But—although it informs most of what I type here— an ethnic/racial lens is not the only way to relate to what I write on these pages. I feel the progress I make today (or the effort to progress) is on the same path as that I have always been on. Right now it's specific to this "racial" area. But in general, it is the same as my love for the trinity of philosophy, psychology, and science. They are all about moving past the surface and exploring the truth underneath. That's why I studied or dallied with all these three things when I was getting my college education(s) thus far. So I think a person could move along with my thoughts and writings here, even if they do not share all the specifics of my situation. As I am (overly?) fond of saying, the larger truths are fractals. They can be scaled to different sizes, but the contours and the roadmap to navigate them remains the same. I don't know how well I'm communicating to you when I put it that way. It makes sense to me. I just mean to say that learning well how to plant a flower can also help one learn well how to keep a friendship, or approach a difficult conversation, or mask off an area of the car you want to paint—if one pays attention. Important shapes repeat (although masking tape always helps).

I sometimes use the term "artichoke heart," in my purpler sentences. It's a recurring image. As is both an onion and a flower. I've written down or recorded many words so far. I'm not only a prolific jotter-downer, but I've kept journals and tape diaries for about 20 years. So of course, I am very familiar with the images that populate my passages. These three are not incidental. They all represent living things that can be unpeeled, or that have many layers that open. I never set out to use these images. Today was the first time I actually even bothered googling to see what others had to say about the artichoke. No, these ideas came into my art and writing because like other humans, I reach for wordly, material objects/constructs that make real the ethereal sense of dreaming within. Those whispers of thread are not enough, that mental/spiritual gossamer that is our marionette strings as we dance on this stage of life. We shape the outer world as our inner one is perceived to us.

They do have their layers, their time of night, and their waiting for the dawn, but the flower and the onion have something precious at their heart. (Well, I have to admit. The onion image is from a time period earlier than the artichoke and the flower (both flowers, of course). And it does not fit quite the same metaphor. But that makes perfect sense given the tapes and entries where that image appeared. It was a more...acidic time phase of my life?) The point is, I can't see emerging from ignorance as confined to this Now. I suppose that is why I do not use the a lockbox being cracked open for those metaphors. Not a building finally opening doors to the outside. I don't see a foil stamp on a sheet of paper. More fitting than that would be a stamp on the club-goer's hand on a Saturday!

I would hope, always, for this ongoing emergence from ignorance.

So I have not—of course—arrived in any area. Anyway, save me from people who have Arrived. (Or those times I imagine I am one of those people!) The older I grow, the more I see glimpses of possibility. Of freedom. Freedom of thought, of identification, of heart, of vision. And I see that it will take time. And work. And patience. An entire lifetime of course. This seems less undesirable as I grow older, as well.

This thinking is not really part of anything I've learned in my upbringing. There is no framework for that type of long haul that I remember. Certainly not from school, where grades end, the curriculum ends, and the degree is given. Of all these shapes of learning, where is the one to prepare us for the most important course? No shape or teaching in my own life prepared me for such a long process as the learning I know I must do in life. Of course the danger in taking the parameters of a Course of Study too seriously is that we may forget to see life as one lesson. The school of my early youth, where they gave us beeswax crayons and strange fiction stories as math lessons might have imagined my last day of my truncated stay there as the end of my time at their school, but I wonder if they know I still return? The lines are illusory, after all. I'm glad I realized this, and not just on a gut level, but on a thought-out level. Seeing through some of those walls that (what I imagine) is the Western thought paradigm is quite a relief. And makes true learning again possible. Why always this need to draw such sharp demarcations, I wonder? How much more we learn when we can see everything as ongoing and related to everything else. But those decals, logos, ceremonies are important to the very fleshy parts of our awareness, I think. Hell, I do it here. What with all my categories and series'. I have a lot of fun with these. Yet, it's all part of the same dialogue and monologue.

There are often anti-intellectual or anti-academic themes running through my writing. It would be easy to oversimplify this. Especially with a pinch of emotion thrown in. But I am not against learning. And I am very much for the value of a good teacher or a good course of study. And I believe in apprenticeships. The parent, ideally, would provide the first and largest example of this relationship.

During my own time in the Ivory Tower (at least my part of that particular 'hood) I learned some very valuable things. However, they would be nothing if I did not relate them to all the other things I have learned so the separations could be dissolved and the overlap could emerge. For my greatest learning is invariably found in the conjoining of various disciplines, as I've mentioned before.

It's not that I am against degrees at all. I have a couple myself. I just don't think the most important ones will always be given by institutions. Or, I think it is more accurate to say that I fear the focus becomes obscured with too much weight on the wrong elements of what is being recognized. And removed of the particulars of this (transient) discussion, what I am actually against is Form overtaking Content. More on my discussions of Symbol being confused for Essence. I watch for this in any area. Once more, a shape that repeats.

In my studies of cinematic Storytelling, my camera teachers spoke with disdain of "MTV style camerawork," that is, form or style unconnected to narrative motivation. A favorite example was "Dutching" the camera ("canting" or tilting the frame) for no other reason than to make the image look "cool." They were against this because canting the frame has a specific psychological effect upon the brain of the viewer—as does a low angle, a high angle, or a slow zoom—which Orson Welles understood very well. As all directors (real directors) do. And a cameraperson/director of photography should understand these things, not just act upon them because they've seen them done. Because when you understand the impact of each piece of a style, you will have an array of tools to wield in using your craft. And at that point, you can begin to be a Storyteller. But if you are just throwing snazzy tools around without knowing what they do or have been used for historically, then you are not a craftsman or an artisan or a communicator. You are a person wielding a stick with bubblegum on the end of it, jamming it around to see what happens.

I am "against" the potential (and of course actual) harm that giving ourselves titles or accreditation or delineations or awards or self-images can do to the original goal. If the original goal is to remain open-minded and to learn, and to know more—then form ought not interfere with that. The self image of Having Arrived can easily end that goal. Knowing I Know® something or have Now Studied It should not blind me to the fact of what I have actually (only) done and all that is left undone. I am against labels or degrees or learned ideas shutting a mind down in one of myriad ways. And I am against those who self-validate using these signs of Learning becoming thus duly appreciated and then blind to the fact that there may be some people out there who understand instinctively what canting the frame does, and so perhaps their course of study might require an individual examination of they way they happen to work. A different course. Perhaps even given by a different person.

For me, this current phase of dawn—my own ethnic identity/awareness—had to happen sooner or later. I've had other pieces. After my first frame-shuddering series of mental revelations that began at 14ish, and "settled" at 16, I actually thought that the experience was a one-time deal.

"Wow," I said. "That was amazing. I am glad I am now aware."

That was, of course, an introduction to the comic part of my life. The part that an introspective, over-intellectualizing and angst-laden youth needs very much. The comedy that life shows you when you have that type of "Sure glad I'm aware now" thought about, oh...twenty times over. You do stop saying it eventually. After, finally, your pretense has been carved in two and falls to the table like a sharply-cloven melon. The arc of that slice—shape of a smile—is a good one to remember, because you will continue to have drama. You will not grow out of the tendency to be utterly self-serious and self-important or feel you have graduated—or perhaps you will. I haven't. But you know what? On one level, I'm always laughing. Even when I'm taking myself too seriously. That part never goes away. And that is precisely because I see that while class is always in session, so is summer vacation. They do not alternate, but co-exist.

People are always helping you learn. Even when you do not realize it. Not always when they think they are. But the opportunity is everpresent. When I am lecturing someone else, it is often because some part of myself demands a lecture. When I stop focusing on what others need to know, I can begin to find those pieces of wisdom that I actually need. How much time do we spend thinking about what other people need to know?

Nobody hinders my path. Even when they try to hurt. Some do, but most don't. The sound can be harsh when you are not expecting to hear people talking very loudly to themselves. Or worse, not listening to themselves. (I listen to myself, but embarrassingly, there is often a noticeable delay from mouth to ear.) But they do not mean harm. It is only that when you open yourself so that you may let in the sun, you will also feel the wind, the rain, and even the weighty grains of dusk falling upon your bared heart. And sharpened like never before. What is required, then?

Trust.

And in the case of steamed artichoke hearts, a hot dish of tamari and melted butter is delicious.