There is a certain sense of anticipation that arises along about Thursday night. I suppose that is part of the reason I find it so difficult to fall asleep. At least more difficult than normal. There is an electric sense of expectancy with more that just the weekend on its wings. No, there is something more. I rush about Friday telling my students this fabulous premonition that I know will come to pass, because I have witnessed it every weekend. The phenomenon is BookTV.
Never heard of it?...I’m not surprised. I have been told by an excellent source that I alone comprise one quarter of the viewing population of this regularly occurring weekend extravaganza. What it is? Simply, it is some of the best non-fiction writing put to air on cable television by the authors. Sometimes, it involves panels. This is when things get really heady and no one knows where the discussion may end up.
Sounds like something that Ralph Nader would drool over…Think again. I have been surprised to find that many of the teachers in our district’s social studies department regularly watch this program on the weekend. In fact, I think that seventy-fiver percent of the supposed viewing audience resides within the school district I teach in. However, I am skeptical that we three are almost all of the viewing audience for BookTV.
It should come as no surprise that the majority of the known viewing audience, from my perspective, is made up of teachers. The best time to watch BookTV is during school breaks…Christmas, Easter, MLK Day, etc. These breaks just so happen to correspond with legislative recesses. This is when C-SPAN has huge blocks of time open for programming. It follows that there is nothing better and more appealing that having nonfiction authors present their books. Who really wants to watch replays of the Bork confirmation hearings or the Iran-Contra hearings? Excellent fodder for students political science and government policy, but we know the outcome. It’s similar to watching ESPN Classic. We all know, if we’re interested, who won the 1984 Rose Bowl. While some of the plays may be memorable, the whole game is not.
On a more personal level, BookTV is a source for me. I am a reading junkie. I do not travel in social circles that have connections with the publishing houses of the East Coast or cavort with the literati. It is up to me to find new and interesting books. BookTV is my supplier of some of these titles. When I don’t get regular exposure, I do go through withdraw. It is an addiction. One that I happily imbibe in. I make no apologies, nor any excuses.
So, when you are cruising along the digital dial during the weekend and come across some channel with someone talking about their book on the insanity of Lincoln’s spouse or the San Francisco earthquake of 1906, take a moment and indulge yourself. You may find something you like and pick up the book at your local store or library. It may even serve as a bridge in an airport or café. Mention you heard about it on BookTV and it is almost guaranteed that a conversation will properly ensue with the other individual. Don’t mind the strange looks. You get used to them. I promise.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Dog Zen…Dzogchen…?
First off, I must admit that I title this missive with tongue fully implanted in my cheek. However, as the Buddhist teach, it is humor that some of the most profound truths arise. I find this particularly comforting as one particular Buddhist age and poet is named exactly…well not exactly this, Dogzen. Admittedly, I have enjoyed reading some of his work.
So what’s prompted this writing? Simple enough, it is stress. That all too familiar companion we walk with daily through our lives and loves. I know, mockingly, that without some form of stress our hearts would naturally cease to beat. It is without saying a vital part of our lives. I suppose, just like most of you, that we don’t need as much as we carry around with us. I know, also without going much further, that the majority of the stress comes from sources we can control, namely ourselves. I’m preaching to the choir and pointing at the proverbial timber in my own eye.
However, there is an odd correlation between an observed enlightenment, if I may be so presumptuous; I had the other night and the routine of our pet Shih-Tzu, Arlo. Every night, Arlo run puppy laps. After he comes in from his last trip to the backyard to leave a pile, a puddle, and make a little noise in the neighbors’ direction, he tears into the bedroom and commences to imitate a NASCAR race. Afterwards, panting, he ascends to our bed and commences to curl himself into a ball of fur. Not quite fully awake, nor completely asleep, Arlo watches us without actually staring at us. I suppose it must be something like a somnolent sentry. This usually lasts until I remove him from our bed when I am ready to go to sleep.
So what does this seemingly innocuous nightly routine of events have to do with a founding principle and school of thought within the Buddhist tradition…? Good question! The connection came together in my mind that night like to freight trains. It’s wonderful having glimpses of enlightenment such as this, but it’s hell when they keep you from getting some sleep because it sets your mind off on another tangent. Sleep just looks so pedestrian compared to occurrences such as this.
While the spelling of Dogzen is incorrect, it is based on the term’s Anglicized pronunciation. The correct…again, Anglicized, spelling is Dzogchen. Now, before we go any further, please let me set some minds at ease and dispel any misunderstandings and myths before they fester into arbitrary facts. I am not, nor claim to be anywhere near to resembling an expert on religion in general or Buddhism in particular. I can only claim fleeting forays into each. From the way I understand it, dzogchen is the natural and primordial state of every sentient being…Okay, sounds good to me.
Of course, I cannot leave it at that. It would be criminal to do so. It goes without saying that I had to research even more into the topic…So, I looked…All that I really found was more confusion. While I have not witnesses, I am sure that as I peered through web sites, dictionary entries, and encyclopedia articles my look of bewilderment probably resembled the dog when you speak to him and he cocks his head to one side. I am sure my glazed gaze matched his with the query of how can I understand what you’re saying…
So, I did what I have been trained to do, that is after researching a topic. I studied and observed perhaps the best practitioner of this ancient wisdom in the immediate vicinity, Arlo. For the following few evenings, I observed him. Oversome by this focus on seemingly oriental aspects, I even spent time with him in the backyard as he did his dog business and I pruned a shrub. Don’t even get me started on how far I was from anything that could be considered a bonsai…
Did this lead me to any further conclusions or deeper understandings? Well it did, to some extent…I found that the true understanding of dzogchen was just to know who you are and be it. A sort of Nike philosophy, echoing the slogan of “Just Do It.” This has been my focus since then. Am I claiming that I know who I am…most certainly not. But I am having more fun not posturing as much or stressing even less. Perhaps dogs do have a little something over on us. I just don’t think that I am ready to surrender my place on the evolutionary ladder. Especially not when we still have the faculty of toilet paper at our disposal.
So what’s prompted this writing? Simple enough, it is stress. That all too familiar companion we walk with daily through our lives and loves. I know, mockingly, that without some form of stress our hearts would naturally cease to beat. It is without saying a vital part of our lives. I suppose, just like most of you, that we don’t need as much as we carry around with us. I know, also without going much further, that the majority of the stress comes from sources we can control, namely ourselves. I’m preaching to the choir and pointing at the proverbial timber in my own eye.
However, there is an odd correlation between an observed enlightenment, if I may be so presumptuous; I had the other night and the routine of our pet Shih-Tzu, Arlo. Every night, Arlo run puppy laps. After he comes in from his last trip to the backyard to leave a pile, a puddle, and make a little noise in the neighbors’ direction, he tears into the bedroom and commences to imitate a NASCAR race. Afterwards, panting, he ascends to our bed and commences to curl himself into a ball of fur. Not quite fully awake, nor completely asleep, Arlo watches us without actually staring at us. I suppose it must be something like a somnolent sentry. This usually lasts until I remove him from our bed when I am ready to go to sleep.
So what does this seemingly innocuous nightly routine of events have to do with a founding principle and school of thought within the Buddhist tradition…? Good question! The connection came together in my mind that night like to freight trains. It’s wonderful having glimpses of enlightenment such as this, but it’s hell when they keep you from getting some sleep because it sets your mind off on another tangent. Sleep just looks so pedestrian compared to occurrences such as this.
While the spelling of Dogzen is incorrect, it is based on the term’s Anglicized pronunciation. The correct…again, Anglicized, spelling is Dzogchen. Now, before we go any further, please let me set some minds at ease and dispel any misunderstandings and myths before they fester into arbitrary facts. I am not, nor claim to be anywhere near to resembling an expert on religion in general or Buddhism in particular. I can only claim fleeting forays into each. From the way I understand it, dzogchen is the natural and primordial state of every sentient being…Okay, sounds good to me.
Of course, I cannot leave it at that. It would be criminal to do so. It goes without saying that I had to research even more into the topic…So, I looked…All that I really found was more confusion. While I have not witnesses, I am sure that as I peered through web sites, dictionary entries, and encyclopedia articles my look of bewilderment probably resembled the dog when you speak to him and he cocks his head to one side. I am sure my glazed gaze matched his with the query of how can I understand what you’re saying…
So, I did what I have been trained to do, that is after researching a topic. I studied and observed perhaps the best practitioner of this ancient wisdom in the immediate vicinity, Arlo. For the following few evenings, I observed him. Oversome by this focus on seemingly oriental aspects, I even spent time with him in the backyard as he did his dog business and I pruned a shrub. Don’t even get me started on how far I was from anything that could be considered a bonsai…
Did this lead me to any further conclusions or deeper understandings? Well it did, to some extent…I found that the true understanding of dzogchen was just to know who you are and be it. A sort of Nike philosophy, echoing the slogan of “Just Do It.” This has been my focus since then. Am I claiming that I know who I am…most certainly not. But I am having more fun not posturing as much or stressing even less. Perhaps dogs do have a little something over on us. I just don’t think that I am ready to surrender my place on the evolutionary ladder. Especially not when we still have the faculty of toilet paper at our disposal.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
A Final Ascent
It seems as if this blog has been populated with an overabundance of eulogies and remembrances for fallen and passed individuals. It is odd. I don’t think of myself as some sort of morbid gatekeeper, nor as some self-important public archivist. However, I suppose my profession of teaching history pulls my attention to stories like this particular one when surfing the information super highway.
I just read the Sir Edmund Hillary has passed on at the age of 88. I think a moment of reverent silence is in order, but I am not that presumptuous to think I can call for it. No. But, how is it that a junior high school teacher in the center of Central Texas is affect by the death of this man? I cannot honestly claim that I am weeping grieving tears as I compose this missive, but a little twinge in my heart did happen when I read the story of his death. Sir Edmund Hillary saved my life one day, not all that long ago.
It was nothing dramatic or daring. Never did it involve an actual cliff or include any rope of any sort. It was during my first year of teaching. I was desperate for a job after dropping out of seminary and moving back to Texas with my tail between my legs. I had thumped my bared chest before God and duly put in my place…Thankfully. This experience found me not only awash in Dallas ISD’s alternative certification program for those of us who had a college degree but nor certification, but also in an inner city urban campus.
I was the only male teacher in the sixth grade, and the only ESL teacher to boot in the upper grades of the school. No worries, right? Nothing was hanging in the balance, except for my livelihood, shelter, food, and essentials for my family and I. Trying to teaching students who were in the sixth grade with second and third grade reading scores was the norm. Try getting them not just to read, but to comprehend and retain information from grade-level social studies textbook. Nothing short of Herculean. But, that’s where Sir Edmund Hillary comes in.
It was his helping hand as I dangled off of a proverbial sheer cliff with jagged rocks of failure and insanity waiting to pummel me should I slip and fall. I was trying to follow the district scope and sequence as I taught social studies and language arts to disinterested and disaffected urban youth. I would have done better in giving a lesson on metrical feet in hip-hop compositions, or wire tricks from martial arts movies. To think of it, I might have enjoyed the experience more had I done that. But standards were in place and objectives had to be met.
Painfully coursing our way through southern Asia and India in the social studies curriculum, we hit a major snag. How could I make this information pertinent to inner city youth in South Dallas? The answer lay in the literature textbook. It just so happened that the curriculum specialists aligned the reading assignments in language arts with the social studies lessons. Yes, we had a narrative of Sir Edmund Hillary’s ascent to the top of the world, the peak of Mount Everest.
Being a good guide, Hillary did not do all of the work for me. I had to add a little excitement and drama to the already thrilling text. It was the best passage the textbook had to offer. And, it actually caught the students’ attentions. I have rarely expressed the amount of thanks for simple blessings as I did that first day of reading. I saw my own journey as a grueling uphill ascent to mastering the classroom. That in itself was a treacherous route with only one path. The orders were to keep moving. I could see Hillary’s hand in the blur of doubt and confusion that swarmed around my mind at the end of each day. I could make, he seemed to tell me. And, I did. I just had to move to a different mountain, so to say. Dallas was a failed ascent. But other mountains awaited me, and I met with success.
I know it sounds corny and sentimental, but I wanted to thank this man for making a few weeks in the first year of my teaching career sane and positive. Those few weeks kept me going long enough. I read about his death tonight and shared it with my wife who talked about the NPR story. She thought the fact that he was a bee keeper was charming and striking. Reflecting on it, I have to agree.
Perhaps this final facet of this man’s incredible life is the last lesson he is leaving for me…all of us. Even though we may achieve wondrous heights in our undertakings, sometimes quite literally, we need to remain grounded, also quite literally. Hillary climbed other mountains in other parts of the world, but he always returned home to his bees. Insects who seemingly mundane existence of doing what they were created to do, give us sweet, golden honey and beautiful scented flowers teach us to do what we were created to do with the same determination and gusto. We just need to figure out what peaks and which ranges to scale. So to you, Sir Edmund Hillary…Thank you…
I just read the Sir Edmund Hillary has passed on at the age of 88. I think a moment of reverent silence is in order, but I am not that presumptuous to think I can call for it. No. But, how is it that a junior high school teacher in the center of Central Texas is affect by the death of this man? I cannot honestly claim that I am weeping grieving tears as I compose this missive, but a little twinge in my heart did happen when I read the story of his death. Sir Edmund Hillary saved my life one day, not all that long ago.
It was nothing dramatic or daring. Never did it involve an actual cliff or include any rope of any sort. It was during my first year of teaching. I was desperate for a job after dropping out of seminary and moving back to Texas with my tail between my legs. I had thumped my bared chest before God and duly put in my place…Thankfully. This experience found me not only awash in Dallas ISD’s alternative certification program for those of us who had a college degree but nor certification, but also in an inner city urban campus.
I was the only male teacher in the sixth grade, and the only ESL teacher to boot in the upper grades of the school. No worries, right? Nothing was hanging in the balance, except for my livelihood, shelter, food, and essentials for my family and I. Trying to teaching students who were in the sixth grade with second and third grade reading scores was the norm. Try getting them not just to read, but to comprehend and retain information from grade-level social studies textbook. Nothing short of Herculean. But, that’s where Sir Edmund Hillary comes in.
It was his helping hand as I dangled off of a proverbial sheer cliff with jagged rocks of failure and insanity waiting to pummel me should I slip and fall. I was trying to follow the district scope and sequence as I taught social studies and language arts to disinterested and disaffected urban youth. I would have done better in giving a lesson on metrical feet in hip-hop compositions, or wire tricks from martial arts movies. To think of it, I might have enjoyed the experience more had I done that. But standards were in place and objectives had to be met.
Painfully coursing our way through southern Asia and India in the social studies curriculum, we hit a major snag. How could I make this information pertinent to inner city youth in South Dallas? The answer lay in the literature textbook. It just so happened that the curriculum specialists aligned the reading assignments in language arts with the social studies lessons. Yes, we had a narrative of Sir Edmund Hillary’s ascent to the top of the world, the peak of Mount Everest.
Being a good guide, Hillary did not do all of the work for me. I had to add a little excitement and drama to the already thrilling text. It was the best passage the textbook had to offer. And, it actually caught the students’ attentions. I have rarely expressed the amount of thanks for simple blessings as I did that first day of reading. I saw my own journey as a grueling uphill ascent to mastering the classroom. That in itself was a treacherous route with only one path. The orders were to keep moving. I could see Hillary’s hand in the blur of doubt and confusion that swarmed around my mind at the end of each day. I could make, he seemed to tell me. And, I did. I just had to move to a different mountain, so to say. Dallas was a failed ascent. But other mountains awaited me, and I met with success.
I know it sounds corny and sentimental, but I wanted to thank this man for making a few weeks in the first year of my teaching career sane and positive. Those few weeks kept me going long enough. I read about his death tonight and shared it with my wife who talked about the NPR story. She thought the fact that he was a bee keeper was charming and striking. Reflecting on it, I have to agree.
Perhaps this final facet of this man’s incredible life is the last lesson he is leaving for me…all of us. Even though we may achieve wondrous heights in our undertakings, sometimes quite literally, we need to remain grounded, also quite literally. Hillary climbed other mountains in other parts of the world, but he always returned home to his bees. Insects who seemingly mundane existence of doing what they were created to do, give us sweet, golden honey and beautiful scented flowers teach us to do what we were created to do with the same determination and gusto. We just need to figure out what peaks and which ranges to scale. So to you, Sir Edmund Hillary…Thank you…
Thursday, January 03, 2008
The Stpehen King Effect
Teaching public school serves as an insight and experiment into the realms of memory and time. These two subjects have been the prospect of serious study and tawdry jokes for ages. So who am I to add any depth or breadth of knowledge to these dilemmas and paradoxes? I am just a junior high school teacher recording what I see, hear, and experience daily in my vocation.
I am no literary scholar, nor do I harbor any pretenses to be one. I am just a teacher. However, I remember the rise and zenith of Stephen King’s out put and literary success. It was cool to be immersed in one of his novels during class. Especially if there was a cute girl there. King’s novels were one of the few pieces of writing that you could read openly and not be crucified for reading by your fellow classmates. It was socially safe reading. It was an easy topic of conversation that could bridge social gaps in the cafeteria.
As I have said before, times change and so do tastes. In some ways this is good. Otherwise, Dacron would still be all the rage and fire insurance would be worse that it already is for homeowners. Such is the case for Stephen King. What his legacy will be in the future, I cannot say. It is not my place. I am not a literary scholar, nor do I want to be. I cannot afford more student loans to add more letters after my name.
Stephen King will at least always be remembered by the general populace. He continues to provoke thought and conversation by scarring the shit out of us. And we keep reading. But he has “blipped” on my radar lately. It is probably the latest round of standardized testing. Those test that students finish in a few hours, but are given the day to take. Thus, the end result is either voracious reading or equally energetic snoring.
It was during this latest round of agony that I noticed a change in the reading habits of some of my students. I noticed more and more Stephen King novels appearing in the hands of the student populace. This didn’t really worry or excite me one way or the other. Of course, I am overjoyed that any student is reading under their own volition. That’s a given.
But as a teacher of history, I am constantly amused, for lack of a better term, at the significance of individuals in history and the seemingly cyclical nature of history. I won’t ensconce you with a protracted philosophical inquiry in which is more prevalent and correct. Let’s just say that I have witnessed compelling evidence to support both camps.
I don’t know if this is a natural reaction after the final Harry Potter book has been published and voraciously devoured by the rabid audience. It might be. It seems logical. The novels of Tolkien and Lewis have been exhausted after the films sparked a resurgence in reading them. But why Stephen King? Why now?
I don’t know. I am not sure if there is an answer. And if there is, I am not sure it is really a good one. At least not good enough for a quest to be launched to discover it. Needless to say, the Stephen King Effect is real. It has occurred in my classroom. It is not so much the effect of junior high students reading his novels, as the “community” their action creates. A “community” that I am a member of.
It is an odd sensation being on the other end of the spectrum. When I began reading Stephen King’s novels in junior high school, it empowered me. Sure the stories were great, and some of the “down trodden” lead characters gave hope to a sad sack miscreant like me, but it was the actually act that held the notorious notoriety. I loved the raised eyebrows and imagined whispering that my reading palate elicited.
Looking at in perspective now, I am sure those teachers at my junior high school were thinking and muttering similar declarations and questions as I have rolling around in my head and mouth. Does it really matter that this trend continues through the generations? Probably not. What ramifications will be the consequence of reading these adult novels as an adolescent? Probably few, if any. Look at my generation…heh, heh, heh…
Philosophically, this does raise the questions about childhood innocence. Cynically, it can be refuted by spending thirty seconds watching one of out non-stop news channels, surfing the Internet, or rolling across the now digital radio dial. But, we as a country want to cling to this image. It is reassuring and calming. It puts the chaotic and sometimes vicious adult world into a little better element. We can at least say, “It wasn’t always like this.” Sure…Right…It’s only a recent phenomenon that our understanding of childhood has come about. I am sure it has something to do with industrialization and globalization, but I am not smart enough to fully explore these aspects and facets of modern life. Probably best that I don’t, anyway…
So where does this leave me? Same place where I began, but a little more wise, and perhaps with a few more “cool points” according to my students. Those few who were reading Stephen King novels after finishing their tests…We built a bridge. Hopefully it was another pier in the generation gap. Going around and checking on the students, I was able to strike up a small conversation with these readers. Casual remarks, such as “Don’t you think the mother is a real pain in that one?” rolled through the whispering. The looks, smiles, and replies that these comments garnered were priceless.
I am no literary scholar, nor do I harbor any pretenses to be one. I am just a teacher. However, I remember the rise and zenith of Stephen King’s out put and literary success. It was cool to be immersed in one of his novels during class. Especially if there was a cute girl there. King’s novels were one of the few pieces of writing that you could read openly and not be crucified for reading by your fellow classmates. It was socially safe reading. It was an easy topic of conversation that could bridge social gaps in the cafeteria.
As I have said before, times change and so do tastes. In some ways this is good. Otherwise, Dacron would still be all the rage and fire insurance would be worse that it already is for homeowners. Such is the case for Stephen King. What his legacy will be in the future, I cannot say. It is not my place. I am not a literary scholar, nor do I want to be. I cannot afford more student loans to add more letters after my name.
Stephen King will at least always be remembered by the general populace. He continues to provoke thought and conversation by scarring the shit out of us. And we keep reading. But he has “blipped” on my radar lately. It is probably the latest round of standardized testing. Those test that students finish in a few hours, but are given the day to take. Thus, the end result is either voracious reading or equally energetic snoring.
It was during this latest round of agony that I noticed a change in the reading habits of some of my students. I noticed more and more Stephen King novels appearing in the hands of the student populace. This didn’t really worry or excite me one way or the other. Of course, I am overjoyed that any student is reading under their own volition. That’s a given.
But as a teacher of history, I am constantly amused, for lack of a better term, at the significance of individuals in history and the seemingly cyclical nature of history. I won’t ensconce you with a protracted philosophical inquiry in which is more prevalent and correct. Let’s just say that I have witnessed compelling evidence to support both camps.
I don’t know if this is a natural reaction after the final Harry Potter book has been published and voraciously devoured by the rabid audience. It might be. It seems logical. The novels of Tolkien and Lewis have been exhausted after the films sparked a resurgence in reading them. But why Stephen King? Why now?
I don’t know. I am not sure if there is an answer. And if there is, I am not sure it is really a good one. At least not good enough for a quest to be launched to discover it. Needless to say, the Stephen King Effect is real. It has occurred in my classroom. It is not so much the effect of junior high students reading his novels, as the “community” their action creates. A “community” that I am a member of.
It is an odd sensation being on the other end of the spectrum. When I began reading Stephen King’s novels in junior high school, it empowered me. Sure the stories were great, and some of the “down trodden” lead characters gave hope to a sad sack miscreant like me, but it was the actually act that held the notorious notoriety. I loved the raised eyebrows and imagined whispering that my reading palate elicited.
Looking at in perspective now, I am sure those teachers at my junior high school were thinking and muttering similar declarations and questions as I have rolling around in my head and mouth. Does it really matter that this trend continues through the generations? Probably not. What ramifications will be the consequence of reading these adult novels as an adolescent? Probably few, if any. Look at my generation…heh, heh, heh…
Philosophically, this does raise the questions about childhood innocence. Cynically, it can be refuted by spending thirty seconds watching one of out non-stop news channels, surfing the Internet, or rolling across the now digital radio dial. But, we as a country want to cling to this image. It is reassuring and calming. It puts the chaotic and sometimes vicious adult world into a little better element. We can at least say, “It wasn’t always like this.” Sure…Right…It’s only a recent phenomenon that our understanding of childhood has come about. I am sure it has something to do with industrialization and globalization, but I am not smart enough to fully explore these aspects and facets of modern life. Probably best that I don’t, anyway…
So where does this leave me? Same place where I began, but a little more wise, and perhaps with a few more “cool points” according to my students. Those few who were reading Stephen King novels after finishing their tests…We built a bridge. Hopefully it was another pier in the generation gap. Going around and checking on the students, I was able to strike up a small conversation with these readers. Casual remarks, such as “Don’t you think the mother is a real pain in that one?” rolled through the whispering. The looks, smiles, and replies that these comments garnered were priceless.
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