Frank Bob
Kull
Published in:
Unfolding Bodymind : Exploring Possibility Through
Education
by Brent
Hocking (Editor), Johnna Haskell (Editor), Warren
Linds (Editor)
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Thank you to Johnna Haskell and Patti Kuchinsky for engaging with me so deeply in the liquid dance of writing this chapter.
In
In this attempt I cannot lay any claim to being an authority, especially as intelligent and well-meaning men of all times have dealt with educational problems and have certainly repeatedly expressed their views clearly about these matters. From what source shall I, as a partial layman in the realm of pedagogy, derive courage to expound opinions with no foundations except personal experience and personal conviction? If it were really a scientific matter, one would probably be tempted to silence by such considerations.
Albert Einstein (1954, p.59)
Introduction
At a recent conference I modeled and discussed a holistic style of teaching/learning exemplified by scuba instruction. It grounds itself in the actual lived experience of the individual teacher rather than reflecting an adopted theory. The conference itself was intended to embody enactive education. For me it was successful; we did bring forth a new world together. In this book we have been encouraged to continue the process and integrate our original presentations into a broader understanding that has emerged for us from the conference. Writing this chapter has been an exciting adventure; a journey of exploration. I have been stimulated to experience the world in a new way; to reflect on my personal scuba teaching practice and interpret it in a larger context. The topic has stretched beyond an originally narrow focus on scuba instruction and now includes not only the engagement between student and teacher in the realm of the sea, but also their teleportation from sea to classroom; a sometimes bumpy ride. I briefly touch on the encounter of teacher with academy which involves traditional, citation-based writing and the validation of knowledge. But most importantly, I invite you to dive with me into the present moment of our lives.
This chapter is
unusual for an academic publication. It contains few citations referring to
theory. Instead, it is grounded
almost entirely in my own lived experience. This is my truth in the domain of
pedagogy. I have little knowledge
of formal educational theory; it is not my academic field. The insights I present here arise from
the actual practice of teaching scuba diving in the
I write as a storyteller and include specific details of the diving class I created and taught as the source of my ideas about teaching. The actual content of the class is important and relevant. With trepidation I dive into (sometimes murky) academic water and point to David Abram’s 1996 book, Spell of the Sensuous, as support for embracing the actual. He shows that each Native American Apache teaching story unfolds in a specific physical location which contributes to the operative potency of the tales. While they may carry a universal message, they are not abstract. In the same way, the story I tell in this chapter derives its meaning and power from the actual situation in which it is rooted. Given this perspective, it would feel unnatural to cite theory and leave out the actual content of the class. This would be ‘talking about’ modeling and lived experience instead of actually modeling both and inviting you, the reader, to join me in the journey.
In the world of immediate experience, each situation is unique and can be clustered with other unique instances only by abstracting out the common elements and ignoring the rest (Maslow, 1966). But this can be a serious problem in modern education; the reliance on universal curricula and methodology that do violence to the actual, unique humans involved in the learning process. We need to celebrate diversity in teaching, in learning to teach, and in writing about both. Sitting on the dry land of tradition rather than diving right into the uncertain process of change prevents us from transforming our practice and our lives.
I am not suggesting that theory is invalid or useless. I studied scuba theory yes (Graver, 1978), but I learned to TEACH scuba diving first by watching and then by doing. Dynamic teaching/learning is, at bottom, not about theory or facts; not about the transfer of information, but rather about inviting students to engage deeply with the teacher so that together they directly experience the world in a new way.
Engage is a lovely word, both in its sound and in the connection it implies. I use it frequently but not esoterically. Emphasizing it may seem strange because we often don’t examine our student/teacher relationships. We take for granted the efficacy of our accustomed modes of communication. This chapter is all about engagement, and the full meaning I attribute to the word will emerge as we go.
The relationship between modeling and the invitation to engage is rich, interesting and complimentary. In an open-ended interaction with another person, we begin by modeling behavior and wait for a response. If we feel that response has no coherence with our action, there is little opportunity for engagement unless we take the other’s behavior as our model and respond to it.
In teaching/learning there are usually interactional constraints guided by the objectives the teacher has in mind. So modeling/response is more directional until the student masters essential skills. If the skills are vital to the success of further engagement (as in scuba diving), the need for precise modeling/imitation becomes very important. The barrier to engagement is not the process of modeling/imitation, but the lack of willingness by both teacher and student to be physically, emotionally and cognitively present in the encounter. As teachers we can demonstrate this willingness to engage by responding to the student’s desires and actions and even more importantly by openly examining and discussing our objectives for the interaction. But it is important to remember that modeling/imitation of skills is never the beginning nor the end of teaching/learning. We start by sharing a vision we hope will inspire and then together we reach toward freedom, responsibility and the unknown.
I begin by modeling a diving class and hope you’ll jump in and swim along without worrying too much at first about our destination. Don’t wait for me to reassure you that I know where we are by pointing to imagined references along the way. As Krishnamurti (1929) tells us:
Truth is a pathless land.
Trust me to get us where we’re going, and trust yourself to see what might be useful to you along the way.
Experience
Hi, welcome to diving class. I’m glad you are here. Diving is absolutely wonderful! You’ll love it. Well, I love it, and think you will too. It’s very easy. You just use a mask so you can see, a regulator so you can breath, and a pair of fins to help you move through the water. Then you relax and discover a whole new world. Diving will change you and change the way you see the world. This class isn’t just about teaching new skills. The skills you learn are important only because they will allow you to come with me and experience the underwater world directly for yourselves. This is your own personal journey.
You might feel a bit nervous. That’s natural since this is new for you. But diving is very safe. You will be glad to know there is an excellent survival rate among my students. I usually manage to bring back fully 90% of those who go into the ocean with me. If I lose any more than that, my reputation suffers and repeat business falls off. So your chances of getting through this alive are very good. Just relax and let’s have fun together.
The first thing you need to learn is how to put on the mask efficiently. At each step, please watch closely while I demonstrate. Don’t do it with me; just watch. Then, when I ask you to, do the exact same thing. There are different ways to put your mask on, but I will show you the way that works best for me. Do it my way first. When you feel comfortable doing it my way, you can experiment until you find what works best for you. OK? (Since you, the reader, are not actually with me in the water, if you wish to participate fully in this process you will need to visualize what I am saying. Once you have a clear image, try it for yourself.)
First, wet your hair and push it back off your forehead. If hair gets between the mask and your skin, it will prevent a seal and allow water to leak in. Hang the mask from your fingers by its strap. No, don’t do it with me. Just watch. Your hand is in front of you, palm downward, fingers curled with the mask dangling from their tips. The nosepiece of the mask is toward you. Splendid. Now grasp the hard rim of the mask with your other hand and place it against your face. Once the mask is in place - not before - pull the strap gently to the back of your head. Feel to be sure there are no twists in the strap. Again, grasp the hard rim of the mask, but with both hands, pull it one centimeter away from your face, move it around a bit and re-seat it against your skin. This will insure that the flexible silicon skirt is not folded under. To check for a complete seal, suck in through your nose; your eyeballs should pop out. OK, now you do it. (If this is clear in your mind, you might like to stop reading, imagine you have a mask and do it with me now.) Did it work smoothly and easily? Good.
With the scuba regulator in place use only your mouth to inhale and exhale. You will notice it is pretty hard to talk while using a regulator especially when under water. So we must switch to hand signals. I will show you only two right now. The first is the OK signal. Make a circle with thumb and forefinger and hold the other three fingers straight up. When I give you this signal, I am asking if you are OK. If you are, return the signal to me. Don’t nod, or smile, or anything else. Return the OK signal to me. If I hold up my hand palm toward you, immediately stop what you are doing and focus on your breathing.
This brings us to the most important part of the class, so pay close attention here. I want to talk about panic and breathing. The one thing you absolutely do not get to do while diving is panic. Panic can kill you. Not the ocean, nor sharks, nor equipment failure; your own panic. Panic is not fear. Fear is a natural part of our emotional experience and can be worked with. Panic is the uncontrolled attempt to escape from fear. Panic is always accompanied by rapid breathing. If at any time you notice you are beginning to breathe more rapidly, immediately stop whatever you are doing no matter what and consciously slow down your breathing; nothing is more important. You cannot directly neutralize your fear, but you can control your breathing. Your body, mind, and emotions are integrated, and by controlling your breathing, you can indirectly influence your thoughts and your emotions. So pay attention to your breathing and keep it slow and steady.
When we are under water I will help you remain calm and confident. I absolutely promise I will let nothing harmful happen to you while you are with me. Stay physically close so I can touch you and you will be able to clearly see my eyes. During class and then while diving together we will remain in close physical, mental and emotional contact. Ready? Lets go down just under the water now.
I have presented this short segment of a diving class to demonstrate several things I think are important in many domains of education. I will explore these elements below, but first, since I strongly feel direct, personal experience is of primary importance in all situations, I want to invite you out for a dive. This way you’ll have a taste of what it’s like beneath the sea, and I’ll get to share the magic of the underwater world with you.
Diving Into the
It’s difficult to believe, walking along the beach,
looking out at an expanse of flat, empty water, just how much delicate life and
beauty there is beneath the surface.
It’s also difficult to describe, but I’ll try. Sometimes on a very special dive, this
is how the ocean seems to me. It
might appear very different to you, and that’s part of the
wonder.
Imagine you are in the
From the cliff where you’re standing, you look out over the bay and wonder, again, what is hidden down there waiting to be discovered. You feel excitement and, perhaps, just a small tingle of fear. That’s OK. It lets you know you’re alive, and this is your first dive into the wild ocean. Your thoughts start to run amok. ‘Oh no! Maybe something will chase me down and eat me! Maybe I’ll drown! After all, I’m not a great swimmer. Help!!!’ Then you tell yourself, ‘Wait now, take it easy. Relax and take some slow, deep breaths. Ahh, that’s better.’
Just then your guide calls you all to gather round and says, “I know I have assured you that sharks are not a problem, and usually that’s true. However, if we should see a shark, it’s important to know how to act.” You think to yourself, ‘Now he tells us, after we’ve paid.’ The guide continues, “The main thing is don’t panic and start thrashing around in the water. If you do, the shark may get nervous, and the last thing we want is a nervous shark near us. Stay calm. Form a circle, shoulder to shoulder, facing outward so that no matter where the shark comes from, it will have to face someone. Hold hands. This is vital because it prevents gaps in the circle. If there are gaps, the shark can get inside the circle and the most important thing is to prevent the shark from getting into the middle of the circle. The reason this is so important is that I am going to be inside the circle and I’m terrified of sharks.”
Relaxed now from the laughter, you look around at the others in your group, a collection of people of all shapes and sizes, ranging in age from thirteen to seventy. You wonder how they will do on the dive. They probably feel nervous too, but like you, they will be fine.
Below you the sea is a rumpled blue sheet, and scattered here and there under the surface are dark patches; the reefs. That’s where you’re headed, out to the reefs. From up here you can tell the water is clear, and your excitement grows when you see fish swimming around down there.
‘Hey,’ you think, ‘this is great, let’s go.’ Wait, slow down a bit. Pay attention to what you are doing, and talk it over with your buddy. You’re both in this together. Plan where you’ll go into the water and where you’ll come out again. Look for landmarks that will guide you to the reef and then back to the beach. Are there any currents which could cause problems? Scuba diving is so exciting, and the underwater world such an incredible place, it’s easy to forget to take care of yourself. Don’t let that happen. Always remain mindful of where you are and what you are doing.
You climb down to the beach, wade into the water and put on the gear. Everything seems OK and your buddy is ready, so you head out to the reef.
kick kick kick
your thoughts keep rhythm with the fins.
kick..... kick
kick
water’s nice and clear.
kick kick
buddy still with you.
kick kick... kick
kick
check direction using
ripples in the sand.
kick
not much to see out
here, only sandy bottom.
kick..... kick
kick kick kick kick
this is sure a long way out,
wonder if I missed the reef.
kick
what’s that???
And suddenly there you are. The reef spreads out before you and you realize there really is magic here under the sea. Then you are gone, lost in another world; a world filled with light and wonder.
Lifting up from the
white sand bottom, strange, angular shapes of
Look, there’s a sea urchin covered with needle sharp spines. The spines are blue-black, but deep inside the body is glowing orange-red. Can you see it just sitting there minding its own business? Or perhaps it’s aware of you watching it. Who knows what goes on in a sea urchin’s mind? You realize that although you will be injured if you accidentally kick it, it is not trying to get you. It means you no harm. You relax and notice that your fear has faded, and you begin to take care to not damage anything, rather than to worry that you will be hurt.
Seeing the urchin reminds you to watch for critters, and yes, there they are. Brilliant fish, flashes of color really, dart in and out of the reef. And as you watch them disappear here and reappear there, you realize the reef is riddled with hidden passages. You wonder what it’s like to be a fish and travel freely through that maze of dark and light. Other fish catch your eye as they hang motionless in open water. It never ends; so much beauty, beauty everywhere.
Hey, there’s a lobster. It’s crouched in a cave like some bizarre creature from outer space that’s astonished to find itself here. It doesn’t seem to like the look of you though, and as you move in for a closer look, it snaps its tail and is gone.
You wish you knew the name of something. But no, wait, don’t break the spell. You can learn the names later. Now all that matters is the direct experience of shape and color and movement.
And again it’s movement that snares your eye; the graceful, waving sweep of sea fans and soft corals. Back and forth, their hypnotic rhythm carries you deeper inside. As you float without effort, you can feel your body hook into the motion of the sea. Its rhythms become your rhythms. You sense that the moon, which causes the ebb and flow of the tides, affects your blood in secret ways. Your tears are nearly the same as the water in which you float, and you can’t tell where your joy ends and the light that flickers all around you, begins.
It comes to you that the world is not a collection of objects and you are not a separate thing. Rather, it is an interwoven tapestry of wonder and you are part of it. For the first time in a long time you feel peaceful and really at home. You feel renewed within, and you know that this is why you are here.
Examining the Experience
When I began to teach
diving I did so as apprentice to a master.
I learned the basics by imitating Felipe Shaeker, a certified PADI scuba instructor in
The key thing I
learned is the importance of full physical, cognitive, and emotional engagement
between teacher and student. For
me, teaching is less about transferring information or learning skills than it
is about inviting another person into relationship and into a new way of being
and behaving. The primary intent is
not to describe, but to create the opportunity for and catalyze direct
experience. In diving instruction I
invited students to join me in an unknown world, and only secondarily
transferred the skills that would allow them to make the journey. This experience changed them and me, and
in this change, the whole world changed.
Lee Gass, a science professor at UBC who recently won
Maturana and Varela (1987) claim that information transfer is not the function of language. Languaging is the means by which we coordinate our consensual behavior. We live in a Multiverse rather than a Universe; endless potential domains of experience. When we engage together we become coupled and co-emerge ontogenetically along a goal-less epigenetic pathway creating new worlds together as we go. Einstein (1954, p.60) addressed the process of transforming our living in the context of academia:
Sometimes one sees in the school simply the instrument for transferring a certain maximum quantity of knowledge to the growing generation. But that is not right. Knowledge is dead; the school, however, serves the living. It should develop in the young individuals those qualities and capabilities which are of value for the welfare of the commonwealth. But that does not mean that individuality should be destroyed and the individual become a mere tool of the community, like a bee or an ant.
Working as a diving instructor was a good way to learn to teach for several reasons. First, there was a lot at stake. From my perspective, my livelihood depended on success. If students did not develop new behaviors, come to trust me, and have fun in the process, they would not go diving and I wouldn’t get paid. From their perspective, survival was on the line. So we all tended to be very present and deeply engaged. It is easy to dismiss this danger aspect of scuba instruction as irrelevant to academic education, but that would be a mistake. In all education our survival is always at stake; if not physically, then certainly intellectually, emotionally, and spiritually. Whitehead (1929, p.11) wrote:
Students are alive, and the purpose of education is to stimulate and guide their self-development. It follows as a corollary from this premise, that the teachers also should be alive with living thoughts.
In teaching diving I had the opportunity to see clearly what worked and so change what did not. Behavioral feedback from my students was always present. It was immediately visible to me when they got hung up in the flow of our interaction. From their body language (once I became sensitive to it) emotional tone, especially the shift between confidence and fear, was also evident. Because in diving panic can kill, awareness of and immediate response to emotional distress was imperative. More accurately, through conscious, emotional engagement, I could influence the students’ emotions through physical touch and eye contact as well as with verbal language when above the surface.
Sensing the emotional tone of students through the feelings their posture and behavior trigger in our own bodies is important in the classroom also. David Abram (1996) passionately encourages us to know and respond to the world through this mode of intuitive, non-rational, apprehension. Since the physical expression of emotion tends to be common across individuals and cultures (Ornstein, 1991), we can listen to our students this way too... but only if we are alive to our own bodies and to the sensations that arise in us.
This points to the importance of physical touch. Because so much of the scuba process was underwater and non-verbal, I came to recognize that physical contact is fundamentally important to the flow of communication. Full human engagement is also vital in the academic setting. If emotion and, even more strictly, vibrant physicality are discouraged in the classroom, then the channel of acceptable interaction is narrowed to focus almost exclusively on cognition. But how much teaching/learning can happen if teacher and students are only minimally present and partially engaged with each other? To paraphrase Woody Allen: Teaching is easy, 80% of it is just showing up. (Just showing up… really being present to yourself and your students; ahh, now that’s the hard part.) Yet sometimes the criteria for appropriate classroom behavior still seems to require bodies and emotions to be immobilized, or even absent. If the student, as a sensuous human animal, is not touched in any real way there is little possibility for transformation of either student or teacher.
Alison Pryer (this volume) explores the attempted exclusion of Eros from the classroom. She claims this is impossible because Eros will always slip in through the cracks in the hearts of both students and teachers. Daydreaming, spontaneous outbreaks of exuberance, love of student for teacher; erotic life thus invades the deadening structures of meaningless discipline. Wonderful!!! Pryer celebrates the indomitable, wet, juiciness of life. It is not only more joyful, but also more practical to not deny the inevitable but openly encourage the direct experience of erotic aliveness within academia. When we do, students no longer desire to escape the casket of dead facts and second-hand experience that often encases the classroom. The discipline required to gain important skills ceases to be an odious burden and is a path we can follow in our personal exploration of the unknown.
Here the question of fear arises. When we touch the unknown there is fear as well as excitement. If we wish education to come alive, it will help to welcome fear and our full range of emotions into the proceedings. We are emotional beings and just because we deny our emotions does not mean they go away:
Meanwhile the practically
real world for each one of us, the effective world of the individual, is the
compound world; the physical facts and emotional values in indistinguishable
combination. Withdraw or pervert
either factor of this complex resultant, and the kind of experience we call
pathological ensues.
William James (1958, p.129)
By opening a space in which our emotioning is embraced, we begin to transform fear into excitement and expectation. One powerful way to do this is through physiology (Robbins, 1986). Touch, eye contact, relaxed body language and rhythmic breathing exercises are all important elements in the process of comforting and encouraging students to feel and transform their own fears.
Since many of us are loath to admit and address our fear directly, another powerful way to build trust and defuse fear is through humor. Humor creates a context within which we can acknowledge our fear, become aware we are not alone in our experience, and relax our physical and psychological tension. Humor can transform fear into excitement. This is what the 1998 film, Patch Adams, starring Robin Williams, is all about.
During the years I taught diving, I began to realize how important precise modeling and exact imitation can be. When inviting students to experience this strange, underwater world, I wanted them to feel comfortable and glad to be there. By clearly demonstrating important skills and insisting on close imitation, I encouraged them and minimized their discomfort
When students’ step into the uncertainty of the unknown, the difference between excited confidence and fear is tenuous. If their first experience is positive, confidence grows and they quickly move into a positive feedback situation. If, on the other hand, their first attempt fails and results in discomfort, the natural reaction is to draw back into the safety of the known. Then the instructor must not only demonstrate how to accomplish the task successfully, but must also work to re-build trust and confidence. Because of this, I learned to insist on behavior that would increase the likelihood of success from the outset which necessarily limited the students’ freedom of action at first. Then, since our goal was their own direct experience, as soon as they demonstrated behavioral competence, students were encouraged to explore this new world for themselves.
If curriculum and criteria of success are mandated from central authority, teacher and students can get stuck with preconceived notions of the right way to do something that is inappropriate to them and their particular environment. This is a real danger to the health of the people involved. But it is as serious a mistake to neglect specific, detailed modeling as it is to demand that students remain anchored to those models. The heart of the process is a commitment to encourage direct, personal experience and exploration of the world by everyone involved.
In diving class it was clear that direct experience was the goal and acquiring physical skills the means. How relevant is this style of scuba instruction to the academic setting? In teaching physics, for example, what is being learned? Classically, perhaps a collection of facts and formulas. But I think what we really wish to do is introduce students into the domain of physics and catalyze a change in the way they see the world. We wish to share those skills with students that will allow them to experience and explore the world as physicists. When we do this, the whole process becomes dynamic and alive. The teacher embodies and invites the students to join the community of physicists. To do this, the teacher himself must in some way belong to that community. Kuhn (1962) describes the process of socializing students into a particular paradigm. It is a process in which the teacher models the appropriate behavior, attitudes and world view and slowly the students come to embody the paradigm in themselves. Einstein (1954, p. 57) says it bluntly:
The only rational way of educating is to be an example - if one can’t help it, a warning example.
It is, however, important to not solidify any particular paradigm of science or education. While useful, each is ontologically empty and so available to change. In the September, 1999 issue of Patterns, (p.4) Humberto Maturana and Heinz von Foerster exchanged these words:
Humberto Maturana: Because education will not be so much about the knowledge of the words, but about what is happening in the relationship between the teacher and students. If it is so that the world arises in the interplay of our living together, then which way do we live together so that the world that arises is the one that we want to live in?
Heinz von Foerster: The main shift for the teacher is that he or she doesn’t enter the class saying I know everything. I have to tell you what I know and you have to learn what I know. Instead s/he enters saying I know nothing. Let’s find out what’s going on. An invitation to search, to create, to participate in a game that constructs the universe in which they all want to live.
Yes, we enact a world together with our students, and finally, on the deepest level we each know nothing at all for sure. Yet as teachers we have a responsibility to bring to our encounter the skills that, in our own lived experience, have worked for us before; always remembering that it may be our attachment to those skills that holds in place a world we wish to change. It is here, I think, that students touch our arm and point us out toward unknown waters, and if we have the courage, we go with them.
Conclusion
When we plunge with our students into the mystery of the unknown, are we discovering or constructing what we see? The question seems moot to me and of little interest. More important is our wonder in the adventure. I have argued that modeling skills is important but not an end in itself; nor is it a beginning. Everywhere along our teaching/learning journey the unknown calls to us if we pause to listen. Once I had learned to teach diving the way my teacher taught, and began to develop my own style, the major changes reflected a different attitude toward the sea. For him, the underwater world was a resource to be used as the arena for a dive. His charismatic relationship with his students was the focus of attention. But I came to the sea as a lover and felt her as my source. To share this deep belonging with my students I led them gently, pausing to listen and wait for their hearts to soften and hear her call.
When we dive into holistic teaching/learning, we are each called to honor our own experience, whatever it is. In remembering to be present in our own lives, we become available to engage more fully with our students. If we have lived predominately in the academic community, and developed our attitudes, knowledge, and ideas in that context, it is important and useful to publish and credit specific sources as contributing to our ideas. However, for those of us who have lived most of our lives beyond the academy, much of what we offer is “street knowledge;” ways of behaving we’ve seen modeled and then developed for ourselves through trial and error; through practice. Individuals who embody the vision, energy, and courage needed to catalyze change in our schools are sometimes disqualified out of hand. Yet they may lack the required publications precisely because their ideas and knowledge have come primarily from their direct engagement with the practical world, rather than through the exchange of writing. Both paths are valid and valuable.
Is this book an enactive endeavor? Is there an open, non-coercive space where authors, editors and readers dance together and bring forth a publication that is alive? In the context of peer-review approval this can be difficult to achieve. The relationship of power inherent to submission and acceptance may potentially turn the dance into a march. If you feel yourself falling into alignment, perhaps we have failed.
I often reach out through storytelling. In some sense, all stories are teaching stories and this one is no different. It is grounded in particular places and times; rooted in the actual. It begins with a diving class, dives into the ocean and emerges from academia. When speaking as a storyteller, I resist the urge to moralize, and analyze. The story arises in its own space and each listener is welcomed and offered the freedom to move into it and be touched in her own way. This is my desire here too. I claim no authority to validate what I model - other than it has worked for me. I hope you enjoyed our encounter.
Education is an admirable
thing. But it is well to remember
from time to time that nothing that is worth knowing can be taught…. Thought is wonderful, but adventure is
more wonderful still.
Oscar Wilde (1997, p.111)
I began this chapter with a story, and I’d like to end with another one that reminds me of things that seem to matter.
In 30 feet of clear, Caribbean water I was leading one student down the anchor rope from the boat and tensely watching the other I’d just taken to the bottom. Stiff posture, jerky arm movements, and rapid bursts of air-bubbles exploding from the regulator told me he was slipping into panic. I felt his fear in my own body, and without conscious thought, signaled the woman by my side to wait and dove for the bottom. I grabbed his tank strap, pulled him close, and stared fiercely into his unfocused eyes. His surging terror of the unknown broke against his concrete fear of my anger. I signed, “Are you OK?” and he nodded vaguely. Again I demanded with my gesture the response he had been taught. Finally he remembered and signed OK in return. The adrenaline rush ebbed from my body as he came into engagement with me. I held his arm to reassure that he was safe and looked up to my other student still holding firm and easy to her anchor line. We signed OK and I signaled them both to check their air supply which grounded our thinking in the practical. A large, pale-purple jellyfish drifted near the woman. I felt delight in her gaze and waited until she looked our way, then beckoned her down. Her lyric glide through the water sang of her comfort in her body and the sea. Together we explored the reef. My link with each of them was unique. She stayed engaged, but was entranced with the beauty around us. He and I remained physically/emotionally close; his attention focused on himself in relationship with me. But finally, he, too, reached out to touch the life around us. And so we became triads of wonder: student, teacher, and mysterious unknown.