Sweet Alabama

My social media feeds were full of calls to “Boycott Alabama!” “Leave!” “Never go there!” Andy Borowitz, one of my favorite political humorists, posted: “Americans given new reason never to go to Alabama.” I saw lots of Likes and Ha-Ha emojis. And then disparaging comments along the lines of: “Stop writing insults about Alabama; they’re 50th in education. They can’t read that shit.” More ha-ha’s.

On Not Getting Down To Write

I think this morning, after I check the headlines and start the laundry, I’ll get going on a couple of pieces of writing I have in mind.  Exploratory things.  One, an account of my year in Walthamstow, East London over 40 years ago; a year of robust immigration to the UK of British Subjects from India and Pakistan. I was living in Manor Park, E. 12, and teaching reading in a primary school in E. 17. The idea for this piece was sparked by a news story I’d recently read about the arrest of several putative airplane bomb plotters from Walthamstow . I think I’ll see if I have anything to say about that so I begin:

Curiosity on the Beach

    I find myself curious about curiosity.  Curious about when and why my curiosity got shut down, and life turned to the pursuit of certainty, knowing and mastery.  I feel a new sadness for what I have foreclosed in my life, and an immense appreciation for this process of Opening.  This process: this process of psychoanalysis, of imagining, of belief in unforeseen possibilities.  This process of the unconscious, the surprise of discovery, the exploration of ineffable dark currents within.   My curiosity is awakening.  I wander into familiar spaces with questions, finding new thoughts, feelings, awareness.