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Living Simply and Simply Living

This is my part of a panel. Dominant and Marginalized Narratives in Music Education: Intersections of Religion, Spirituality, and Sexual/Gender Diversity in the Music Classroom, LGBTQ Studies & Music Education III, Urbana, IL. Facilitator: Karin Hendricks. Respondents: June Boyce-Tillman, Cantor Evan Kent, Kerri Mesner, Daniel J. Shevock, and Heidi Weatherford. May 19, 2016....Read more
Living Simply and Simply Living Daniel J Shevock, 2016 Dominant and Marginalized Narratives in Music Education: Intersections of Religion, Spirituality, and Sexual/Gender Diversity in the Music Classroom, LGBTQ Studies & Music Education III, Urbana, IL. Facilitator: Karin Hendricks. Respondents: June Boyce-Tillman, Evan Kent, Kerri Mesner, Daniel J. Shevock, and Heidi Weatherford. May 19, 2016. What Would Coleman Do? I would like to begin with gratitude. I am thankful for many guides I have had; and I am especially thankful for the writing of historically underrepresented, female music educator Satis Coleman (1878-1961). Some of my work touches on issues of music education history, gender, and spirituality. Coleman has influenced my thinking on music education by compelling me to confront matters I failed to consider before encountering her work. I invite Coleman’s genius into this space. I invoke one lost voice, of history, to rejoin us today. By doing so, we can talk a little about living simply. I hope by doing so we music educators, captivated by modern tools, learn something about living the good life. From Death I wrote this poem as I remembered sitting in a modest Philadelphia home: a duplex where my grandmother-in-law sat, semi-conscious, struggling through the lyrics of a long familiar gospel hymn. Here, the intersection of living, dying, musicking, and technology taught me something of spiritual praxis. Old bones, she slouches on a stale smelling couch. Since the stroke years ago, this couch, her coffin. Hooked to a feeding pump, muscles soften. Jumbled, she sings a mangled Amazing Grace, in dissonant slouch. But with little harmony; little relief; demon taunted; abundant grief, half-sung, belated departure, staggering breath, in suspended drooping, she’s shrouded from death. Shrouded by Technology
Living Simply and Simply Living There is little doubt that we are surrounded … no … shrouded from pre-birth to death by technology. From the ultrasound to life support, machines mediate our most cherished life experiences. Parker Palmer teaches us about spirituality and teaching. Palmer (1983) connects spiritual teaching to our very conception of knowing—challenging technology, curiosity, and control. Palmer writes: But now we begin to wonder where all this knowledge is taking us. We worry about the ecological consequences of technology, about the power of applied social science to manipulate human behavior. … If curiosity and control are the primary motives for our knowing, we will generate a knowledge that eventually carries us not toward life but death. But another kind of knowledge is available to us. … This is a knowledge that originates not in curiosity or control but in compassion, or love—a source celebrated not in our intellectual tradition but in our spiritual heritage. The goal of a knowledge arising from love is the reunification and reconstruction of broken selves and worlds. A knowledge born of compassion aims not at exploiting and manipulating creation but at reconciling the world itself. (n.p.) Shrouded by technological tools (e.g. a cell phone; lap top), I came to think about what I have learned about teaching music as spiritual praxis by studying Coleman (Shevock 2015). Coleman taught me to consider living simply. She suggested children shouldn’t follow too many interests when she wrote: But according to our present customs and points of view, all these things seem essential to what we consider complete living; and we will probably prefer to wait until three-fourths of us are nervous wrecks from the strain of these “essentials” before the remaining fourth of us decide that we can be happier without some of them. (Coleman 1939, 37) Can music educators welcome “the ‘enoughness’ humans enjoy wherever they embrace graceful limits” (Prakash 2010, 26)? Coleman (1939) taught to slow down, and to listen for the silence in nature, leading to “a bit of understanding of the voice of God” (92). Listening for Spirituality And Coleman (1938) also wrote about the history of bells: This magic token from the bosom of the earth has always been the people’s messenger and reminder in all parts of the world—to rouse them, or summon them, or frighten them; and also to cheer, console and inspire them! … In the early stages of the human race, when Primitive Man [sic] first found that he [sic] could produce a ringing sound in a stone, it must have seemed to him [sic] the voice of his [sic] god speaking the mysterious language of Mother Earth. (20) In previous generations, singing bells atop church steeples marked the lives of many peoples: joyous births, sad deaths, peace after wars, and yearly religious rituals. These singing bells were themselves like community members. Each town had a unique bell- song. Bells defined the sonic soundscape (borrowing a term from Schafer 1994). In Dominant and Marginalized Narratives in Music Education: Intersections of Religion, Spirituality, and Sexual/Gender Diversity in the Music Classroom, LGBTQ Studies & Music Education III, Urbana, IL. Facilitator: Karin Hendricks. Respondents: June Boyce-Tillman, Cantor Evan Kent, Kerri Mesner, Daniel J. Shevock, and Heidi Weatherford. May 19, 2016. 2
Living Simply and Simply Living Daniel J Shevock, 2016 Dominant and Marginalized Narratives in Music Education: Intersections of Religion, Spirituality, and Sexual/Gender Diversity in the Music Classroom, LGBTQ Studies & Music Education III, Urbana, IL. Facilitator: Karin Hendricks. Respondents: June Boyce-Tillman, Evan Kent, Kerri Mesner, Daniel J. Shevock, and Heidi Weatherford. May 19, 2016. What Would Coleman Do? I would like to begin with gratitude. I am thankful for many guides I have had; and I am especially thankful for the writing of historically underrepresented, female music educator Satis Coleman (1878-1961). Some of my work touches on issues of music education history, gender, and spirituality. Coleman has influenced my thinking on music education by compelling me to confront matters I failed to consider before encountering her work. I invite Coleman’s genius into this space. I invoke one lost voice, of history, to rejoin us today. By doing so, we can talk a little about living simply. I hope by doing so we music educators, captivated by modern tools, learn something about living the good life. From Death I wrote this poem as I remembered sitting in a modest Philadelphia home: a duplex where my grandmother-in-law sat, semi-conscious, struggling through the lyrics of a long familiar gospel hymn. Here, the intersection of living, dying, musicking, and technology taught me something of spiritual praxis. Old bones, she slouches on a stale smelling couch. Since the stroke years ago, this couch, her coffin. Hooked to a feeding pump, muscles soften. Jumbled, she sings a mangled Amazing Grace, in dissonant slouch. But with little harmony; little relief; demon taunted; abundant grief, half-sung, belated departure, staggering breath, in suspended drooping, she’s shrouded from death. Shrouded by Technology There is little doubt that we are surrounded … no … shrouded from pre-birth to death by technology. From the ultrasound to life support, machines mediate our most cherished life experiences. Parker Palmer teaches us about spirituality and teaching. Palmer (1983) connects spiritual teaching to our very conception of knowing—challenging technology, curiosity, and control. Palmer writes: But now we begin to wonder where all this knowledge is taking us. We worry about the ecological consequences of technology, about the power of applied social science to manipulate human behavior. … If curiosity and control are the primary motives for our knowing, we will generate a knowledge that eventually carries us not toward life but death. But another kind of knowledge is available to us. … This is a knowledge that originates not in curiosity or control but in compassion, or love—a source celebrated not in our intellectual tradition but in our spiritual heritage. The goal of a knowledge arising from love is the reunification and reconstruction of broken selves and worlds. A knowledge born of compassion aims not at exploiting and manipulating creation but at reconciling the world itself. (n.p.) Shrouded by technological tools (e.g. a cell phone; lap top), I came to think about what I have learned about teaching music as spiritual praxis by studying Coleman (Shevock 2015). Coleman taught me to consider living simply. She suggested children shouldn’t follow too many interests when she wrote: But according to our present customs and points of view, all these things seem essential to what we consider complete living; and we will probably prefer to wait until three-fourths of us are nervous wrecks from the strain of these “essentials” before the remaining fourth of us decide that we can be happier without some of them. (Coleman 1939, 37) Can music educators welcome “the ‘enoughness’ humans enjoy wherever they embrace graceful limits” (Prakash 2010, 26)? Coleman (1939) taught to slow down, and to listen for the silence in nature, leading to “a bit of understanding of the voice of God” (92). Listening for Spirituality And Coleman (1938) also wrote about the history of bells: This magic token from the bosom of the earth has always been the people’s messenger and reminder in all parts of the world—to rouse them, or summon them, or frighten them; and also to cheer, console and inspire them! … In the early stages of the human race, when Primitive Man [sic] first found that he [sic] could produce a ringing sound in a stone, it must have seemed to him [sic] the voice of his [sic] god speaking the mysterious language of Mother Earth. (20) In previous generations, singing bells atop church steeples marked the lives of many peoples: joyous births, sad deaths, peace after wars, and yearly religious rituals. These singing bells were themselves like community members. Each town had a unique bell-song. Bells defined the sonic soundscape (borrowing a term from Schafer 1994). In modern society the sounds of bells are replaced by thin, piercing, unnatural sounds of medical machinery. These new songs mark our births, lives, and deaths. Replacing the communal steeple bells, machinery signals a new secular religion of individuality and technological development. What does this mean for music educators? Can music educators aim for more: for a pedagogy both neighborly and nature loving. Or do we, the “music educated and uprooted” (Shevock in press), the new priesthood behind the privileged walls of technological society’s most sacred temple, the university, too much have our vision transfixed on dimly lit computer screens? Are we unprepared to see and hear and feel real musics of the other, and of ourselves? Are we powerless to think beyond the binary abstractions of a computer-mediated culture? I believe there is hope, at times, when I put down my cell phone, my computer, my iPad. In some of these short-lived moments my students do as well, and we see each other’s eyes. When I gaze into my students’ pupils, I see in them the mirror of myself reflected, and become a pupil (see Illich & Brown 1996). Returning to memory, I sat in my grandmother-in-law’s living room, and she, with closed eyes and creased face, struggled to find the lyrics to “Amazing Grace.” I was placed at the crossroads where technology and musicking touch a human relationship. The meaning of musicking lies in human relationships (Small 1998). And here, in a relationship mediated by medical technology, musicking helped two people to make meaning in one another. I softly sang along, probably more gracelessly than she. And there I came to better understand living and dying. I learned something of my love for my wife; her love for her grandmother; her grandmother’s relationship with this hymn, a part of her worship since childhood; and the importance of intergenerational musicking. This memory insists I, as a professional music teacher, come to understand how musicking relationships are mediated by technology. It seems problematic. And perhaps the answer to the problem lies in that old virtue Satis Coleman discussed: living simply. Perhaps in living simply we can simply live. References Coleman, Satis N. 1938. The Book of Bells. New York: John Day Co. ———. 1939. Your Child’s Music. New York: Van Rees Press. Illich, Ivan & Jerry Brown. 1996. “We the People, KPFA—March 22, 1996.” Retrieved from http://surrenderworks.com/ivanillich/1996_illich_and_brown.html. Palmer, Parker J. 1983. To Know As We Are Known: Education as a Spiritual Journey. San Francisco: Harper & Row. [Kindle version] Prakash, Madhu Suri. 2010. “Myth Maker, Story Weaver Ivan Illich: On the Rebirth of Epimetheus.” The International Journal of Illich Studies 1, no. 1. https://journals.psu.edu/illichstudies/article/view/59265. Schafer, R. Murray. 1994. The Soundscape: Our Sonic Environment and the Turning of the World. Rochester: Destiny Books. [Originally published 1977] Shevock, Daniel J. 2015. “Satis Coleman—A Spiritual Philosophy for Music Education.” Music Educators Journal 102, no. 1: 56-61. DOI: 10.1177/0027432115590182. ———. in press. “Music Educated and Uprooted: My Story of Rurality, Whiteness, Musicing, and Teaching.” Action, Criticism, and Theory for Music Education. Small, Christopher. 1998. Musicking: The Meanings of Performing and Listening. Middletown: Wesleyan University Press. 2 Living Simply and Simply Living Dominant and Marginalized Narratives in Music Education: Intersections of Religion, Spirituality, and Sexual/Gender Diversity in the Music Classroom, LGBTQ Studies & Music Education III, Urbana, IL. Facilitator: Karin Hendricks. Respondents: June Boyce-Tillman, Cantor Evan Kent, Kerri Mesner, Daniel J. Shevock, and Heidi Weatherford. May 19, 2016.
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