the alyssum is growing, hesitantly. i go out to the planter box, and to the garden path, frequently, even in the nighttime, to check on them, to scrutinize their peeking double-leaved stalks breaking the soil. it has become exciting for me. in my head, i see the future, where the dark loamy earth will grow color and life, and draw the eyes to it like tired butterflies to a field of wildflowers... which, i suppose, is what an "alyssum field" is...
***
i have been bad today. no work done for my upcoming job next week. just a brief perusal of the curriculum, a walk-through in my head, and only in my head, because i didn't have a working pen at the time. i believe the secret to success in almost anything is front-end loading, but at the moment, i haven't the drive to do it systematically. as always, time or some mysterious internal process divorced from it will fuel my momentum, and i will drive myself bodily forth into what i need to do. i believe that i can only do what i need to do (and, regardless of whether i believe in it or not, it seems to be my reality).
i am anxious about my kids, my own kids i mean. i am no longer always there to tell them what to do. and besides, i cannot mold them in my image. they were born fully shaped. the love i provide is, of course, indiscriminate, and goes to fuel the growth of their own outlandish individualities and idiosyncracies. love is, after all is said and done, unconditional... (but we're not quite to the point of saying and doing everything, so in the meantime... i've some occasional pruning to do...)
***
i wonder about people sometimes.
***
i believe in ghosts. i don't understand how they exist, or what purpose they serve, or whether they are repetitions/echoes/shadows, or conscious entities that can learn and grow. i believe that ghosts are somehow clothed in/shaped by the beliefs of the host culture, which makes me wonder at the reality of/nature of culture itself, and its enduring "end game" religion. is there an objective "true" religion, or is religion merely a way for human consciousness to structure reality, even beyond death? silly question, i'm sure. but it seems to me that, with regards to ghosts, anyway, there are ways to appease them or communicate with them, but they all involve some kind of interaction clothed within a specific culture/religion. it's not as though you can use some all-purpose ghost-away repellant ritual; in japan, you'd use a buddhist ritual (depending, it seems, upon the beliefs of the ghost involved), whereas here in hawaii, i suppose they depend upon kahunas...
i don't know. stupid thing to think about, but i have been really fascinated/obsessed with ghostie things of late...
Friday, July 30, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
the liver's for planning, and kidneys give you skills, and follow-through. the spleen is the rhythm of thoughts, thoughtful thoughts that arise of themselves (like clouds condensing) and drift through transmutations effortlessly. the lungs are learning with each breath the lessons of holding in and letting go. and the heart sits in the center, keeping the time and reposing in the sightless palace.
life is carrying a kingdom around, swimming within you... without jarring it too much like waterbells, without overindulgence or starvation. somehow, taoism (in its truest sense) works for this inner kingdom, so long as we are not ridiculous in our search for the extremes of its capabilities. somehow everything goes without saying...
***
the trick in life is to find the right amount of force to apply to it. too much, and we leave our own imprint upon things, breaking the nature of what we touch. too little, and the weeds and the wildness take their mile and acre from our own cared-for territory. we are, and we are not, apart from/a part of our world. we must exercise gentleness (or at least be sensitive in our violence) or we destroy the thin skin holding everything in its right place...
***
i am re-learning how to be a gardener. gardening is patience. it is the holding onto a vision of what is as yet unseen. it is the love that patiently endures the seed's slow growth and the stem's unseemly directions and strayings.
some day, when the time is right, the investment of soil and water and sun (and, sometimes, attention) will reveal itself in a form that is lovable (and that loves you back) with each full leaf and shy blossom.
some day, when the moment is full, a plant will find its shape, somewhere in the interface between its own wild and blind seeking for the light, and the gardener's corrective pruning. no one knows the final shape; it is found, and lost again, and refound, with each passing season.
gardening is like parenting is like teaching is like life. it is patience. it is holding onto a vision of something as yet unseen. it is the love that is faith, for faith and love, in their essence, are one and the same thing.
deep within the seed, and beyond the straying stems, the gardener will find his garden.
life is carrying a kingdom around, swimming within you... without jarring it too much like waterbells, without overindulgence or starvation. somehow, taoism (in its truest sense) works for this inner kingdom, so long as we are not ridiculous in our search for the extremes of its capabilities. somehow everything goes without saying...
***
the trick in life is to find the right amount of force to apply to it. too much, and we leave our own imprint upon things, breaking the nature of what we touch. too little, and the weeds and the wildness take their mile and acre from our own cared-for territory. we are, and we are not, apart from/a part of our world. we must exercise gentleness (or at least be sensitive in our violence) or we destroy the thin skin holding everything in its right place...
***
i am re-learning how to be a gardener. gardening is patience. it is the holding onto a vision of what is as yet unseen. it is the love that patiently endures the seed's slow growth and the stem's unseemly directions and strayings.
some day, when the time is right, the investment of soil and water and sun (and, sometimes, attention) will reveal itself in a form that is lovable (and that loves you back) with each full leaf and shy blossom.
some day, when the moment is full, a plant will find its shape, somewhere in the interface between its own wild and blind seeking for the light, and the gardener's corrective pruning. no one knows the final shape; it is found, and lost again, and refound, with each passing season.
gardening is like parenting is like teaching is like life. it is patience. it is holding onto a vision of something as yet unseen. it is the love that is faith, for faith and love, in their essence, are one and the same thing.
deep within the seed, and beyond the straying stems, the gardener will find his garden.
Monday, July 12, 2010
today began well. i woke up early, and kind of flowed into my activities. cleaned up a bit, and then was drawn into gardening, and its interminable chores. i weeded some of the front sections, planted the last of the portulacas, raked and cleared the next 10 feet or so of the planter box beside the house, and did a LOT of pruning, particularly on the umbrella tree in the rear corner of the house. willow popped her head over the rim of the second floor window and called out, "i love you daddy!" about then, i stopped the gardening and went in. washed up a bit, and lynn made a great, simple breakfast of two eggs sunny side up + rice + spam + hot cocoa. i laid down after that, reading a bit of john loupos's book on taijiquan (as i am thinking of creating a formal curriculum on taijiquan for my niece and nephew). then, somehow, i got drawn into cleaning out the pantry closet: consolidating, throwing stuff out, stacking cans and boxes...
at about 12:30, willow, aiden and i headed out to taiko practice. we have a performance coming up this friday. we have a small group performing (us included), and that means that some of us (me) have to step it up a bit and play songs that we're not really familiar with. in particular, i've got to work on kansha and the taiko aerobics moves. hope i can do a decent job by this friday, but, if not, it's all in the spirit of fun.
returned home. kathy, marcus and kara stopped by, and we played for a bit with some water balloon grenades that i filled up. then, we (willow, aiden, lynn and i) headed to a party for lynn's friend kat. it was at the nichiren temple in nuuanu valley, a really pretty temple with a small fish pond with live koi in it, and a pretty large downstairs meeting room with a stage and a slightly off tune piano. as always, i kinda got drawn away from the "adults" and "peers" having their conversations, and instead watched the kids. at one point, kat's daughter meadow pulled me by the hand to the stage, where she insisted alternately that i sing at the mike or play at the piano. between hackneyed versions of twinkle twinkle little star, i tried my hand at "true love waits" and "spinning plates." somehow, the piano sounded off.
we just returned home, with aiden passed out and willow fighting sleep (she's still awake, flipping pages of some book in bed). an altogether nice day.
at about 12:30, willow, aiden and i headed out to taiko practice. we have a performance coming up this friday. we have a small group performing (us included), and that means that some of us (me) have to step it up a bit and play songs that we're not really familiar with. in particular, i've got to work on kansha and the taiko aerobics moves. hope i can do a decent job by this friday, but, if not, it's all in the spirit of fun.
returned home. kathy, marcus and kara stopped by, and we played for a bit with some water balloon grenades that i filled up. then, we (willow, aiden, lynn and i) headed to a party for lynn's friend kat. it was at the nichiren temple in nuuanu valley, a really pretty temple with a small fish pond with live koi in it, and a pretty large downstairs meeting room with a stage and a slightly off tune piano. as always, i kinda got drawn away from the "adults" and "peers" having their conversations, and instead watched the kids. at one point, kat's daughter meadow pulled me by the hand to the stage, where she insisted alternately that i sing at the mike or play at the piano. between hackneyed versions of twinkle twinkle little star, i tried my hand at "true love waits" and "spinning plates." somehow, the piano sounded off.
we just returned home, with aiden passed out and willow fighting sleep (she's still awake, flipping pages of some book in bed). an altogether nice day.
Friday, July 9, 2010
cup o' noodle.
his father poured the water, still whistling, into the styrofoam bowl, over the dessicated noodles and vegetable bits. the boy wanted to peek, to see the transformation from dry to wet and palatable, but the father unfurled the raised edge of the paper-foil cover and pressed the edges flat, concealing everything. as if to prevent the boy's intrusive curiosity, the father laid his chopsticks lengthwise across it, like a bolt in a lock.
as the boy stared hungrily and intently at the styrofoam bowl with its hidden contents, strange thoughts seemed to bubble in his head: how his own haircut was a bowl, not unlike the flat hemisphere of the styrofoam before him; and how noodle was another word for brain, probably because the brain inside of his head was just like a bunch of noodles, all tangled up. the boy had a strange thought just then: were his "noodles" cooked, or were they still dried up and frozen, waiting for someone to pour boiling water into his skull? and, if so, who? who would want to eat his boring, miserable noodles?
his father poured the water, still whistling, into the styrofoam bowl, over the dessicated noodles and vegetable bits. the boy wanted to peek, to see the transformation from dry to wet and palatable, but the father unfurled the raised edge of the paper-foil cover and pressed the edges flat, concealing everything. as if to prevent the boy's intrusive curiosity, the father laid his chopsticks lengthwise across it, like a bolt in a lock.
as the boy stared hungrily and intently at the styrofoam bowl with its hidden contents, strange thoughts seemed to bubble in his head: how his own haircut was a bowl, not unlike the flat hemisphere of the styrofoam before him; and how noodle was another word for brain, probably because the brain inside of his head was just like a bunch of noodles, all tangled up. the boy had a strange thought just then: were his "noodles" cooked, or were they still dried up and frozen, waiting for someone to pour boiling water into his skull? and, if so, who? who would want to eat his boring, miserable noodles?
the boy's dreams were magnifications or exaggerations of his waking life. in a sense, they were truer versions, because they were the potentialities of his waking life realized, in brilliant and horrific detail. in his dreams, the boy was surrounded by a forest of giants, with faces hidden in the distant sky. the boy was not noticed by those terrible giants, and he darted hither and thither in the shadows of their dangerous thundering strides to avoid being stepped on. the ambiguity of the dream lay in the fact that, at one and the same time, he felt in danger of being seen by the fierce and burning star-like eyes of the giants, and in danger of NOT being seen by them. to be seen would have reduced him to nothingness beneath a withering gaze, but to not have been seen would have also reduced him, like a far flung and forgotten planet in the distant cold blackness of oblivion.
his brother was one among the many giants, perhaps the largest of them all. from a distance, he could see him (for it was only from a distance that his eyes could encompass his terrible height). he could see him look the other giants in the eye. he could see his brother converse with the other giants as equals, with a blithe and casual air that the boy found disconcerting. in shadows he gathered around himself, the younger, smaller boy pretended he were like his brother, that his eyes could dare to meet another's, that his voice could dare to speak. but, even in his dreams, his eyes wandered like water to the cracks in the earth, and his voice faltered, without enough air to lift it, and with nothing to say in any case.
the only words that passed his lips, mumbled almost unconsciously, were words of deprication. "how i hate myself," he whispered. shocked at the words, but more than this, shocked at the vehemence, the living FEELING that surged in them, he whispered them again. "how i hate myself." it seemed so true, in fact, the only truth. and as he spoke it yet again, this time with more strength and power, he discovered that he was unafraid to be overheard by the giants, for likely, it was something they already would have muttered, had their glowing eyes chanced upon his miserable, huddled form. and so, he chanted it again and again, like a mantra, and the words seemed to build with an intensity and force all their own, growing louder and louder. before long, he was practically shouting it, pounding his chest with clenched fists, feeling in the pain of the impacts a small measure of excitement...
his brother was one among the many giants, perhaps the largest of them all. from a distance, he could see him (for it was only from a distance that his eyes could encompass his terrible height). he could see him look the other giants in the eye. he could see his brother converse with the other giants as equals, with a blithe and casual air that the boy found disconcerting. in shadows he gathered around himself, the younger, smaller boy pretended he were like his brother, that his eyes could dare to meet another's, that his voice could dare to speak. but, even in his dreams, his eyes wandered like water to the cracks in the earth, and his voice faltered, without enough air to lift it, and with nothing to say in any case.
the only words that passed his lips, mumbled almost unconsciously, were words of deprication. "how i hate myself," he whispered. shocked at the words, but more than this, shocked at the vehemence, the living FEELING that surged in them, he whispered them again. "how i hate myself." it seemed so true, in fact, the only truth. and as he spoke it yet again, this time with more strength and power, he discovered that he was unafraid to be overheard by the giants, for likely, it was something they already would have muttered, had their glowing eyes chanced upon his miserable, huddled form. and so, he chanted it again and again, like a mantra, and the words seemed to build with an intensity and force all their own, growing louder and louder. before long, he was practically shouting it, pounding his chest with clenched fists, feeling in the pain of the impacts a small measure of excitement...
on this side of the night, things were safe. wrapped snugly around by the sweet smell of an old blanket the color and texture of milky oatmeal, and surrounded by his twin avian companions, owlie and duckie, the boy felt a measure of belonging. it was the kind of feeling he imagined someone or something cherished by the world must feel, held within a gentle embrace. it was a good feeling, if inauthentic and fleeting.
shadows already cast themselves haphazardly across his room. he was somewhat ambivalent to them. on the one hand, he was still young, and lacked the cognitive machinations to convince himself that nothing monstrous hid within their black edges. on the other hand, he knew how liberating it was to dwell in darkness; after all, the shadows never ridiculed or rejected him.
shadows already cast themselves haphazardly across his room. he was somewhat ambivalent to them. on the one hand, he was still young, and lacked the cognitive machinations to convince himself that nothing monstrous hid within their black edges. on the other hand, he knew how liberating it was to dwell in darkness; after all, the shadows never ridiculed or rejected him.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
hi everyone/no one. as you can see, i have deleted all of my old postings. i think that it is good to do this periodically, if only to pretend a new beginning, a departure.
(we never escape ourselves, of course; that is our strength and our curse.)
i just accepted a special education position at a local school yesterday. i am excited/anxious about it, as it will be my first formal teaching job at the elementary level. please pray for me, and for my kids!!!
***
i've wondered, of late, why i keep a blog, and why anyone would visit it. at one point, i think there were quite a few visits, but i think things have dropped off due to inconsistent posting and (to be quite honest) boring content. part of the problem (if there is a problem) is that i tend to be interested in several things at once, at varying levels. sometimes i post things that only specialists would be interested in (especially my postings dealing with some of my musings in acupuncture, or special education); sometimes i post my (admittedly amateurish) attempts at writing, drawing, or "music"; and sometimes i post the details of my drab life, or my suburban, middle-class concerns, or even my idiosyncratic dreams... well, as i stated at the outset of my blogging three years ago, the blog serves more the interests of the blogger than it does anyone else. this truly is "a receptacle" for some of the goings-on and (absent) happenings of my life.
reader beware!!! (or, be bored, and then be gone).
***
currently, i am sick (yet again). this cold has (like its predecessors) gradually eaten its way into my chest, where it sits heavy...
my son is also sick, in his own fashion. periodically, he suffers from strange headaches/fevers that do not progress into illnesses in the conventional way (i.e., no nose and throat issues, no mucus). they last perhaps one or two days, and then disappear without a trace. what is interesting is that, oftentimes immediately after the resolution of a particular fever phase, my son becomes effusive and far more articulate (at least to me) than he was previously. i have theorized that these fevers signal growth spurts for his emerging cognition...
perhaps this suspicion is, in part, related to my readings into "visionary craniosacral therapy," notably the insight that the pituitary gland generates a significant amount of heat, and that certain structures in the cranium are designed to disperse that heat...
i have, in my own bumbling way, been attempting to palpate the "wave" of cerebrospinal fluid that is said to pulsate through the body as my son sleeps, in order to somehow understand (and perhaps influence) some of his cognitive fixations and blockages... just the desperation of a father, i suppose.
i have been falling asleep early, and then waking up in a daze in the wee morning hours to walk over to my son's room, meditate, and then attempt to palpate his head (i know, i know, WEIRD). my son is a very restless sleeper, and i have to keep modifying my touch to adjust to his repeated shifts in posture. eventually, he seems to settle, his breathing deepening, and i am able to (for a time) entrain to his rhythm. i detect different rhythms, from the ripples of his blood pulsing to the slightly larger waves of his breathing, and then, to something larger, something akin to the tides influenced by the moon. this, i suspect, is the craniosacral rhythm... if i practice, i think i will be able to feel it more reliably, and then understand or detect any aberrations in that rhythm... that's the (desperate) hope, anyway.
***
(we never escape ourselves, of course; that is our strength and our curse.)
i just accepted a special education position at a local school yesterday. i am excited/anxious about it, as it will be my first formal teaching job at the elementary level. please pray for me, and for my kids!!!
***
i've wondered, of late, why i keep a blog, and why anyone would visit it. at one point, i think there were quite a few visits, but i think things have dropped off due to inconsistent posting and (to be quite honest) boring content. part of the problem (if there is a problem) is that i tend to be interested in several things at once, at varying levels. sometimes i post things that only specialists would be interested in (especially my postings dealing with some of my musings in acupuncture, or special education); sometimes i post my (admittedly amateurish) attempts at writing, drawing, or "music"; and sometimes i post the details of my drab life, or my suburban, middle-class concerns, or even my idiosyncratic dreams... well, as i stated at the outset of my blogging three years ago, the blog serves more the interests of the blogger than it does anyone else. this truly is "a receptacle" for some of the goings-on and (absent) happenings of my life.
reader beware!!! (or, be bored, and then be gone).
***
currently, i am sick (yet again). this cold has (like its predecessors) gradually eaten its way into my chest, where it sits heavy...
my son is also sick, in his own fashion. periodically, he suffers from strange headaches/fevers that do not progress into illnesses in the conventional way (i.e., no nose and throat issues, no mucus). they last perhaps one or two days, and then disappear without a trace. what is interesting is that, oftentimes immediately after the resolution of a particular fever phase, my son becomes effusive and far more articulate (at least to me) than he was previously. i have theorized that these fevers signal growth spurts for his emerging cognition...
perhaps this suspicion is, in part, related to my readings into "visionary craniosacral therapy," notably the insight that the pituitary gland generates a significant amount of heat, and that certain structures in the cranium are designed to disperse that heat...
i have, in my own bumbling way, been attempting to palpate the "wave" of cerebrospinal fluid that is said to pulsate through the body as my son sleeps, in order to somehow understand (and perhaps influence) some of his cognitive fixations and blockages... just the desperation of a father, i suppose.
i have been falling asleep early, and then waking up in a daze in the wee morning hours to walk over to my son's room, meditate, and then attempt to palpate his head (i know, i know, WEIRD). my son is a very restless sleeper, and i have to keep modifying my touch to adjust to his repeated shifts in posture. eventually, he seems to settle, his breathing deepening, and i am able to (for a time) entrain to his rhythm. i detect different rhythms, from the ripples of his blood pulsing to the slightly larger waves of his breathing, and then, to something larger, something akin to the tides influenced by the moon. this, i suspect, is the craniosacral rhythm... if i practice, i think i will be able to feel it more reliably, and then understand or detect any aberrations in that rhythm... that's the (desperate) hope, anyway.
***
updates
hi everyone. i thought i would begin with a clean slate once again. i think it is important to do this periodically, if only to create the illusion of a new beginning, a departure... (we never leave ourselves, our past, entirely behind. that's both our strength and our curse.)
just an update... i got hired today, won't mention the school or position yet, but i am very happy about it. i had been quietly worrying about my prospects. so now, i have something concrete (in teaching) to devote my energies to...
we went to kauai for the fourth of july weekend. it was wonderful. we stayed at the kahalani resort, which is located right in the middle of lydgate park. lydgate park is a great community park, with two playgrounds, one on either end, that were planned and constructed (as i understand) by the local community. they are not "playgrounds" in the conventional sense, but monuments devoted to fun. one of them, the first we visited, is called a "playbridge," and it is quite literally a multi-leveled maze constructed upon a hillside. there are a couple of tube slides, one straight and another spiral-shaped, but the main draw is the possibility of "getting lost" in all of the dividing pathways... on the other end of the park is a
we went to kauai for the fourth of july weekend. it was wonderful. we stayed at the kahalani resort, which is located right in the middle of lydgate park. lydgate park is a great community park, with two playgrounds, one on either end, that were planned and constructed (as i understand) by the local community. they are not "playgrounds" in the conventional sense, but monuments devoted to fun. one of them, the first we visited, is called a "playbridge," and it is quite literally a multi-leveled maze constructed upon a hillside. there are a couple of tube slides, one straight and another spiral-shaped, but the main draw is the possibility of "getting lost" in all of the dividing pathways... on the other end of the park is a
Thursday, July 1, 2010
attention-seeking
partitioned me
skinned alive
face pressed against the moment
that separates the now
from the has been
i beat my fists
like stuttering drumbeats
like cardiac fibrillations
or pecking within eggs
trying to find a rhythm and
a way out, a way out
so far out that
you've got to see me
i am still alive,
here.
skinned alive
face pressed against the moment
that separates the now
from the has been
i beat my fists
like stuttering drumbeats
like cardiac fibrillations
or pecking within eggs
trying to find a rhythm and
a way out, a way out
so far out that
you've got to see me
i am still alive,
here.
lately, i have been noticing a strange constellation of symptoms. first, i have been catching colds at an abnormal frequency, all almost immediately after teaching a class or running clinic at my school, and all starting with a throat irritation. second, i think i have been (unusually) depressed and irritable, unable to integrate my thoughts for productive work. finally, and most disturbingly, i've found (this evening) that i'm only able to walk in a straight line with some effort and concentration; i noticed earlier that i was tending to veer to the left, and as i woke up just recently, i noticed it again.
i am a little scared, and hope that these symptoms are not tied to something neurological or even fatal (but knowing my luck...). then again, i am probably being a bit of the hypochondriac. and dramatist.
i have been trying to research (and, on occasion, practice) hugh milne's "visionary" style of craniosacral therapy, in the hopes of helping my son (and others, perhaps). for those who are unaware of craniosacral therapy, it posits the idea that there is a fundamental "wave" that moves cerebrospinal fluid throughout the central nervous system, and that it is possible to feel this "wave" at various points of the body. craniosacral therapy further posits that the so called synchondroses or cranial sutures are not fixed and immobile (as old anatomy textbooks claim), but elicit a palpable degree of motility to allow the wave to flow and ebb. in fact, a suture that is IMMOBILE is pathological, and contributes to a wide variety of symptoms (depending upon what joint or joints are affected). the sphenoid, a butterfly/dragonfly/bat shaped bone central to the skull, seems a key to a wide variety of problems, including dyslexia and personality shifts...
as my mother points out (and i believe), my son seemed to undergo a shift in behavior sometime between his second and third year. she had attributed it to a possible trauma that "happened" to him. after a certain point, aiden was far more cautious, and his normal line of development seemed to fall away. i at first didn't believe my mother's observations, but lately, i pay more credence to them...
the whole slew of conditions, ranging from autism to adhd to learning disabilities, all have variable attributions with regards to causative factors; in other words, as any brochure/pamplet will ultimately state, "no one knows for certain what causes these conditions." as a result, there are a lot of seemingly outlandish theories and (desperate) "cures" that parents ascribe to to help their kids. mercury-based carriers of vaccines, for instance, or chronic inflammatory states... i personally believe that we as a society are being exposed to some substance that, while not "toxic" according to epa standards, does exhibit certain interruptions of normal developmental/hormonal cycles, especially if present in high enough doses. there are SEVERAL culprits for this, including certain plastics (a lot of recent focus has come upon a certain kind of plastic, ubiquitous in the bloodstream of our society, that has been related to problems with testosterone production, for example) or the antibiotics that the poultry and cattle industries feed their stock with, and which pass on their effects into us, the consumers. again, "no one knows for certain," and in the absence of knowing, parents like myself look around their world with a kind of paranoia.
on the side of special education, which attempts to address some of the academic/social effects of these conditions "after the fact", there are actually (i must say) few interventions, if any, that are "unique" or condition-specific. in fact, despite having a separate credentialing process, i believe that special education is nothing more than a collection of good teaching habits that all teachers should (in an ideal world) practice. the common understanding of the difference between a general education teacher and a special education teacher is that the former focuses upon the curriculum, while the latter focuses upon pedagogical method. i personally believe that this is (and should be) a false distinction: a good teacher is a good teacher, and all good teachers (whether gened or sped) need to know where we need to take our children (curriculum, standards) and how best to get there (pedagogical method)...
in any case, aside from providing either remedial or compensatory education for children afflicted with conditions (particularly in the mild-moderate special education field), and aside from a greater degree of "understanding" or "give" (i.e. compassion), special education cannot eliminate the problem. in the very best of situations, and in the mildest of disabilities, the special education teacher can help a student to understand his/her conditions and learn how to compensate for them to participate and thrive INDEPENDENTLY in the general environment.
my point (and i suppose i do have a point, even with this left-ward leaning discussion) is that a therapy that seems fundamentally noninvasive and harmless (which the established medical profession would say, in the same breath, "pointless") is something any parent would try to help their child. if nothing else, i get more in touch with my son, gently holding his occiput to listen to (perhaps nonexistent) rhythms... [on a side note, read haruki murakami's "hard-boiled wonderland and the end of the world"... there are sections on both subterranean kappa and a librarian who "reads" skulls of dead unicorns that seem to resonate with several of my current ruminations]
i have also been re-reading lavoire's book, "it's so much work to be your friend," to research things that both parents and teachers can do to help with the social development of their children. there are several things that i like about lavoire, although i do think his overall statements of behavioral therapy can be misinterpreted (or i THINK misinterpreted) to be a categorical disbelief in its benefits. i personally believe in behavioral therapy (reinforcers, or, as he says, incentives), as well as some of the conclusions of functional behavior analyses (most notably the insight that some behaviors are attention-seeking). while lavoire argues that attention-seeking behavior demonstrates a need of the child for attention, and that the denial of attention ignores a fundamental need of the child, i hold that teachers who choose ignore certain (negative) behaviors are not ignoring the child or his/her need, but are simply being selective about the behaviors that deserve attention/praise (i.e., positive or accepted behaviors)...
***
we are going to kauai this weekend. uncle ferman actually lived in kauai until the age of 13. his family seemed to own a large section of land along the wailuku (???) river, growing rice. yesterday, he told me about some of the landmarks of his memory. of course, being the ghostie that i am, i was fascinated by some of his ghost stories, most notably one about how a whole side of a mountain was essentially a burial grounds for hawaiians, and how, late at night, you could hear "old-style" hawaiian music coming from the mountainside, even when there were no lights and no one living there... or, how, when a tidal wave struck the island, whole sections of kapaa were destroyed, but the old cannery and a few houses were spared, largely because they lay upon ancient burial grounds...
apparently, a bend in the wailuku (???) river is named after ferman's father (tai sao bend??? something like that) and the fern grotto was where ferman's grandfather used to, on occasion, take a piss...
***
well, i am feeling a bit better at the moment. i am going to meditate for a time, and then practice cradling my sleeping son's occiput (outlandish, eh???). it is a wonder to hold someone's head, the receptacle for all of their thoughts and dreams, and try to sense all of the marvelous things going on within that "bowl" just by the pulsations and breaths that pass through it. i'd recommend everyone try it, just to feel the wonder of it, and to get closer to the miracle of each person...
i am a little scared, and hope that these symptoms are not tied to something neurological or even fatal (but knowing my luck...). then again, i am probably being a bit of the hypochondriac. and dramatist.
i have been trying to research (and, on occasion, practice) hugh milne's "visionary" style of craniosacral therapy, in the hopes of helping my son (and others, perhaps). for those who are unaware of craniosacral therapy, it posits the idea that there is a fundamental "wave" that moves cerebrospinal fluid throughout the central nervous system, and that it is possible to feel this "wave" at various points of the body. craniosacral therapy further posits that the so called synchondroses or cranial sutures are not fixed and immobile (as old anatomy textbooks claim), but elicit a palpable degree of motility to allow the wave to flow and ebb. in fact, a suture that is IMMOBILE is pathological, and contributes to a wide variety of symptoms (depending upon what joint or joints are affected). the sphenoid, a butterfly/dragonfly/bat shaped bone central to the skull, seems a key to a wide variety of problems, including dyslexia and personality shifts...
as my mother points out (and i believe), my son seemed to undergo a shift in behavior sometime between his second and third year. she had attributed it to a possible trauma that "happened" to him. after a certain point, aiden was far more cautious, and his normal line of development seemed to fall away. i at first didn't believe my mother's observations, but lately, i pay more credence to them...
the whole slew of conditions, ranging from autism to adhd to learning disabilities, all have variable attributions with regards to causative factors; in other words, as any brochure/pamplet will ultimately state, "no one knows for certain what causes these conditions." as a result, there are a lot of seemingly outlandish theories and (desperate) "cures" that parents ascribe to to help their kids. mercury-based carriers of vaccines, for instance, or chronic inflammatory states... i personally believe that we as a society are being exposed to some substance that, while not "toxic" according to epa standards, does exhibit certain interruptions of normal developmental/hormonal cycles, especially if present in high enough doses. there are SEVERAL culprits for this, including certain plastics (a lot of recent focus has come upon a certain kind of plastic, ubiquitous in the bloodstream of our society, that has been related to problems with testosterone production, for example) or the antibiotics that the poultry and cattle industries feed their stock with, and which pass on their effects into us, the consumers. again, "no one knows for certain," and in the absence of knowing, parents like myself look around their world with a kind of paranoia.
on the side of special education, which attempts to address some of the academic/social effects of these conditions "after the fact", there are actually (i must say) few interventions, if any, that are "unique" or condition-specific. in fact, despite having a separate credentialing process, i believe that special education is nothing more than a collection of good teaching habits that all teachers should (in an ideal world) practice. the common understanding of the difference between a general education teacher and a special education teacher is that the former focuses upon the curriculum, while the latter focuses upon pedagogical method. i personally believe that this is (and should be) a false distinction: a good teacher is a good teacher, and all good teachers (whether gened or sped) need to know where we need to take our children (curriculum, standards) and how best to get there (pedagogical method)...
in any case, aside from providing either remedial or compensatory education for children afflicted with conditions (particularly in the mild-moderate special education field), and aside from a greater degree of "understanding" or "give" (i.e. compassion), special education cannot eliminate the problem. in the very best of situations, and in the mildest of disabilities, the special education teacher can help a student to understand his/her conditions and learn how to compensate for them to participate and thrive INDEPENDENTLY in the general environment.
my point (and i suppose i do have a point, even with this left-ward leaning discussion) is that a therapy that seems fundamentally noninvasive and harmless (which the established medical profession would say, in the same breath, "pointless") is something any parent would try to help their child. if nothing else, i get more in touch with my son, gently holding his occiput to listen to (perhaps nonexistent) rhythms... [on a side note, read haruki murakami's "hard-boiled wonderland and the end of the world"... there are sections on both subterranean kappa and a librarian who "reads" skulls of dead unicorns that seem to resonate with several of my current ruminations]
i have also been re-reading lavoire's book, "it's so much work to be your friend," to research things that both parents and teachers can do to help with the social development of their children. there are several things that i like about lavoire, although i do think his overall statements of behavioral therapy can be misinterpreted (or i THINK misinterpreted) to be a categorical disbelief in its benefits. i personally believe in behavioral therapy (reinforcers, or, as he says, incentives), as well as some of the conclusions of functional behavior analyses (most notably the insight that some behaviors are attention-seeking). while lavoire argues that attention-seeking behavior demonstrates a need of the child for attention, and that the denial of attention ignores a fundamental need of the child, i hold that teachers who choose ignore certain (negative) behaviors are not ignoring the child or his/her need, but are simply being selective about the behaviors that deserve attention/praise (i.e., positive or accepted behaviors)...
***
we are going to kauai this weekend. uncle ferman actually lived in kauai until the age of 13. his family seemed to own a large section of land along the wailuku (???) river, growing rice. yesterday, he told me about some of the landmarks of his memory. of course, being the ghostie that i am, i was fascinated by some of his ghost stories, most notably one about how a whole side of a mountain was essentially a burial grounds for hawaiians, and how, late at night, you could hear "old-style" hawaiian music coming from the mountainside, even when there were no lights and no one living there... or, how, when a tidal wave struck the island, whole sections of kapaa were destroyed, but the old cannery and a few houses were spared, largely because they lay upon ancient burial grounds...
apparently, a bend in the wailuku (???) river is named after ferman's father (tai sao bend??? something like that) and the fern grotto was where ferman's grandfather used to, on occasion, take a piss...
***
well, i am feeling a bit better at the moment. i am going to meditate for a time, and then practice cradling my sleeping son's occiput (outlandish, eh???). it is a wonder to hold someone's head, the receptacle for all of their thoughts and dreams, and try to sense all of the marvelous things going on within that "bowl" just by the pulsations and breaths that pass through it. i'd recommend everyone try it, just to feel the wonder of it, and to get closer to the miracle of each person...
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