Lucky Mud.: March 2011

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

How do you measure experience?

Talking about going towards “it”, at the lake we talked about teaching methods and how some work and some, like reading out of a text book, do not work. In our IDS we are participating in “experiential learning” which has something to do with moving towards “it”. Sitting in a lopsided circle next to the lake, I had trouble seeing how different our version of experiential learning was any different than sitting in a circle in a Guilford classroom. Yes, we’re moving in the right direction, but I feel that if we really want to move towards “it” there needs to be some movement, some stimulation. This is going to sound a little hippie dippy, but to explore the god in nature shown through magnificent creativity, how about sticking our hands in the mud, climbing a tree, or making a class sculpture out of materials in the woods? I know we have to be able to talk about the readings, but to go back to Rilke, I wish we had time to experience like we did as children where God “appear[ed] in [the world] everywhere.” I miss that. With all the bullshit we fill our time with there is no time to really see. What are we even doing? Why is this shit so important? Kauffman quotes Stephen Weinberg who said, “All the explanatory arrows point downward, from societies to people, to organs, to cells, to biochemistry, to chemistry, and ultimately to physics…The more we know of the universe, the more meaningless it appears.” So we study the pieces, the parts which we believe will help us understand rather than going out an experiencing it. I read about bipolar disorder in my psychology text books rather than experiencing a person who has it for myself. There is no meaning to the words in a text book, in the reducible version of life.

I talked to Nick last class about how psychology has trained me to reduce things, to see the parts and not the whole and how I hate that. Saying that out loud somehow freed me a little. Sitting across from Maia I saw her as a 3-D object, saw how she stood out from the background behind her. Looking at the tiles in the shower later that day I actually saw the tiles in the shower instead of the white box that I step into everyday. It’s like tripping but without drugs when you let go and have those moments where you can really see. We are trained in reduction, not to notice the whole picture, the glory surrounding.

If we were to adopt a holistic view where God is the creativity in the universe, as Kauffman talks about, there would be less bullshit. We wouldn’t produce shitty food, we wouldn’t be pumping hormones into our cows and treating them like shit, we wouldn’t be buying shit all the time to fill up the ever expanding void that our disconnection with nature has produced, we wouldn’t be shitty to one another, we wouldn’t be dropping bombs on other humans! In a more holistic world full of meaning and agency we would be able to see past our prejudices, our dehumanistic views of anyone that looks different or who’s perspective challenges our view. If we could realize the agency we have, the “god” within us if you want to get Quakerly, to self-actualize (psychology), the power we have on our world, on the people around us, on ourselves, whew, tomorrow would be different. If we could all see that maybe there isn’t a God controlling everything up above, somewhere in the clouds, and that maybe I, and we, are it.

Monday, March 21, 2011

How many weeks do we have left?

It is Mustache March after all. According to the official rules, by the 15th everyone should shave everything but the mustache...but I'm kinda attached to my soul patch.

Great class. Great people.

Berry: It is easy to get addicted to technology. Sometimes I want to throw my computer in the lake. Facebook can be a real problem. I think we all get addicted to the stimulation, to the craziness even if we don’t like it. During spring break I had a fantastic time not using my computer. I actually made a rule that I could only go on facebook once.

How about cell phones? I’ve had the same one for a few years, its been fine, does more than I want it to do. But there is always pressure to buy a new one, a “better” one. My uncle used to work for sprint. He, along with my cousins and aunt, would get new phones all the time. They still do because of the connections he made. They’re always asking me if I want a new phone for Christmas or my birthday but I have never seen the use in getting one. Mine works fine, it even has a keyboard if I want to text. But as an early graduation present my aunt and uncle sent me one of those new touch screen phones with the internet so that I can be on facebook and check my email while away from my laptop. Finally I don’t have to fear being disconnected for a second. I might actually end up throwing it in the lake.

5 minute Lesson: One thing I can teach, along with some Italian, is reconciliation. I am a peace & conflict studies major after all. I happen to know a thing or two about conflict. It happens everyday, it’s unavoidable. Conflict is not always bad although it may seem that way. It can be an opportunity to change for the better. My lesson comes not in the initial stages of conflict but in those long term stages where one builds walls to block out an individual that they have felt victimized by. My lesson comes in the reconciliation process.

Most of us have been hurt by another, some more than others. I was hurt tremendously two years ago. It’s the classic ex-girlfriend story, nothing new. For the first year and a half of college I spent most of my time with one person. We had an intimate relationship, we knew each other well, we had fun together, we had adventures together. I was quite invested in this particular relationship. She ended up leaving Guilford after the fall of sophomore year to pursue other paths. I was heartbroken, of course, and spent the majority of my spring semester mourning over the loss. It didn’t end very well. To spare the details, she hurt me, deeply. I felt like a victim. I built up a wall between the memories and emotions of her in an attempt to protect myself. I invested much time and effort into my barrier, I wasn’t sure if I could handle any more pain. The mere mention of her name would cause a near panic attack. It was that bad.

Over the last two years these feelings have dulled, the negative thoughts subsided, but the associations have remained. The wall I built up years ago still held its shape. But as fate had it, it was time to change that. I was about to take a trip to Colorado, the home state of this girl, a place that she so desperately wanted to show off to me but for some reason I never felt comfortable going with her. So, two years later, I was about to take a road trip there with a new girlfriend. I pondered for a week if I should call her, let her know that I was coming, that I would be in her territory, so far from mine, intruding on her space. Eventually it came down to a feeling, a gut feeling that drove me, out of respect, to let her know I was on my way. It started with a facebook message, then a phone call. We hadn’t heard each others voice in two years.

Here is the reconciliation. One phone call. It breaks the ice, takes power away from that wall that you took so much time and effort to build up to protect yourself, built up so high that the person behind it could not be seen as a person anymore, but some thing that hurt you. Their emotions and humanness is lost in your victimhood. They must be heartless, right? But one phone call: “Hello… how are you?” in a voice attempting to sound confident, but the humanness, the vulnerability apparent as syllables waver. We are treading on thin ice, testing the waters. To hear the other’s voice is but a new concept, yet so familiar. You have taken a sledgehammer to the wall, concrete slabs falling forever.

And then you decide to meet. This is a big deal. Is it too soon? You have only just heard their voice for the first time in two years. By chance, you will be at Vail on Sunday and they will be in the next town the same day. Serendipitous? You also remember the stone you picked out at random from your IDS class in which the message, “engage” was written, a clear sign along with the “to do” list on your dorm room wall with activities you had the intention of completing during the semester which was illuminated by sunlight, an apparent rainbow across it, the colors of the peace movement, immediately after the phone call. You find the meaning in all of these events. Despite the uncomfort of the current girlfriend, you realize that this is a need of yours and an incredible opportunity that cannot be passed up. Despite your uncomfort, you realize the potential for reconciliation. You realize that the wall that still resides within your heart is half intact. So you muster some courage. This is uncomfortable, but it is important.

You meet. You see each other for the first time, hug each other for the first time in two years. “Wow, wow, wow” is her initial response. Mine is mostly silence. I communicate with my eyes, my body language. I lack the words. So we talk, or I try. It’s mostly surface level stuff, nothing heavy, but it doesn’t have to be. We see each other. We are both human. We venture towards the hurt for a moment, realizing with exponentially glazed eyes that we don’t want to go there, and we don’t have to. And here is the gift; she offers, “Well at least we can acknowledge that I hurt you and you hurt me.” We hurt each other. We own our part in the conflict; she acknowledges that she hurt me. That is as good as an apology. That is justice. We now share victimhood. We are not so different. We are both humans with real emotions. Let the flood wash away the remaining wall.