Learn. The learner was my focus through all my teaching years. Young women in early adulthood finding their way to the outer world. Me, the professor, always looking for the gem of truth in a story in the morning paper that I could use to illuminate the strict lines of theory I would be teaching that day. A stranger runs into the rapidly flowing river to help a mother save her two children who are being swept downstream. Today we discuss altruism. An officer breaks up a fight between two girls. Tomorrow I teach aggression. Are girls as aggressive as boys? How and why? What and when and where does human behavior show the grandness of the soul? When and why does it reveal human brutality? I taught in the river of human behavior and tried to learn its subtle currents. To learn "that intuition that only comes from a thousand close dances with sipping, darting, ambushing, head shaking, tailwalking" --- young women, age 18 to 23. Now I am retired. I wrote a poem to Candace, my senior honor's student:
"I saw my last, best teaching
fulfilled here in you,
my final student.
Like two lamps we amplified until the last,
now yours alone,
somewhat brighter for touching mine."
My mind still surges with thoughts like fish, catching, throwing back, learning still, now learning for my own sake. Remind me to tell my son that this is for my gravestone: She was a learner.
You simply blow my mind, Mare. This! Right here! So beautiful. So exquisitely seen and told. So intentionally lived. “…this is for my gravestone. She was a learner.”
Thank you, David. Your words lift me. I am learning how to let myself go deeply down into your stories and come up with my own. I haven't written poetry in a long time, and I feel that sense awakening. Much gratitude! :-)
You obviously have had a great deal of good teaching from your dad and that in itself is a gift because it makes you teacher even if it is not the profession you took in life. You are always teaching us with out realizing how much we learn from your. The description of the river reminds me of the rivers I saw when I first traveled 50 years ago to the west coast to see the redwoods and the rivers and the pacific ocean. Thank you for this. I always learn something from you
I'm so pleased, Teri. I did learn eversomuch from Dad. Even took his Mammalogy class in college the last year he taught it. And like you, I too remember vividly my first encounters with the great coastal Redwoods, the grand rivers and the beaches and rocky cliffs of the great Pacific coast. It is something of a dream come true, if my storytelling somehow teaches as well. Thank you for this encouragement.
carolyn, I fear that anything I might try to say would fall short of my gratitude, and pop the bubble of kindness you've created and so generously offered up.
My shadow and I, a fly rod in hand, went down to the river. One of those sacred places between boulder, tree, and flow. Sometimes I wonder if it is the sound of water or the enlightenment of trout; either way, it is a place of pure meditation, a safe place to set your mind free. No wonder the unknown scribe was compelled to carve the word ‘teach’. This is stunning, David. You have captured the feeling of unadulterated awe. I love how you added the story about your dad.
What a brilliant way to begin a story, Lor: “My shadow and I…”
You are such a masterful soul and generous spirit. Thank you 🙏 for the sunshine you offer, the careful way you listen. I’m delighted that this found some answering chord in you, and that referencing my teacher dad made sense to your sensibilities. Big hug my dear friend!
As much as I love rivers, I have never met one the way you have... this is full-on wonder for me! That these wild river trout acutely sense your energy and teach you to release into the flow---wow. Your words flowed right out into cinematic view.
Loved following your (thought) path after the tree's silent shout... and how throughout this story you shared much of your own "Who are you?" even while pondering the mystery of the unknown word-carver...
The way you unfold this story, Dave, is powerful. I dig how you left us with a question... and as I sat with it awhile, I suddenly imagined that the river, itself, was the carver...
How do I possibly say thank you in a way that conveys the richness of the gift, my friend?
I see you. And I am so honored to be seen.
Deep waters and notice everything awareness.
And yes, if you enter the water with a stink on you, some begrudging sense of sourpuss-ness and ill will, those fish seem to sense it and want nothing to do with your offerings, no matter how beautifully tied.
Learn. The learner was my focus through all my teaching years. Young women in early adulthood finding their way to the outer world. Me, the professor, always looking for the gem of truth in a story in the morning paper that I could use to illuminate the strict lines of theory I would be teaching that day. A stranger runs into the rapidly flowing river to help a mother save her two children who are being swept downstream. Today we discuss altruism. An officer breaks up a fight between two girls. Tomorrow I teach aggression. Are girls as aggressive as boys? How and why? What and when and where does human behavior show the grandness of the soul? When and why does it reveal human brutality? I taught in the river of human behavior and tried to learn its subtle currents. To learn "that intuition that only comes from a thousand close dances with sipping, darting, ambushing, head shaking, tailwalking" --- young women, age 18 to 23. Now I am retired. I wrote a poem to Candace, my senior honor's student:
"I saw my last, best teaching
fulfilled here in you,
my final student.
Like two lamps we amplified until the last,
now yours alone,
somewhat brighter for touching mine."
My mind still surges with thoughts like fish, catching, throwing back, learning still, now learning for my own sake. Remind me to tell my son that this is for my gravestone: She was a learner.
You simply blow my mind, Mare. This! Right here! So beautiful. So exquisitely seen and told. So intentionally lived. “…this is for my gravestone. She was a learner.”
Bravo! And thank you.🙏
Thank you, David. Your words lift me. I am learning how to let myself go deeply down into your stories and come up with my own. I haven't written poetry in a long time, and I feel that sense awakening. Much gratitude! :-)
You obviously have had a great deal of good teaching from your dad and that in itself is a gift because it makes you teacher even if it is not the profession you took in life. You are always teaching us with out realizing how much we learn from your. The description of the river reminds me of the rivers I saw when I first traveled 50 years ago to the west coast to see the redwoods and the rivers and the pacific ocean. Thank you for this. I always learn something from you
I'm so pleased, Teri. I did learn eversomuch from Dad. Even took his Mammalogy class in college the last year he taught it. And like you, I too remember vividly my first encounters with the great coastal Redwoods, the grand rivers and the beaches and rocky cliffs of the great Pacific coast. It is something of a dream come true, if my storytelling somehow teaches as well. Thank you for this encouragement.
You taught today
And you made someone smile.
Thank you, AW.
David E Perry, you are the teacher of awe, a felt experience in nature that strengthens and heals. I’ve been wanting to say that for a while.
Teacher of awe. That is so perfect.
carolyn, I fear that anything I might try to say would fall short of my gratitude, and pop the bubble of kindness you've created and so generously offered up.
A low bow and whispered thank you...
I'm touched by your kindness.
With only one word, “teach,” the student found the teacher…
Beautifully said. 🙏
My shadow and I, a fly rod in hand, went down to the river. One of those sacred places between boulder, tree, and flow. Sometimes I wonder if it is the sound of water or the enlightenment of trout; either way, it is a place of pure meditation, a safe place to set your mind free. No wonder the unknown scribe was compelled to carve the word ‘teach’. This is stunning, David. You have captured the feeling of unadulterated awe. I love how you added the story about your dad.
What a brilliant way to begin a story, Lor: “My shadow and I…”
You are such a masterful soul and generous spirit. Thank you 🙏 for the sunshine you offer, the careful way you listen. I’m delighted that this found some answering chord in you, and that referencing my teacher dad made sense to your sensibilities. Big hug my dear friend!
Marie and Terry are the same person. Bifurcated on Substack!
Noted.
Teach is a powerful action word. We can teach enlightenment or ignorance. But for now I can imagine fly fishing on the Deschutes!
Love this, Marie. You are most wise.
And kind.
Imagining fly fishing on the Deschutes is a kindness offered oneself. I bow in respect.
My eyes focus on the Jaba the Hut creature to the right of “teach” and think maybe he was the original author.
Love this reply!
There was no doubt in my mind: I immediately saw a mountain, that is, until you named him, Jaba. Ok, we can meet somewhere in the middle—Mt. Jaba.
Thank you for sharing Mt. Jaba, David.
Teach, my friend!!
Love this exchange!
As much as I love rivers, I have never met one the way you have... this is full-on wonder for me! That these wild river trout acutely sense your energy and teach you to release into the flow---wow. Your words flowed right out into cinematic view.
Loved following your (thought) path after the tree's silent shout... and how throughout this story you shared much of your own "Who are you?" even while pondering the mystery of the unknown word-carver...
The way you unfold this story, Dave, is powerful. I dig how you left us with a question... and as I sat with it awhile, I suddenly imagined that the river, itself, was the carver...
How do I possibly say thank you in a way that conveys the richness of the gift, my friend?
I see you. And I am so honored to be seen.
Deep waters and notice everything awareness.
And yes, if you enter the water with a stink on you, some begrudging sense of sourpuss-ness and ill will, those fish seem to sense it and want nothing to do with your offerings, no matter how beautifully tied.
.....be
It means everything when a path or process can be condensed to a word and leave the intent wide open. Lovely thoughts to carry through this day.
This is beautiful thinking! Thank you roxstyle.
I love this with my whole heart.
Thank you, my friend.