Wednesday, September 30, 2015

Pathography and Enabling Myths: The Process of Healing


Last year, in my autobiography class, we read “The Diving Bell and the Butterfly”, a pathography about a successful journalist, Jean-Dominique Baudy, with locked-in syndrome. He woke up from his stroke mentally aware of everything going on, but physically paralyzed with the only exception of some movement in his head and eyes. The entire book was written by blinking. 

A lot of what Hawkins discusses in terms of pathography and myth reminds me of this memoire. She likens pathologies to “what it would be like if our ordinary life-in-the-world suddenly collapsed.” (224) Baudy’s situation it the worst I could possibly imagine—being trapped in your own body. No wonder he wrote—I mean blinked—a book. He would go insane if he didn’t flesh out his life and put meaning into it. 

In my experience, writing an autobiography (granted not a pathography), gave me such a boost of satisfaction and happiness. Whenever I discovered a link or analogy between to ideas, a surge of excitement and purpose went right through me. I think that’s the ultimate point Hawkins makes here—that the process of healing though writing is a journey that usually ends in restoration, change, and transcendence through these “mythical formulations.”

                                                              

In “The Diving Bell and the Butterfly,” the author says that locked-in syndrome is like wearing a diving bell—an old-fashioned deep-sea diving apparatus. He also likens his mind to a butterfly. Whenever the diving suit becomes too limited and oppressive, the author flies away in his mind to visit his memories. As Hawkins puts it, he “integrates different aspects of the self” into his narrative. (234) 



This form of mythic formulation is what Hawkins refers to as  “idiosyncratic images” (233). For some, coming to terms with your condition or illness is easier by substituting it in a metaphorical form.

Sunday, September 27, 2015

Healing and The Brain


The human brain is a mystery even with all the knowledge we’ve obtained over the years. It’s a powerhouse of information and interpretation, coordinating sensational and intellectual activity 24/7. For just a blob of pink mush, the brain certainly earns it’s crown for most awesome organ ever. 

In Alice G. Brand’s “Healing and the Brain,” the brain is an information center as well as a healing center. But before we get to it’s curative powers, Brand explains the fundamental units of the brain, specifically those that process perception, emotion, and memories. 

The human brain consists of three main parts: (1) The hindbrain, the lower part of the brain, is responsible for unconscious actions and processes. (2) The midbrain, the upper portion of the brain stem, contains cells involved in vision. (3) The forebrain, the largely developed cerebrum, is responsible for thought and speech control. 

As you can tell, it’s the forebrain we can thank for our potential in the human race. It’s where cognition meets action. Brand often brings up the debate of which comes first: thinking or emotion? Do we think then react accordingly and vice versa? As it turns out the brain takes in all that external stimulation and then produces an emotional response. Brand describes this processes as “the affective significance of experience” (204). 

Then Brand introduces us to the hippocampus and the amygdala, the two potions of our brains responsible for cognition, emotion, language and ultimately, healing. The hippocampus is thought to be center of memory, or as Brand puts it, “cognitive mapping” (205) where we assimilate and store maps of meaning. The amygdala is involved with the experience of emotion, “giving attentive significance to events” (207). Brand lists out the physiology process of how we experience memory, nostalgia, and other reactions to sensory specific stimuli. 

But what’s more important is the fact that the amygdala receives and interprets memory before our senses, meaning emotion comes before intellect. Brand says that the amygdala is largely responsible for what memories get stored and to what depth it gets stored. So the stronger the emotion, the longer that memory will stay with you. 

When the memory aspect of our brain crosses paths with the learning aspect, we achieve what is called healing. This “primary consciousness” is essentially what makes us human. We have the brains to know that we think, we’re aware of situations, events, and other external stimuli. What’s crazy is that language is a relatively new brain configuration. It makes me wonder if we never developed language, could we ever heal? How do animals heal? It’s been observed that elephants show grief to a deceased family member. As their ways of healing beyond conscious awareness? 


In the end, Brand pulls an excerpt from Goedicke’s “Singing & (Listening) for the Record, where she explains how writers conjoin their mind and body to make sense of their feelings and understand what their overall being is telling them. In a sense, writers speak for their brain. 

Sunday, September 20, 2015

My First Time


He said he’d teach. This guy wanted to get inside my pants so bad that he’d be willing to “teach” me. I may have been new to the whole hook-up culture of college, but I had my suspicions. 

This was it, the offer I wouldn’t be able to refuse given my vulnerable, weak-at-the-knees tizzy. He was really cute, so that didn’t help. A guy as handsome as him must have had A LOT of experience. And I had none. And I was embarrassed, scared, and confused. 

I wanted to spend time with him. Get to know him. And if that meant having sex with him, then it was the perfect situation in which to do it without it being awkward. I’d have a mentor, a guide in the strange, mysterious world of sex. Although of course I was hoping he’d compose a more eloquent proposition. 

My expression of harassed wariness didn’t affect him in the slightest. He wanted to do it right then, right there. No time to rationalize the fact that I might loose my virginity in a smelly dorm room at 2 o’clock on a Saturday afternoon. 

This would be it. The be-all, end-all of my chastity. The pinnacle of my womanhood. Once this was over and done with, I could finally say that “yes, I am sexually active” at the gynocologist. Then again, it just didn’t seem right. Sex was suppose to be a passionate, tingling feat between two lovers, not a take it or leave it opportunity. 

I had only known him for three days. Why here? Why now? Why not wait? Didn’t he want to get to know me? The concept of casual sex was a blur to me. I was stuck on this fantasy that my first time would be meaningful, not educational.

I just wanted to get it over with. The sooner it was done with the better. Once round two came round, I’d know what to expect. I stared at the ceiling knowing that if I didn’t watch him do it I wouldn’t feel as awkward. The ceiling was white, smooth, and plain. Like me. Except I was the one about to get nailed. 

Sex can be scary and terribly intimidating, especially when it’s your first time. It tests your reproductive capabilities and pokes fun at your insecurities. You’re peeled like a banana, one garment after another removed until your tender flesh is completely exposed. All your flaws and vulnerabilities are laid out on a platter and served to a hungry beast.

Tuesday, September 15, 2015

Writing and Healing as the Rhetorical Tradition



Right off the bat I'm gonna say this reading was a doozy. A lot is covered in Johnson's essay. His main focus is to show how several theories of knowledge (e.g. pre-classical, expressionist, and postmodern) all influenced the contemporary notion of the self, truth, and writing for healing.

He begins with the concept of logotherapy--the powerful force of finding meaning in one's self. He then segues to the idea the Platonic idea of "illness as possession by a punishing spirit" (90). As Johnson moves from one theory to another, he often refers back to this notion of our "inner demons."

Other concepts that Johnson brings back to later theories of knowledge are nomos (society) and physis (natural). Here is where the meat of the argument/discussion takes place. It's the concepts of expressivist and social constructivism that tie in with students and their ability to write personally versus academically. The expressivist asks the writer to explore his/her unique self, using everyday language (physis), while social constructivism believes that the writer should focus on outside discourses (nomos) that help shape their reality.

Johnson brings up Carl Rodger's notion of "self-actualization," meaning the discovery of one's true self. Ergo, "since everyone is different and the purpose of writing is to access this unique individually, surely no one can teach about how to write..." (96). It's like the whole nature vs. nurture debate.

Sticking with the idea of writing for healing, will writers benefit more from embracing their unique self and symbols, or understanding outside forces of their environment/world?

I thought it was interesting how Johnson brings in poetry (and often alludes to the chants/song of casting aside those evil spirits). He analyzes them, "Eagle in the Land of Oz" and "Rape," both intrinsically and extrinsically. Perhaps both theories should work together, guiding the reader to his/her sense of self and community.

Wednesday, September 9, 2015

Language and Literature as "Equipment for Living"


Embrace the rhetorical value of life—that’s what I got out of Tilly Warnock’s piece. She argues that reading, writing, language and all aspects of life coincide once we put meaning to it all. Once we looks at our life experiences in a broader scope, we’ll pick out moments with substance that ultimately lead to a better understanding of ourselves as flexible beings. Warnock writes, “With this critical eye and attitude toward action, we understand that our perceptions and actions are changeable, as our words are revisable.” (pp. 47) 

I can relate to a lot of points Warnock makes in terms of analyzing one's life because I actually did it. I took an autobiography class where I had to review my life and pick a “theme” to write about for 40+ pages. Yikes. It was daunting at first, but once I delved into my topic, my mind was blown. 

Wow, my life is like a movie! 

Just like Warnok puts is, “By identifying and untangling the threads and by retelling the stories, I can create new patterns and in part rewrite my life.” (pp.45) I could have written 10 different memoirs, all of different themes.  

Writing gives you a reason/motivation to find meaning in your life. The “so what?” Why am I alive? What’s significant in my life? What’s worth reading about? In doing so, writing will helps you walk down certain paths in your life that you never realized would have significance. An excerpt on page 53 says, “Remind me to tell the story I cannot make my life tell.” [I love this concept, and would love to do some more exploring on it.]

I like the excerpt from Burke where he refers to writing and life as “making a man the student of himself.” (48) As students, we’re always encouraged to think outside the box, make observations, and think critically, but we really never have the opportunity to think in such a way for our own life. 

While I enjoyed Warnok’s overall argument of the piece, I found it’s structure and flow a tad jarring, especially in part 2. She abruptly shifts from making claims to talking about her childhood. 

I think what she’s trying to do here is prove her point of “equipment for living” by constantly referring to her own life (and in turn, reminding the reader of this point). She often brings up stories of her mother and father and how they’ve shape their own lives while simultaneously shaping her’s (e.g. her mother’s sewing and teaching). 

I’m really intrigued by Warnok’s idea of “revising” one’s life and think it would be a good topic to discuss in class. Isn’t it everyone’s goal to revise their life, whether they’re writing about it or not? And why the word revise and not alternate or adapt? We're constantly trying to change something about ourselves—to be healthier, prettier, stronger etc…

Monday, September 7, 2015

Bye Bye Pop Pop


I woke up early that Friday morning, earlier than usual. My feet thumped down the steps and shuffled into the kitchen. I sat down at the table across from mom, poured myself a bowl of cereal and asked, 

“So what are you doing today?”

“Going to Nana’s, then we’re driving up to see Pop Pop,” mom said sipping a bowl of coffee.

I was home for spring break at the time. It had been several months since I last saw Pop Pop at the nursing home.

“Can I come with you?” 

Mom paused mid sip and looked up from whatever article she was reading on her iPad.

“I think Pop Pop would love that.” 

I left home knowing that I wouldn’t return the same. Mom told me Pop Pop was getting worse. To be honest, I dreaded seeing him. With each visit another piece of Pop Pop disappeared. This would be no picnic in the park, but you know, it was just one of those things that your gut tells you to do, even though you’re psyche really doesn’t. 

Mom and I pulled to a quaint brick home. Nana and Pop Pop’s house just wasn’t the same without Pop Pop. It was like coming home without your dog there to greet you with slobbery kisses. Although, Nana’s were quite the contrary—her’s were sweet and soft. 

Mom, Nana, and I got in the car and drove to the nursing home.  

“You know, it’s time to start thinking about moving out of that big house,” Mom told Nana. 

“I don’t want to think about any of that until he’s with Jesus,” Nana said clinging on to her Saint Mary necklace. 

When we entered Morris Hall, the smell of Lysol whirled through the air. We passed several old folk in wheel chairs until we reached the guest room.

“You guys sit tight and I’ll roll him in for you,” the nurse said. 

They sandwiched Pop Pop when he was brought in—Mom on the left, Nana on the right. I sat on the chair farthest away from him. He wasn’t as talkative as the last time, he couldn’t say my name let alone mutter a coherent word.

They spoke to him like a child, using high pitched, friendly tones. They asked him questions and made observations for him.

Nana fondled his white hair and said, “A nurse must have given you a haircut! You look so handsome.”

“Who’s that, Dad? Is that Tess? Your angle girl?” Mom said gesturing towards me. Pop Pop and I stared at each other. There wasn’t a smile on his face or a twinkle in his eye, just void. It was like the wit and personality was sucked right out of him.

I wanted to talk to him, but a lump started forming in my throat and my chin started to tremble. He gasped for breath, like he was trying to say something. 

I cracked and burst. I couldn’t bare seeing him like that. I ran outside of the visitor’s room, sat on the floor and bawled. 

“Aw, here ya go honey,” a nurse said handing me a box of tissues. Everyone saw me, even some of the patients. They knew why and let me be.

After about 30 minutes of intense crying, Nana came out and hugged me. Just when I thought I had no more tears left, they came streaming down my face again.

“I know, I know. Let’s hope God takes him soon, right?” Nana said. 

I’ve never experienced the looming death of someone so dear to me. And what made it worse was that a little piece of him died every day. Pop Pop was withering away in his own mind. It was sad to think that this once jolly, lively man was now a breathing body. Sure he looked like Pop Pop, but he wasn’t acting like Pop Pop. 

I knew I had to go back into that room and say goodbye. This was last time I wanted to see him…alive.

“Even though he can’t say it or show it, he still loves you,” Mom said when I creeped back into the room. 

I kissed his withered forehead and said, “Bye Pop Pop. I love you.” 

5 months later, I didn’t cry when I got the text from Mom saying that “Pop Pop is dancing with the angels.” I was more so relieved. Nana was relieved because he was with God, Mom was relieved because he wasn't suffering anymore, I was relieved because Pop Pop was physically gone, not metaphorically.


Wednesday, September 2, 2015

3 Points from 'Whose Voice Is It Anyway?' that Blow My Mind:

1) “I believe that the finely textured personal and autobiographical writing now emerging in the academy leads us to public and social contexts rather than private and individualistic ones.” (pp.26)
In high school, I rarely wrote in my “true” voice. It was often mechanical and academic, mainly in the hopes of pleasing my teacher to get a decent grade. I wasn’t taught to write with personality and pizazz, until college…or at least, I didn’t know that I had the ability to do so. Taking personal essay definitely opened doors in terms of how I verbalize my personal thoughts. I didn’t have to write it like a research paper. And then sharing my work with the class opened me up. I was more willing to share my life and discuss it. I find myself writing with the goal to inspire and move whoever so happens to read my piece. I write with the intention that someone is going to read it and that I feel is what the author, Anne Ruggles Gere is trying to say. 

2) “…we often consider our students’ voices separate from the particular family history, significant persons, and events that helped to shape them. We forget that ‘authentic’ means relational. To describe a voice as authentic is to put it in relationship to other voices.” (pp. 28)
Okay, so my voice, just like Anne’s, is similar to my mom’s. Whenever I answer the phone at home, the person on the other end says, “Hi, Valerie?” And then I have to correct them, saying, “No, it’s Tess.” And then they go on this rant about how I sound just like my mother. But it’s true. We’re both loud, opinionated, and enthusiastic. If I had a different, mother, my voice would probably change accordingly. I know as we develop from child to teenager to adult, we learn everything from our parents whether it be gestures, manners, or speech. We constantly mirror other people, even when they aren’t our parents. I find myself constantly changing my voice depending on the person on taking to. For example, I won’t talk to my best friend the same way I talk to my crush. But when we write, who are we specifically talking to? This is a question I’d like to bring up in class. Do you write to someone who inspires you like your mom or dad? Or do you write to more general audience? Because odds are, your voice will change. 

3) “I began to understand that writing and reading could be done with people and that pleasure I took in writing a poem or reading a novel could be multiplied by sharing it with others.” (29) 
I use to hate peer editing workshops. I found them useless and degrading at times. I felt exposed and took the critiques quite personally. But it wasn’t until recently that I saw the light. When I took an autobiography class last year I wanted to have my writing workshopped. I cared about my memoire more than any other writing assignment class like in argument, or poverty, or fiction. Sharing my life was more worthwhile because let’s face it, I’m human, we’re all human and we love to talk about ourselves and hear what people have to say about it.