The Real World

Three days after the Orff course ended, the love fest continues. Various students stayed longer and kept hanging out sharing body percussion patterns, songs and the pleasure of their mutual company walking the streets of San Francisco, sitting in parks or gathered around tables in restaurants. They’re letting themselves down slowly into that mysterious place called “the real world.”

I imagine we’ve all had the experience of sheltering ourselves from the pulling and hauling of daily life, whether it be a vacation at a beach resort, a Zen meditation retreat or a backpacking trip. The re-entry is always a tricky moment. And especially in these Orff courses where the intensity is magnified by the constant lift of the spirit through song, dance, percussion in deep communion with colleagues. Colleagues who spend a year in isolation in their school community, day after day thrown alone into the waters of excited and needy children with no one to talk to in the staff room about their triumphs or tribulations. And suddenly, “here they are together with Sofia” (sorry—an in-joke referencing a first day game of meeting each other). The relief of being with people who speak their language is just one of the many treasures of the Orff retreat.

Years back, on the last day of the course, I gave a short talk about the real world. It went something like this:

“I’ve heard a lot of people talk about how hard it will be to get back to the ‘real world.’ I know what they mean by that term, but I think they have it wrong. What can be more real than using all of you— your elegant body, your feeling heart, your imaginative and analytic mind, your deep soul and ascendant spirit—instead of the narrow slice that the so-called “real world” cares about? What can be more real than relating to your neighbor with clapping plays, hands held in folk dances, bodies creating collective shapes, voices blending, conversations in sound and gesture, quiet hugs after a particular moment of beauty, casual conversations at the lunch table and belly laughs to the late-night gathering? Compare that to the tiny world of words only that the real world accepts and it makes you wonder which is more true.  What can be more real than feeling both challenged and affirmed, pushed to be better and accepted as you are, blending into the group so you disappear in the unity of it all and standing out so you express what only you and no one else can? The so-called real world mostly wants you to sit down, shut-up, obey and follow and don’t make waves, tick the box of the right answer instead of daring to ask the next needed question that has no easy answer.

Remember the Velveteen Rabbit? He was struggling with the question of what is real and the Skin Horse said it well. "It only happens when a child loves you, REALLY loves you."

I think you are here in this training so you can learn to love your children better and give them the joy and pleasure they deserve. When you do that well, they will love you, not only for who you are, but for what you give them. And you both will become more real.

But as you are discovering, this is not an easy path. The Skin Horse says it plain. "It hurts." Here in this Orff course, there is nowhere to hide behind your skill and accomplishment. We are asking the impossible— that you express yourself in sounds on 25 different instruments, sing well, dance well, speak poetically and so much more. And the best dancer is not the one with the technique, but the one willing to risk vulnerability and exposure and that can hurt. But “when you are real, you don’t mind being hurt.” And you are supported by fellow teachers who encourage you to be real to yourself and to the group. This is a slow, patient process. Again, the Skin Horse:

‘It doesn’t happen all at once. You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real, you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.' 

You see, that’s what happened to my hair. (Laughter) I see you all shining and even more beautiful than when you started two weeks ago. But I think the hardest thing about re-entering that unreal world out there is meeting the people who don’t understand. How could they if all they know is the narrow slice of the workaday world or the even narrower view of reality that the media serves up daily?

People, don’t let them fool you. This is the real world.”

That's the talk I gave. And then I went home to pay my bills. 

Tear Water Tea

Do you know that marvelous children’s story by Arnold Lobel? Owl thinks of things to make him sad and fills a kettle up with his tears. Things like “chairs that have been forgetten, songs left unsung because the words have been forgotten, mornings no one saw because everybody was sleeping.” He then boils the water, serves it up in a cup and remarks, “It tastes a little salty. But tear water tea is always very good.”

The 100 plus teachers in our Orff training drank copious amounts in our closing ceremonies, but none of the salty water came from sadness alone. It was an exotic special blend of great joy, gratitude, love, new friendships formed, old ones deepened, seeds planted, flowers bloomed and the bittersweet moment of departure, of goodbyes, of—well, sadness that it had to end and life on the other side of miracles and music awaited with its cold, clothed and practical heart. After closing circles within each level, with their heartful confessions of old wounds beginning to heal, trepidation about the difficult task that lies ahead of sustaining transformation, story after story of the sense of finally arriving home, we moved into our graduation ceremony. I love the word saudade, that brilliant Brazilian term for bitter and sweet inextricably linked. Certainly, the Level III graduates felt the pride of accomplishment and the feeling of being at the doorstep of a profound understanding. But also the honest sense of the Orff Certificate as emblem of a true commencement, the sense of being ready to commence, to begin the real work. And the deep hole that awaits when next summer rolls around and Orff Camp is not on the calendar.

It was a particular moving graduation ceremony for me, for as I talked about each graduate, I was stunned to realize that I had a story with 18 of the 20 people before they even began Level I. Mostly people who had attended a workshop that myself or Sofia or both of us gave and had attracted our attention with that “where can I get more of this?” hunger in their eye. All we had to do was wave a beckoning finger toward San Francisco and lo and behold, they appeared. And so the deep satisfaction as my beckoning finger now invited them to step up and receive their diploma.

And then the closing song with three circles pressed closely together rising on the notes of Beethoven and the words of my mentor Avon Gillespie, “In living fully, one finds peace.” Truth be told, it is very hard to sing and sob uncontrollably at the same time. But we struggled through it and then stayed through lunch and instrument packing and lingered yet longer giving hug after hug, reluctant to re-enter the place where people start to tear up about something and say, “I’m sorry." As if an opened heart is something to apologize for.

Today I had dinner with two of the wonderful Brazilian women who came to the course and they talked about the sad school situation in Rio, money funneled away from educating children and into the pockets of corporations and the rich. And a different kind of tear-water tea came with that meal. Like Owl, it reminded me of many of the unbearable truths of this cruel world. Like all the teachers who dedicated themselves to their own betterment instead of sunning on a Hawaiin beach and don’t even know if they have a job awaiting them at the other end. Like all the people who never get to have two weeks with their bodies, minds and hearts fully engaged and working, who never get to sing, play and dance with others for more than 10 days in a row, who never fling themselves into a new life side-by-side with others willing to risk. Like all the children who will never get a teacher to lead them into song or turn attention to their imagination, all the kids with so much to say and no coherent way to say it without training in poetry, music, dance, all the children longing to feel connected who are confined to the prison of their desk and urged to beat out their classmates in the race to the top of nowhere.

That kind of tear water tea is far from refreshing. Pour in all the sugar of spin you want and it still won’t take away that bitter taste. So how’s this for a goal? “The mission of the school is to serve tear water tea for children and teachers alike, made from crying for the right reason.” If you need a soundtrack, come to our course and you’ll learn how to make that brew yet sweeter and more healing with songs that will melt your heart. 

The Untalent Show

Another time for a public confession. I hereby apologize to both of my daughters, who have told me repeatedly that I suck at free-style rap, despite my fantasies of Dougie Fresh (see some blogs from last summer). Last night we had our traditional untalent show—“un” meaning uninhibited, unforeseen, unexpected, unconventional talent emerging unlike any other. One student, Adam Schraft, asked for four ideas from the audience and got “cheese, bunnies, Orff and betrayal” and on the spot in front of 100 astounded open-mouthed teachers, my own the widest of all, wove a seamless free-style rap that was simply extraordinary. No iambic pentamenter hoping for a cheap rhyme at the end ( a la “My name is Dougie Fresh and I’m here to say, I want to welcome you to sing and dance and play”), but the real deal, with irregular phrases over the band’s funky groove, internal rhymes, connecting “cheese” and “betrayal”, complete with the body gestures that come with the art form and not a hint of “I’m thinking here.”

As usual, the whole night was extraordinary, the opportunity for these students in this training to strut their stuff. As a training, the wide talent of the students is corralled into a specific channel where certain understandings and ways of being are valued over others. There is a bar and it’s set high, placed by teachers who have put in the time and training to jump over it. But within that, we’re always looking for people finding their own style of leaping. Remember that high jump style called the Fosbury Flop? He (Dick Fosbury) found his own unorthodox way to leap 7 feet high and won a gold medal in the 1968 Olympics. In our Orff course, every lesson has its share of right and wrong answers, but we’re always looking for a way of teaching that reveals the character of the student.

But the Untalent Show is when all bars are removed and all stops are let out. Every year seems more exceptional than the last. Besides the above-mentioned free-style rap, there was a Funky Bach-Gounod piece that worked, a solo singer who held us spellbound by his subtle use of dynamics singing a song about acceptance and love, a reprise of last year’s mathematical tour de force song about the 18-wheel Big Rig that included (amongst other things) counting at lightning speed, forward and backwards, in Roman numerals. And then the virtusosic duet between the best maracas and spoons players on the planet that simply has to be seen and heard to be believed. Michael Phelps’ 22 Olympic medlas are impressive, but in my book, nothing compared to this.

And there you have it. One person spends countless hours investigating the imaginative and technical possibilities of two small gourds filled with seeds, another what two spoons back-to-back can do and everyone who witnessed their efforts left the theater with renewed hope for our frail and often disappointing species. They, and everyone who performed (and everyone who didn’t) planted the flag of their talent and interest in their tiny corner of creation and tended the garden of their promise to grow food unlike any other. And the world is refreshed. It’s a simple—and as difficult— as that.

I don’t know what I did to merit being in the company of these geniuses and I’m reasonably sure I didn’t deserve it. Or maybe I did, simply from keeping faith with my own bizarre collection of flags that I’ve tended and defended without a pause for just about each day of my life. All I can say is I’m grateful beyond measure. And inspired to work on my free-style rap while playing spoons.

Beginning, Middle, End

An enticing beginning. A connected middle. A satisfying end. This is perhaps the simplest definition of good music that I know. And it works pretty well for novels, films, a life well-lived— and a class well-taught. And that is precisely what I had the good fortune to witness as my 20 Level III students taught their 15-minute practicum in San Francisco International Orff Course.

They each had their own way to draw us into the circle— a boisterous song, a silent motion, an intriguing sculpture of instruments, a whispered sound effect. Each one invited us into a world distinctly different than “Sit down, get out your pencil/laptop and open to page 24.” There was intrigue, magic, mystery, the promise of surprise and the excitement of immediate involvement. Our bodies were awake with movement and sound, our attention razor-sharp needing to observe the next step, our sense of belonging nurtured through the simple formation of the circle. An enticing beginning is as necessary to a class as it is to the opening lines of a novel or the first notes of a symphony.

But having promised something interesting, the next step is to develop the opening idea and lead us to someplace we have never traveled before. And so the song leads to a dance or sounds on the body prepare the sounds on the instruments or the text points us to a dramatic interpretation. Like the old ways of photos developing in darkrooms, a picture starts to emerge and come into focus and before we know how it happened, we find ourselves in the midst of some thrilling piece of music or dance where all the parts that led us there were connected and everything made perfect sense. Especially in our fragmented lives of random bits of information, a connected middle brings meaning and purpose and the brief sense that all is not chaos, but a beautifully designed form and structure. These lessons all moved forward at their own paces and in their own ways, but always seamlessly without a single extra word spoken.

And like the story, film, music, dance performance, all art forms bound by time, we are taken out of clock time and into that other world, but eventually must return to paying bills and changing the oil in the car. And so there is a forward momentum that builds in intensity and reaches some sort of climax before gently—or dramatically—reaching the final notes or words that set us back down into the everyday world. A satisfying end. Though my student’s lessons were timed by Radio Shack’s timer, most got to hit those last notes before or soon after the obnoxious beeps and you could feel the appreciation of the 19 other students for the gift of inspired teaching.

How I wish all teachers and administrators could have witnessed these lessons! There is always the next “latest and greatest 15-minutes-of-fame educational technique,” but it is a crying shame that nobody ever looks to the well-trained Orff music teacher for guidance and inspiration. Everything a child needs and loves was in these lessons. Not only the musical flow of the teaching, but the constant activity, the involvement of all the senses, the social connections and the constant invitation for the imagination to participate and contribute. And not incidentally, the universality of this approach is impressive. These teachers come from Argentina, Brazil, China, Columbia, Ireland, Spain, Turkey, U.S.A., Venezuala, but language and culture is not an issue when you teach from the body and sound and gesture and tap on our common need to move, sing, play, feel.

Class after class well-taught gives the model for a life well-lived. We would hope that each child born is wanted and loved and dreamed about before emerging into a world filled with love, caring and enticing delights. Right now my granddaughter is enjoying the exhiliration of free movement as she crawls around her house and is equally enjoying the different tastes and textures of avocado, quinoa, black beans, ribs and electrical cords. Her world is a panopoly of sensual delights, made even more exciting with each encounter with dogs, cats, birds, summer lakes, sandy beaches, books read out loud, music played and danced, art viewed and made, hugs and kisses. She's off to a great start and of course, I wish for it to continue like this. A happy childhood is a gift beyond measure.

And then we set off into the development section of our life’s music as we follow the initial ideas of what attracts us. Life may throw obstacle after obstacle in our path, load us down with grief or bolster us up with surprising opportunity, but if we stay true to our theme, we begin to see and feel how all the chapters in our drama are connected and moving toward some kind of stirring climax. Indeed, observing these teachers I’ve helped train is certainly a high note in my own constantly emerging music.

And then comes the satisfying end. Or not. I love the image of the elder surrounded by loved ones in his or her home passing to the other side carried by song and holding the hands of the surrounding family. Occasionally it happens like that and that’s a beautiful gift. But we don’t get to write those last notes and more often than I would wish, the instrument goes out of tune before the final phrase and the concert venue shifts to the bright lights of a hospital room.

Indeed, both the beginning and the end are out of our hands and we’re at the mercy of karma, good fortune or the luck of the draw. But the middle is the part we have the best chance of affecting and that’s why these teachers have given up the chance for two weeks on the Hawaii beach to feed their own promise, re-tune their instrument and learn how to create and pass on beautiful music to the children they serve. 

Simple Notes Deeply Felt

I’ve been training teachers for almost as long as I’ve been teaching kids. It’s an ideal combination. Dreaming the classes and working it out with the kids’ active bodies and prodigious imaginations and then carrying some of the successes into the adult workshops. Then new ideas arise with the adults that filter back to the kids. A flow is set in motion between the two worlds that keeps both honest and real and keeps the waters clean and bubbly.

Both worlds have their joys and challenges. The kids are ever-surprising and infectious with their energy. It is a perpetual delight to watch their faces light up with excitement, their eyes twinkle with the recognition of beauty. But it can be exhausting to constantly reel in their increasingly short attention span and get Bobby to get up off of Billy as they wrestle around on the floor. Usually, adults tend to be more polite about things like that and since they mostly come to workshops voluntarily, they often listen attentively and rarely run around the room during the directions. Though I often find their “ahas!” and “Eurekas!” exhilarating and love to watch them remember their childlike playful selves, they tend to be a bit more serious than the kids.

But one of the great perks about teaching teachers is that you are forced to reflect deeply on the principles behind your teaching and communicate them clearly. And so I have a lifelong habit of trying to articulate what is essential about this work. And because there are a thousand ways to say the same thing, I’m always searching for the next combination of words that give wings to the idea and gets the listener flying into understanding.

And so in my 6^th day of teaching piece after piece that the students can learn in 10 or 15 minutes and then play or sing or dance at almost a concert-worthy level, I keep reminding them to search for material that is simple, clear, easy to learn and easy to play, but whose total effect is both complex and heart-stirring. We humans are enamored with complexity and virtuosity, both of which have their place. But not in the classroom of young kids getting started who walk through the music room door because they have to. They don’t want to start working on something that will take 10 years of constant diligence, long hours of practice and complicated understandings before they arrive at something satisfying. They want something they can do right now, something that fits their small hands and fantasy-filled minds and at the same time, sound and feel good. Those interested have their whole lifetime to walk down the long and twisting path of virtusoic musical mastery, the rest of us just want to play, sing and dance and feel good and look good and sound good.

Enter the genius of the Orff approach, with its child-sized xylophone orchestra, recorders and percussion, with its elemental style of composition with simple patterns and repetitive melodies and blending-scales, with its inspired process of teaching in a way that includes the fertile imagination of the child and integrates the body, mind and heart.

When you find a piece of music that fits that criteria, that’s gold. Like the Estonian song we sang and danced to the other night. Standing in the dinner line, a teacher told me he transcribed it and was stunned to see how simple the melody was in the light of his sublime experience singing and dancing it. My spontaneous reply was, “Ah, that’s the whole secret of this training. Finding material with simple notes deeply felt.” As soon as those words passed my lips, I knew I had my next blog title and theme.

Simple notes deeply felt. That’s what it’s all about.

Nordstroms Rocks!

Yesterday I gave a talk on motivation, loosely based on Daniel Pink’s book Drive: The Surprising Truth About What Motivates Us. If you are a teacher, motivation is a subject worth considering. The number one concern of every teacher is class control, without which not one inch of the territory schools traverse can be crossed. But already that word “control” calls up visions of security guards and cattle prods. I prefer to talk about class culture, creating an atmosphere of trust, safety and excitement. And motivation is a big part of that. Motivated students are excited students eager for the next class and ready to explore and risk when the culture is supportive and encouraging.

The teachers who are able to create that culture tend to be people with a common mindset about human beings. In short, that though we are flawed and complex creatures, we are all essentially good at heart, happy to help each other and thrilled to discover what we can do and how we can be in our short time on the planet. We don’t need to be beaten with sticks or enticed with candy to do what is good and decent and pleasing to both ourselves and others. If we create a culture built around our natural tendencies to want to do things well, to follow our own curiosities and fascinations at our own pace, to take pleasure in working and playing side-by-side with our fellow humans, that culture helps fulfill its own prophecy. People retain their inquisitive nature and sense of wonder and learn to “play well with others.” But if we are inside those social structures that consciously seek to keep us down and manipulate us to other’s selfish ends, few of us are strong enough to resist and the grand possibility of human potential is narrowed down to an unappetizing slice of who we might be.

Damn Machievelli for starting the systematic manipulation of people to serve some greedy person’s lust for power! From the military to the government, from the corporation to the classroom, there are thousands of effective methods to keep people afraid, obedient, mindless and often heartless to their fellow creatures when the social structure punishes them for being decent. And the history of the world that interests me is the slow inching forward toward social structures that liberate and celebrate the human spirit. It’s a long, snail-paced progression and it keeps slipping backward before the next wave of energy to keep it moving, but it’s a glorious struggle worth making.

I began the lecture with a structure designed to affirm people’s natural inclination to help. 10 instruments are in a circle with 10 people at each one and 10 more in-between each one. While 10 are playing, 10 are observing the next player. At the signal to switch, the observer becomes the player, the player the observer of the next instrumental part. On they go around the circle and not incendentally, playing some kick-ass jazz while they’re at it. While the 20 people were playing, the rest of my audience was observing and I asked them to particularly notice what happens when someone is struggling with a part. Invariably, in every corner of the world where I do this simple activity, the people around them lean over and offer help. When I ask the people afterwards why they helped, the answers are always the same:

1)    I didn’t think about it. It just felt like the right thing to do.

2)    I knew I’d appreciate help when I needed it.

3)    I wanted the music to sound better.

Then I ask people to imagine what would happen if I was grading everyone and that every one could not get an A. Immediately the atmosphere changes. What happens?

1)    People are nervous about getting it right—and thus more likely to make mistakes.

2)    People are conflicted about helping, knowing that someone else’s failure is to their benefit.

3)    People get more concerned about how they’re doing on each instrument rather than listening to the music and enjoying the sound of the group’s collective effort.

Well, welcome to school. Those kind of interruptions of the natural process of community building and individual success and pleasure happen every day, unquestioned, in schools around the world.

From this beginning, I went on to talk about Daniel Pink’s research and how the best motivation is neither the stick nor the carrot, but the thoughtful application of our innate need for some degree of autonomy in taking control of our lives and following our own way of doing things at our own pace, our innate desire to master the things we care about it and our deep-seated longing to find purpose in our lives. Autonomy. Mastery. Purpose. Build your communities and practices around that and you have happy people living lives dancing towards fulfillment.

That’s what we’re doing in our Orff training here. People have constant opportunities to autonomously create. Everyone is motivated by their own desire to inch toward mastery, be it in recorder, dance, xylophone technique or pedagogical understanding. And our collective purpose to serve the 10,000 plus children we teach and cast our vote for a worthy future is present throughout each day.

But side by side come all the stories of even enlightened schools shifting to outdated corporate practices, with thoughtless and harmful top-down decision-making that rob teachers of autonomy in our classroom (or their very job!), subvert their pleasure in mastering the art of teaching and shift the purpose of school from nurturing children to running an illusory smooth and efficient business.

The great irony is that even as the new breed of administrators look to corporations for guidance, the corporations are slowly shifting to the model of enlightened schools. That is the great power of Pink’s book, focusing less on creating fulfilled human beings able to spout poetry, sing in four parts and play rollicking West African music and more about creating contented workers who will help corporations make lots of money.

One example not in his book that I find extraordinary is the Nordstroms Staff Handbook. Nordstroms is one of those big department stores along the line of Macy’s and such and though someone says it has changed now, at least for a while, a new employee was given a large file card that said the following:

Welcome to Nordstroms. We’re glad to have you with our company. Our number one goal is to provide outstanding customer service. Set both your personal and professional goals high. We have great confidence in your ability to achieve them.

RULES:

1.     Use your best judgment in all situations.

2.     There are no additional rules.

Within a couple of years after this new policy was instituted, Nordstroms outperformed their competitors by a two to one ratio. In short, when making money was the goal, a corporation didn’t earn as much. When creating a welcoming, inviting workplace whose purpose was to offer service was the goal, they incidentally made more money.

America, pay attention here. School administrators, get on the welcoming community bandwagon or you will be left in the dust. And incidentally, the children will be happier. 

PS. Hey, Nordstroms! Want to open a school? 

Pig Heaven

Pig Heaven doesn’t show up on the Google maps, but I think I found it. It’s not muddy or smelly and I don’t think actual pigs would enjoy it that much. But all of us who are here are just so deliriously happy, in the precise place where we all feel we belong, rolling around on our backs with such joyful contentment. And me most of all.

I had high expectations of my particular group of 20 students at the Orff Summer Course and three days in, they have already been exceeded. I also thought I might enjoy the feeling of “Orff Camp,” all of us together 24/7 in the beautiful Carmel Valley, but “enjoy” is far too weak a word. To stroll through the gardens by the barn under the live oak trees with the hills in the distance and hear music from every direction, see the group out on the open wooden deck clapping through a choreography, others playing recorder under the cypress trees (all that’s missing is the white diaphanous gowns), still others huddled around xylophones in the grass, is to get a glimpse of a heaven far superior to harp players amongst fluffy white clouds.

I know that heaven is wherever the heart, mind and body are aligned, not only in deep conversation with each other, but in company with others having the same conversations. But it sure helps to be in a beautiful place with good weather. When the inner need and the outer community meet with a summer day outside on the grass under the trees, there is an extra dimension to it all that is worthy of our deepest gratitude. To fulfill the whole promise, we would also be working the garden and cooking the food together, but still, this comes as close to how I think people were meant to live on this earth, in loving communion and the spirit fed daily.

After a full day of exciting, inspiring, challenging, connecting classes led by our brilliant teachers, every one who has led the whole life of teaching children and releasing their imagination, there was a spontaneous circle begun by the Brazilians of drumming, singing and dancing, joined by Columbians and then more led by folks from Nigeria, Puerto Rico and Venezuala. Two hours later, it reached its natural conclusion and that’s when I went to the barn with a small group to play some jazz on the most beautiful Steinway piano. An hour later, stirred yet further by the group playing, we looked at each other and exclaimed, “And this is only the first day!”

Yesterday was another remarkable series of classes, followed by an evening folk dance with live music—us—that ended with me leading an Estonian lullaby I recently learned. 100 people singing and swaying and breathing as one giant centipede, ending the song in a large spiral with our heads on each other backs, After the official ending, some 40 of us hung back and an accordion/flute song soon segued into a seamless blues that lasted some 70 minutes, with solos by everyone from the triangle player to the sax player to the woman with finger cymbals morphing into a slow motion dance. My friend and I looked at each other again in disbelief: “And this is only the second day!”

Pig heaven. It’s a wonderful place to be. No need to wait until you expire or repent your sins or agree to give up your own way of thinking and believe what the throngs want you to believe. You just show up, jump in the middle of the dancing ring and roll around to your heart’s content, with the drums booming, bells ringing and voices singing in exultation.