Guy Reams (00:00.994)
This is Day 185, A Fly Can't Bird. This is my official and published apology to Benjamin Hoff, author of The Tao of Pooh. I will explain why this apology is necessary shortly, but suffice it to say that this book brilliantly conveys to those of us in the Western world the core principles of Tao, or the way of the universe. When I first encountered this book, I reacted much like the vinegar tasters.
I allowed the bitterness surrounding me to obscure the natural lesson I needed to hear at the time. Something that, had I listened to and understood, could have saved me years of unnecessary anguish. First off, let me confess. I am a Christian raised in that tradition and still maintaining it. However, over the last several decades I've learned that syncretism isn't bad at all, but part of humanity.
is perfectly okay and in fact typical for me as a member of this species to borrow and cherry-pick valuable teachings and practices from many traditions and make them my own. Yes, I can be a meditating Christian. I could, if I so desired, spend my Saturday morning carefully raking a rock garden and then spend my Sunday morning in church. There's nothing wrong or foolish about this. So now let me explain.
My senior year of high school, circa 1989, I had just discovered the power of being an agent provocateur, a contrarian, a disruptor. I did everything in my power to disrupt the goings on in my high school. I had no clear reason why. I was just figuring out my place in the world. I could feign that I had some righteous cause, like protesting the closing of campus due to concerns for safety in the surrounding neighborhood.
that wouldn't be entirely true. I could say that my mini-pranks were about some higher purpose to bring attention to injustice, but that too would be a fabrication. The best way to describe this is really the archetype of James Dean, the rebel without a cause. With that background, enter the Tao of Pu. The school district had decided to require all seniors to take a class called Healthful Living.
Guy Reams (02:25.047)
I believe the idea was to help young people understand how to be more grounded as they headed off into the dangerous field that would be their early 20s. Three things happened as a result of this decision. First, the high school principal had to find a teacher for this course. Second, they had to find a book or a curriculum to follow. And third, find a classroom and a way to integrate it into the senior schedules. In our case, these resulted in a...
These decisions resulted in a recently divorced middle-aged woman who was most likely in desperate situation and extremely relieved to have picked up this semi-permanent substitute job. I don't actually know her personal circumstances, but this is what I had perceived. Please take note. This is the recollection from my 17-year-old brain. Her classroom was located in the furthest room from the campus center, in a field, in a temporary building,
hastily constructed for this purpose. They had to place the classroom at the opposite end of the football field because, although helpful living was considered a good idea, it was also considered a bad idea to position the classroom in such a way as to potentially disrupt football practice. Finally, the curriculum was settled and they decided that Benjamin Hoff's book would be the best choice to help young people full of angst and worries about the future to read.
I had carefully crafted my senior schedule to involve as little work as possible. This is a sad reflection on the state of education in our country, was that I could miss most days of school and still graduate. I think the idea of me repeating a grade sent shivers down the spine of our principal, so this was an exercise in getting me through the system, not necessarily teaching me anything. I had an open first period, which meant I could come to school late,
and had a teaching assistant position for the second period with our physics teacher, which also meant I didn't need to show up for that either. Third period was a repeat of my junior year English and fourth period was senior English. Then I had an open fifth and an open sixth period. I considered this the perfect schedule for a life of leisure and that of being an amateur misgrant until the healthy living requirement was announced.
Guy Reams (04:46.511)
Suddenly my first period was about to be spent in the outer boondocks of the campus, listening to this woman, barely able to pay the rent on her apartment, teach me about how to live. I decided before I even stepped into the classroom that this was not going to happen. I discovered my happy path when we all walked into the room for the first class session, the inaugural group of students exposed to this curriculum.
This even prompted the principal to walk clear across the campus to attend this ceremonial event. There were about 30 of us, all crammed into this portable classroom, air conditioning already on full blast. The sounds of creaking floorboards and murmuring students could be heard as the new teacher began passing out the textbook. The book had a picture of Winnie the Pooh holding a balloon, looking wistfully into the sky, the Tao of Pooh. That was it.
I knew I had just found my cause. Who gave the school district the right to force me to listen to some Chinese religious teachings? My feigned outrage started immediately with all the vitriol that I could muster. I remember the day when my friend Brian and I were parked in my car out in some fields behind the school where I had concocted my plan. We were reading the first few chapters of this book. Essentially, Mr. Hoff sets out to use the characters in the Hundred Acre Wood
to describe some basic tenets of the way.
I read ahead, not for the purpose of understanding how some of the principles of Taoism could help me, but so that I could be armed with ridicule and contrarian viewpoints. Our instructor had set up a rather Socratic scenario where she would ask questions and we would respond and engage in discussion about the chapter we were on. I was explaining to my friend Brian exactly why the owl, pontificating on the correct spelling of the word Tuesday,
Guy Reams (06:41.71)
was an example of how we often miss the important aspects of life because we are too caught up in the pretense. I wish I had stopped right there and let that sink in. You see, I understood the concepts. I was a well-read young man, having devoured every book I could get my hands on. I comprehended what was being taught, but my goal was not enlightenment. My goal was to disrupt the school district's intention.
That third week was pandemonium. It started that Monday. I was armed to the teeth. When she opened with the first question, that was my moment. I launched into a tirade about being forced into indoctrination. How dare the school push a pacifist religion onto a classroom full of students about to be thrown into a capitalist society. We needed tools to fight, to compete, not some silly discussion about caudlestone pies.
I fought her every step of the way, and soon enough, the entire classroom was behind me. These students, experts in work avoidance, saw an opening and they took it. They joined in in the open rebellion. Eventually, our teacher just sat down at her desk, watching her class spiral into chaos. I was too caught up in my victory to notice that she was in tears. I failed to see how devastating this was to her, how hopeful she had been.
that she might not only claw her way out of this desperate financial situation, but she also might contribute in some small way to the well-being of her society. All of that was crumbling beneath the weight of this young sophist who had won over the hearts and minds of this unruly mob. Toward the end of that week, the situation escalated. There had clearly been a discussion among faculty about what to do with the first period helpful living class.
I arrived my usual fifteen minutes late to find the principal standing outside the modular classroom. He greeted me like someone would greet a stray, unpredictable animal. We had a quick conversation which he brought to an abrupt halt. He demanded that I stop speaking in class, not participate, not engage at all. I was no longer to interact, not to be called upon, not to volunteer, not to say a word. He left in silence. His abrupt departure meant to emphasize the gravity.
Guy Reams (09:06.009)
I walked into class and sat down quietly, glaring at the teacher. My frustration grew. Soon I had convinced myself that my freedom of speech was under assault. I imagined this was my moment to defend the First Amendment. It wasn't about skipping a class anymore, it had become a crusade. A fight to ensure that all young people could speak freely about what they were being taught, and why. I would not sit quietly while the machine tried to cram its philosophies down my throat. I would not buy what they were selling.
By the end of that class, I was preparing for a civil war. The next morning, I arrived uncharacteristically early. I dressed well. I brought a lighter. I dragged a trash can from one of the courtyards and placed it at the entrance to the classroom. As my classmates arrived, I told them of the injustice, the authoritarian regime that had muzzled me. I compared myself to Samuel Adams, and then I announced I was holding a book burning. I lit my copy of the Taopu,
dropped it in the trash can and stood proud of my moment of drama. Now if you've heard me tell this story before at a cocktail party or workplace gathering, perhaps you've heard a little embellishment. Maybe I said I got the whole class to burn their books. Maybe the whole school even. The truth? I got a couple of students to join in. The rest just rolled their eyes and walked into class. Later that day, my parents got a phone call.
A meeting was scheduled with the principal to discuss serious concerns. Public safety, threats of arson, disturbing the peace. They even mentioned calling the police and fire department. I responded with righteous indignation. They burned books at Berkeley. My rhetoric just fell flat. I sat in the office waiting for my parents. When they arrived, I expected them to be furious, which to be fair, they were.
But when the principal explained that I was refusing to accept the curriculum, my mother said, well, that's how I raised him, to stand up for what he believes in. Why is that wrong? My father made a few jokes about the absurdity of it all, but then things turned serious. My father implied the school was treading on dangerous ground with these accusations. The room went quiet. To his credit, the principal wanted de-escalation. He had a distraught teacher, parents hinting at legal trouble.
Guy Reams (11:27.215)
and a volatile student on his hands. In a flash of brilliance, he turned to me and said,
He proposed a solution. I could go to the library during first period, read whatever I wanted. Just don't show up to class. Don't engage. Don't disrupt. In return, he'd give me a passing grade so I could graduate. It was the perfect compromise. He saw right through me. All I really wanted was to get out of that class. He gave me an out and I took it. My crusade was over. For the rest of the school year, I didn't have to show up until third period.
Did I use that time to read in the library? Fat chance. The library, I joked, is where they bury the lies. So here in this long overdue moment, I offer my sincere apology to Mr. Benjamin Hoff for burning copies of your book in a desperate bid to prove a point I didn't even understand. Years later, I came to appreciate what you were trying to teach. I now see the lesson I ignored, one that could have saved me years of anxiety and turmoil.
There is great treasure in a religious philosophy practiced for thousands of years, refined over centuries. The Tao has endured upheaval, war, famine, and reform. It could have been a source of wisdom if only I had been willing to listen. And to the teacher in the classroom, I don't know your name or your story, but I would apologize to you as well. I don't know what you were facing in your life at that time, but I do know that I can honor the hurt I may have caused by listening now.
by being present now, by recognizing the lessons life still offers me every single day. Christopher Robin used to leave the sign on his door, busy, back soon. But in a child's handwriting it read, busy, back soon. Hoff used that name to describe the type of person who was always just busy. Constant motion, always rushing towards the next goal, trying to grow up too fast, to conquer the level they were on so they could move on to the next one.
Guy Reams (13:36.039)
That was me, Mr. Baxson, missing the point of life entirely, scrambling up an escalator to nowhere. Hoff tried to teach me, but I burned the book before I got to that chapter. I've read it since, and I now understand. Stillness, rest, and simply being are not signs of weakness. They how you grasp the preciousness of the moment. How I wish I could go back and relive some of those moments. I wish I could
walked the mailbox with my child, not as a task, but as an adventure. I would be there, truly there, instead of thinking about tomorrow. If Mr. Hoff were sitting next to me, helping me write this post, he would remind me, that's not how Poo thinks. Poo is about what he is. He's not trying to be anything else. He isn't bothered by the could-a-bens. Who instinctively knows the way? Master inner peace and self-acceptance.
Not to become passive or weak, but quite the opposite, to become a still, quiet reservoir of strength that could disarm an entire ideology with a single word. No jumping up and down, no theatrics, just the calm power of doing nothing. Sometimes doing nothing is everything. If I had the ears to hear and the eyes to see, I might have noticed the opportunity in that classroom. I might have seen what was actually happening. Instead, I played the clown.
tried to be something I wasn't and I ended up alone with an extra hour to sleep in. So I leave you with the original song that Poo would often sing. Coddle Stone Pie. Special thanks to the writings of A. Millenny. In this song we are reminded to embrace our nature, stop comparing ourselves to other and find wisdom in simplicity. Coddle Stone Coddle Stone Coddle Stone Pie. A fly can't bird but a bird can.
fly. Ask me a riddle and I will reply, Coddleston, Coddleston, Coddleston pie. Coddleston, Coddleston, Coddleston pie. Why does a chicken? I don't know why. Ask me a riddle and I will reply, Coddleston, Coddleston, Coddleston pie. Coddleston, Coddleston, Coddleston pie. A fish can't whistle and neither can I. Ask me a riddle and I will reply, Coddleston, Coddleston, Coddleston pie.
Guy Reams (16:01.637)
After writing this, I discovered that Benjamin Hoff still maintains a personal website. According to what I've read there, his original publisher refused to provide him with fan letters or correspondence they had received. Knowing that, perhaps I'd feel just a little bit better about burning that book. Regardless, I'm sending him this blog post today as a token of my appreciation. Thank you, Mr. Hoff. I now understand that I won't lose my capitalist credentials by enjoying peace in my garden.
I won't be burned at the stake for following the way. I hope your life continues in the spirit of Winnie the Pooh, one continuous path of joy and wonder. As for me, I still can't be quiet. This fly just can't bird. I'm still that same kid, that outspoken wannabe intellectual who loves a good debate just as much as a quiet run through the woods. So I'll continue down my way, the capitalist path maybe.
but one now interwoven with the peace I found in the early morning stillness. A stillness where I've learned, thanks in large part to you, how to think, well, about nothing.