Mastery Year 2: Interlude 8

Hi, all, Daniel-of-2019, here.

I had a dream about Charlie the other night. It was “unrealistic,” as dreams tend to be, and all jumbled up, but I was glad to have it. We were all at the school again, only it was a fantasy-magic school, like Hogwarts, and we were all in some basement catacomb trying to open a magic box or treasure chest rumored to have killed anybody who looked inside it, the Nazis melted in Raiders of the Lost Ark.

Anyway, everybody had their own ideas for how they could open the chest safely, and they were all expounding on their ideas at once, everybody talking and nobody listening, except then I noticed Charlie wasn’t talking, he was just standing off to the side with a very dubious look on his face. He got up and went to leave. I met him at the door and told him and said “I’m glad you’re going to survive. I may step out, too.” And we hugged each other for a very long time and then I woke up.

Into the dark of my bedroom I spoke, saying “I guess I did step out of that dream,” and June mumbled and shifted in her sleep.

I had not dreamed of Charlie in a long time—I do not dream on him often, and in fact I seldom dream about anybody I actually know. It felt like spending time with him. I do not know what, if anything, it means.

As usual, I meet the upcoming holiday (Brigid) disorganized. I didn’t manage to get in a post that really expressed the feeling of anticipation in the last days of January, 2009, just before I began my last year as a student. It wasn’t a particularly unusual January, all told, but I never spent very many Januaries on campus, and for most of them I was rather preoccupied by my own situation and so did not take much notice of the mood on campus. But that last January I much more sat back and watched—yearlings milling about, finishing up their year-and-a-day of zazen meditation and group therapy and unsure what might happen next; senior students returning from weeks or months off-campus and greeting friends, re-entering the odd and oddly-familiar world of the school; graduating novices disappearing into the Ordeal and the magic trick of nobody else noticing; the return of the faculty, totally unannounced and then you’d bump into one of them. The whole place had an aura of waiting, of quickening, of looking forward to the not-quite-known.

Not that I had no feelings of my own, and not that I wasn’t busy. I conducted my first several interviews, lined up several others, and in general started acting on my plan for my last year in a serious way.

And twice I tried to sneak up on Charlie and twice failed.

-best, D.

Mastery Year 2: Part 8: Post 5: Writing

Like pretty much else, I usually write structureless poetry. I never really thought about it. I'd read poetry that rhymed and poetry that didn't, and I was under the impression that the former was old-fashioned and simplistic, so I wrote the latter.

I suppose my idea that poetry ought to be free-form was related to my assumption that poetry couldn't be edited. Maybe it was that a poem should be spontaneous, unfiltered, unconstrained by conventions of punctuation, grammar, structure in general, just pure, unfiltered expression. But, like I said, I never thought about it.

Charlie said "Bah!"

Fortunately, he didn't have to say it to me. I attended a workshop he taught on structured poetry back in October, and someone else asserted that poetry should be pure expression. After saying "Bah!" he asserted that the closest thing humans have to pure expression is the cry of an infant, and if we "wanted to say anything more articulate than a fart of emotion, we've got to learn how to communicate."

And we had a long discussion about the difference between expression and communication, and later segued into the definition of poetry. In that workshop, we also briefly covered the history of poetry and the development of its different forms, and then explored several different historically popular structures. We read poems--mostly Charlie read them, very much performed them, his contention being that most people didn't understand poetry because they'd never heard it read well--and practiced writing them.

An idea emerged, for me, anyway, that far from being free of structure, poetry is actually more about structure than prose it--that the structurelessness of the poetry I was familiar with was actually a structure of its own, an active, communicative presence, not the freedom and absence I'd assumed.

Anyway, I got interested in the subject, and after the workshop was over I did some further readings on the subject, both reading about poetry and exploring the works of various poets, from Shakespeare to Edna St. Vincent Millay. I briefly flirted with the idea of making a major study of it, but after about a week and a half my motivation petered out and I moved on to other things.

Except after that, while continuing with my assignment to write and edit poems about my spot in the words, I started trying out structured poetry. I invented a couple of forms myself, playing around with rhyme and meter schemes and earning question marks all over my paper from Charlie, and I tried out half a dozen other forms, with varying degrees of success.

Eventually I found myself writing a lot of sonnets. I like them, they're short, but not too short, and they have a certain elegance.

About a month ago, I got the idea of making this poetry collection I'm supposed to be making a collection of sonnets. I'm interested in the idea that the same poem--the same creative impulse and idea, I mean--could be poured into different forms. I thought of writing the same poem over and over in multiple forms, but I haven't actually gotten myself organized enough to do that. What I have done, over the past few weeks, is to start re-writing some of my existing poems as sonnets.

I haven't told Charlie, yet. He's not really available at the moment, and I'm a little worried that I won't be able to stick with it, and I don't want to disappoint him if I don't. I'm also a little afraid that he'll laugh at me, but if he laughs, he laughs, I can deal with it.

Anyway, I kind of like the challenge.

Meanwhile, I've been interviewing novices who are ready to graduate--as part of my plan to learn more about the school  so I can earn my ring--and preparing for the school year. I intend to get serious about demonstrating my ability to add something to the academic mix, here, by teaching workshops that have a clear relationship to both student interest and the required subjects. To that end, I've been working with Sharon to develop class plans and to get on the schedule prominently.

Today she made an interesting suggestion; why don't I teach a couple of talks and seminars on writing, to put myself in a position to offer tutoring and editing to students later in the year?

Alright, why don't I?

Mastery Year 2: Part 8: Post 4: Sight

Last week I turned in my plan for this coming year to Charlie, by way of Sharon. I feel like I've spent most of my adult life turning things into Charlie through Sharon and waiting to hear back. What's it going to be like when I'm no longer his student?

Anyway, this week I heard back. He was as laconic as ever--Sharon simply handed my paper back to me and on it, scribbled in blue pen at the top, was "Sounds good. -Ch."

So, now I have to set up interviews. Particularly I need to talk to a couple of the graduating novices before Brigid, and maybe some of the people getting their rings--I need to find out who's going to be available after Brigid and who won't be. Lots to do.

I had thought that would be it, lots to do so go do it, but Charlie surprised me yet again.

I was on my way back in after my early-morning walk, when I suddenly realized he was behind me. I stopped, held still for a few seconds, and, when I was sure, I said his name. He laughed.

"How did you know?"

How did I know? I had to think about that for a few seconds, but I came up with an answer.

"I saw you," I said. "I just didn't realize I had until after I passed you." To be clear, he wasn't standing in the open but beside one of the trees near the Formal Garden, in the heavy shade that looked twice as dark in comparison with the morning light on the new snow. I'd only seen him out of the corner of my eye, and he wasn't standing where I'd expected anyone to be. I almost walked right past him, and almost any other student on campus would have.

"So, next year you'll be getting your ring," he said, conversationally. There was a hint of sadness in his voice.

"I'm not going anywhere," I reminded him. He shrugged a bit.

"You do your job well enough, they don't need you to do it anymore," he said. "I've never had a child, but I imagine parenthood involves something similar."

I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing, and he went on almost as though my silence had been my turn in our dialogue, which I suppose maybe it was.

"You'll be busy."

"Yes, I will be."

"Let me make you busier. I have another assignment for you."

"Alright."

"I want you, before you get my vote, to become able to find me when I'm not looking for you, see me when I do not want to be seen, and sneak up on me unawares."

"Charlie, nobody can sneak up on you."

"You'd be surprised."

"Ok, how am I supposed to know if I'm succeeding? How am I supposed to tell the difference between not being able to see you, and you just not being there?"

"If you can see where I am, you'll also be able to see where I'm not."

"If I learn this," I said, slowly, "I'm going to have to only use my powers for good...." What I didn't want to quite say was that I didn't want to invade his privacy. Becoming able to see him any time I wanted would not, could not mean actually looking at any time.

He acknowledged by point with a hand gesture I'm not sure how to describe, but which I mentally glossed as "granted."

"How will I know you don't actually want to be seen, and so forth? You want me to get my ring as much as I do."

A look of embarrassment flitted across his face a moment, but was gone before he spoke.

"I have not so thoroughly grown beyond my egotism as to let you win easily."

"You're on, then," I told him.

And he smiled, stepped behind the tree, and I'm honestly not sure where he went after that. I looked. He just wasn't there.

Mastery Year 2: Part 8: Post 3: Getting Back to Charlie

So, I have an answer.

To the question of what more I have to do to become a master, I mean. The key ended up being what Ollie said, about whether I'd like to see someone like me hired--and the thing is, I wouldn't, not yet. I may have made the personal transformation necessary to be one of the Six, but I'm not in a position to take responsibility for helping to run the school, because I don't really know how the school runs. I don't really have a sense yet of how I could bring my unique skills and knowledge-base--I do know I have unique skills by now!--to the school in a way that might fit in with what everyone else is doing here.

But what I don't know, I can find out.

So, first I made a list of things I want to learn this year:

• What is the operational structure of the school? Who does what?
• What are the day-to-day operations of each "department"?
• What is the school's legal and financial status?
• What happens in an emergency?
• What is the history of the school?
• Who is actually in charge of making various "mysterious" events happen?
• What is the decision-making process? How is organizational policy set?
• What classes (as opposed to workshops, etc.) could I teach, other than Charlie's?
• What areas of mastery could I teach, and how would I teach them?
• What do people other than me find useful in a master?
• What areas of school function could I direct?

Then I made a list of tasks I want to complete over the year that should teach me the things I need to know:

• Interview each member of the Masters' Group and all of the regular allies about what they do.
• Interview Greg, and one or more of the original Six, if I can find any, about the school history. Supplement with interviews of the others.
• Interview each member of the Candidates' Group, especially those getting their rings this Brigid, about their process of gaining mastery and their relationships with their masters.
• Write up class descriptions and syllabi for one or more full classes I could teach and write up any necessary preparation plans--then execute the plans.
• Interview a selection of novices about what they like and don't like about their masters and what they see as the strengths and weaknesses of the school as a whole.
• Ask various community members of all categories what they see as needing to change or improve in the school, and what they see as important to remain the same.
• Document all of the above--write a report.

I did as Sharon whether any such reports already exist, though I suspect I'd get more out of writing one than by reading it, but she said there isn't. I don't know whether to be encouraged or discouraged that apparently nobody's ever sought mastery this way before.

Anyway, I turned in all of it to Charlie, through Sharon, and now I'm waiting to hear back. I'm sitting in the Great Hall, alone, watching the weak, winter sunlight shine off the decorations of the Yule tree and off the crusted, patchy snow outside. More snow is predicted for tonight, and the Great Hall smells of snow and, faintly, of the iron of the woodstove, which overheated earlier and is cooling now, ticking slowly as it goes. And I'm thinking why was all this so difficult? Why did it take me the better part of a month to do this, even after I spoke with Ollie and developed a good idea of what I needed to do?

I could say I was distracted and preoccupied by the holidays, but really there wasn't much for me to do to make the holidays happen. I've been less preoccupied, less busy, over the past month than I normally am by daily life.

The truth is that the reason I don't know all of this stuff already is that I've been fairly passive in my engagement with the community. I've done what I've been told, I've met expectations, and that's about it. A certain passivity is not only accepted but actually encouraged in the students, I've learned, because it keeps them from asking too many questions and makes maintaining the air of mystery (which has educational value) much easier. It's not like I've been doing anything wrong. But it's time to give up passivity now, to take responsibility for making this place work--to grow up, in other words.

And I don't entirely want to.