Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Kendama Quest

He was doing a trick.

Spacewalk.

With his kendama (see picture at right). It’s the toy that has saddled up, tried and true, right next to electronic video games, grabbing the attention of everyone in Jeb’s third grade class.

So Jeb was trying the move where the handle leaves your hand and the string circles round your wrist. Spinning so fast, it flew into orbit, moving in a trajectory, through the air, right to the top of a distant puakinikini tree. We both stood there, watching it soar straight into the branches, never hearing it hit the ground.

Snagged.

Two weeks later and we still have not recovered the kendama.

Jeb’s looked. The Bohemian’s looked. I’ve searched. To no avail. It seems simple enough. A fairly short tree, just go in at the trunk, look up to its outstretched branches, and one should see the toy hanging there. But we don’t see it.

We’ve shaken the tree for sounds of the wood ball clacking the wood handle. Nothing.

We’ve shifted angles. Looked from a distance toward the treetop. Climbed the branches and looked up from the inside. We’ve shaken and shifted. It’s as though that spacewalking kendama just vanished through a portal.

Somewhere along my third tree-climbing search, I begin to consider that we must be barking up the wrong tree. Not literally, the wrong tree, but in an erroneous way.

“Jeb, is it possible that it did fall on the ground and could be buried under some of these dried leaves?”

“No, it’s not on the ground, I looked.”

“But wouldn’t it be crazy if this whole time we’re searching for it, looking up, when it actually was down?”

I think about all of the code-crackers of the world: scientists, philosophers, poets. Seeking keys to unlock mysteries.

Attempting to unveil the truth, a good seeker will explore from every angle. And every perspective needs to be considered. It’s easy when you know where to look. The trick is figuring out new ways of looking – the ones you’ve never considered before.

Clearly, Jeb and I have exhausted the inside tree view on our kendama quest. And shaking it has produced nothing.

We’ve got to get creative if we want to solve this mystery. We brainstorm. Maybe employ a ladder and look from the top side, in. Possibly prune back the branches. I’m still suspicious it may be camouflaged on the ground at the base of the tree. Maybe we take a pause and let a good tropical rain storm it out.

I mean, it’s gotta be in there, right? We both saw it fly inside the tree leaves. But if we consider every possibility, well, then, I suppose we could also chalk it up to a great mystery. Weave a tale of the flying kendama that spacewalked into another time and place.

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Watch This

I wake
wondering
if Jeb will ever
memorize
eight plus six
fourteen
he soon will be
and he won’t
care anymore
if I
watch him
attempt
skate board tricks
no more
hearing
“Mom! Ok, watch this one!”
right
now
I can stand
by the plumeria tree
observe
his goofy foot
push offs
and ramp jumps
while my head’s
half-way between
tomorrow’s oil change
and
tonight’s dinner
oh
the wake up call
from an eight year old
mom, watch this 

photo courtesy of miggslives
Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Sponge

We are crossing the make-shift bridge over a dried stream bed, Jeb and I. He’s had weekend fun with his dad and is now returning back home with me.

In his eight and a half-year old fingers, he clutches the full-color booklet that came with his latest Wii game. This three-dimensional, virtual reality fun is something reserved for Dad’s house. We don’t own a television and the only video game I’ve considered purchasing was Deepak Chopra’s Leela, hoping to pique Jeb’s interest while teaching meditation practices (which was about as effective as trying to disguise Brussel sprouts in a palatable sauce).

courtesy of http://www.deepakchopraleela.com

I’m a purist, opting for games with zero violence, while Jeb’s Dad is OK with some fighting. I’ve made peace with this to an extent, but this time the limits are stretched.

Jeb knows how I feel about violence and he’s exploring the terrain with me as we walk, explaining the new game.

“Yeah, so there are these guns and you’re shooting…but there is only a little bit of blood.”

The air between us thickens. He’s baiting, awaiting my reaction.

He’s never had a ‘killing game’ before and certainly nothing that showed blood. I look at the booklet in his hand. On the cover of “Conduit 2” is some robot figure with huge arms and a gun. I see the square in the bottom corner with a rating of ‘T’ for ‘Teen’.

“Jeb, that says it’s rated for Teens. You’re eight and a half…not even close to double digits yet.”

I can feel him and all of the layers. The thrill of holding contraband in his hands. The fact that he possesses “T-rated” material makes him feel mature.

A few layers in, and I can also sense him quietly waiting. He’s counting on me to be the one with a conscience. It’s there, this sense within him, that he knows. He knows a violent video game is not the best choice. But he can’t help but have a little delight in the rebellion.

 

“It’s not that bad, Mom. Just some fighting…not too much blood. You’re just sensitive.”

In this moment, I make the choice not to explain what he has already heard. That for me, killing is not a game. And when people, especially children with developing bodies and minds, begin to ‘pretend’ to kill things in a virtual reality setting, the lines between real and pretend can be blurred.

Jeb’s looking down at the Conduit book in his hand, as the two of us walk up an incline, side by side. We’re quiet for a while and then approach his Dad’s pick up truck, where skateboards and helmets wait to be loaded into my car.

Jeb gathers the items in relaxed fashion, humming to himself.

“Vande Gurunam charanaravinde…”

It’s the ancient Sanskrit words we chant at the beginning of every yoga practice. Jeb’s heard it over the years, as whenever there’s a school holiday, he comes and sits in the back of the class while I practice.

He’s putting his backpack in the car, setting the Conduit booklet on the seat. “Sandarshita svatmasukavabodhe…”

These lines translate:
“I pray to the lotus feet of the supreme guru
who teaches knowledge awakening of the great happiness of the Self revealed”

Jeb doesn’t get all of the words exact and he mumbles them only half-consciously. But I hear it. It’s in there and spilling forth from his mouth. The little sponge that he is, leaking all that he’s been soaking up.

I try to find solace in the irony. Like somehow the chant falling from his tongue is an antidote for the gun game in his hand.

There’s no way to wrap up this moment in any kind of neat, little package. It encapsulates the truth that life is a messy swirl of overlap. Black and white won’t stay in their respective boxes.

I surrender and do my best to escort Jeb through the grey zone. All the while knowing, he’s like all of this planet’s little ones. Living and growing their lives in a precious, oh-so-tender, state of super-absorbancy.