at the moment, it is 3 am and raining quite steadily. i've awoken, carrying remnants of a dream of an aquarium of monstrosities, impossible sea creatures, in my head, and the song "speed of sound" (coldplay) playing in a nauseatingly stuck soundtrack.

there is a feeling of sadness and frustration hanging within me.

freud once said that there are only two things that can cure a patient: love and work. i think this is true. love is a source and an end; it is the yin aspect of everything that i do, the "cellular bath" that nourishes and sustains me. work is the alignment with the principles of efficacy and worth; it is the yang aspect, and the ability to stand upright and (literally) "make a difference."

***

there are many symptoms, shifting and disguising themselves repeatedly, but there is a commonality to them, recognizable only over time. for myself, there has always been the positing of a hidden figure sabotaging the clear way before me, a "secret and self-directed hatred" that has continually baffled and confounded me. to know that it originates from within me is little consolation or cure, just as knowing that lupus is an autoimmune condition does not help patients live with the pain of their disease. i have fought this shadow in a myriad of ways, but usually through my innate skills at sleight of hand, concealment and distraction. if i am a blocked river, i have always found other ways to flow.

but it is only a matter of time before those waters turn dark and muddy, heavy with the accretions of their frustrated passage. it is always only a matter of time before the shadow returns...

***

the one redeeming factor of possessing an irrational and relentless disease is that it gives a person extra pause before judging others. no, the world is not always the logical place it pretends to be, and quite often, there are eddies and currents that blur circumstances and make everything "not make sense." i know this to be true.

sometimes, it is not our place to judge or solve the world. sometimes the best thing we can do is to meet people where they are, and simply abide with them.

sometimes the best thing, the only thing, we can do is find the point of resistance and stay there.

and wait.

***

i encountered these words of advice somewhere: "try your best, and when you don't know what to do, ask god and the spirits for help. when you still don't know what to do, have a cup of tea."

alternatively: "we do our best work. then we sit back and wait."

as i was working on a patient, i thought of my role as a teacher and as a "healer." i thought, actually, about my role as a participant in my world...

when i work on soft tissue, there is a point of resistance beyond which it becomes intrusive and invasive to proceed. my job as a "healer" or bodyworker is to approach that point of resistance in as inobtrusive a manner as possible, and just "stay there," and wait for something to happen. yes, there is some degree of intention on my part, because oftentimes i have to move things in certain directions; but the greater part of what i do is what i DON'T do. a greater part of what i do is simply meeting the patient at the point of resistance and doing nothing.

i thought about this with regards to teaching as well. the ideal teacher (which, i realize, i am not, although i strive for this) strives to meet the student where he or she is at (the point of resistance). this place of meeting is articulated in a variety of ways, depending upon theoretical orientation... for example, there is vygotsky's zone of proximity (i think that's what he called it)... and in early childhood educational theory, there is talk about "entering the child's world, in order to interact through it." one might also talk about formative assessment in this regard. the point is that the teacher has to first approach and "know" the student well. this initial approach and understanding of the student is itself "therapeutic" if done properly, because it initiates in the student a feeling of trust and "being known and understood."

the crux and debate of teaching comes when we consider what to do when we meet the student at the point of resistance, and when (or how quickly) to do it. if we are particularly forceful, then we assert our agenda; if we are more aligned with the constructivist orientation, then we only provide minimal guidance, and allow education to take place in its truest sense ("educate" comes from a latin root meaning "to draw out")... i believe it depends on what you are trying to teach, and to whom. younger children require order and structure with regards to instruction in the basics of reading and math. at the same time, they should be given the opportunity to "play," preferably with "toys" that allow them to discover the world. older students, on the other hand, refuse to be "told what to do," and unless they evince or demonstrate a passion for an art to the same degree as the teacher, then it makes little sense to try to "impose" instruction upon them.

in honor of father's day...

i am reposting (or, rather, posting links to) a few of the entries that i think best capture some of my thoughts/feelings on fatherhood...

first is "sudoku," a short story in nine segments that was supposed to say something about fatherhood, but (or and?) ended up being about memory and regret and parallel lines and stuff...

http://marsilani.blogspot.com/2008/01/short-story-sudoku_6841.html

next is "bumper car boy," a spontaneously written poem about my feelings regarding my son... something about holding him back and protecting him versus letting him be...

http://marsilani.blogspot.com/2010/02/bumper-car-boy.html

third is "willow weep for me: transplant/transparent," which is actually more about the general theme of new parenthood (the anxieties and hopes), and the ambiguous process of "duty to ancestors" (there's a dirty play on words there...):

http://marsilani.blogspot.com/2008/01/short-story-willow-weep-for-me-side_5886.html

and finally, perhaps the first written thing in this whole lot, a poem called "the one that got away" which takes a somewhat negative view on the absence/distance of fathers:

http://marsilani.blogspot.com/2007/12/poem-one-that-got-away_2022.html

SO HAPPY PAPPY's DAY!!!

shaky videos of minneapolis trip

at fort worth airport during stopover.



at dunwoody institute of technology, on a cold morning prior to taking my praxis tests... went to the basilica in this video. lot of boring walking.



still prior to taking praxis tests. went across the street from dunwoody to sculpture garden (walker art center). cute rabbit at the end.



again, at walker art center, this time with lynn. at a field next to the walker art center were free lessons in how to crack a bullwhip...



a driving tour by wayne takeshita through st. paul...

videos from minneapolis

here are some really shaky videos i took during our trip to minneapolis.

1. at fort worth airport, at some sculpture in the middle of the airport.

feeling minnesota iii

not much left to report...

there was the pleasant sunday when lynn and i took a trip back to dunwoody technical institute to venture into the sculpture garden once again. we got there at about midday. there were many more people there, and in fact, there were a couple of weddings going on in the park: one looked jewish, while the other looked like an ethiopian wedding. lynn and i sauntered through the park, taking whimsical pictures of the sculptures. for example, there was one picture taken of lynn "holding" the famous spoon with a cherry. and there was another picture that i took (which came out remarkably well) of lynn "wearing a hat" consisting of the floating hare on a bell... there was one sequestered "sculpture" consisting of a series of benches surrounding an empty space. upon each bench was etched some artistic/philosophical/pseudo-intellectual statement... one of them, i recall, was commenting upon how fortunate we are that our stomachs don't eat us up from the inside, or something to that effect. most (hell, all) had a decidedly dark and cynical take on life. frankly, quite depressing. it reaffirms the impression that modern art (which likes to think of itself as post-modern) is created/performed/whatever by poor, starving individuals who struggle to make a name for themselves by twisting logic and convention in idiosyncratic (and fundamentally negativistic) ways... not unlike myself.

we ventured into the walker art museum, which was across the street from the sculpture garden. we really didn't see the exhibits in the museum (although i remember a few things: like how the walls going to the downstairs bathroom were covered in cartoon eyes; and how there was a big bean bag "plug" hanging over a set of stairs; and there was a white hall with a net containing fragments of glass that looked like ice). we (or rather i) just used the bathroom inside, and perused the museum store for gifts. kinda depressing, actually, how we only took advantage of the museum to take a poop and be commercial consumers, looking for some kooky souvenirs. but whatever.

on the field beside the walker art museum, there was a free lesson in "how to crack a bullwhip." a woman explained that this was part of the "walker open field" program, in which anyone could suggest and direct free activities for the community to participate in. apparently, they wanted people to use the field as a gathering place to celebrate art and life and culture. it was such a cool idea, i regretted that i didn't live in minneapolis. anyway, we did participate (although i made snide remarks about how lynn really didn't need any lessons in cracking whips). i tried to look at bullwhipping as a kind of taijiquan thing (the metaphor has actually been used, to describe how the soft motions can deliver incredible force)- but of course, i kinda wasn't too proficient with the whip, and at one point mildly lashed meself on me own buttocks... (symbolic, in a way). but i (and lynn) had fun.

around the field were beautiful apartments, with full glass windows. would be a nice place to live, if i were stuck in minneapolis, for some reason. in the sky, hovering on the winds, was a lone itinerant hawk/falcon.

lynn and i then ventured the other way, past the basilica, looking for more of "minneapolis city life." we passed the metropolitan university (?) of minneapolis, which was abandoned... we glimpsed a vast park full of water and bridges... a bicycle stand full of yellow bikes that you could rent from the city (they were labeled, "nice ride." i was tempted to make some kind of snide remark...). we were going to have a bite to eat in a local cafe, but when we entered, it was dead silent, even though it was pretty full; no doubt a bunch of SERIOUS students working on laptops. reminiscent of a library. we decided not to eat there, because our conversation, NAY, the crunch made by us eating a salad, would disrupt the atmosphere of the place... we passed a more urbane and rude joint next door, where i overheard the following snippet of a conversation:

dude a: "this one" pointing to a tattoo "i got 'bout half a year ago."
dude b: "where'd you get it?"
dude a: "on my arm."
dude b: "haha. clever."

despairing of finding any place to lose ourselves in (everything was red brick and somewhat empty streets), we headed back...

***

i also recall (dimly) going to the mall of america's nickelodeon universe and salty the shark's underwater adventure with the kids on our last full day. with regards to the latter, most of what i saw was pretty standard fare as far as aquariums go: but i did get seriously freaked when i saw how big an alligator snapping turtle was (it is literally as big as a little man, with tremendous jaws; i will never go skinny dipping in a lake EVER)... and i was reminded how disturbing nurse sharks look, even though they are one of the most harmless sharks in the sea.

at nickelodeon universe, i must (with shame) comment on one "ride" that left me humiliated. there is this thing called the "ghostly gangplanks" or something, where (strapped into a harness) you walk up a series of stairs on a kind of metal scaffolding, crossing planks and rope bridges over sheer nothingness and a potential fall... willow wanted to go, so, thinking myself the protecting father, i accompanied her. lo and behold, my daughter is fearless!!! she kept going up and up and up, crossing over bridges and planks that progressively required more and more courage over greater and greater heights... now, i have an innate fear of heights, which i thought i could conquer. but by the time we were on the next to the last level, about five stories up, staring at rope bridges with no supports, i clung to the scaffolding, and told willow that i had enough: "daddy is scared," i admitted, "and i think we have to go down now." seriously, my hands and feet were sweating, and the only thing that kept me going was this steady focus on my breath and this refusal to stray into a dizzying spiral of panic. so we went down the stairs, and i went down a few pegs in the eyes of my child... shameful. i like to tell myself that i was protecting willow from potential trauma, but to be honest, i was only protecting myself... oh well. if i had time and the inclination, i'd work on that. but honestly, when am i ever going to NEED to stand sixty feet over a brink, without a firm footing??? (just watch, i WILL need to, and likely repeatedly, in the next week or so).

***

i am a water spirit
i have a natural flow
but life (or me?) sequesters
it in thousand bowls all in a row

within each bowl a flavor
and a poison and a cure
but after time and many bowls
which one's which: i'm not so sure

at heart i'm very simple
and at times i want to flow
but life (or me?) sequesters
me in thousand bowls all in a row.