Sunday, January 2, 2022

Sunday, January 2, 2022

 

    Last night my ankle was badly swollen. I took an Ibuprofen and iced it. In the middle of the night, the pain switched. Instead of being below the ankle joint, the pain was 4 inches above it. I took another Ibuprofen and did cramp-release exercises. My ankle was so good this morning that I considered a longer walk away from home. Yesterday, I walked up a steep hill. I did well, but I couldn't count on it lasting for the whole trip. Toward the end of my morning walk, the ankle started bothering me. Today, the area at the back of the foot beneath the ankle began to bother me toward the end of the walk. I headed home. 

    People who need to be perfect can't stand conjtradictions. The very need to be perfect makes them sinister. They reduce everyone to a character in their play where they are perfect. The need to be perfect guarantees we will harm ourselves and others.

    I was alone again today. It was a little more than I would like, but it was doable. 

     In On Being this morning, Krista Tippet interviewed acoustic ecologist Gordon Hempton. He talked about areas of the world free from modern-day sounds. I walked out into the yard and listened for any modern-day sounds, in fact, any sounds of another human being. I don't live way out in the sticks. I live within 10 minutes of an international airport. I live in a neighborhood of one-acre properties that often have more than one house. I can see many homes in all directions. I don't live in an isolated area. When I go for my walks, I hear my neighbors across the street listening to NPR during the day and some TV shows at night.

Nonetheless, I could stand in my yard at midday and hear nothing from another human being. It is one of the things I love about living here on the Big Island of Hawaii. I was listening for a human sound; none could be heard. I have two air-conditioning units in my home. I never use them. Most people don't have air conditioning. I don't hear any whirring away as I walk. Sitting in my living area, I heard the refrigerator kick on and the attic fan whir away. I  heard a window bang a little in the strong breeze. I can fix that window by locking it. The attic fan will fall silent later tonight when it cools down enough.

   My Phonics Discovery Phase III doesn't introduce a new way to do something. It's one of the oldest academic teaching methods: dictation, or a variation on that. I Googled 'dictation.' I found a few articles on the topic, mostly by teachers of English as another language. I found one teacher of the dyslexic who said she used some aspect of it with her students. I don't do oral dictation with my students. I have them read the text, recall it, and dictate it to me from memory. Only one of my students has enough control over her spelling and handwriting to have her do the actual writing. Adding the physical act of writing adds to the neurological load. Many of my students have processing problems. I reduce the neurological load so they can comfortably focus on auditory processing and recall tasks. I want to show people all the amazing things you can do with a 'dictation' exercise with my video. (I'm calling it dictation because I don't have another term for it. In addition, actual dictation is a long-term goal.)  

     I was home alone. I had to admit the isolation and silence were weighing on me. 

    I watched the second half of the movie, The Proposal, because someone said it contained their favorite Betty White character. I suspected I'd seen it before. It was somewhat fun. Its premise was only mildly annoying. When it was over, I started watching Friends with Money. The cast was impressive. I want to see anything with Frances McDormand, unless it is one of her husband's dark, violent ones. I didn't like them when times were good. That's all I'd need now to push me right over the edge.

   Last night I read the section of Seven Story Mountain where Merton embraces his commitment to become a Trappist monk. I had the same reaction now as I did when I read this passage in high school. I wished I could become a Trappist monk. I remember thinking how I would have loved to become a nun living in a silent order. I only had one problem; I wasn't Catholic. I recently heard a Buddhist teacher say she had the same experience as a child. She also thought she would like to be a nun but wasn't Catholic. She became a Buddhist nun. That wound up not being my path. 

   I found Buddhist meditation in my fifties. The first time I went on a silent retreat, someone said, "Betty, you won't last five minutes. You can't stop talking." I said, "Just watch me. I've been dreaming about this since high school." I loved it. I loved having days of silence when I chose them. 

   When I was in my thirties and living in a commune, I practiced silence every Sunday. I interacted with others. I wrote responses when I had to, but I didn't speak. Wonderful! I was very reactive at the time, driven by absolute terror. Restraining myself worked. I discovered I could survive whatever someone said to me. 

   Now, I live in silence. Well, maybe not complete. I have the radio on most of the day as my mother did. It's sometimes on music, but it's on NPR news more often. How's that for wrecking your day? Also, I don't have anyone here to be silent with. It's that shared silence that is powerful. I still hear my mind rattle on. Fortunately, I rarely fall into obsessive thinking, going round and round on the same argument. It's always an argument when my mind does that. Hate it!