Teaching as a Subversive Activity

(Apologies to the late Neil Postman for stealing his title)

A friend once told me,

Half in jest,

"It’s a good thing

You are not a violent person.

If you were, I can see

You underground somewhere,

Making bombs,

Stashing incendiary devices,

Skulking into government buildings,

Torching them,

And, igniting the country,

Leaving it in ashes,

Then waiting for it to

Rise like a phoenix."

And, I am nonviolent.

Blood and death

Are rarely the answer.

Instead of bombs,

Or any of the other

Destructive devices,

Ideas are what I plant,

Pernicious, pestilent perceptions.

Not even ideas, really, because it’s hard

Enough to come

Up with my own...

But seeds of ideas.

In the beginning,

One must ready the ground,

Disturb the surface dirt,

Lay loam open to the light,

Scratch through the top soil.

Or, pose questions of things

That are thought to be

Incontrovertible.

Then, fertilize, mulch, prep the ground,

Get it ready to receive something

New.

I try to lay out the tools for the toilers, and

Get ready to grow thinking beings, and

Ideas----

Ideas.

Some are close to the surface,

Shoot and bloom,

Then die

In the space of a

Minute, an hour, a day...

Some flourish like

Dandelions,

Forcing their way up

Through the cracks

In the sidewalk, and

Blossom, then the seeds

Blow off into the wind,

Carried carelessly by currents

To fertile soil.

Others----

Others take longer,

Are planted deeper, or

Lie dormant for years, then

Take longer to break

The surface of consciousness,

Springing from the mind

Like bamboo, or a sequoia,

Spreading like kudzu,

Unchecked, unstoppable.

Rather than taking lives----

Take lies, hidden truths;

Reveal them.

Toss back the tarp.

Instead of blazing buildings,

Reducing them to cinders;

Brains are what I try to burn...

No, not even burn,

But kindle, enliven,

Illuminate, elucidate...

Squeezing words, ideas, beliefs,

Like lemons

For the last drop of thought.

© 2004