I have walked and jogged (more like semi-crawled) around Le`ahi many times. I have paddled in front of and past Le`ahi many times. Over the years, whenever I look at Le‘ahi, I have seen racers on bicycles, people walking their dogs, construction workers sitting on the rock wall having lunch, lovers holding on to one another mezmerized by the ocean, tourists posing for cameras. Le‘ahi is iconic. It is probably the most recognizable and most photographed landmark on our island, and yet, what do we really see when we look at Le‘ahi? Before yesterday, I was convinced I knew Le‘ahi until we made the stop to learn the second line of the chant - Kani Kapahu o Maui, Kaneloa, Papa‘ena‘ena. The eyeʻs lens changed focus.
So many different levels of "seeing" took place for me on the our walk. It was like looking at a painting without the image. What we think is familiar, really is not. What I really saw was familiarity, a learned image -- not the thing. Like the story of the aliʻi surfer -- someone thought to blowup the reef, and now the surf break is gone, but hearing the story made that break "visible."
So how do I "see" a student? Another faculty member? Am I looking at the person? Or am I simply seeing what I think I know? ‘āewa. Everything has a lineage -- people, landmarks, texts, ideas. Lineage is often made up of what we cannot see. Perhaps this is what I want most to remember in a classroom. Make was seems invisible, visible.
13 hours ago
In days when the practice is good, when I look at a person I say to myself "there's someone inside there. who are they? listen beyond the words. what are they saying?" On days when it's not so good I get frustrated with them. The weird thing is that it's so easy to do it with students and not so easy with others... expectations... oi, them again...
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