I entered first grade with the strange, for a seven-year old person, yet distinct notion that formal education would somehow fail to show me and my classmates how to live and how to fend for ourselves outside of set cultural parameters. “How could knowing how to spell serve me if I am lost in the woods?” I thought.

Thirty-eight years later, and over twenty-five of those fending for myself, have revealed both the truth and error of my original notions about education. This was confirmed, more recently, when I encountered a parent who expressed great concerns for two young sons and a daughter.

The children currently live with one parent, who insists on becoming the sole guardian and elected to home school, yet can barely meet the requirements of such an endeavor. The other parent fears not so much for their future acquired knowledge as for their ability to relate to peers in a healthy manner and exercise proper judgment in designing their own path. They are isolated and fear other children. They should read by now, but can barely spell their own names.

I used to know another family that had embraced a diligent home schooling regimen. A room in their house was designed to be the classroom and all four children spent a normal school day there, with one or the other parent providing a full day of lessons and discussions. These children were encouraged to participate in extra-curricular activities and free to choose to go to a conventional school instead, which they did at some point.

These different perspectives and circumstances provide much to consider. One type of learning experience is not better than the other. Both require balance and it appears that both require diligent focus on one central goal: the development of a well-rounded person who is curious about the world, interested in others and able to live with respect and dignity toward self and others. This is the true requirement of education.

I am certain that many schools provide a setting where this goal is the central mission. I have often heard myself and others blame the school system for not providing complete education, but now I believe that education is never complete. The only thing that can be complete is our willingness to continue learning and how readily we accept that what we learn is to be placed at the service of society as well as our own.

A diploma is not necessarily required in order to fulfill this goal. Perhaps our belief that good grades and diplomas are the goal is the most detrimental belief of all. It robs education of its wonder and it robs many of the desire to learn for the sake of learning. In truth, we need not learn so we can become someone with a specific career or title; we learn so that we may feed our minds with such diversity of knowledge and such passion for specific topics that we naturally develop the skills we will bring into the world and share with neighbors and colleagues. For we participate in the making and success and joy of a culture in truly great ways when we effortlessly do what we are good at doing.

Education teaches us more about the endless possibilities of the self than it teaches theories or processes. Education is a gift. It can be acquired in the classroom, as an apprentice, online, in books, at free public lectures, at seminars and workshops, at retreats and conferences. It does not necessarily require a diploma; it only requires for one to show up and for those who are able to encourage and support them to do so in the same way and with the same fervor they might apply to encouraging a career path.

In fact, education is the beginning of the career path. It is the threshold, the gate to the knowledge and wonder that open yet other doors and lead to new, irresistible thresholds or, at the very least, the conviction that there is something worthwhile for us to do.

Slainte!

When children hurt their siblings or steal, parents scold them, send them to their room or ground them for the week. Though their may be some tension for a while, parents continue to love and support them, share meals with them and laugh with them. When a person in the community hurts someone else or steals, we chastise him or her and rarely forgive.

A trusted community member, in a town near where I live, was recently accused of molesting teens. It appears certain that he did in fact commit such acts, while otherwise being a respected teacher, mentor, coach and public servant. When a fellow public servant took the time to commend this man for his services to the city in addition to expressing his sorrow over the revelation of molestation, he was scorned for uttering such a comment.

Is there any real reason in the universe why we so readily obliterate the good deeds of fellow men and women the moment we become aware of the less than admirable acts they are also capable of? With our children it seems different, but in some ways it is similar. Though we do not cease to love them while we scold them, we put a lot more energy into noticing their wrongdoing than into stressing their general ability to demonstrate admirable traits throughout the day.

We define what is right by first identifying what is wrong. The right action or behavior then becomes the standard by which we measure our deeds and especially the deeds of others. There is an underlying agreement to favor what is good. However, we spend much less time reinforcing good deeds, even the simplest and most obvious good deeds, than we do pointing, analyzing and discussing bad deeds. To associate with the good, we must reject the bad or at least this is what we have come to believe.

What if the concept of “bringing to justice” did not mean bringing an “offender” before a court and jury? Instead, it would mean, “intervening in such a way as to lead a fellow human back to his or her most harmonious place in society”. Justice is represented by a scale. It is about what is right and balanced for all, not just for those who decide what is right and wrong. In fact, those who decide could be compared to parents; elders who observe the workings of a group of people and determine how to guide the whole group back to harmony and cohesion whenever there is discord on the part of one or many.

Parenting is not black and white; it does not isolate a child for wrongdoing. Rather, it leads to a voluntary effort to seek to understand the child in order to help him or her navigate through the crisis, remember, and embrace the behavior that is best for all.

We chastise people who do wrong as a statement that we aspire to reject wrongdoing in our own lives and in general. To condemn a person we have labeled a “criminal” or “offender” is an act that clearly separates us from that person and makes it clear that we had no part in it. But this was clear already.  

We do not have to stop loving someone because they have done something unspeakably wrong. We must let them know it is wrong; we must let them know it will not be tolerated because it hurts others. However, how can we ask someone to change and love others at the same time as we tell this person, “We are now rejecting you”? Is this justice? Does this make an example of the offender, as a deterrent to others or is it clearly understood as a statement of rejection? Does this solve anything?

There is a reason people commit acts of violence. The individual who committed the act is not the only object on which to focus our attention. When we look at the “why”, we may begin to see a greater picture and draw conclusions with far greater reaching potential. We might see what circumstances came together to generate an act of violence and how to avoid this in the future.

Will someone ask where this man came from, what he has suffered or witnessed or what sort of thinking led him to molest young children? What sort of talents does he possess that could be encouraged and developed so he may be able to change his perspective and behavior? Is this possible? Does rejecting the whole person on the ground of one horrific misdeed actually work? Does this reveal that we stand for good, or that we love conditionally?

I imagine a public award ceremony where reformed offenders and criminals of all sorts are honored for having overcome their inclinations to hurt others. I imagine an award ceremony where people who have done their time and made every effort to right their ways receive encouragement to continue on this new course instead of being rejected the moment they step off prison grounds.

I imagine a society where we reinforce and celebrate every act of harmony and cooperation far more often than we come together to speak against something or someone.

Slainte!

We often fail to recognize the multitude of possibilities and nuances in everyday realities. We adopt a cause and develop a belief around it in our minds, one that soon becomes inflexible. The goal, the ideal, the path itself disappear in the face of a stubborn grasp onto truths that may or may not be in line with all aspects of an event or reality. We create unspoken contracts and live in fear of failure should we fall short. Worst yet, we live in fear of oblivion and annihilation.

It is important to care about nature, it is important to treat the planet and all creatures with love and respect, reducing our impact is a worthy and intelligent cause, but I question whether an extremist, stubborn, single-minded approach is necessary.

I began this questioning long ago, little by little, as I became increasingly aware of the discrepancy between my spoken dialogue and my actual thoughts and desires. I love animals. In fact, several personal experiences have convinced me of the possibility of communicating, or merging with them at a deep spiritual level. I abstained from meat eating for several years, until my body grew a bit older and I became aware of urges for the taste of iron and the slight but distinguishable feeling I feel upon smelling and tasting a fine cut of steak, a bit of blood.

Our bodies have an intelligence of their own. It recognizes every lack and every need and instinctively seeks to respond, fill the gaps and provide the proper nutrients and activity. If we pay attention to the prompts, we soon realize that we know exactly what to ingest as surely as we know with certainty in which areas we are most skilled. This reflection, and the inevitable giving in that led me to savor a good steak on occasion, or add chicken to my weekly diet, also led to a new, more honest perception of my relationship with nature.

It suddenly occurred to me that the real problem might be a slight variation on the generally adopted truth. The problem is not that we eat meat; it is how we treat the animals we raise for meat. Humane slaughter used to be the rule in many cultures. Mass production has led to less than kind practices. We must change our practices. Over-indulgence does not work, but complete, worldwide abstinence is neither realistic, nor healthy. Any solution must arise from a great measure of balance.

The real estate and automobile industries trigger a similar debate. We forget that human ingenuity is never at a standstill. The building and car design practices of today have evolved and continue to evolve even as we protest against them. Engineers, inventors, architects and dreamers are free to reinvent. In fact, they do so constantly. Every new design, prototype and shape is an innovation. They consistently seek to lighten what is too heavy, silence what is too loud and recycle what is otherwise wasted.

Hating all people who choose to purchase SUV’s or large houses does not contribute to greater respect for the environment. How could thoughts of hate ever lead to true respect? This is conditional love at best. I will accept you and value you if you drive an electric car, but for now I must look away as a statement of my love for the world. What sort of thinking is that?

The environment crisis is real, but I wonder if any fight or demonstration against global warming, meat eating or mansion dwelling can actually contribute to a renewed common accord and shared love and devotion for the environment. I am much less likely to see eye to eye with someone who is against me than I am with someone who accepts me as I am while strongly, simply adopting new, better rules and demonstrating the results of that.

Everyone has the ability to recognize a loving act, a new invention that works better, a new approach that gradually makes its way into common acceptance and usage, because it was allowed to evolve rather than being imposed. There is rarely any resistance to true evolution, and evolution is inevitable. Humans consistently seek more joy, more peace, more love and more well-being. Everything we create and do is certain to evolve in direct proportion to this search.

We naturally seek to reduce suffering and pain, but we must first recognize these before we can change. We strive for harmony, by nature. Our occasional clumsiness does not prevent our success; it leads to it. It is the stepping-stone, the point of recognition and awareness that leads to new, better directions.

Slainte!

What is it that truly brings communities together? Celebrations and state holidays certainly create an opportunity, but the majority of people return to their daily routines and the natural boundaries of shyness and individualism isolate us again by sunset.

There was a fine Fourth of July celebration in my town this year. Unlike previous years, I decided to get out of my cave and participate a bit more. I set up shop in the school field with other vendors and crafters and spent a mesmerizing afternoon in the crowd. From that vintage point, I observed a cloud of people coming from all directions and descending on the venue in one accord.

Like bees swarming to a mother hive to attend some buzzing convention, they seemed to gather to collect information, reassure each other that the center of town was still alive and well and perhaps acquire a treasure or two before returning to their own dwellings. In such moments, we are reminded of the collective consciousness that sustains us even as we continue to live our private and guarded lives. In fact, this may be the greatest treasure we come to seek; the glimpse of everyone else to remember we are not alone, the glimpse of a smile to remember we are worthy of it, the humming of new voices to break the silence of our habitual conversations, a good tip for a new recipe or a new career, a new reason to love each day.

It is interesting that we are capable of such conviviality, but for such a fleeting moment. By evening, we withdraw to our select few friends, to the familiar and safe. I confess that I am an accomplished cave dweller. Perhaps this is why I am so mesmerized by these gatherings. They reveal the bursting enthusiasm and child-like nature of people of all ages and all backgrounds and provide a reason or excuse to confirm that we are part of a common story.

When the music fades and the crowd disperses, when families retreat to their backyards, I often have the urge for a new tradition. Once a month, one family would select a theme for a community gathering. It could be anything, it could be silly or creative or informative. We could build a giant screen and view a movie out in the field, we could build a stage and have a talent or improve show, and we could do workshops, where people teach a skill or craft, we could take a vote on a simple idea and assign different families to develop it until the next gathering.

We do not realize that the dynamics that apply to our encounter and subsequent comfort with close friends are indefinitely applicable to everyone with whom we cross paths. It is quite simple. We connect with people the instant we discover common grounds. We do not need to have the same political views, that same age, the same fashion or gastronomic tastes, the same cultural background or belief system to find common grounds. Often, passion unites us in subtle and lasting ways. A Republican and a Democrat at heart can share a passion for art, a Christian and a Buddhist can share a passion for children, an octogenarian and a seven-year old can share a passion for books.

We guard ourselves from others, saving our friendship for a select few. By doing so, we seek to protect our vulnerability. Maybe this ensures it instead. I wonder. I wonder what it would be like to have a community of 5000 friends who look forward to arbitrary monthly gatherings to come together and laugh about the idiosyncrasies of work, hear different stories and points of view from what we hear each week and see, first hand, the vastness of our circle of friends. I do not believe this would lead to intrusion of our privacy. I believe it would ensure more privacy and dignity because there would be more trust.

Face Book is a vast community that in some ways resembles what I am describing here. Yet it is also a virtual world that floats somewhere above the surface and away from the parents and children, entrepreneurs and students who dwell in neighboring houses and make up the fabric of our immediate surroundings. I imagine a “Field Book” community, one where we can shake hands, walk the same grounds and see the same sunset. There is always a place where we can meet. Just as we seek the flat spot in a field to cast our tablecloth and have a picnic, we can seek the soft spots in each other to cast our friendships on common grounds.

Slainte!

Last weekend, I visited my sister in Montreal. Though I lived either in the Montreal suburbs or on the edge of the city itself for 26 years, whenever I return I am blown away by my experience, especially the experience of using public transportation and passing through subway stations.

I am used to the distinctly smaller crowds of Vermont. Even Scottish Festivals, with an average of 30,000 visitors in two days, feel like vast and peaceful surroundings in comparison. What seems most striking in Montreal is the very high percentage of people in their thirties and twenties. What is most striking yet is the overwhelming presence of angry, rebellious, foul-mouthed teens.

The representation of ethnic populations is remarkable, also. Then again, most of our ancestors come from overseas. However, Canada and US born Americans seem to have become a minority. The subway is a good place to make this observation. A subway car contains at least 30 seats. At any time of day, the crowd is such that every seat is used and additional people stand to fill the remaining space. Amongst all the people in a single subway car, it is possible for not one to have been born in Canada or the United States.

It honestly does not bother me whether someone is white, black, brown, yellow or purple. It honestly does not bother me what someone’s native tongue is or which faith he or she embraces. I am often mesmerized by the perfection and beauty of skin tones, the deep, dark eyes of African American people, the gentle demeanor of people from India, the fascinating perspectives taken by different creeds and the voices of young students speaking their native tongues amongst themselves. All are the product of centuries of history, struggle, overcoming and hope and I myself am just one spec of one culture.

The existence of so much diversity in one place is an opportunity for a great mosaic of talents, knowledge and creativity. Unfortunately, I think it is the little things that get us, truly, not color nor creed nor languages. Different cultures behave differently in social settings. For instance, as someone who grew up in a nation with deeply ingrained “Catholic” values and rules about proper public conduct, it is second nature for me to step aside and make way when I encounter people on a sidewalk, or to hold a door for anyone walking behind me. This is not “normal” conduct in all cultures. Interestingly, it is not normal conduct for the younger generations of my own culture.

Hence, back to the teen population I encountered in Montreal. I have a hunch that what I observed likely applies to many other cosmopolitan settings. It may be a cultural epidemic of sorts. To my mind, their completely gratuitous aggressivity and rudeness surpasses any foreign threat or malicious intention ever featured on the evening news. Interestingly, when such groups of teens enter a public bus or subway, adults from every nation and every tongue fall silent and seek comfort and answers in each other’s eyes.

Twenty years ago, it seems, children did not need the fear of retribution to choose to be polite and civilized. It was common sense. Perhaps it was second nature. Now, rebelling seems to be second nature, even rebelling against nothing other than just being there, amongst others; rebelling for the rush of it. This weekend, about eight teens boarded a Montreal bus swearing at the top of their lungs, pushing their way through standing passengers, some many times their elders, and swearing about that too. The boys were sloppy. The girls wore so little that it is a wonder they were there at all instead of being a photograph on a milk carton. My sister indicated this was a daily occurrence, not an anomaly.

I am old enough to be their mother, yet they scared me. They scared everyone. What’s the point? I understand a bit, of course. Everyone does, and it is sad. I have no doubt that every single one of them has great talents and the ability to contribute much, at the very least the ability to pour heart and soul into a project and be fulfilled in it. Would it not feel better to be embraced for this rather than be feared for nothing?

I stepped off the bus wondering what they would become, if they could be happy, truly happy and laughing a heartfelt laughter, the sort that springs from the exuberance of a good moment shared with friends, in peace, not the sort they currently experience when they make fun of others. The joke is on them. No one told them.

I wish them well, but they would not want my love, wishes or encouragements. They would not hear me. Perhaps they are the ones who beg to be heard. How do they need the world to look? Has anyone asked them? They are better informed than I at their age. The world and all its drama is at their fingertips, jolting them out of innocence at its own pace, not theirs. Perhaps this is what makes them so angry.

Slainte!

I see a long corridor, or rather a field, expanding away from me and slowly curving down out of sight, with the curve of the earth. At various intervals between the horizon and me, a fence stands erect. I am surrounded by the people of my community, the small business owners diligently sweeping the front steps of their stores and restaurants. We are the working class.

Beyond the first fence, men and women in suits stand, drinking cocktails and looking in our direction, perhaps remembering, some fondly and some with disgust, earlier times in their lives when they lived on our side of the fence, before climbing the corporate ladder. Some miss this time, but dare not say. The mansions of the well-to-do reach up above the third fence, so that even at a distance we see them and hear the roar of their gatherings. In that section of the field, the sky is perpetually lit by the glow of countless television sets and the multiple bedroom homes.

The next fence can only be seen from the perspective of the well-to-do. We do not see it from the working class field, but we know it is there. It is the only one adorned with barbed wire at the top. The decision-makers enter it each day, through a guarded gate. They are the founding fathers of our wealth, success, work, health and dreams. Some of them began their lives toward our side of the fence. They may have forgotten.

Beyond this field lies another, filled with golden wheat swaying in the sun and edged by stately, ancient trees. It is the field of all possibilities. We think one must be granted access through the previous fences in order to attain it. Few of us try. We are discouraged before we even try. In truth, we are scared because we believe the lies about our place in the world and because we believe we are different, less capable, perhaps even less worthy than the folks in the corporate, well-to-do or decision-maker fields. We forget that our lives and abilities are not truly subject to the gravitational pull of a horizontal field, and we forget that the fence is a symbol, not an actual barrier.

This is the image that comes to mind when I think of the dynamics of this world, our governments and our very perception of who we are and what we are capable of becoming. Our society, with all its various echelons of workers, small business owners, big business tycoons and government, is a landscape that spans infinite acreage from the poorest of the poor to the richest of the rich and from the least influential to the most powerful.

Often, our leaders seem so out of touch with the voice and needs of the people they represent that they might just as well be separated by a field so vast that the curvature of the earth makes us disappear from sight. Decisions are made based on assumptions and memories of who we are. Those who live on the other side of the fence, within sight of the leaders, may receive more attention because they are the immediate neighbor. 

We stay within the confines of our own playground, hoping that our needs will be met, indeed hoping they will be noticed at all. Some dare to venture out, to cross the fields and approach the playground of the leaders, enough at least to be heard from over the fence. What they fear most is not to be kicked out; what they fear most is to be ignored, which is worse. Nevertheless, no voice can be ignored. The wind travels amongst all fields equally. It may not travel at the speed of our thoughts. It may not travel at the speed of our earnest desires. But in its own time, it touches every person and every blade of grass and transforms the landscape enough so that over time our perception is altered, regardless of our position in the landscape.

Change requires occasional turbulence and the ebb and flow of trial and error, approach and retreat, but it is inevitable. And the fences are just that, fences, not walls. A construct of intertwined fabric that lets the wind, and the voices it carries, reach to the furthest ends of the field.

Slainte!