Class over-the half hour or so since had been very much a state like waking from a dream.Ĭlass room teaching is as intense, as all absorbing an experience as anything I've ever know. There was one time when I found myself in the adjunct office and could not remember how I'd gotten there or for how long I'd been there. After 11 years I've gotten used to this, but the first few classes-it was a kind of altered state. Where I quite disappear for 50 minutes at a stretch. I prepare for class-go over the work of my students, give myself to the task at hand, choosing how to divide my concern between objective evaluation and critique and concern for the individual who is, while working at my desk, a shadow of their words more real than the words they have given me as a kind of offering to some absolute stranger they envision as a kind of Teacher God-praying that this god's judgment be balanced by compassion, that they might by submission, if not by hard work, receive its pity and be permitted to remain in the company of the elect, their scholarships intact. as a shadow of the acting self and figure of its own apparently more substantive brother. And yet I remain somehow the observer, as in dreams, I am both actor and beside myself.I mean. The analogy is to the rapid transitions in my waking life, from activities that make such different demands on me that it is like shedding skins between acts and reappearing on stage after not merely change of costume but change of body. In dreams the unitary executive is fragmented, multiple, both observer and observed, actor and passive bystander-one of the factors in my never having nightmares.
I wake from morning dreams unsure until well into the day where I crossed over from dream to waking, an experience paralleled at night as I review the events of the day sliding into hypnogogic dreams unsure where the waking reality leaves off and the dreams take up again. That's where it began and it did not stop there my mouth would not tire and it let loose every break it could have known so that at 3 a.m.(notes on the Silliman, Brown, Zurawski reading 5 paragraphs down) I had found the book among the remainders the pages almost empty with words and when I was quiet they heard me and found the little soul inside me large enough to open themselves there into an elsewhere where I resided and often invited you too and one night a single word opened to me to repeat itself as if I were its instrument I was helpless in its cycle it began not unlike a school lesson simple sentences
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