What does the wind say
   to you as it blows
      through your time?
Does it ask or tell?
Does it touch you with the past
   or caress your present?
Can you feel the wind?
I know you can
   for I can feel 
      you feel it
It blew through my brothers
   sisters
      fathers
         mothers.
It blew through them all, 
   and touches me with a sense
      of ethos,
         a sense of timelessness
I can feel their lives in the wind
I can feel myself emerge
   from them
      in the wind
I come to know
   the master of my house
      as it touches me
         through the wind
It embraces me,
   does not allow I
      to be the only aspect of  me
Does not allow
   answers
      a settling for solutions
          that are much too simple
For the truth is in everything
   the wind touches everything
      the wind touches me
I am the Wind

                      **************

        It was an overcast Tuesday afternoon in late April.  He looked 
out through the office window and could see the sun begging to peek out 
over the edge of the cloud front.  The temperature was rather cool for
this time of year, and he smiled slowly as the rays that made it past 
the edge of the front managed to touch his face.  Still smiling, he 
leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and thought of the lecture 
he had just given over the neurophysiology of the visual system.  Such 
lectures were not his favorite, for he liked to leave students some 
time to discuss the presented information on their terms.  Since, 
however, most of them had no background in neurophysiology, the sheer 
amount of detail demanded they take notes almost non-stop.  Well, 
that’s usually how it happened.  Today, however, a student had demanded 
time be set aside to discuss the material on his terms.  Apparently 
frustrated by the sheer amount of information being presented, he had 
raised his hand.

        “Yes,” said the professor.

        “How do Psychologists use this information?” asked the student, 
obviously annoyed.  The professor pondered the question carefully, for 
a lot depended on the nature of his answer.  After stalling to
ensure he had everyone’s attention, he responded.

        “I think what you meant to say,” he began, “was, how would a 
counseling psychologist use information about the neurophysiology of 
the visual system when counseling someone?”

        “Yeah”, responded the student somewhat impatiently, as if the 
professor had done nothing more than repeat his words exactly. 
 
        “Well,” said the professor, “he or she probably wouldn’t use it 
at all.”

        The student didn’t respond.  He simply sat there, the perplexed 
look on his face being accentuated by the questioning silence that was 
now making its way through the classroom.  As more minds came to
contain the same question, the silence became more and more demanding.  
The professor let the mounting pressure do its work, certain in the 
assumption that the longer he allowed it to last, the greater would be 
the number of students who eventually came to understand the unspoken 
question.  Those who had not yet found it, looked for it in the eyes of 
those who seemed to have already found both the question and an
answer.  Still, the professor maintained the silence, hoping to have as 
many as possible find it on their own. Eventually the thickness became 
unbearable.  A student blurted-out an answer.

        “The stuff we’re going over here is science.  It doesn’t concern 
itself with whether or not it can be used in any practical way.”

        Immediately, all eyes fell on the professor.  He had known this 
would happen, and struggled desperately not to let his gestures reveal 
his satisfaction.  The class was not even aware that it had been
absolutely unnecessary to state the question.  They had simply known 
it.  The hard part was the answer, but that too, they seemed to have 
found on their own, as long as they had been given time for the wind of 
mind to do its work.  He allowed the silence to continue as he looked 
around the room with a question on his face.  Then, after what appeared 
to be a bout of serious deliberation, he stated,
 
        “You are correct.  Those who study the neurophysiology of the 
visual system probably have no real concern about the immediate 
applicability of what they discover.”

        The class seemed to ease its grip on him a bit, as if his answer 
had satisfied.  After another strategic delay he continued.

        “However, I suspect all scholars assume their discoveries will 
eventually come to serve humanity in one way or another.  Even if that 
service is nothing more than the development of better questions.”

        He looked out over the class to determine whether or not he had 
gone too far.  The duration with which they continued to return his 
gaze revealed the quality of their understanding.  Not all of them were 
at the edge, but enough of them had reached it for him to feel 
successful.  Needing to bring the digression to a close, he continued.

        “One of the biggest problems in higher education today is the 
rift between basic research and professional application.  The most 
pressing challenge we face today as scholars is to recognize and 
respect our need for both endeavors.  Just as action guided by poor 
ideas reveals the rashness wrought by ignorance, good ideas not 
expressed in action reveal the impotence of complacent arrogance.”

        The class just looked at him, not knowing what to say.  The 
satisfaction of his previous answer was now replaced by the itch of 
ambiguity.  As he saw this transformation take place on their faces, he 
realized that this was the part of the job he really loved. Introducing 
the dialectic, bringing them to resolve it themselves, and then 
reintroducing a new, more-complex dialectic that was emergent from 
their newly-discovered synthesis; this was the nature of the wind, the 
wind of mind.  And his job was to foster that wind and help it discover 
itself.  It didn’t always happen, but that too, was part of its nature.

        “Professor?” asked a student politely.


        “Oh..., oh yes,” he said hastily as he returned to the moment.  
“Let’s finish our discussion of the visual system.”

        The students exchanged slow perplexed glances with each other and 
then, at the sound of his voice, began taking notes.

        Now, back in his office, the radiance of the escaped beams 
warming his face, someone knocked on his door.

        “Come in.”

        “Professor, I have an appointment with you for advising.”

        “Oh yes...of course... of course.”  It was obvious he had 
forgotten the appointment.  “Please, ...have a seat,” he continued as 
he grabbed stacks of ungraded papers off of the only available chair in 
the office.  Only then did he realize it was the student who had 
blurted-out the answer in class.

        “Sorry if I stole your thunder in class,” said the student as he 
carefully took the seat.

        “Not at all, not at all,” said the professor cheerfully as he sat 
in his own chair.  “I suspect you spoke for the vast majority of the 
class.”

        “Well,” said the student, graciously accepting yet somewhat 
embarrassed by the compliment.  “I don’t know about all that.  It just 
seemed to be the appropriate thing to say at the time.”

        A few moments of silence.  A few more moments of silence.

        “Well Mark,” said the Professor as he clapped his hands together, 
“What can I do for you today.”

        “Well Dr. Smith, I need to register for next semester’s courses.”

        Dr. Smith went to his files and retrieved Mark’s folder.  After 
looking through it he said,
     
        “Your pretty-far along in your education Mark.  What are you, a 
junior?”

        “Yes.”

        “Have you completed all your core courses?”

        “Yes.”

        “Then you simply need to complete a few electives and the 
remaining courses in your major. Sounds simple to me.”

        “I know, I know......but....” stated Mark hesitantly.  He was 
looking at the floor and slowly swaying his head back and forth as if 
the action would serve to produce the words he could not find.  It was 
obvious he was after guidance, but it was doubly obvious it had little 
to do with next semester’s classes.  Dr. Smith had seen this before 
and, not knowing what to expect, let Mark bide his time.  After no 
further comment emerged, Dr. Smith leaned forward a bit and said 
softly, 

        “......but........” 

        “Well,” said Mark as his head began to rise.  “Well.......” 
again, with hesitation, “what does all this neurophysiology have to do 
with consciousness?” he blurted-out in a somewhat exasperated tone.  
His eyes were now wide open and totally transfixed on those of Dr. 
Smith.  Dr. Smith held his gaze, neither backing away nor moving 
forward.  This hadn’t been what he had expected, and as they stared at 
each other for those few moments, it gave Dr. Smith time to adjust his 
expectations.  He found the adjustment both relieving and refreshing.  
He leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving Mark’s.

        “What do you mean by consciousness?” he asked with a calm smile 
on his face.

        “Well, you know,” Mark stammered, delighted at being asked.  
“Freud’s distinction between the conscious and the unconscious, or Carl 
Jung’s collective unconscious.”

        “Well Mark, that’s a great question,” responded Dr. Smith, all 
the while becoming more comfortable with the nature of the discussion.  
“Actually, there are quite a few consistencies between, for example, 
Jung’s collective unconscious and what we know about the brain.  For 
example, even though your brain is obviously different from all others, 
it must, to some extant, be very similar to those others.  It is these 
basic similarities that underlie our ability to share our diverse 
experiences with one another.  Even though your brain is unique in the 
sense that no other brain has ever traversed the path through 
space-time taken by yours, it, your brain, is actually a unique 
iteration on a very-old theme.”

        Dr. Smith could see the wind at work behind Marks’ eyes.

        “And that very-old theme is what Jung referred to as the 
collective unconscious?” stated Mark as sort of a half-question/ 
half-answer.  

        “Exactly.” stated Smith, obviously pleased by Mark’s insight.  
“There are parts of our brain that are practically as old as life on 
this planet.  They weren’t gotten rid of when mankind showed-up.  They 
were simply added to.  Anger, fear, thirst, hunger, anything to do with 
survival is part of that old brain.”

        Mark sat and thought about the answer for a while and then 
stated,

        “I can buy that as an answer to the development of the visual 
system, but what does it have to do with human consciousness, with 
thinking, and with mind?”  

        “Those are the new parts of the brain that were added to the old 
parts.”

        “But how do the new parts come about?”

        “By helping the old parts do a better job.”  Dr. Smith was 
obviously enjoying the exchange, for now he was sitting forward in his 
seat with a big grin on his face.

        “You mean my mind is about survival?” asked Mark, as if this 
answer to the question of mind somehow did not sound like the all- 
encompassing answer he had been seeking. 
 
        “Yes, but not in a world of predators and prey.  At this point in 
our history, your mind is about survival in a world of minds.”  

        Smith saw the confusion in Mark’s eyes, and his delight could no 
longer be contained.  A robust chuckle escaped his lips and he quickly 
covered his mouth.  The delight refused to remain hidden, however,
and a few more hardy chuckles made their way into the room.  Finally, 
aware of the futility, he surrendered to the emotion, slapped his knee, 
and said,

        “Mark, do you see what’s going on here?”  He looked at Mark and 
could tell he wasn’t sure whether to be honored or embarrassed by the 
question.

        “Mark, Mark!” stated Smith, trying desperately to restrain his 
laughter.  “I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing with you.  What you 
and I are doing here is experiencing the wind of mind at its best. 
Every time I’ve given you an answer you’ve given me a better question!” 

        Mark didn’t say anything.  He still wasn’t quite sure what was 
going on.

        “Mark,” said Smith somewhat compassionately, “our minds only 
develop as far as the last answer we choose to question.  Once we 
settle for an answer in life and stop asking better questions, we 
become that last answer.”

        Not sure what to say, Mark sat there letting the answer play 
itself out in his mind.  After some deliberation, he looked at Smith 
and said,

        “But don’t we need to have some answers?”

        “Absolutely, today’s questions eventually become tomorrow’s 
answers.  Without new questions, however, those answers become all that 
we are.  When that happens...”  Smith leaned back in his chair and
looked at the floor for a moment.  After a heavy pause he looked into 
Mark’s eyes and finished the sentence. “The wind stops and the storm 
ceases.”

        After a few moments, Mark looked at Smith and calmly smiled.

        “I like the storm.”

        “So do I,” said Smith as he smiled back.  And there they sat, the 

Student and the Professor, the Questioner and the Advisor, Mark and 
Smith, kindred spirits locked in a dynamic as old as culture itself. 
Both sat there savoring the moment, certain that the bit of eternity 
they had just experienced would disappear with the slightest utterance. 
 As they continued to sit there among their silent thoughts, Smith 
suddenly felt concerned for Mark.  He knew what it was like to live a 
life of doubt.  He know how difficult it was not to settle for simple 
solutions.  To never settle was to never know.  The very thing the wind 
of mind sought was the very thing it had to avoid.  Sure, the life 
unquestioned was the life unlived, but were people really supposed to 
live their lives in doubt?  Smith knew the answer, but it was one he 
hadn’t become aware of himself until recently.  One can truly live a 
life of doubt only if one is aware that he or she is in love with
doubt.  That was it.  And the hardest part about being a professor was 
determining how much doubt to introduce into students’ lives.  In the 
classroom, there was no question.  Doubting a newly-evolved synthesis
was the name of the game, the nature of mind.  But in his office, where 
they often asked questions about life and themselves, that’s where 
things became difficult.  If forced to describe his approach to dealing 
with such situations, he would probably say, “If one is in love with 
answers, let them keep them.  But if one is in love with doubt, show 
them yours.” 
 
        After letting the thought hang in the air for a while, he 
achieved a certain amount of confidence in Mark’s ability to handle his 
own doubt.  He looked at him happily and said,

        “Well Mark, what classes are you going to take next semester?”

        After a calculated pause, Mark looked Smith squarely in the eyes 
and said,

        “Should I answer that with a question?”

        Both minds roared with laughter.

© J. Scott Jordan