|
|
|
July 21, 1997 In A Class By Ourselves You are a child of the universe, Seventeenth-century anonymous Please bring strange things. May your mouth contain the shapes of strange
words. Ursula K. Le Guin I guess we all really enjoy being lonely. I have a hard time finding any other reason for the fragmented, disconnected, isolated lives we lead. "But so many of us have happy, healthy, homes and relationships," you may say. I know – I do too: I have an outstanding loving relationship, I love my rented home and the life that my fiance, my dogs, and I have created. But I am still fragmented – doing a million things, not all connected. I am still disconnected – my times out in the natural world are limited to time spent in my backyard, field trips with students, and going from one place to another. And I am still isolated – isolated from others in my community (what is "community," anyway?) who do not travel in the privileged circles I do. Yesterday, I led a workshop entitled "Oases In The Urban Desert – The Last Stands of the Natural World." During this eight hour experience, we explored the importance of having a relationship with a "place," in particular the place where we live. We explored some of the green spaces in Los Angeles, both tamed and wild, that are vital to our survival as individuals and as a species. But it was more than a tour of open spaces, more than a nice series of short hikes. Our day was really a time to intentionally see, in one case from a vantage point far above the city, the isolation and disconnection that plagues our lives. First we talked about the importance of the Earth as a place and how distant we have come from it. We reflected on the fact that since the first human beings walked this Earth, we have been in a relationship with the natural world. In almost every society that anthropologists have studied, one of the central deities (and in many cases the central deity) was the Earth. Animals and plants had souls. Even our language speaks of our deep roots in the Earth. Among northern Germanic tribes, the Teutonic word for temple means "forest." We knew what our place in nature was. In our hearts, I know we still do. The scientific revolution in the 16th and 17th centuries codified a perception of the universe that dramatically altered our relationship with the Earth. Since then, our universe ceased to be the enchanted world where, as Morris Berman says, The cosmos, in short, was a place of belonging. A member of this cosmos was not an alienated observer of it but a direct participant in its drama. This says so much. We became observers of our universe and ceased to be participants. This may have been the modern beginning of our disconnection. Particularly since the concept of "objectivity" evolved in the "West" to be a state of being in which you remove your senses from the interaction. In effect, you must deny your humanity to be a good "observer." Galileo himself said that scientists should restrict themselves to studying the essential properties of material bodies such as shapes, numbers, and movement – only those things that could be measured and quantified should be studied. He said that color, sound, taste and smell were just subjective mental projections that should be excluded from the domain of science. This is the mindset upon which our modern world is based. Psychiatrist R. D. Laing summed it up well when he said "Out go sight, sound, taste, touch, and smell and along with them has since gone aesthetics and ethical sensibility, values, quality, form; all feelings, motives, intentions, soul, consciousness, spirit. Experience as such is cast out of the realm of scientific discourse." Bioregionalist Kirkpatrick Sale describes this new reality, the one we subscribe to so easily today, with sobering clarity: "The new perception held, better than that, it proved that the Earth, the universe beyond it, and all within it operated according to certain clear, calculable, and unchanging laws, not by the whims of any living, sentient being. It showed that these laws were, far from being divinely created or spiritually inspired, capable of mundane scientific measurement, prediction, and replication, even scientific manipulation and control. It demonstrated that the objects of the universe, from the smallest stone to the earth's orb itself and the planets beyond, were not animate or purposeful, with individual souls and wills and spirits, but were nothing more than the combinations of certain chemical and mechanical properties. It established beyond all doubt that there are not one but two worlds, the mechanical and inert one out there, made up of a random collection of insensate atoms, and the human one within, where thought and purpose and consciousness reside." Is this just interesting but irrelevant history? I don’t think so. I think these are vital clues to the sources of our confusion today. We must look for the historical, societal forces that have manipulated our mindsets, creating the disconnected patterns we live today. Once such forces are recognized, we can stop blaming our behaviors on some dark side of the human spirit over which we have no control. Then we can move on to a new way. My class then moved out into the neighborhood, to explore the "community" around Antioch University. This university is located in an expensive office building in Marina del Rey, home of the largest small boat harbor in the world – and home to some of the highest property values and rents in the city. We walked up the very nice, tree-lined street. There were many green lawns in front of the condominium complexes and apartment buildings – the land is way too valuable for single family dwellings (apartments cost $2,000 a month for a one-bedroom place here). It was very pretty. We even saw some nice courtyards with benches in some of the complexes for residents to gather. But during our walk, we saw no one either in the gathering places or walking on the street (except one Hispanic gentleman on his way back from McDonalds to continue gardening). No one was using these spaces. They were either locked up in their dwelling units or off somewhere recreating. The flowers and trees seemed to exist to keep the building’s looking nice to justify the high rent. I am not knocking the importance of green spaces in our lives – just the opposite. But we started thinking about whether or not the residents were benefiting from the landscaping. Did they leave home in the morning in a rush, after a cup of coffee and a glance at the morning paper, to travel to their jobs great distances away? Do they return in the evening after a long and tiring day, parking in their garages behind the buildings in the alley, and entering their homes? Did they even experience their surroundings at all, even for only a few brief seconds, as they left their cars? Or did they avoid that contact with the natural world as well by opening their garage door automatically and entering their home from an inside entrance? We questioned whether these folks had any greater appreciation for their environment or were any less stress-ridden than people of lesser means with no flowers at all in front of their government-funded housing project. We shared lunch in Burton Chase County Park, a lovely little green space in the marina. The engraved sign at the entrance proudly tells of the dedication of this park in 1973 and speaks with great pride at how the "mosquito infested mudflat" that was once in this spot (translation: vital, healthy, important wetland) was transformed into the successful marina and park it is today. What a powerful indication of how our culture devalues that which is natural and calls all that is non-human "other." We call land that has not been built upon "undeveloped," a mark that indicates little or no value. After the former "mosquito-infested mudflats," we visited a beautiful resource that is just blocks from the beach on Sunset Boulevard and Pacific Coast Highway – the "Self-Realization Fellowship." This unusual area is home to a large, human-made lake with waterfalls and fountains surrounded by a lovely trail with meditation alcoves along the way. It is a non-denominational spiritual center. Many people visit it daily for some peace and quiet, but considering there are 9 million people in Los Angeles, the place is virtually unknown. As pretty as it was, one of my students pointed out that we were still confined to narrow pathways with the true open space – the lake – being off-limits behind a fence. This is common in areas where nature has been confined, controlled, and manicured. "Wild" is considered dangerous. Is it really? "Unmarked paths" are considered confusing. Are they really? The lack of fences and warning signs invites abuse. Does it really? It is not part of a typical urban dweller’s life to recognize the importance of visiting a natural area regularly. It is something to do when you "have the time." But we could feel the difference in our bodies and minds when we entered the peaceful surroundings of trees and flowers and water. I was surprised to see a wedding preparing to take place there. I didn’t know they allowed that there (we learned that for a fee, they do). There was one of the largest "stretch limousines" I have ever seen, even in L.A. waiting in the parking lot. I was startled to see that the wedding party was setting up on the small lawn overlooking the lake that has a crypt with some of Gandhi’s ashes in it! It is an area that has a sign saying "no reclining" on the grass to encourage respect. I wonder if the bride and groom knew of its significance. From what I saw (typical tuxedos and cumberbuns, traditional elaborate wedding gown, kids running around, stretch limo!) I don’t think so. Just down the street was the entrance to another little-known spot in the area – the Los Liones Trail of the Topanga State Park. I designed the day so that we would end with an experience in "wild" nature. Our hour and a half journey on this trail provided much wisdom for us all. You can feel the difference immediately. Once you enter through the gate, other than the fact that the trail is well maintained, you get the sense that you are on your own – no guide rails, no fences, no gift shops, no rest rooms. Just the natural landscape is there on all sides. The shock for a city dweller is profound. It is also frightening. "We won’t see any rattlesnakes, will we," said one wary student (bear in mind that all these students are working adults, from ages 30-50). "Maybe," I said. "Keep your eyes open, but remember that they don’t want to encounter you any more that you want to encounter them." I asked everyone to me more mindful than they might usually be – to stop the constant chatter of our mouths and our minds. I asked them to try to take in the sensations, the smells, to try to feel the colors and see the smells. We are out of practice in experiencing our senses. Someone pointed out how different it was to walk on dirt than concrete. I told them to not forget to look up as well as down, to experience all directions. But I didn’t expect that it would be me who spotted the rattlesnake. Suddenly, as we rounded a turn, I saw it. The largest rattlesnake I had ever seen was 6 or 7 steps in front of me. I stopped in my tracks, students literally bumping into me from behind. I backed us up a couple of feet and we watched. It was hot that afternoon, and we were on an exposed part of the trail. The snake was, as reptiles will do, sunning on the trail. Reptiles get very sluggish while they are sunning (so do humans) and it was slow to move. It slowly began to move across the trail, without even a glance in our direction, down the slope to its home. It was nearly 5 feet long, easily 3 or 4 inches in diameter at its largest point, and had a rattle that was 3 inches tall. This creature had clearly been around the Earth a while. We were all struck dumb by the experience. Whenever city-folk encounter wildlife, awe is understandable. But to encounter something as dreaded and vilified as a rattlesnake, and to have the chance to just experience its beauty and grace, is a rare moment indeed. I knew what was on everyone’s mind – because it was on my mind as well – will the snake attack us? I knew that the thought was preposterous, but our acculturation and media exposure is so thorough and complete that all I could picture in my mind was a scene from countless movies where the ferocious rattler rears up and leaps many feet through the air towards the helpless human. The snake took no notice of us – it did not even rattle. It slowly, sluggishly, and quite calmly slithered across the trail. It took a full 30 seconds or so to disappear from sight. We were all awed by this encounter, the opportunity to experience the relationship we can have with the natural world that is not combative, violent, or based on someone trying to eat someone else. The rest of the hike was filled with less dramatic, but just as meaningful, examples of our relationship to the world. We experienced feeling our bodies – you have to work a little harder when visiting "wild" nature than when you visit a manicured park." We felt our sweat, heard our hearts pounding, and experienced our breathing. When we reached the top, we were faced with dramatic, expansive views of the ocean from Malibu to the South Bay and views inland all the way to downtown Los Angeles. We could see clearly the carving away of the mountains for private, affluent developments and the haphazard way that the city is laid out. We could see clearly that the affluent folk had their homes surrounded in more green than the poorer folk that comprise most of the city. Yet even though those with more economic means were living closer "geographically" to nature than others, we questioned whether they were really experiencing a sense of being closer. We concluded that they did not necessarily experience closeness just because they were closer physically to the wilderness than those living among concrete and despair in the poorer parts of L.A. The lifestyle we have adopted in major urban areas does not give us time to develop a relationship with the place where we live. We may have the means to afford a pretty, natural setting, but then we get into our cars and travel great distances in order to continue to make that money. Ironically, but not surprisingly, people who live in the "poorer" parts of town seem to work closer to where they live (because they cannot afford transportation) and have a much greater sense of community. In "those" parts of town, it is rare to not see people on the street, talking with neighbors, and children playing. In the affluent parts of town, rarely do you see anyone outside their homes, children are virtually non-existent on the lawns or sidewalks, and aside from occasional encounters while walking the dog, you will rarely see neighbors conversing. There seem to be so many obstacles to reestablishing a connection to ourselves and the natural world. But we must resist the urge to feel hopeless. It is actually easy. This anonymous verse says it concisely:
If you open it, close it. Anonymous [I would add . . .] Notice everything you do. Ask yourself "why" you do everything you do. If you can do something that has less negative impact on others and the world, do it. And, finally
If you have time to chatter Nanao Sakaki
Resources
[Jackie Giuliano can be found trying to remember his neighbor's names in Venice, California. He is a professor of environmental studies at Antioch University, Los Angeles, the University of Phoenix Southern California Campuses, and at the Union Institute College of Undergraduate Studies. Please send your comments, thoughts, and visions to him at jackie@healingourworld.com.] |
All Images and Content
Copyright (c) 1998, Jackie A. Giuliano Ph.D.
jackie@deepteaching.com