Ayahuasca is a big deal these days. Some call it DMT, but that often doesn’t involve a shaman. Look it up–some documentaries on it are so fascinating that teachers at our school show them. Hey, the shows were on NatGeo, offered interesting perspectives on PTSD and the mind, so how bad could they be? Long story short, ayahuasca/dmt gives its user an out-of-body experience.
Sometimes in teaching you have an out-of-body experience. You look out at your class, ready to talk about a book, ready to delve into a lesson, and they are not looking at you. Some are rushing the work that is due, others are looking elsewhere–there’s not a lot of sound in some of these scenarios, which makes it even eerier–but hardly anyone is ready for you. Some of the people ready for you don’t want to disturb the silence so they adopt the poses of others. It’s like a Twilight Zone episode where everyone is in on it, except you.
That was today. I tried talking about Cry, The Beloved Country. And, we should have had plenty to talk about because students had to take notes on Part 3 (the last 60 pages of the book), write out 10 questions, and answer three of those questions. You take some notes, write some questions, and answer them, so it is assumed that you and I will have something to talk about for the entire period. We may even run out of time.
Not the case. And, I stared out at them–one class quiet, the other disruptive with turned backs here and there–and didn’t exist, for we had nothing to talk about.
It happens now and again. I don’t like it. Cry, The Beloved Students. The young people who used to read so happily and fervently have now gone to their phones, to YouTube, to social media, to Buzzfeed, to anything and everything that will satiate their constant desires, and will never come back.
My readers, for there are some, will have to wait for the others to return.