It's nearing the end of the school year here in Japan and as such the teacher's meeting season is in full swing and my school has been gracious enough to offer me the chance to sit in on the meetings and so of late I've been doing a bit of thinking about exactly what you have to do to be the kind of teacher who really moves lives. There are a ton of teachers out there, we've all had a few of them, I suppose, and I think we could all probably agree that while there's nothing worse than a bad teacher, there's nothing better than a great one. What does it take to be a great one? What do you have to do?
There's different ways to be a great teacher, but lately I've been thinking about what to do with the kids who just don't really give a shit. In every class there are a few kids who are all-stars, a lot of kids who are doing alright, a handful of kids who are floundering a little, and then a few kids who either have no chance or prefer to be a wrecking ball. As a teacher, those last one's are the most frustrating because they are not only bringing themselves down but it seems like they're on a mission to tear down the whole production. All people are pretty much consistently engaged in ranking themselves (unconsciously, most often) upon various social totem-poles, but no humans are more attune than middle school aged kids, and so if the big dogs on the top of the pole are out there ready to take a bite of your hide if you step up then you're far more likely to sit quietly, take your notes, keep your nose clean and get out of there. Which isn't the way to greatness.
Oftentimes it seems like there's nothing you can really do about this, but I'm not satisfied with that answer. There is something you can do about this, there has to be, and first you have to start with trying to understand why class clowns and bullies and dropouts to be act the way they do.
I believe that all behavior can be understood. With the exception of people who have serious cognitive disorders I think there is reason why people do the things they do and if you look hard enough you should be able to figure it out. Why is it that some students don’t do their homework, don’t care about their grades, and in general do far more to disrupt the learning environment than to contribute to it? There are many factors, of course, but I think it all boils down to this: they don’t consider themselves the type of person who is a good student. In every class there are some kids who will succeed regardless of the task placed in front of them.. Regardless of the teacher, regardless of their classmates, regardless of all external factors they will turn in their homework on time, perform on tests, and be generally positive forces in the classroom. Why? Because, consciously or not, they base their identity upon it. When I was in school, especially high school, my identity was probably too powerfully linked to my image as a good student; the thought of not doing homework or performing poorly on a test or paper would make me sick because it was not who I was. I considered myself a perfect student and getting less than a perfect grade would have been an assault to my identity. As a result, I did the things necessary to get the grades I considered acceptable.
Where did that identity come from? By the time I was 15 it was firmly in place and nobody had to tell me that I had to do my homework because I was incapable of doing anything else, but why? That sense of self had to come from somewhere. I guess there are a lot of places such a thing could come from, but in my case it was pretty simple. From as long as I can remember my mom wouldn’t accept anything less than the highest results. At first I was motivated almost assuredly (at least partially) out of fear that my mom would yell at me if I got less than the best, but what I didn’t realize was going was that my little mind was being programed to believe that it was capable of the best. For that I can only be eternally grateful because that pressure, that expectation to perform at the highest level was slowly ingrained into me until it became natural and unquestionable. While I could come up with some counter examples (once I got into college my expectations and standards dropped some, I didn’t believe myself capable of science so those grades weren’t so good, etc) for the most part, least as far as school and studying was concerned I never went into any endeavor expecting or even accepting less than the best.
The problem for me now is expanding those expectations to all aspects of my life, a process which is fully in process.
But how about those kids don’t give a shit about school? It’s likely that they either a) were never really pushed to think that school was important, or b) were never really told that they were capable of exceeding at it. What’s going to result in that? A kid who either sees no value in the stuff presented in school (and therefore only hassle and pain), or a kid who doesn’t think he or she is smart enough to get anything out of the stuff presented in school. Either way, that student is not going to view him or herself as an “A student” and so, or course, will not exhibit any “A student” behavior. None of this stuff is relevant to my everyday life, why should I care about it? I can’t do it anyway, so what’s the point of frustrating myself and making myself feel stupid and worthless by trying? My parents and friends don’t care anyways so why put in the effort for no reward? These are the kinds of excuses for not studying that teachers hear on a daily basis, and while they are frustrating, in order to move past them I think it is vital to realize that they are also very defensible and rational from such a student`s perspective. If in fact those are the beliefs towards school that a kid brings into the classroom, you will have no success getting him or her to learn unless you FIRST CHANGE THOSE BELIEFS. It’s that simple. You can keep kids after school and punish them for not working and yell at them all you want but if none of these things change the way the kid thinks about school (and in fact it seems like few of these methods ever do) then you won’t get the results you want. You might get the kid to turn in his homework, though it’s likely to either have been copied from a friend or done sloppily, neither of which is a good way to get to actual understanding, or you might just make a kid hate school more, reinforcing her image of it as a place of tormentors and bullies to be rebelled against at all cost. I think for a lot of kids school seems like just such a place, but it’s not because teachers like to be mean to kids. They’re not being mean and in the vast majority of circumstances they have no malicious intent; the reason they are harsh is because they think that is the best way to make their students better. Don’t get more wrong, I’m not saying that there is never a time for a harsh word; sometimes there most certainly is. However, and from working at a school for a few years I am convinced that all of the teachers at my school believe this, a teacher’s job is to get the most they can out of their students, to help them see their weaknesses and get past them, to be a bigger and better person when they leave the school then they were when they came in. It’s that simple. Sometimes, though, the prescribed method for changing a student is far from the most effective one. All teachers want to help.
Kids have to know that school is a place for them to grow, not a place for them to be yelled at by an annoying adult. Sometimes it turns into a place to be yelled at by an annoying adult, however, and once you get into that frame learning sort of stops and resistance takes over.
One last thought. Everybody is pretty much looking for how they can get the least pain and the most pleasure out of any given environment they are in. Humans are complicated but I think it’s a highly defensible claim that all human behavior stems from this dynamic. Why then, do some kids play dumb in class, or in some cases even take pride out of being dumb? In some classes I go to it’s a recurring theme that some kids will puff up over getting single digits on their test scores, or in not understanding vocabulary words, or in making the topic and the teacher presenting it seem weird and/or stupid. Why? First off, think about what they get out of that. Mocking the subject matter or the teacher, feigning stupidity. In some ways, not being emotionally affected by things makes someone seem cool. If a kid doesn’t know the answer to a question and breaks down and cries because of that he’s not going to be labeled as a cool kid for obvious reasons. However, if he doesn’t know and clearly doesn’t give a shit that can be seen as kind of cool because it conveys the image that he is above English or above the teacher’s demands. A free spirit. A freedom fighter standing up to the Man. He (this character is usually a he) also gets laugh. His peers think he’s funny, and in the short run he gets a lot of value out of refusing to study. If, on the other hand, he tries seriously to study, because he’s not smart, he goes from being the funny rebel to being just a failure. If you’re that kid and you don’t think you have a chance in hell to actually be successful, which option are you going to choose?
If your options are to evaluate your sense of self by standards that will make you small, or by standards that will validate you, most people are going to go with the latter. Of course, in the long run choosing ignorance is the worst choice you could ever make; however, the problem is getting kids (and people in general, myself included) to think in the long run.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Bringing Down the House
The Whitman Experience. How many pages could I write about the Whitman Experience. Going to Whitman College was and continues to be an extraordinary learning experience for me, but not, perhaps, as you might find it described in the pages of a visitor’s pamphlet. I have learned and grown as much, in fact vastly more, moving beyond Whitman than I ever did working within Whitman, but for that very reason it has become an incredibly valuable reference point in my life. It’s a complicated thing, and by no means do I wish to throw mud on the college because my time there was amazing and many of the TOOLS I acquired there have proven invaluable in carrying me to this point in my life and will continue to carry me forward ever forward into the future; however, many of the VIEWS I picked up at Whitman were less than empowering, and far from serving as the bastions and pillars of a dynamic and prosperous worldview were in fact roadblocks to the development of any such thing.
‘Tis a complicated web composed of many threads. Let me first start by saying that in no way is Whitman at fault for the shortcomings I took away from it; the fault rests solely with me. The way I interacted with certain aspects of the small liberal arts college environment brought out not the worst in me but but certainly weaknesses and warped them in such a way that I perceived them as strengths. Warped them in such a way that I perceived them as strengths, let me repeat that one more time because it is very important. My perception of the Whitman experience amplified my weaknesses and made me think of them as strengths.
Whitman is something you take with you and move beyond.
Whitman is small. Whitman is insular. Whitman is about being as smart as you can, as critical as you can, as insightful and academic as you can. At least that’s how I saw it. They say that Whitman is a bubble and it is. They say that Whitman is a fantasy land and it is. They say that Whitman and the Real World have little more than a tangential relationship and if they do then you have to remember that what seems to be true is only true on a single solitary point on the endlessly streaking line that is larger life.
Allow me to explicate.
Or forgive me for failing to, whichever the case may be.
How about I spell it out straight. I began to judge value based purely on perceived level of academia. So-called stupid people I shunned, anything that I could understand was too simple and therefore slightly contemptuous, all pop-culture was shallow and meaningless, all big business (perhaps even all business in general) was trying to sell me my soul pinned to a price tag, people with money into money who thought about money were also shallow and meaningless, people who used anything but the most esoteric of writing styles were below me, Republicans were shallow and meaningless, people who believed in things were trying too hard because, well, to put it simply, I knew everything and in the end everything boiled down to being pretty much shallow and meaningless.
Is this the natural outcome of the liberal arts education? No, but it’s where I left it, with a sharp brain that was focused with laser precision on the holes, the cracks, the flaws, the problems with things, and furthermore, with inventing the ways in which those holes cracks flaws and problems rendered the remaining whole unfit for much but the discard pile. I had a discard pile miles high and not much left that I could call a treasure.
This, luckily, is who I used to be, because Whitman is something I used to get past myself.
Whitman took those elements of my personality that I brought with me to Anderson Hall in 2004, insecurity, uncertainty, negativity, fear, and turned up the volume on them. That’s not to say that I brought only negative things with me to Whitman, or that during my time there only the negative parts of my personality grew; I’ve got plenty of good points that received a similar boost. However too many key pieces of my reality were put together of negative components and the truth is I DIDN’T EVEN REALIZE IT. I thought I was just being real. All of the aforementioned thought patterns seemed to me inevitable objective conclusions to be drawn from the things I was studying. That’s the way the world actually was and a faint sense of futility was the only thing you could logically or perhaps even responsibly take from it all.
Those were my conclusions, but it turns out that they were neither impartial nor by any means inevitable. I learned a lot at Whitman, but I never really learned about the weaknesses that riddled the foundation of my being. If you don't fight those kind of things face to face they’re never going to go away; in fact, they are far more likely to just pilot you from the shadows. I got a lot of good things from Whitman. I got a lot of great friends, I got a lot of great experiences, I learned how to begin to think, I grew a lot, I challenged myself a lot, I had a lot of fun, I got a lot of dicking around out of my system; however, my failure to really address my own limitations kept all of those things from being as meaningful as they could have been.
And yet, paradoxically, because an inability to really get down to business at the time has led me to the greater understanding I have of my own fallicies today, everything about those four years, everything good and bad satisfactory unsatisfactory fulfilling unfulfilling easy challenging happy or sad can only be viewed as vital contributions to an incredibly positive experience. There are no bad experiences because anything that didn’t go as you planned is only great feedback for getting it right the next time. Or the next time, or the next time. Or maybe the next time. Doesn’t matter as long as you’re moving in the right direction.
‘Tis a complicated web composed of many threads. Let me first start by saying that in no way is Whitman at fault for the shortcomings I took away from it; the fault rests solely with me. The way I interacted with certain aspects of the small liberal arts college environment brought out not the worst in me but but certainly weaknesses and warped them in such a way that I perceived them as strengths. Warped them in such a way that I perceived them as strengths, let me repeat that one more time because it is very important. My perception of the Whitman experience amplified my weaknesses and made me think of them as strengths.
Whitman is something you take with you and move beyond.
Whitman is small. Whitman is insular. Whitman is about being as smart as you can, as critical as you can, as insightful and academic as you can. At least that’s how I saw it. They say that Whitman is a bubble and it is. They say that Whitman is a fantasy land and it is. They say that Whitman and the Real World have little more than a tangential relationship and if they do then you have to remember that what seems to be true is only true on a single solitary point on the endlessly streaking line that is larger life.
Allow me to explicate.
Or forgive me for failing to, whichever the case may be.
How about I spell it out straight. I began to judge value based purely on perceived level of academia. So-called stupid people I shunned, anything that I could understand was too simple and therefore slightly contemptuous, all pop-culture was shallow and meaningless, all big business (perhaps even all business in general) was trying to sell me my soul pinned to a price tag, people with money into money who thought about money were also shallow and meaningless, people who used anything but the most esoteric of writing styles were below me, Republicans were shallow and meaningless, people who believed in things were trying too hard because, well, to put it simply, I knew everything and in the end everything boiled down to being pretty much shallow and meaningless.
Is this the natural outcome of the liberal arts education? No, but it’s where I left it, with a sharp brain that was focused with laser precision on the holes, the cracks, the flaws, the problems with things, and furthermore, with inventing the ways in which those holes cracks flaws and problems rendered the remaining whole unfit for much but the discard pile. I had a discard pile miles high and not much left that I could call a treasure.
This, luckily, is who I used to be, because Whitman is something I used to get past myself.
Whitman took those elements of my personality that I brought with me to Anderson Hall in 2004, insecurity, uncertainty, negativity, fear, and turned up the volume on them. That’s not to say that I brought only negative things with me to Whitman, or that during my time there only the negative parts of my personality grew; I’ve got plenty of good points that received a similar boost. However too many key pieces of my reality were put together of negative components and the truth is I DIDN’T EVEN REALIZE IT. I thought I was just being real. All of the aforementioned thought patterns seemed to me inevitable objective conclusions to be drawn from the things I was studying. That’s the way the world actually was and a faint sense of futility was the only thing you could logically or perhaps even responsibly take from it all.
Those were my conclusions, but it turns out that they were neither impartial nor by any means inevitable. I learned a lot at Whitman, but I never really learned about the weaknesses that riddled the foundation of my being. If you don't fight those kind of things face to face they’re never going to go away; in fact, they are far more likely to just pilot you from the shadows. I got a lot of good things from Whitman. I got a lot of great friends, I got a lot of great experiences, I learned how to begin to think, I grew a lot, I challenged myself a lot, I had a lot of fun, I got a lot of dicking around out of my system; however, my failure to really address my own limitations kept all of those things from being as meaningful as they could have been.
And yet, paradoxically, because an inability to really get down to business at the time has led me to the greater understanding I have of my own fallicies today, everything about those four years, everything good and bad satisfactory unsatisfactory fulfilling unfulfilling easy challenging happy or sad can only be viewed as vital contributions to an incredibly positive experience. There are no bad experiences because anything that didn’t go as you planned is only great feedback for getting it right the next time. Or the next time, or the next time. Or maybe the next time. Doesn’t matter as long as you’re moving in the right direction.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Ruby Red White Gold
Let's run with the metaphor from last time because it's high time to brush aside the dust covering up the things in my life that should be giving off the most light.
When I was contemplating the events that had the biggest impact on my life my relationship with Japan popped into my head immediately, as one might expect. It's difficult to imagine where I would be had I never gotten into Japan, both geographically and emotionally. Japan is an amazing place and has been an incredible source of personal growth for me. Even as I write that sentence, however, I sense a familiar flicker of uncertainty in the corner of my mind's eye and I know that it's time I finally confront the vampire that's lurking there.
Sometimes we think we've grown up and outgrown things only to realize that if we don't confront them head-on they only give the impression of having disappeared and instead persist on the periphery, potent as ever, perhaps even more so. I don't really believe in Satan, but that does nothing to the fact that the greatest trick the devil ever performed was convincing the world he doesn't exist.
When you're a nerdy kid and you spend a few formative years of social ineptitude as a result of it, after you pull out of that nosedive and start making friends you find that you'll do almost whatever it takes to keep that old label from reattaching itself to you. It's all in your head, but when I was a middle school student coming out of homeschooling and was super socially incompetent I was also a huge nerd. Homeschooling was the best thing that ever happened to me in some ways, but amongst other things it also left me with a lot of free time that I dedicated almost solely to the delights of various fantasy lands. When you're a twelve year old kid with very minimal human contact and almost none with kids your own age on a day to day basis you'll do whatever you can to find something to immerse yourself in and for me it was Star Wars, Role Playing Video Games, fantasy novels with dragons and wizards, and a wide host of the usual nerd paraphenalia. For two years that was pretty much all that went in, and so that's what I was into as a little guy, which, I want to mention is totally fine, great, cool, no big deal, fundamentally irrelevant to anything and everything, but when I went back into school, man was I terrible at all forms of interaction. Why? Because I liked Star Wars? No, I just didn't know how to interact with people. All I knew was Star Wars. So, I'd talk about goblins or something in a not-cool I just spent two years with my mom kind of way, get weird look, feels shitty, and link that shittiness to NERDINESS, not to what it actually was which is merely an inevitable lack of social ability.
Fast-forward to when I got older, got more experience, got at socially tolerable, got kind of cool. Did I want to give that up and go back to being that hopeless little guy again? No I did not. What was it that made me that hopeless little guy? Being a nerd. Did I want to be looked at as a nerd? No I did not. As a result did I stop liking nerdy stuff? No I most certainly did not. I still loved video games, I spent the majority of two summer vacations doing nothing but read the Wheel of Time, I memorized the entire three hours of the Fellowship of the Ring. THREE FUCKING HOURS! I could do every line. I was a nerd. Which is totally cool, but I still linked nerdiness to uncoolness so what happened to my nerdy pleasures? They becames sins. They became secret things that I wouldn't admit freely to people, or things that I felt shame about if I did admit them. If somebody made fun of the nerdy things I liked, maybe I didn't show it but inside I took a blow. I took a blow.
In addition to loving video games and Jar Jar Binks I also happened to love Japan, and oh boy was that ever an exercise in cognitive dissonance because if you were to ask the average American to draw a circle around the nerdiest region of the Earth it would go around Asia, and then if you gave them a push-pin and asked for the epicenter they would probably plop it right down on Tokyo. Just as like will gravitate to like, nerd will find nerdtopia.
So what did I do? I drew distinctions between the people who liked Japan for it's cultural heritage (temples, tea ceremony, art, re: cool) and people who liked Japan for it's anime and manga (nerd; uncool). I went for years like this, and even as I got more interested in Japan, went there, enjoyed the culture, the people, et. al, there was still a significant section of my brain that refused to legitimize my interest in Japan. It developed further into a guilty pleasure to the point where I felt like I couldn't really take anything of value from Japan into my everyday life because it was somehow too tainted by the quote-un-quote nerdy aspects of its culture.
So I write above that coming to Japan was one of the most influential events in my life. And it has been. I've grown in so many ways since I've been here and learned so many things about myself, people, life, evolution, guitar scales, the one-handed backhand, throwing a bowling ball, how to handle kids and people and far beyond that, but even up until today there was a little niggling in my head, a little unspoken niggling in my head that because I learned all that in Japan it somehow.... doesn't apply. I don't know why, but I do know that it's time that I recognized that out-dated remnant of my insecure past for what it is; an out-dated remnant of my insecure past. I like anime. I dedicated at least 6 months of my life to One Piece and maintain that it's one of the unqualified best things I've ever seen. Manga is good. People read it, they aren't all hopelessly awkward. Japan is a real country like any other, with real people doing real things. It's not an alternate reality, it's my second home and the things I've learned here are every bit as valuable as they would have been had I learned them on the streets of New York.
When I was contemplating the events that had the biggest impact on my life my relationship with Japan popped into my head immediately, as one might expect. It's difficult to imagine where I would be had I never gotten into Japan, both geographically and emotionally. Japan is an amazing place and has been an incredible source of personal growth for me. Even as I write that sentence, however, I sense a familiar flicker of uncertainty in the corner of my mind's eye and I know that it's time I finally confront the vampire that's lurking there.
Sometimes we think we've grown up and outgrown things only to realize that if we don't confront them head-on they only give the impression of having disappeared and instead persist on the periphery, potent as ever, perhaps even more so. I don't really believe in Satan, but that does nothing to the fact that the greatest trick the devil ever performed was convincing the world he doesn't exist.
When you're a nerdy kid and you spend a few formative years of social ineptitude as a result of it, after you pull out of that nosedive and start making friends you find that you'll do almost whatever it takes to keep that old label from reattaching itself to you. It's all in your head, but when I was a middle school student coming out of homeschooling and was super socially incompetent I was also a huge nerd. Homeschooling was the best thing that ever happened to me in some ways, but amongst other things it also left me with a lot of free time that I dedicated almost solely to the delights of various fantasy lands. When you're a twelve year old kid with very minimal human contact and almost none with kids your own age on a day to day basis you'll do whatever you can to find something to immerse yourself in and for me it was Star Wars, Role Playing Video Games, fantasy novels with dragons and wizards, and a wide host of the usual nerd paraphenalia. For two years that was pretty much all that went in, and so that's what I was into as a little guy, which, I want to mention is totally fine, great, cool, no big deal, fundamentally irrelevant to anything and everything, but when I went back into school, man was I terrible at all forms of interaction. Why? Because I liked Star Wars? No, I just didn't know how to interact with people. All I knew was Star Wars. So, I'd talk about goblins or something in a not-cool I just spent two years with my mom kind of way, get weird look, feels shitty, and link that shittiness to NERDINESS, not to what it actually was which is merely an inevitable lack of social ability.
Fast-forward to when I got older, got more experience, got at socially tolerable, got kind of cool. Did I want to give that up and go back to being that hopeless little guy again? No I did not. What was it that made me that hopeless little guy? Being a nerd. Did I want to be looked at as a nerd? No I did not. As a result did I stop liking nerdy stuff? No I most certainly did not. I still loved video games, I spent the majority of two summer vacations doing nothing but read the Wheel of Time, I memorized the entire three hours of the Fellowship of the Ring. THREE FUCKING HOURS! I could do every line. I was a nerd. Which is totally cool, but I still linked nerdiness to uncoolness so what happened to my nerdy pleasures? They becames sins. They became secret things that I wouldn't admit freely to people, or things that I felt shame about if I did admit them. If somebody made fun of the nerdy things I liked, maybe I didn't show it but inside I took a blow. I took a blow.
In addition to loving video games and Jar Jar Binks I also happened to love Japan, and oh boy was that ever an exercise in cognitive dissonance because if you were to ask the average American to draw a circle around the nerdiest region of the Earth it would go around Asia, and then if you gave them a push-pin and asked for the epicenter they would probably plop it right down on Tokyo. Just as like will gravitate to like, nerd will find nerdtopia.
So what did I do? I drew distinctions between the people who liked Japan for it's cultural heritage (temples, tea ceremony, art, re: cool) and people who liked Japan for it's anime and manga (nerd; uncool). I went for years like this, and even as I got more interested in Japan, went there, enjoyed the culture, the people, et. al, there was still a significant section of my brain that refused to legitimize my interest in Japan. It developed further into a guilty pleasure to the point where I felt like I couldn't really take anything of value from Japan into my everyday life because it was somehow too tainted by the quote-un-quote nerdy aspects of its culture.
So I write above that coming to Japan was one of the most influential events in my life. And it has been. I've grown in so many ways since I've been here and learned so many things about myself, people, life, evolution, guitar scales, the one-handed backhand, throwing a bowling ball, how to handle kids and people and far beyond that, but even up until today there was a little niggling in my head, a little unspoken niggling in my head that because I learned all that in Japan it somehow.... doesn't apply. I don't know why, but I do know that it's time that I recognized that out-dated remnant of my insecure past for what it is; an out-dated remnant of my insecure past. I like anime. I dedicated at least 6 months of my life to One Piece and maintain that it's one of the unqualified best things I've ever seen. Manga is good. People read it, they aren't all hopelessly awkward. Japan is a real country like any other, with real people doing real things. It's not an alternate reality, it's my second home and the things I've learned here are every bit as valuable as they would have been had I learned them on the streets of New York.
Get Out Your Scrap Metal
If you ever want to read a book that will change your life I can recommend one. It's called Awaken the Giant Within, by Tony Robbins, it's unabashed self-help, and it is the single most influential book I have ever read. I highly recommend it to anyone and everyone, because if you read it with an open-mind and make a genuine effort to think it through the rewards could be boundless.
Get out your scrap metal and bring it on down to the foundry because it's time to make some amazing shit out of it. I don't know about everybody else but I know I have carried around the stuff of my life in a dirty sack, unrefined, unappreciated, largely unacknowledged but undeniably heavy and undoubtedly an unnecessary burden. We've all lived for however long we've lived and everyday we've picked up stuff along the way, sights sounds tastes smells successes failures moments of pride moments of shame moments that seemed like nothing at all and in truth most of it goes in the sack. Some of it, however, goes on a shelf and we look at it all the time. We look at it all the time, and the thing is, it's not all treasure that we often end up displaying. Of all that raw material we spend everyday knowingly or unknowingly collecting the stuff we look at isn't always the stuff that looking at would make us feel good. I don't know about you, but for far too long I've littered the shelves of my consciousness with symbols of defeat, of inferiority, of hopelessness and helplessness, all the while thinking I was doing myself and the universe a justice. That to see the world as it is is the only way to live, and that an uphill trudge through dross was the world as it is.
To see the world for what it is is in fact the only way to live; thing is, what I thought was reality couldn't have been more distorted.
Let's get back to the sack for a minute though. The matter of the mundane, the scattered scraps of the everyday, little bits and pieces of getting from here to there and back again unscathed went in as junk, not necessarily as things bad but certainly as things unusable. Truth is, though, that there's no such thing and diamonds in the rough are everywhere you look. This is the Foundry, this is the place where we take your tired, your weak, your hungry, your poor, your dented, your flawed, your scratched and beat up and remake them. This is the home of the Alchemist, where we take your lead and transform it into gold because while it's beyond us at the moment to realistically rearrange molecular structures words my friends bend to our wills and the gold that blooms in your brain is worth far more than any hunk of metal.
Turn to your sacks, take out the trash within and transform it into the treasure it could be. Turn to your shelves and let not the wicked idols enshrined there any longer have any power of you. Realize that they, too, perhaps they especially, the remains of failures of embarrassments of shames of guilts of insufficiences long past are in fact objects of the highest power shrouded only in cursed clothes cast like shadows from you own mind. Clear the shadows away and see what's been hidden within all these years.
Get out your scrap metal and bring it on down to the foundry because it's time to make some amazing shit out of it. I don't know about everybody else but I know I have carried around the stuff of my life in a dirty sack, unrefined, unappreciated, largely unacknowledged but undeniably heavy and undoubtedly an unnecessary burden. We've all lived for however long we've lived and everyday we've picked up stuff along the way, sights sounds tastes smells successes failures moments of pride moments of shame moments that seemed like nothing at all and in truth most of it goes in the sack. Some of it, however, goes on a shelf and we look at it all the time. We look at it all the time, and the thing is, it's not all treasure that we often end up displaying. Of all that raw material we spend everyday knowingly or unknowingly collecting the stuff we look at isn't always the stuff that looking at would make us feel good. I don't know about you, but for far too long I've littered the shelves of my consciousness with symbols of defeat, of inferiority, of hopelessness and helplessness, all the while thinking I was doing myself and the universe a justice. That to see the world as it is is the only way to live, and that an uphill trudge through dross was the world as it is.
To see the world for what it is is in fact the only way to live; thing is, what I thought was reality couldn't have been more distorted.
Let's get back to the sack for a minute though. The matter of the mundane, the scattered scraps of the everyday, little bits and pieces of getting from here to there and back again unscathed went in as junk, not necessarily as things bad but certainly as things unusable. Truth is, though, that there's no such thing and diamonds in the rough are everywhere you look. This is the Foundry, this is the place where we take your tired, your weak, your hungry, your poor, your dented, your flawed, your scratched and beat up and remake them. This is the home of the Alchemist, where we take your lead and transform it into gold because while it's beyond us at the moment to realistically rearrange molecular structures words my friends bend to our wills and the gold that blooms in your brain is worth far more than any hunk of metal.
Turn to your sacks, take out the trash within and transform it into the treasure it could be. Turn to your shelves and let not the wicked idols enshrined there any longer have any power of you. Realize that they, too, perhaps they especially, the remains of failures of embarrassments of shames of guilts of insufficiences long past are in fact objects of the highest power shrouded only in cursed clothes cast like shadows from you own mind. Clear the shadows away and see what's been hidden within all these years.
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