EcoLit ESem

This weekend I had the misfortune to not be able to visit my location of choice on the Bryn Mawr campus, the moon bench. I chose this spot because I think its position gives it a unique and enticing view of the campus. You can look right up senior row through the Pembroke arch, over the valley of athletic fields to Cambrien row, and survey the Merion green. Sadly I wasn’t able to do any of these things, I was however able to attend a picturesque wedding in the Adirondacks of New York, specifically in Saranac Lake. My cousin Adrien and his wife Julia were married on September 22, 2012 at 3 pm in a little white chapel in the middle of the woods. It was perfect; there was no cell phone reception, no noise of the highway, a city, or anything other than the noise of the woods and of the people gathered to celebrate this momentous event. The wedding placed emphasis on the union between Adrien and Julia, as all weddings place emphasis on the couple, however Adrien and Julia made it clear from the start that although this event celebrated them, their relationship would not be possible without the support and love they received from members of their community. This was reflected in the interactive ceremony they had, the potluck, and the contra dancing that all took place that night. Julia is a park ranger in the Adirondacks and her appreciation and care for the environment shown through in their eco-friendly, environmentally conscious ceremony and reception.

Why am I the only one in class who adopted an indoor campus site at first? I must admit I have long been “suffering “ from “natural deficit disorder” coined by Richard Louv in his book: Last Child in the woods 2005. I remembered how I causally read that book and didn’t buy his words at all. I have been so comfortable residing within the concrete walls of human creations that I rarely try to look up to the sky.

Sitting on the bench on the plain grass platform behind Thomas Great Hall on Friday night, so how, maybe out of boredom, I looked up the sky. The star were amazing, more beautiful than the night sky I watched in document films, and more approachable. How much more I am missing?

New site I chose

Detached Moment

Cold in the morning.
Hammock was damp.
Bench was in shade.
Grass was thick and green, nourished by last night's rain.
Sunshine was soft and clear,
and the sun was hiding from me behind the huge pine-like tree.

Walking in the Labyrinth,
not thinking about the route.
Each step brings me to a new angle of view.

Athletic training was going on at the Applebee.
Sunshine gloriously projected on the wall of Rhoads.
Squirrels sneakily jump up and down the trees.

My hot drink was cooled.
I walked faster to keep myself warm.
One part of the Labyrinth was in the sun:
just like the most inviting slice of pizza - tempting.

I ignored the route I was walking on
and indulged in the gentle slow air flow,
the clear sky
the grass dew
the walk
the pleasant quiet alone hour
the meditation. 

*Side notes:

I spent six minutes walking from the start to the terminal, which was way less time than one time that I cheated. But I felt the course of time should be longer. It reminds me of the Wellness course of last week where we closed our eyes and followed the instruction to breath in and out, which was an extremely relaxing exercise. That was another time when the psychological time I experienced was longer than the physical time. Whenever I am indulged in something, I feel I am doing more with my time.

Where I am sitting now: in a Starbucks on Broadway near 110th St, on the Upper West Side of New York, nearly 10 o'clock on Saturday night, the only place and time I've managed to get internet access and a modicum of space and time to myself. Better do this posting now; tomorrow will be full with rehearsal, and I need to practice my parts before that. This is actually OK with me as a way to live (so far...) The pleasure in the work to be done, and the stimulation and challenge of what I'm learning, more than outweigh the physical fatigue. So I sit and try to travel mentally back to the Labyrinth, and to my time there on Thursday, only a couple of days ago. My path from there to here is like a labyrinth in itself, twisting and turning through different locations and activities, meeting new people, trying to keep track of the threads of different conversations, different communication processes. I'm grateful for the opportunity to think myself back to the peaceful moments at the (Bryn Mawr) Labyrinth, just as I was grateful to have an assigned hour of contemplation. It makes me think, now, that integral to our ecological disaster in the present-day world, is the sheer pace of our life, the speed of it, the quantity of activity and experience we expect to pack into every day. How on earth can we expect to be aware of what is going on around us, of the existence and concerns of non-human beings, of the effect we are having on them and they on us, when we have assigned ourselves a more than full schedule we can barely keep up with?

At the end of class today, (re-directed somewhat by Zoe!) I asked each of you to write--in the mode that Andrew Goatley describes as an "environmentally friendly alternative to goal-directed grammar" --a description of "what was happening," just then, in the room. Here is what we wrote, and then read to one another (it gives me shivers!):

Talking takes place.
Contemplation and thinking are happening around.
The desks are in a circle.
Shining through the windows.
Silent thinking.
Thinking continues.
Air is moving and responding.
Writing and thinking are happening.
Thought happens. Written words voiced in speech.
Thinking in peace.
Pensively gaze, frown, then scribble.
Pens are rustling.
Mental contortion.
Beings pulsating in peacefulness.
A conversation is going on.

I now want to bring this (lovely, really lovely!) production of ours back into conversation with wanhong's provocative post about the difficulty of describing motion without matter. She reports that--although the discussion in her high school physics class was guided by the motto that "motion is eternal while stability is relative"--every time they studied motion, they diagrammed it using dots or squares to represent the object in motion.

Stepping off from that insight…how might we diagram this poem?
Are there objects (in motion) in it?
(Are they us, or our thoughts?)

The Bryn Mawr College campus is a beautiful, complexly interesting place that few maps can capture every aspect of. This map I have selected is no exception. The map I have selected is located front and center of the campus center, and its border reads, "Here lies the Bryn Mawr campus, all its wonders great and small twill fold to fit your pocket or unfold to fit your wall." Well.... yes and no. This map does depict many wonders of the campus, but not all of them. Firstly, let me start off with saying this is an AMAZING map. It is beautiful, and every aspect of it is symbolic. The colors that are used to draw the map are exclusively blue, light blue, red, and green. A coincidence? I think not. This map places huge emphasis on the traditions, the people, and the buildings that make up Bryn Mawr. It gives a fun, quirky representation of Bryn Mawr that it is more than accurate in describing the amazing community and the people who make it up. However one glaring aspect that is not done justice in this representation is the fact that the equally beautiful enviornment in which the campus is set in is muted. The green of the landscape is represented, but it is flat, not only in color, but in dimension. The undulating lascape (most notably the valley separating the Pensby Center and Brecon from the rest of campus) is absent, and the many different types of trees and flowers are nowhere to be found. Not only the is the plant life underrepresented, the animal life is completely ignored.