Primitive Education

Before the invention of AP courses and SATs, before there were desks and blackboards and stuffy cinderblock buildings with their maze of hallways and rooms that give the impression of being a sort of ant-farm for humans, there was a proven educational method that served humanity well for many thousands of years.

Today, we have an educational system that is built on a limited and perilously rigid method of schooling that churns out partially-informed bipedal hominids ready to take up their stations in our corporate-machine world. As a society we obviously must continue to educate people to (hopefully) thrive within civilization's current construct, but there is a dimension of organic, critical learning that doesn't seem to be happening much anymore. Do we dare turn away from the ancestral wisdom of hundreds of thousands of years of intimacy with the natural world? 

Common sense seems less common than ever in young people today. It is not necessarily their fault. People as a whole, are being dumbed down, and are tricked into thinking they are smarter because they can wield technology, crunch information, and chase fashions faster than their parents and grandparents – and always striving to look sexy doing it. Often, young people today do not recognize the value of their elders as repositories of important knowledge. Our parents, grandparents and other elders often convey important tid-bits of wisdom wrapped in a time-honored, natural way – the way of storytelling. This is painfully slow for most young people today. The Internet has stolen their attention and fostered a potentially dangerous impatience with the world. For many, there are only two speeds – fast and faster.

Nature is everyone's primary teacher. Parents (and/or other concerned adults and elders) are our primary life coaches. They have first-hand experience with many of life's challenges and adventures. How will future generations behave and what choices will they make? Much will depend on whether or not people remain truly grounded and informed by the kind of relationship they develop with the natural world. Viewing nature as entertainment alone does not cut it.

When it comes to teaching children what is important and how to make healthy choices in this world, parents and teachers are competing against a multitude of corporations whose prime objective is to turn them into obedient consumers above all else. While we can't escape the reality of our global society, we can offset some of its negative effects and steer ourselves towards a healthier, more balanced future by seeking nature's wisdom. It does require time and a commitment, but it is enjoyable at nearly every step, and many people have gone before us that can serve as guides. You can't even imagine what you will learn and experience when you become an apprentice to Nature.

Here is a link to short article that I wrote some years back about the benefits of learning from the "primitive" educational process – a holistic learning process with nature as the teacher. Enjoy!

Dry Leaves

Tumbling, scratching, and whirling in the wind, they flow over and around obstacles as they approach me. Each dry leaf seems alive with mysterious purpose – a trajectory of multiple possibilities. They reflect to me the sweeping and intelligent chaos inherent in nature. In abundance, these crispy canopy castoffs give shape to the invisible force of wind that drives them onward. Something inside me quickens as they crash gently against my body, and then continue onward to their final resting place. They seem content to let the forces of nature take them were they will. I imagine faeries riding them, laughing wildly, winking at me as they fly by.

Creative thoughts are like dry leaves. Often, as if a gust of wind has blown them to me, ideas rush at me crowding my mind, clamoring for attention. I grasp at them, each one a path of possibility. Some are more interesting than others, but all have a place to which they would lead me if I could follow.

Not all are meant for me, I think. Creative thoughts merely come towards me, rather than to me. Some I capture and translate into stories; others become art, or convey to me insights into spirit and nature. Those I am unable to catch sail onward, delivering their inspiration to someone else. Or perhaps it is simply not time for a particular idea to be tethered to the physical world. Indeed, a frustration overcomes me in my futile attempt to gather all to me, lest they move on never to return. This, I now see, is akin to hoarding fruit from a vast, abundant orchard. To focus on gathering every thought and idea simply to imprison them on paper (for fear of losing them), risks my chance to develop even one.

Myths and Metamorphosis

One day last month, a friend called my attention to a cicada freshly emerged from the skin of its former developmental stage. Witnessing this moment, I felt I was in the presence of something sacred. I have seen cicadas emerge before, and I understand some of the biology and ecology of this species of insect. Yet this time, as I stood there looking at the before-and-after forms of the cicada, it was the potency of mystery that caught me, not the physical science.

A few days later, I encountered a Monarch butterfly caterpillar feeding on a milkweed plant. The following morning, in place of the familiar caterpillar was a form so different from that of the fleshy caterpillar. A thin gold belt and a few shining gold jewels adorned the green chrysalis that hung from the leaf. Surely, here was a magical creature! Inside that sacred temple a mystery was unfolding; the dissolution of form. Some mysterious force was at work transforming the liquefied caterpillar into a butterfly.

Monarch Butterfly chrysalis. A chrysalis is not "made" by butterfly caterpillars the way a moth caterpillar makes a cocoon. The chrysalis is already formed inside the caterpillar. When the caterpillar completes its maturation, it anchors itself to a leaf and sheds its skin to reveal the chrysalis. Science has learned a great deal about this process, but the deeper mystery remains untouched. (Click on photo to enlarge)This made me think about our ancestors from thousands of years past who had no science (at least as we know it today) to help explain much of what you and I hold as common knowledge about our physical world. How could they explain an emerging butterfly or cicada? What did they make of the great sun rising each day and traveling across the sky world, or seeing green plants burst forth from the dark earth each spring, or mushrooms magically appearing in forested lands, or fireflies flashing secret messages in the night, or even the power of the shaking earth that crumbled hillsides? All these things inspired reverence and respect, and taken as a whole, they pointed to the vast unseen world of spirit. Their lives were perhaps shaped more by mysteries than by science.

Myths serve many purposes, though primarily they help humankind relate to the seen and unseen forces of nature that surrounded them. Science continues to unravel and de-mystify the world of nature, and the current speed of information-sharing fosters ever shorter attention spans. We have little patience today for mysteries, it seems, because we are spoiled by so many readily available answers. Our minds snack on factoids, bullet-points, and sound bites. The internet will instantly provide all we need to know about metamorphosis. Or does it?

Today it may be hard to see the relevance of many of the early myths and stories. Many of them are culture-specific and belong to an age before the emergence of science as we know it. The myth-makers of old interpreted the world around them in ways that might seem silly or illogical today, but their myths and stories were not a matter of “bad-science”. To assume that would be a mistake. Myths arose as a way to capture a mystery and hold it for contemplation with the hopes of our gaining personal power and practical wisdom. Becoming wise was once a deliberate choice. Today, many people just work at becoming smart. . .

The Phoenix Bird is a familiar mythical creature that possesses a mysterious power. According to some versions of the myth, every 500 or 1,000 years the bird constructs a nest of twigs, sits in it, and perishes in flames of unknown origin. From the ashes of its former incarnation the phoenix is reborn. It is not a different bird. It is the exact same being who is resurrected to carry on the cycle of life, death, and renewal. The cicada and the butterfly go through a similarly mysterious process in which they die to the old form and are resurrected into a new life. Can you imagine what witnessing these events must have been like for those ancient people?

Perhaps we need to hold present day mysteries in our hearts as well as our minds, turning them over and over, seeking the deeper wisdom contained within them. Not so much to answer chemical or biological riddles, but rather to understand what such mysteries point to.

Elegy for an Effigy

Basking in the glow of Christmas lights, he once added sparkle to the season.  Hatched in a plastics factory nearly half a century ago, he arrived one day to grace the boughs of an evergreen with a painted, glittering plumage of silver and gold. A metal clip instead of feet and a borrowed feather for his tail, he was a celebrity among ornaments. Each year he was assigned a place of honor, rubbing elbows with angels and elves, nestled amongst the candy canes and antiquated lead tinsel. Through shiny red eyes he looked out into the room. Had he been a real bird, he might have seen human eyes wide with wonder looking back at him.

For a few short weeks each year he was a glory to behold, until that fateful day arrived when he was sentenced to the long dark of the attic, left to dream plastic-bird dreams through many months.

The decades passed and his place of honor was gradually lost, making way for fresh young novelties. Little by little, the march of time had chipped at his glitter and dimmed his eye shine. Still managing to avoid the dreaded “left-in-the-box” curse for a good many years – a testament to his original status – he was now perched nearly out of view of holiday revelers.

At last, fallen from favor, the inevitable came to pass, and he was tossed without pause into the trash. A short time later, however, someone retrieved this forlorn figure from the trash – a second thought, a second chance. The other faded and broken ornaments took their final journey in the back of a garbage truck.

Given a new purpose, this hollow bird was no longer trapped in darkness, shining for just a few days each year. Now he looked out from his new perch set high on a branch of a fake tree in a small nature museum in the woods. He stood there, leaning slightly, day and night for a few years. Through the heat of summer and chill of winter he perched as the dust of time accumulated, advancing his haggard appearance.

One morning, the final judgment came to pass, and he once again found himself staring up at the living world from a waste basket. It was then that I happened upon this plastic public servant, and I saw within it all those years of service – from shining glory to dusty ruin.

Pausing by the trash can, looking down at this sad figurine, I reached in and took it outside, placing it in a nearby shrub. In a way, this plastic bird came alive. Having never eaten a worm, preened its feathers, or opened its beak in song from a twilight roost, it stood now under the golden sun, the warm breeze animating it with the sway of branches. Its one remaining red eye looked out across vibrant meadows. It seemed to me that there was finally peace within the breast of this little plastic beast . . .

Of course, I am aware of how absurd my action may seem, yet what I saw in that ragged Christmas ornament was the residue of all the energy infused in it by those long years of adoration. So in honor of the joy directed towards real flesh-and-feather birds by way of this effigy, a moment of freedom and the chance to touch living nature seemed a fitting, final chapter.

Hidden in the history of this plastic bird was a message for us. It is too easy to go through our lives without experiencing ourselves as truly belonging to the earth, to nature. Instead, we humans often think and act as though we alone own the earth – as though we are passing time in the ultimate shopping mall.

Perhaps the desire for nature is being routinely pushed aside by the manufactured urgency of our daily lives. Distracted and blinded by the lights and glitter of the world, it’s so easy to get caught by the whirlwind of this disposable society that shoves aside what is real in favor of mass-produced illusion. As individuals, you and I hunger for a more balanced life and a healthier world. As a society, we place too much value on multi-tasking and not enough value on quietude and natural rhythms.

We must break free of the vortex of society that is damaging our vital relationship with nature. Even if it means simply cloud-watching through the window, we desperately need to make time in each and every day to consciously connect with the value, wisdom, and healing power of nature. We need to come to our senses and put down the electronics on a regular basis. Let the poisons of worry, fear, and speed be drained from your body and soul. Take off your shoes and revel in the simple touch of grass between your toes; feel the earth supporting your body weight. Stand with arms wide open, face uplifted in the rain and feel it. Inhale slowly the scent of wild places. These things are real.

Doldrums

I can imagine why the sailors of old dreaded the places on the high seas where the winds fail and the ship's mainsails slacken. The doldrums: the equatorial region of the Atlantic Ocean where winds are light, unpredictable and even non-existing at times.

With their tall ship bobbing gently on calm waters, the sun searing their flesh, and absolutely nothing that could be done about it except wait for the proverbial winds of change, the sailors must have gone bonkers.

I use this nautical reference as a round about way of commenting on what it feels like to try to write sometimes. As a nature writer, I find no lack of topics that could be formed into blog posts, essays, or books. However, most of these won't go anywhere if their is no wind in their sails. That is to say that without a connection to what I write, there would only be some sort of generic, sputtering drivel coughed up.

So, dear fans, I am in the doldrums at the moment. While I have begun writing at least five pieces, they seem to have taken on a life of their own, and refuse to resolve into short, blog-friendly entries. Since I must honor the process – to write what is meaningful to me (and hopefully interesting and inspiring to you) – I have only this flimsy post to offer at the moment.

With anticipation, I await the wind.