Story Log #3: Genre Defining (and Selecting)

>> Submitted for Narrative Inquiry <<

Refresher: (taken directly from Story Log #2)

“I was right. Correction. My spirit was right! As I continued to read, I learned that SAM was an acronym that represented Sun, Stars, And Moon. WOW!! Grandma communicated with nature!! She was told to rest so that she could receive the wisdom offered by the cosmos.”
Continued: “… I cried because I knew that Grandma was institutionalized at the Topeka State Hospital - an institution for the care and treatment of the mentally ill. Then, I was angry because I felt that her ability to communicate with the sun, stars, and moon ultimately cost her her freedom.”

Story Log #3
It is 7:16pm on Sunday, September 12, 2021. The sun is radiating a mesmerizing burnt orange hue with a purplish pink aura. I squint to see the exact colors but it's impossible without running the risk of blinding myself. I’ll just remain grateful for the quick glimpses.
Within three minutes, the sun has now touched the tops of the tree in the distance. The silhouette of trees is a masterpiece within this peaceful moment, but why does it seem that time is moving exceptionally fast now? I’ve been out here for 45 minutes and the sun didn’t appear to move. It was bright, bold, and breathtaking. However, now, nearly half of the sun is playing peek-a-boo with me. But guess what Mr. Sun? I can still see you. Please don’t go away.
I feel robbed. The forecast said the sunset would not occur until 7:30pm. I still have eight minutes. If I “paid” for the whole show, I wanna see the whole show. Where are you going? Now, your whole body is behind the trees and all I can see is the glow of your beauty. Well, at least I can cast my eyes directly on you now. PLEASE Slow down. Please. I want to watch you. I want to take you all in. I couldn’t see you earlier because you were too bright. Now, you are nearly disappearing. 
Wait! Why am I feeling sad? Why are my eyes getting warm? What is it about this particular moment that is so emotional for me? You are almost all gone. It is only 7:23 pm.  I have seven more minutes. Please don’t go! Shit!! I am really crying now. Why are you leaving me!? You are now beneath the trees and it is just a tiny sliver that I see of you. You will be gone in 5...4…3…2 (I pause my typing to simply be in the moment and watch the sun of September 12th come to an end. Rest my dearest sun. You’ve performed your job well. You shined on us. You allowed us to shine. For you, we are grateful. Rest easy. So shall the will of the Universe be, I will see you in the morning. Ase.

Forty-eight minutes of recording boiled down to 47 seconds. The final seconds were the fastest. What can I learn from this? Do we live our lives in hyperlapse? Can there be a theory of counter-hyperlapsicity? Perhaps I need to start a movement to slow down and simply be? Perhaps observing nature becomes the main method of this movement. I JUST might be onto something.

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In the above paragraph, I asked, “why am I crying?” That was a more rhetorical than actual question. I know why I cried. I cried because the observation of the sun was the same as the observation of life. If so ordered, we will rise every morning. If so ordered, we will have 12 hours, or longer, to share our shine. If so ordered, we will rest and engage in an extended period of restoration. However, there comes a time during the observation that time speeds up and the day, one’s life, is over.

I watched the sunset for my Mama on March 31, 2016. Actually, I even captured one of the final sunsets from her hospital room less than two weeks before she transitioned. I witnessed the eclipse of my Dad’s sun when he was diagnosed with COVID-19. I had never seen my Dad like that. He stayed in bed most of the day with his eyes closed while he was wide awake. He ate his meals at the table with his eyes closed. He even sat in his favorite recliner with his eyes closed while fully comprehending what was going on around him. (I didn’t capture an actual picture of him, but the mental picture can never be erased.)

In my last story log I wrote, “I am interested in writing about my relationship with nature and how this informs my walk with eco-spirituality. Thanks to our class on Wednesday, September 8, 2021, that is no longer the case. Your words made me ask, “What is my work REALLY about?”

Jeff, when you gave us the story about your interest in art classroom arrangements and how this interest quickly changed to social capital, I found myself diving deeper into my own interest. I still want to research nature as a site of learning and self-restoration, but I strongly feel that it becomes more about spaces to slow (observing nature - sunrises, sunsets, gardening, etc.) as well as spaces to become and grow (gardening).

My narrative research genre approach will blend Bildungsroman and digital storytelling as I ask Mother Earth to inform my becoming - my becoming an artist. In the margins of page 12, I responded with hearts and stars after reading that,”Bildung is concerned with nurturing or fostering the self to become somebody, which goes beyond the simple acquisition of knowledge and skills (Biesta, 2002).

I am ‘becoming’ an artist. Or, should I say, I am allowing myself to call myself an artist. And, this ‘becoming’ is happening as my sun sits halfway in the sky and my Dad’s sun is closer to setting. My work needs to nurture my self while honoring my Dad in a way that allows Mother Earth to be our teacher.

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