This morning, in my creative writing class, I was telling my students about dream states, flow psychology, Jung, and how the creative state is a kind of dream-flow state, and that, therefore, when we read poems and short stories, we should read them as if they were dreams...which is to say, we shouldn't try to deconstruct and analyze them and crack them open against our intellects for the "meaning" hidden inside. Rather, we should be receptive to them - emotionally, intellectually, sensually - allowing them to inform our lives and shape our existence. One of my favorite students said "Yeah, like, E.E. Cummings probably wasn't writing so we could sit here and debate about whether or not Buffalo Bill is truly defunct, as an expression of, like, bullshit cowboy Americana. He was probably writing with the hope that maybe, possibly it could close a few wounds and make us happy." (Murmurs of approval.) Good feelings after a class like that, lemme tell ya...
Afterward, on my bike ride home, I realized I might have left my cellphone on the teacher's podium. So I slowed down, dismounted, and eventually found it in the recesses of my pea coat (which has a torn pocket and swallows things). I happened to look up and see "Junge" (see photo above) on the bumper of a car. Misspelled version of Jung, sure, but how's that for (meta)synchronicity?
1 comment:
Huzzah!! I wish I would have taken your class.
Post a Comment