Learner

This came to me as I sat thinking, of what I knew of drugs and their design, after three years of didactic “learning”…nothing comes to mind.

But then, life is learning…so it’s alright to have completely forgotten what’s textbook, or to have drooled all over my homework, or sat in oblivion of lecturer’s voices. Not that I’ve taken these for granted, but simply, I have seen the big pic. I have learned, so life is.

See, there’s a reason for beginning with ABCs at kindergarten, then ending with essays in “English for Academic Purposes”. There’s a reason for beginning with 123, then ending with integration and simultaneous equations. Do you see it? Quick…spell progress!
The minute and intricate details of the subject matter aren’t as important as the learning itself. In progress through topics A to B, we learn the details of A and B, but even more so, we learn how to learn. The model of “school” is a model of learning how to in itself. We journey through school terms, then called “semesters”, we are brought to fathom the meaning of “progress”, from ABC to vowels and sentence construction; from 123 to algebraic function…we learn the meaning of learning itself, and how to. It is only after learning the art of learning that we are able to learn the art of practice. And “work” is this: learning how to practice.

The bulk of learning begins with practice…for it is here that life truly begins. A degree program does not make professionals…practice does. A profession, by definition, is an occupation that requires special training in the liberal arts or sciences. A professional may engage in these, but is truly made what he is by more than simply what is learned at school. Having learned how to learn…after some 20 + years…he must now learn how to apply learning itself, through practice, the end product of which is wisdom (i.e. the effective ability to apply knowledge).

A student completing a three year university degree program would have spent on average 22 years simply learning how to learn. Assuming that such an individual lives a sheltered life (i.e. livin for “free” in yuh mother and father house, have yuh own room and being properly fed and watered), he/she would have spent these years learning how to...walk, ride a bike, brush teeth, read a book, count fingers in figures, write and speak letters. We learn to find meaning in the least likely of moments, and of dangers to walking the earth as we do, simple skill as breath-holding beneath water, of microscope and surgeon’s knives, that teach us to scour for what’s minuet, and yet of detailed imprints of macro-designers...of colossal statues and walls and scraping towers tipping heavenward. As all animals do, we learn the traits and tricks of survival. There is, however...one glaring difference.

No one teaches the newborn antilope to stand its ground mere seconds after birth. Or hatchlings of bald eagles, tossed from towering nests above, must open sprawl their delicate wings to catch wind...lest they plunge to their death. Needless to say...nature cares for its own, with meticulous balance forged among elements, life and death, dark and light, cold and hot...they’re all on the same plane. Scales of justice tip as they please; there are no real predictors of outcomes, no inherently born solutions. What’s natural in fact, is that there aren’t any problems...unless we make them. And herein lies the beauty of mankind...the fact that we have learned how to learn. Count your blessings! Doubt if you will, and yes...with errors too, but we’ve actually come a long way. Since Homo Habilis had first hurled rocks in defence of life (and what little it was), or sculpted javelins of sharpened sticks, he had scored a milestone in the very first chapters of human evolution. Man was learning the art of control, through tough beaten skins to one day beat his own drums. Our cave-men never caved to her whims; to shifting winds that force feathers to fly north, or winter’s flaked fairy dust falling...to cast on beasts a spell of slumber; we’ve learned by trial to mould masks against it, sheltering our skins and our faces, carved spears in anguish of living...and necessity, of learning to thrust these against thick hides of those beasts we once feared. We have learned how to. And how to build dreams. To offset what was once inconvenience, or what anguish and fear by patient testing have earned, they twist heels backward, scribing symbols on soil with fingers; on rock walls plastered detailed observance; intricate but subtle equations for living (at least as they did); taught their children to master what’s natural. There are ways to wind that blows where it pleases, methods of running circles round nature, and her laws; a way that in silent orbit of planets we’ve found...to bend rules. Blessed be out teachers. Those who have braved the deep, and tallest mountains of human trial, wrangled monsters...fur to scale to claw to fang, sacrifice of life and limb. Christ to Confucius, DaVinci to Einstein; we have learned...so life is.

“Bear in mind that the wonderful things you learn in your school are the work of many generations. All this is put into your hands as your inheritance in order that you may receive it, honour it, add to it, and one day faithfully hand it on to your children.” – Albert Einstein

Mountain-us

Blessed is he who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed.
Nothing in life is ever as it seems. Where rose gather, poison ivy thrives. Darnel weaves itself between wheat.

I prayed for strength, but instead was made weak, that I may acknowledge my source of mortal vigour.
I prayed for healing, but instead was left ill, that I may share in fullness of His suffering.
I prayed for money, but was given a job, that I may understand that freedom must be earned.
I prayed for holiness, but was left a wretch, that I may always yearn to be like Him.
I prayed for peace, but was given disaster, that I may exercise my faith in trials.
I prayed for love, but the world hated me, that I may understand that love expects nothing.
I prayed for this mountain to sink beneath sea, but was only granted eyes to behold its beauty, legs to climb, hands to cultivate slopes, ears to enjoy the melody of birds and a tongue to savour its pure, sparkling springs of living water.

Then…I prayed only for His grace. It was given onto me ten thousand fold. Only then had I realized how blessed I truly was.
Fact is, we always expect that God should live up to our own expectations. But…do we live up to His?
Disappointment is often the product of misunderstanding. You may have the faith to burst a thousand mustard seeds, but mountains will never shift unless they were designed to. Enter these gates with openness of mind and spirit, walk amongst the reeds and lakeside lilies. Learn the wisdoms of wind and its promise; of how gingerly it sways the stillness of branches; and how leaves choreograph their dances to speak of it. The mountain-tops we long to demolish; these hold the monuments our lives are worth climbing for; sanctuaries born of Eden’s emerald waters; first fruits of knowledge and seeds of purity; swans of grace that seam these waters in webbed fingers of mercy; and creeping vines, in tortuous tentacles dip and rise at the fringes of these streams. What are these features…if not life itself?

But life, you claim, is none but your mountain. Your dreams, you claim, lie beyond the ghastly ridges before you. Sometimes it takes just a little courage…before faith itself is born. For as you stand with mustard seeds in withered palm, believing it would burst and blossom right where and when you’d want it…something deep inside psyche tells you…it won’t. See…there’s a sanctified soil atop these mountains brewed in the very hands of their designer…ground like sand between His fingers; exudate of majestic divinity. Spread to thin paste, sifted through mercy, refined in love…manure black as darkest void, that brings to fullness design through desire. Mustard seeds are made for this soil. So stomach your pride, renounce all burdens, clear you mind…make the journey. You’ll find in its wisdom that all sanctuaries…were once but the tiny mustard seeds of noble men, quite like you and I…ordinary people who dare to climb against trials, to die and lay what’s left of their lives…trusting only that this soil is worth it. The hikers find it; gazing to heaven as heaven touches, their skins, substance of life transfigured as they blink. Nothing touches like sweet heaven touches. And none but the hikers have found their rest here, grazing on pastures of life, thick and lush, or drinking of dew lying lazy amongst the grass, catching sweet melodies of wind as it funnels through slender stalks.

So go ahead, dance your own rhythm, bare your heels, baptise it heaven…knowing that you have conquered these mountains, earned your right to walk His presence. Why then do we plead that mountains be moved, or reduced to rubble for our convenience? Why do we cower in facing the ominous, to make circles round life’s greatest obstacles, thinking it better to stride past it’s sides, fearing death may dominate the climb? But life is found in the deadliest of places, in anguish of war and famine and strife, born of adversities, christened by trial. The problem is that we expect what is trivial, roses we think would sprout without thorns, a host of simplistic solutions, and signposts, at every corner of life, or exists to problems we thought would open wide.
But this…this is where your life begins…when you learn that courage is what climbs mountains, and faith is what does the crowning.