a week. Given my reaction to written poems, you can imagine how well I cope with such massive alterations within my daily life. We all have bio-rhythms. I firmly believe that, but I also know that mine swing wildly. For an entire week, I felt fuzzy and out of focus. Now, I have no energy - none. Some of that is beginning the knee and back exercises. Some is not knowing my limits. But, how can I feel so unfocused one week and then be so tired the next. Not that much is different.
I cling to the hope that this current "Mike poem" is being composed by someone like Poe. Maybe, the rhythm is bigger than I can see right now. I might need to see weeks or even months before I grasp the full range that things will run. Granted, The Raven, while a masterpiece, is not a super cheerful poem. Still, I think there is wisdom in the comparison. The speaker in that poem is also facing loss. He, of course, longs for Lenore and eventually finds (or causes) his own captivity by the raven in the poem. I have also "lost," but I think I understand that what I have lost is not something I can (or even want to) regain. I simply want to find a rhythm, a pattern of normalcy. I guess my "raven" will be demanding that it resemble some clear cut schedule - "Mike will feel fuzzy for 7 days. That week will be followed by extreme fatigue week. Fortunately, good energy fortnight is in the hole." That is completely unrealistic, but it IS what I want.
I know my body moved through cycles before. It will continue to do that. I hope I have enough insight to recognize those highs and lows. If I don't, this journey will be LONG and not in any good way. When my energy drops, I need to accept it. When I suddenly have a burst, I should appreciate my good fortune, instead of demanding more and longer stretches of strength. All of that is easy to write and hard to live. Yet, I know that typing it all has given me a little more peace. Narcolepsy is rotten, and it makes dealing with even trivial concerns toxic at times. When do most of us tend to overreact? When we are run down and tired. Narcoleptics are always run down and tired, and sometimes, it gets worse. Remembering and recognizing that might be one of the best "rhythms" that I can find in this epic poem that is my life.
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