Samsara in Education

On the last day of the National Writing Project (NWP) Retreat two weeks ago, I kinda lost it.  Perhaps it was the weariness of hotel air and dry eyes, or of being in the desert far away from my partner, my cats, and my garden.  I just couldn’t see how what I was doing—what all of us good-intentioned, smart, wise, hard-working folk were doing—was going to change a damn thing in public education.  In my notebook that morning, I wrote:

I am just not sure I want to play this game anymore.  I don’t want to drink the NWP Kool-Aid, even as it has multiple flavors and I can sip or chug as I see fit.  After reading some of what inspired Jim Gray to start the NWP in the 1970’s, [I realize] we are in the same cycle of what the Buddhists call samsara…Pearson didn’t invent standardized tests or scripted learning…some form of that has been going on for as long as there has been education.  Yes, we have come far in some ways, moving back and forth from phonics to writing workshop and so on.  It’s all very tiring and I’m not sure we’re getting anywhere.  How can we “break the wheel” as Daenerys in Game of Thrones wanted to do (and look what happened to her)? Is it through pedagogy alone?  Teachers teaching teachers?  Writing teachers writing?  I keep thinking we are missing something in the midst of our planning, managing, conceptualizing.  We are all over-working and I don’t see that ending, and I don’t know what our ends are.

Then I remembered a conversation on the first day of the retreat.  Elyse told us about a conference she attended on climate change.  She said the climatologists were the most cheerful people there, despite their intimate knowledge of the human-made impact on our planet.   When asked what to prioritize to reverse the destruction, one of the scientists said, “Everything matters and nothing matters.” 

I thought back to my dad.  As a Korean War veteran, he took a trip to Washington DC as part of the Honor Flight Network two years ago.  My brother went as his caretaker and sent us some great pictures.  It seemed like all of Allen County turned out to welcome home the hundred or so veterans at the Fort Wayne International Airport.  As we were leaving the parking lot, Joe was talking enthusiastically about all they had seen.  Then Dad said, “That sounds great.  Where did you go, now?” 

My dad did not, and does not, remember anything about the trip.  At the time, I was devastated that he had had this once in a lifetime experience and couldn’t remember it.  I wanted him to see himself in the military monuments and to have enjoyed being with my brother and all the other veterans. 

Now I see it differently.  My dad may not remember the trip to tell anyone about it, but he still had the experience, and nothing, not even Alzheimer’s, can take that away.  Through studying yoga and other contemplative traditions, I have learned that the body holds and remembers experiences in ways that do not touch the mind.   That trip is still with him, just in a different way than I had expected or projected. 

So I take solace in my felt sense of progress in public education, even as we fight the same problems from 50 years ago.  In Pali and Sanskrit, the word samsara describes the cycle of birth, life, death, and the karma associated with it. It is like Daenerys’s wheel and understanding that everything matters and nothing matters.  Working for social change in education means accepting erratic progress, and bearing witness to that means cherishing the inchoate, visceral knowledge of my body, which knows something different and deeper than my mind.  Frustration and hope will continue to cycle through, but Marge Piercy’s wisdom signals sturdiness: 

Weave real connections, create real nodes, build real houses.

Live a life you can endure: Make love that is loving.

…

Live life as if you liked yourself, and it may happen:

Reach out, keep reaching out, keep bringing in.     

There is no such thing as the life you are supposed to have or the way things are supposed to be.  Instead, we have to take what is given and make it worthwhile through the changing seasons and cycles of samsara. 

You're Taking This Personally

It’s not like Carla wanted to feel superior to Jake.  After all, they were a good fit, bringing different interests, lifestyles and friends to two years of a mostly calm and durable relationship.  At her 30^th birthday party a few weeks ago, her college ex, Steve, whom she hadn’t seen in years, said, “Wow.  I like Jake, but he’s not who I pictured for you.” 

“Jealous?” Carla flirted, having consumed a number of margaritas that included both silver and gold tequila, Jimmy Buffett style (Jake being a huge Buffett fan, Carla grumbling at his insistence on listening to the deep cuts instead of the hits when they got stoned.  She loved her some Margaritaville and the one about sharks).  She was surprised when Steve answered, “God, no.  I really, really hope you are happy.  We certainly made each other miserable.  Have a good life.”  He kissed her on the forehead and walked out. 

Carla was nonplussed.  Miserable?  She wouldn’t have called their relationship miserable.  Seeing him brought back some uncomfortable memories about stealing his notes so she could get a better score in stats class and that one time she tripped him as they were running toward the finish line of their first and last 10K race.   Carla loved seeing her name in front of his on the leaderboard.  She felt a little ashamed now, looking back.  She would never do that to Jake.  He was a cute, lovable Labrador with golden fur, who required a strong touch now and then mixed with tons of affection.  There was no need to compete with someone who went to the gym only to lift and hadn’t taken a math class since 10^th grade.

Carla prided herself on not being controlling, something that could have been a factor in her relationship with Steve.  She encouraged Jake to go out with his friends on football Sundays and supported his new passion, curling.  She even bought him a new suitcase, a hard-bodied portmanteau, for his trip to a tournament in the middle of some unpronounceable province in Canada.  “I bought him a great gift for my birthday,” she crowed to her friend Anna.  “I am an awesome girlfriend!”

“Babe,” Jake called tentatively from the bedroom where he was packing.  Carla walked into the room to see the brilliant blue new portmanteau she had so lovingly picked out from Overstock.com open on the bed with stacks of sweatshirts and jeans piled around it.  “I love this suitcase,” he said, pulling her to him and sniffing her hair.  “But it just isn’t big enough.”  Carla drew away, miffed at his lack of appreciation.  She saw that he had carefully rolled his underwear and t-shirts and put them in the suitcase.  They learned to do that from the movie Up in the Air.  Their shared love of the film was a touchstone, a place to come back to when they were fighting.  One of them would quote a line or grab a pillow and the other would go along, snapping them out of the argument. 

“Jake, you dummy, you’re only using one half of it!  It’s a portmanteau, see, with two halves,” Carla said as she unzipped the liner to reveal that the suitcase had another, equally large compartment.  She heard silence instead of gratitude.  “Jake?” 

His face was ashen and his eyes bright green as he stared at her.  “Oh shit.  I’m sorry I called you a dummy,” Carla said, walking toward him with her arms extended.  Jake did not accept her hug, standing full and straight as she encircled him with her arms.  “We are not swans, we are sharks,” she tried, one of their favorite lines from the film. 

Jake answered with a line they never used:  “Make no mistake, your relationships are the heaviest components in your life.”  He pulled his old college duffel out of the closet and started throwing in his sweatshirts and jeans, and then the rolled up underwear and t-shirts from the portmanteau. 

“But Jake, it will all fit!  Don’t you see?” Carla pleaded as she struggled with him to pull his clothes out of the duffel and put them back in the portmanteau. 

“Sorry, Carla.  I’m tired of you disparaging me,” he said as he gently shut the apartment door.

“Disparaging?" she said to herself.  “How does he know that word?”