Ivan Illich or John Holt: It doesn't matter anymore.

This is written for those who think they understand, actually understand, and simply don't know. Some of you might never take a chance at reading this, but I don't stand to lose anything but your understanding. That's fine with me. 

Dear ..............,

On Monday morning, two days from now, I have to go to college. In the pit of my stomach the noises of scary creatures have started. No need to worry, it could just be hunger for I haven't eaten yet. After a bit of work on this random Saturday, I lay down on the floor and stared at lotus on my ceiling. I breathed, I thought, I pondered and questioned. 

Why am I here? What do I want to do?

Three years back, I did not want to go to college. I did not know what else I wanted to do. In March 2010, I dropped out of college in my last two months of undergraduate education, right before my examinations. When I decided to adjust to college for two whole years, what could have happened to me? 

I had comments calling me lazy, irresponsible, ungrateful, scattered, and stupid. Like all mistakes done and gone, I had my own set of excuses - teachers, attendance, etc. 

This letter is not an excuse, but an insight into what went on in my mind in the last few months of college life. After reading it, you can call it some name and categorize according to your judgement.

I love studying. I love to know, to learn, to read, to write, to analyse, and to even write examinations. This is an ability that I am extremely proud of. I wanted to study History, because I saw it as my base for any other social science, art, literature, or philosophy. Anything, I wanted to learn about had a history and so I chose that as my Undergraduate Major. 

In my first year of college, I maintained notebooks, timetables, and charts about my subjects. I bought books, I read them, analyzed them and wrote papers for personal use. I was enjoying my bout of self-studying. We were allowed to read in class and often had long library breaks. It wasn't crime to visit another class to listen to another lecture. It wasn't a crime to sit under the trees and share readings or thoughts. The point was not necessarily to score high, be popular or wear IDs. 

Second year, I was lost. My first semester that year was remarkable in the same flow and my skills on studying History were improving. I decided to get involved in college culturals and had many lovely ideas. Nothing worked out. 

Third year, too many things had happened in my life outside college by the end of my fourth semester. I had lost my ability to study, because classes were dry lectures that most of the time had nothing to do with the subject. We had to listen and take notes, even though we might know what they are saying otherwise. The only focus of the teachers of making every student pass. The projects included 'Question and Answer sets', with questions as dry as 'What was the Cuban Missile Crisis?' or ten-page summaries of any topic we deem to choose from our scattered syllabus. I grew tired. I was learning NOTHING. I still don't know if this was all my fault. 

Probably, if I had just focused on studies for that one year or treated like just an examination to pass, I could have gotten out of this rut earlier. Instead, I escaped. I joined everything and did everything. I found my foot in theatre. I directed plays, brought together a lot of people, and lived with it. 

Was finding theatre a fault? I should have said no to those plays and distractions. I should have not worried about Chai Kadai or anything else I created. I should probably not search for avenues that I can actually learn from. Maybe the point is just that paper certificate. But, why should I waste three years for that in an institution interested about examinations and paper qualifications, but not actual studying or understanding of this world?

I am not saying I did not learn anything from this college. If I did not have any reason to escape, I might have never landed on Chai Kadai or theatre. I'll take it as an experience. 

My mom asked me, "You want to drop out? Do you think you are too smart for college?"

I want to tell her now, "I might not be smart for college life. But, I have completely lost my ability to study because of this college and I can't go on."

My parents chose to understand this in their own ways. They never accused me. They never told me I was completely out of my mind. But, they would rather I finish those exams and have a paper qualification. 

I wonder why? Why aren't individuals allowed to make their own mistakes after a while?

I am twenty-one and I can't understand this. 

I will go to college on Monday. 

I will try and figure this out. 

I will meet all those people whom I don't want to meet. 

I will study on my own finally. 

I will write all those exams I have missed.

I will beg those teachers who hate me. 

I will sit and write Q&As and ten-page summaries.

I will do this and more.

All for a paper.

Love, 

Sam. 

p.s.: Guess no one is allowed to run away. If you have to beg to get something someone loves you wants, you have to beg. 

The Words that Go with a Heart

I was reading Susan's post on meeting Seamus Heany, when my mind started wandering. I started counting the poets who had taken me on journeys. People I wished to meet, and cried when I learned of a few deaths. Pablo Neruda, Sheldon Silverstein, Charles Bukowski, Ted Hughes, Sylvia Plath and this one poem by Elizabeth Bishop.

One Art

by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied.  It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

Warriors with Minds on Easy Chairs

I hyperventilate. It happens everywhere. Sometimes inside the bathroom. Sometimes in the middle of the road. Then, I try and call someone who can talk me out of it. All of them say, "Put your mind at ease."

But, how?

**

Here is an abrupt extract from Carlos Castaneda's Tales of Power: (pg 52)

 "Should I try to find an explanation for what happened, then? I[Carlos] asked.
 "Certainly!" he[don Juan] retorted. "It's your duty to put your mind at ease. Warriors do not win victories by beating their heads against walls but by overtaking the walls. Warriors jump over the walls; they don't demolish them."
 "How can I jump over this one?" I asked.
 "First of all, I think its deadly wrong for you to regard anything in such a serious fashion," he said as he sat down by my side. "There are three kinds of bad habits which we use over and over when confronted with unusual life situations. First, we may disregard what's happening or has happened and feel as if it had never occurred. That one is the bigot's way. Second, we may accept everything at its face value and feel as if we know what's going on. That's the pious man's way. Third, we may get obsessed with an event because either we cannot disregard it or we cannot accept it wholeheartedly. That's the fool's way. Your way? There is a fourth, the correct one, the warrior's way. A warrior acts as if nothing had ever happened, because he doesn't believe in anything, yet he accepts everything at its face value. He accepts without accepting and disregards without disregarding. He never feels as if he knows, neither does he feel as if nothing had ever happened. He acts as if he in control, even though he might be shaking in his boots. To act in suc a manner dissipates obsession."

**

The Art of Discovering

Discoveries are the clouds in our sedentary lives. It could be about the soul, the nature of science, bacteria, mutant frogs, or the colour blue. They may happen when reading a book, engrossed in a conversation, bleeding in a fight, watching a death, expecting a birth, or a finding the chance to run away. We'll find a discovery hanging off an ignored leaf, grab it and treasure it in an old cigar box. It may simply be the choice to stop everything and return to sedentary silence. At the beginning and at the end, it is a choice to search. 

It begins from a dream. 

**

Here is an extract from Lloyd Jones' Mister Pip, a story of a little girl named, Matilda and her teacher, Pop-Eye. (pg 159)

Broken Dreams

 The girl next to where I grew up used to sleepwalk. It was amazing how far she would get--still fast asleep. One time she paddled a canoe out to the reef, came in and went back to her sleeping mat. Or else you'd see her marching up the beach like she was late for church.

 Once we found her in our house sitting up to the table, her eyes closed, while every other part of her suggested she was waiting to be brought a cold drink. I was going to wake her but my mum stopped me. What if she is dreaming....? Dreams are private, she said. And she is right. A dream is a story no one else will get to hear or read. 

 Thanks to dreams, in the history of the galaxy the world has been reinvented more often than there are stars. 

 The girl in our house though was probably just dreaming about jumping off the wharf--and that's okay too.

**

The Dreadful Slope of Dreams

Climbing a hill has to be done slowly, so every bit of stench and fragrance, every bit of movement and stillness, every bit of sound and silence, every bit of smoothness and itching can be taken in without any hindrance. Most of the times when we start something we run, we are in a hurry. We want to finish it fast and get to the top. We want to scratch ourselves deep, stress ourselves fully, and sit down panting. The feeling is exhilarating and amazing.

But, when we sit back we start realizing that we missed so much on our way and made so many mistakes and probably even broke a few bones. We need to try it once more. If it is only one ride we have, ride it slowly and steadily. So, when we fall we don't break our heads and start digging deeper holes. It is a search for isolation in my dreams. An isolation which pulls everything closer!

Charles Bukowksi says: 

"If you're going to try, go all the way. Otherwise, don't even start. This could mean losing girlfriends, wives, relatives and maybe even your mind. It could mean not eating for three or four days. It could mean freezing on a park bench. It could mean jail. It could mean derision. It could mean mockery--isolation. Isolation is the gift. All the others are a test of your endurance, of how much you really want to do it. And, you'll do it, despite rejection and the worst odds. And it will be better than anything else you can imagine. If you're going to try, go all the way. There is no other feeling like that. You will be alone with the gods, and the nights will flame with fire. You will ride life straight to perfect laughter. It's the only good fight there is." 

[Poem - Roll the Dice] [Last Dialogue from the film: Factotum]

In me, is there a wanderer?

This is the dream that causes my existence to ache, for I am too attached to carry this out. This is the dream of a wanderer caught in the net of urban systems and institutions, willing to succumb to see a few smiles and a beg a few hugs. Is it all worth it? This summing up can only happen in my last moments, but I have gotten used not to regret anything - and this too shall pass as just an aching sore...

I attain Peace only through writing, for this is how I speak to myself. Am I a wanderer?

The most important thing for me is to grow inside and not outside, for that will take its natural course. My serious battle is with myself, my questions, and my travels. How do I intend to wander if I feel myself connecting and attaching everywhere? I feel compassion for every soul that passes my existence, whether they sell me a bus ticket or find me in this myriad of internet networks. Probably, the trick is not to detach, but to attach in a pure manner.

If I attach, philosophy tells me I am not free, but there I differ! Every soul has some wisdom to part towards you. My wandering lies in meeting people, many more as they come my way and I go towards theirs. This can be done through the simple physical practice of nomadic behaviour. But, sitting within my seat, hot and comfortable, in Chennai, I am still a wanderer. I wander day and night within myself, carefully sharpening my ears to another's trials, questions, searches, and knowledge.

This strikes me, when the most "mundane" questions are thrown my way. Not, when someone asks me "What is life?" or "Who are you?" (for these actually seem mundane and fixed within languages). But, when a bus conductor seriously questions a boy hanging out of the bus, "If you insist on hanging out and crowding the bus by not letting people in, how will I sell tickets and still save your life?" This is a trial many bus conductors live day in and day out. This, of course, can be solved by re-planning buses itself. Apparently, boys love hanging out of the bus for two simple reasons - it is the test of their youth, and the women sit on the left side next to the door. So, bus drivers could start selling the tickets, like done in the West, and the women could start sitting on the right. But, won't this put conductors into further turmoil, for they would have lost their jobs?

For me, the most important searches lie in trying to question our every day realities that involve more souls than anything else. This is not theology, strictly left to certain practicioners and theologists. This is not just the path for philosophers, anthropologists, sociologists, or any others who like to stay within their definitions. This is for those who are ready to live the every day life apart from the personal politics and ideologies, with a humble openness to receive and debate.

Again, this debate, though I testify an inner process, isn't reserved for the individual. It is the discipline of dialogue that strengthens this state. For a wanderer, doesn't need to free her physical proximities, but actually test her intimate proximities. Who are you willing to love? Who are you willing to tolerate? Who are you willing to receive?

If I let that creep who insisted on staring at my breasts just get away, I would really feel misused. Instead, I shout loud at him and further question myself and others, "What is it that men find so interesting or stimulating in looking at women in such a disrespecting manner?" This is not just sick behaviour, but a condition in itself. Why does a man feel justified when he does this? How can he find the right to blame my clothing? What brought about this condition? Women, cannot free themselves of this blame too. However, it may be progressionist for a woman to write about a penis, some women can get down to the insociable side of actually extracting pleasure from a rubbing a man's groin in the bus. Should a woman also start questioning a man's clothing? Why is it that women are told what is dirty and what is not, according to the men's conveniences? Why is masturbating looked at as a social and psychological dysfunction by counselors? My mind wanders.

It is only when I speak, ask and read, that I realize most of the times I do not ask new questions. However, this hardly matters. I ask, I imbibe and that is all that matters.

In order to wander, there are only two disciplines I have left to learn - the hardest. They are, to free my ego (not to suppress it, but to understand it as well as I understand desire in all its forms for myself) and to remain honest (this is the art of creating silence within oneself and the ability not to hurt another soul's integrity).

The art of creating silence does not mean suppressing, again. It is the art of strengthening decisiveness, the openness to mistakes, the ability to imbibe energy, beauty and knowledge from an entity (soul, idea, plant, elephant, etc), the simplicity of common sense, the sensibility of cultural propriety, the character of integrity, the humility to see beauty in every soul, and the sense of belief in the purity of existence and disappearance.
Silence, this is what this piece leaves me with now.

And...
Silence...
is what I intend to leave you with forever.
Breathe Silence.

The Need to Experience and Express

Peer pressure is one of the most problematic social issues, which affects people of all age groups. In fact, many brands and businesses survive based on these strange habits of human beings to compare, imitate, and pressurize. In school, the peer world started to build walls that were narrowing around me; it led me to a deeper recognition of the loner in my being. This made me embrace isolation and solitude.

Let me start by asserting that my emphasis is purely on the negative effects of peer pressure, for there are many positive effects too. It is said, “Peers influence your life, even if you don't realize it, just by spending time with you. You learn from them, and they learn from you. It's only human nature to listen to and learn from other people in your age group” (KidsHealth). Here, what follows speaks of my journey of tackling with the problems of peer pressure by realizing the importance of expression.

Solitude and silence have intrinsic beauty, but emotional isolation can get psychologically and sociologically dangerous. It could be due to bullying, teasing, rumors, bad relationships, abuse or violence, mental illness, and such reasons. My experiences are a mixture of these reasons. Though I had a growing social network, I was still lonely. Ultimately, I spoke honesty only to the new kittens my cat had given birth to. Till date, I do not know if I spoke with honesty in school. It seems to me that I lied more, put on a variety of masks, gossiped, spread rumors, and shrank to insignificance. This developed a fear of contact with peers, which resulted in frequent absence in school.

It was that fine Monday morning in the Principal’s Office, which dawned upon me a variety of journeys. He looked at me pitifully and asked, “What’s wrong in school? Why do you want to keep staying at home?” I only remember crying and defending my classmates. Obviously, I loved each one of them very much then, because I still do. Many days later, he walked up in front of the assembly and said in a loud clear voice, “Speak knowing you will be misunderstood.”

The Art Room and the Library became places where I recognized my potential, and re-discovered my isolation, which was slowly blossoming into a self-accepted solitude. This was a painful process, because one needs to keep experimenting to find the exact forms of expression. I tried the refined forms like pens and paints, but I needed something louder that would break things once and for all. So, my expression and thereby my Self got re-invented through the strength of oil pastels, the harshness of ball-point pens, and the fluidity of my words. Since then, I vouch that a human merely exists to experience and express. Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding (Gibran 62).

At the initial steps of this journey, I constantly annoyed my classmates with the question – why? But, I was actually taking the easy way out by blaming them. The words I scribbled on scraps of papers unraveled many inner secrets and found out what I expected of myself. I figured I was a person who hated disappointments, lies with ease, and loves people with an easier flair. My words and the sheets of textured pastels told me to ask myself all the questions. Expression grew me. After all, every class mate of mine was going through similar problems and processes. But, to get into this world of expressions, one has to first quietly experience and then wash out a lot of prejudices. Understanding is possible only when there is observation without the centre as the observer (Krishnamurti 114). Without this, one cannot celebrate the freedom that expression entails.

Firstly, one has to overcome the pre-defined myth that whatever one spends time in should lead to a source of living. Instead, creativity, interaction, growth, and learning should happen. Secondly, one has to experiment with all forms of expression. Shouting from the rooftops, painting walls, cutting paper, scribbling on bus tickets could all be forms of expression, and thereby a constructive process of dealing with emotional isolation. A piece of expression, even a short lived sound, helps the individual reflect and develop a better relationship with the outer world. Thirdly, do not hide your expression, for it is by itself a form of sharing. The only way to make use of your expression is to build a courageous foundation to share it. Experience is the process. Expression is breaking the shell and celebrating this process.

To further demonstrate these insights, one should go through the Eschatological Laundry List that says, “10. The world is not necessarily just. 11. You have a responsibility to do your best nonetheless. 14. You can’t make anyone love you. 16. Everyone is, in his own way, vulnerable. 27. Each of us is ultimately alone. 36. You can run, but you can’t hide. 39. The only victory lies in surrender to oneself” (Kopp 223-224).

Fortunately, school encouraged this constant search in my works and behavior. The day I left school I thanked them, “Though school kept trying to describe me, even one as enigmatic, it taught me that I should never lose the sense of myself and should keep searching for the meaning of this sense.” Secretly, I was thanking my own efforts.

WORKS CITED

1. Gibran, Kahlil. The Prophet. New Delhi: Indialog Publications Pvt. Ltd., Jan 2002.
2. Kopp, Sheldon B. If You Meet the Buddha on the Road, Kill Him! The Pilgrimage of Psychotherapy Patients: Epilogue. Toronto/ New York/ London: Bantam Books, May 1976.
3. Krishnamurti, Jiddu. The Flight of the Eagle. Hampshire: Krishnamurti Foundation India, 1971.
4. KidsHealth Site. Took, Kevin J. November 2007. The Nemours Foundation's Center for Children's Health Media. 24 Nov. 2008 http://kidshealth.org/kid/feeling/emotion/peer_pressure.html.