One day this past August I was in a meeting. The meeting was in a typical room in a typical building: no windows to the outside, no fresh air, no colours. It was a serious, beige room with a big boardroom table, and people around it; a room full of smart people who had read lots and lots and lots of books. Books about art, about Hegel, about evolution, about Aristotle, about education, about Sartre, about feminism, about Kant, about birds, about God. So many books. Books are wonderful and they fill my life, our life. There I was with others in a book-y room about to do bookish things together. Right behind me sat a woman I know vaguely. She looked glum. She seemed glum. I leaned back and asked her if she was okay? She pushed her hair out of her eyes and said to me: "I'm sick of using my brain and dealing with abstract concepts that bring me nowhere "real". I feel like I'm going to lose my mental health if I don't "do" something with my hands and my body. I just want to touch the Earth and feel my body rather than feel choked by theoretical formulations." Then the meeting started. When it ended, I leaned back and asked her if she would like to come with me the following day to my community garden plot, and then to the Organic Farm on our campus, and pick green beans?
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AuthorKaren Houle ArchivesCategories |