Mussar

Study

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Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Monday gratefuls: Accepting our own power. Prostate cancer, my teacher. Purple iris for Kate. Stargazer lilies and gladiolus.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Talmud Torah

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: Holding my Tanakh, I study. This week: Leviticus 12:1–15:33. Walking with Shadow, I study grasses, moss, and spring ephemerals. Driving to an appointment, I pass the Hogback divide, learning of its most ancient origins—older than the Rockies. I cannot move without study. Without learning.

Tomorrow Mussar MVP comes to my house. Tara, Rich, and Marilyn will handle food and setup. They offered to come to me. Going out with head drop—onerous. Their kindness makes me happy. On Zoom: no hugs, hearing difficult, distance realized. In person: hugs. Easier hearing. Distance closed.

Mussar, according to Rabbi Yalanter (19 c), is “hot” study; Torah study is “cool.” It reminds me of Marshall McLuhan: TV as hot media, print as cool. In Mussar I open my lev, discovering how the middah of patience lives within me. Do I veer into impatience? Or drift toward indolence and apathy?

Around the table we will go, telling stories on ourselves—sometimes affirming, sometimes confessing what needs attention.

For example: standing in a grocery check-out line. After unloading her two carts, the woman ahead of me remembers the lower rack. Do I sigh? Scowl? Or reach down and help retrieve the remaining items?

Rabbi Jamie might say: we change our behavior in small increments. Advance your practice of patience by recognizing annoyance, yet choosing not to display it. That is enough. One moment, one incident, a response that feels better. Repeat.

Various lists of middot circulate online. Here are two: Jewish Camp and the Forty-Eight Mussar Middot. On neither list does Talmud Torah appear.

It fits, though, for one excellent reason: without study, there is no Mussar.

Yeshivot—men and boys davening as they argue. The angel at the Jabbok Ford. Is it God? Is it not? Isaac? Not Isaac. Who, then? I believe the angel is an angel—a messenger. Also a direct representative of God.

That is the cool, analytical version of Talmud Torah.

Mussar begins at the gateway to the soul: anavah, humility. Do I speak too often, steering the conversation toward my own (wonderful) insights? Do I remain silent, convinced my ideas fall short? Or do I listen carefully, speak concisely, and choose my moment with care?

In Judaism without Tribalism, Rabbi Rami Shapiro suggests Jews have two missions: tikkun and teshuvah. For my final paper, I added a third—Talmud Torah. It undergirds the other two.

Tikkun, the work of justice, requires careful attention to the realities of our world. It demands that we not look away. This is analogous to the cool study of Torah.

Teshuvah, on the other hand, requires hot study. What in my recent life calls me to return to the homeland of my soul? Where have I missed the mark?

Both require study.

I sit.

Reading.

General
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Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Monday gratefuls: Accepting our own power. Prostate cancer, my teacher. Purple Iris for Kate. Stargaze Lilies and Gladiolus.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe:

Tarot: paused

One brief shining:

Family, Health

Kate

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Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Sunday gratefuls: Slavic, dishwasher repair guy. Kate, her life and times. Sleep. Shadow, my sweet girl. Artemis II. All safe.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Kate of blessed memory

 

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: Five years ago on a cold dark night Kate slipped away. Her breathing troubles, Reynaud’s, rheumatoid arthritis–all solved. I was shocked, so deep in mourning I couldn’t see the benefit to her. Not then.

 

From today’s perspective, she found herself in a difficult and vulnerable place. And stepped away. The path in this life no longer viable. A brave woman. Honest. Unflinching.

Every weekday morning until 2011 Kate got up, loved the dogs, and got in her Tundra to drive to Allina. At work she wrestled eighteen-month old babies. Talked to elementary school kids.

She chafed against corporate medicine. Now they’re only giving us fifteen minutes for a patient encounter. A speed up. We’re also supposed to upcode. Find the most remunerative code that fits the visit. No matter how it affects patients.

Corporate medicine, she would tell you with some heat, is all about revenue–not healing. Not relationships with patients. Made me wonder about all the coding decisions made in her ten last days.

Her last days. Surrounded by family. Visiting friends. Rabbi Jamie. Fitful communication. She would push away the thick plastic triangle covering her nose.

When I came in the room, Kate would look up and sign, I love you. I responded with the same. Each day, sometimes each hour a respiratory therapist would check her O2 saturation. Blood draws. Her arms so thin it was hard to imagine finding a vein.

She lay there in the hospital gown, yellow with red accents, each arm, each leg visible evidence of the strain her body had known since early September of 2018. She often seemed too small, a child sat up so she can see her visitors.

Jon sat in a chair on the left side of her bed. His face a full definition of bereft. Shoulders dropped. Head slumping. Kate reached out, hugged him with her thin left arm. Jon’s relief made me smile. Their relationship, often fractious, melted into mother and son. Each year when we celebrate Jon’s birthday that scene comes to mind.

Five years. A long time. No partner. No Kate. The days collected themselves into months and the months extended into years. Would I find a new partner? Move to Hawai’i? Travel? No to the first. I’ve never met anyone. No to the second. Couldn’t leave Ruth and Gabe. Yes to the third. Minneapolis once. Hawai’i twice. Korea once.

It is not life without her. When I look at the Phoenix in the Mardi Gras poster, I see Kate and me at the Cafe Du Monde, water sweating the sides of our glasses, fresh beignets and chicory coffee.

The chair I use we bought for her. The Hawi’ian painting of sea turtles.  Quilts. Blown glass. Kate in her essence.

She’s with me from the time I wake up until I go back to bed.

She rests.

I imagine.

But, maybe not.

Dogs, Health

Knocked Off Course

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Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Shabbat gratefuls: Joe, the voice of the godfather. Gabe, trying to figure out college. Mary and her 17 shelf library project in the Graduate House of the University of Melbourne. Mark at mid-terms in Al Hafar. Tom and Roxann, taking care of Jesse.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Family

 

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: Oh, man. No posts. Two days in a row. Never. Until now. My week + bout of constipation, finding my phone, getting through the final phases of trial preparation have wrung me out and hung me up to dry. I’ve also had an unusual stretch of poor sleep.

 

I would write a paragraph, then fall asleep. I wrote on on both days, but never finished more than you can see above. Frustrating. Maybe a little better sleep last night. We’ll find out if I can finish this

This has been tough. The constipation made everything harder physically. The lost phone bathed in Gen Z shame? Grandpop. How could you lose your phone.  I walked along the hallway of a Dr’s office. A woman and a man coming my way asked if I could see them. No. That much pressure on my back made me even more tired. Stand up, drop your chin to your chest. Feel the muscles in your lower back. Yeah.

In regard to this problem. I’m trying to distinguish between prostate cancer in my bones and aches and pain related to my five bulging discs. Still unsure. I also get pain in my right lower back from a torn labrum. Steroid injection for that next Tuesday.

Life seems to keep lobbing grenades over my threshold. So far I pick them up, throw them back. I’ve Miralaxed my way past the constipation. Used Google to find my phone. However, I wake up around midnight, then sleep fitfully the rest of the night.  No red alert. No sirens. Pain. Impaired communication. Sleep a fond memory.

I know from experience with Kate that these asides can be as damaging as a major disease. Why? Because they can reduce resilience.

Too, exhaustion like I’m still experiencing can leave the body more open to invaders. Colds. Flu. Covid. Work out? No thanks.

The frustrating thing is this. When I’ve gotten some spunk back, I go upstairs to cook. My head drops. My back ouches. I get right back in touch with my fragility. That’s dispiriting,

However. The well of my resilience has depth. Maybe not in the acute phase of a new challenge. Right after that though I begin to sort through a fresh problem list. See what I already know. Investigate my resources. Who might be available to take me to RMCC on Wednesday. Or, to Panorama on Tuesday? What do I need to know about constipation?

A direct outgrowth of this turn? I’m evaluating how a house keeper might help me conserve my energy, focus on things that matter.

Aching. Tired.

Seeking.

Ah. Water from the well.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Commentary on the news, Science, US History

To the Moon and Back

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Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Shabbat andThursday and Friday gratefuls: 25th amendment. All the wars. All the diplomats. All those who desire peace. Dr. Josy. Audrey. Tom and Jessie. Mary and Mark. Joe and Gabe

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: zoom

 

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: Artemis II has reawakened my interest in space flight. Black and white image, rabbit antenna, gathered around the electronic hearth. The Apollo program began in 1961, the year I entered high school and ran until 1972. Three years after I graduated from college.

 

Artemis II, an hour ago, sped through space 150,000 miles from home. Don’t know about you but visions of Neil Armstrong dance in my head. The peril of Apollo 13. The first and last men on the moon. We stopped for 53 years. Politics.

As a boy of maybe twelve, or thirteen, my best friend Mike Hines and I stared. Three silver objects moved toward the moon. And went behind it. Wow, we both said, waiting to see if they emerged.

They did.

When we told my Dad, he took notes. Well, he said. An interesting afternoon boys. We all looked at the moon. The Apollo program started the next year. Taking around 24 astronauts behind the moon and back home.

This was the time of UFO’s. Sightings made the newspapers. On the next day after talking to dad: Two Alex Boys Claim UFO’s went behind the moon. Mike and I puffed up. Our names in print!

I name the moons, The Moon of Liberation celebrates Passover. The Moon of Tides came before it. Celebrating Paul and his home on the Atlantic in downeast Maine.

I like the traditional names, too. April can be the full flower moon. The New Spring Moon.

“A Trip to the Moon” by Georges Méllè. I’ve seen it twice. Colorful, quirky I found it captivating. Short.

Joseph wrote a paper, his capstone for his astrophysics degree, on the origin of the moon. He advocated for the giant-impact model. According to him, a Mars sized  proto-planet called Theia hit a still forming earth.  Injecting a massive amount of the young Earth into the sky. Creating our moon.

This a shortie that I wrote on Thursday and Friday.

One more today

 

Family, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health

Charlie’s Big Day

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Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Wednesday gratefuls: Diane. Shadow’s duvet nest. Relief. My phone returns. Tara’s big help. Fiber and protein. Groceries.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Cease Fire

Kavannah: Wonder. Malchut.  Shadow

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: Some days. Yesterday. Tara picked up my phone from the Synagogue. Once again I am in thrall. She also picked up my grocery order and my meds. The Miralax chose yesterday to kick in. I couldn’t have walked to the pharmacy and back to the car without a problem.

 

Not often two week defining events get resolved on the same day. Constipation ended though stomach soreness has not. I can sleep. Get up from a chair without concern. A festival moment for the Moon of Liberation.

My body got relief from a pestering problem.

Also starts sending out messages. Buy the high fiber oatmeal. The seven grain bread. Move more. Sensible. Stuff I know. I order a clamshell of Kiwi fruit.

Yesterday afternoon I had to get my groceries. Couldn’t. Asked Tara. She agreed. Got my meds. My pick up order. When she got back, she put the groceries away. A good friend.

Using the creepily easy find my phone feature in Google, I saw a small, red upside down tear light up in Lakewood. Lakewood? Only took a moment. Luke’s apartment. Made sense since we had lunch together on Sunday and Luke drove.

Sure enough. When Luke looked in the Subaru, my phone was on the passenger’s side. Yay! He took it to Bagel Table, but had to leave it there. Indisposed as mentioned above, I couldn’t get it. Tara had a tutoring student at CBE on Tuesday. Worked well.

When she came with the phone, she also brought Eleanor. Shadow and Eleanor played hard while Tara left for Safeway. I stayed home, preserving my dignity.

The two burs in my side since Sunday a week a go. Got plucked. It was 8-10 days of silence. Once I got over my 21st century existential crisis–someone might need to talk to me!–I found my phone’s absence a relief.

Except when I thought, oh, I need to text Ruth. Look up characters in a movie. Calendar. Emails. You know. That stuff we do with these powerful small computers.

I’m lucky to have a friend like Tara. She says yes whenever possible and shows such joy when helping. That makes it easier to ask her. I’m learning how to navigate this weaker me.

Happy that between my friends and Miralax I could have a celebratory Tuesday.

An epidemic of loneliness.

I live alone, largely relying on myself day-to-day. When trouble comes, I count on an inner-circle of friends and family.

Alone.
Yet surrounded.
By love.

Cancer, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health

Pause. Say Good-bye

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Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Artemis:  On the way home

Tuesday gratefuls: Miralax. Senna. Michigan. Basketball. Baseball. Another tough night. Artemis II. Space. Hubble. Webb.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Master Travelers

 

Kavannah: Hakarat Hatov.  Gratitude.  “Who is rich? Those who rejoice in their own portion.” Pirkei Avot (4:1)

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: I have been retreating from the world. Lunches and breakfasts are painful due to the head drop. Driving still wears me out though the brace helps. I have new aches and pains. From the cancer? I don’t think so…but.

 

Since last week I have been constipated. Could be a side effect of the Tramadol. Painful. Unresolved. Some progress. Miralax to 2x a day. Add senna.

Went to bed. Early. 6 pm. Exhausted by the demands of the day. Slept well until 1 am. After that. Left side. Right side. Stomach. Back. Repeated and repeated and repeated. Could not find the sleep switch. Up at 3:30 am. Rested. Sorta. Residual aches. Sore back.

A learning about death. You stop. Everything else goes on.  Cars queue up behind a red turn signal. A group of preschoolers, all holding on to the same rope. Going to the park. Shadow circles her food bowl, waiting on you to come home. As you always have. Not this time.

The damnable ordinariness. Years of loving, talking, reading, all made moot. When Kate died her brilliant mind went silent. All her experience as a doctor. A lover. A quilter. Gone.

Yet. Artemis II took three Americans and one Canadian further from Earth than any human has gone before. Michigan beat UConn to reclaim the Men’s NCAA tournament.

I had my aspirations as a young man. Stop the war.  Raise a son. As I worked, people died every day. Good people. Kind people. Their ends did not register in my life. Their momentous parting, everything for them, was nothing to me.

In life I can fight, love. In death I cannot.

Yet I no longer privilege one over the other. When the reaper comes, the fruits of a long and interesting life will gather into my body, then disperse. To create new molecules, new lung tissue, new fingernails.

On these bad days–pain, constipation–I wonder: Is this how the final exit goes. Pain and discomfort. Then, surcease. I hope not. I would prefer to die quietly, surrounded by friends and family, Shadow by my side.

I do not mind dying. Not sooner than necessary. But when it is time. Yes. I take that long last ride.

When it happens, a fisherman catches a bass. A couple will make love and create a new human. I will have gone on ahead.

Stop a moment.
Pause.
Say good-bye.

Cancer, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health

Casual Cruelties

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Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Artemis:  Miles from 244,850 earth. Miles from moon 26,740. As of 5:06 am, April 6th, 2026.

Monday gratefuls: Eggs. Oatmeal. Kitchen. House cleaner. Medical Guardian. Artemis II nearing moon. Michigan v. Uconn.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Integrity.

 

Kavannah: Hakarat Hatov.  Gratitude.  “Who is rich? Those who rejoice in their own portion.” Pirkei Avot (4:1)

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: I blocked myself yesterday. I didn’t want another entry in the distress cycle, a straight run from April 1st. Couldn’t think of anything else. Also, I had stomach and intestinal issues. Thinking straight was not in the cards.

 

This morning. Still the gut issues. Not as intense. Dispiriting.

When my body aches. My mind responds.

Yesterday I had to sit myself down and have a talk. About casual cruelties against myself. I know, I said, the distraction and pain don’t give us much of a buffer to work with.

The rest of us hears it. Over and over. Does that apply to the sick part of us?  The part that missed our phone call with our boy.

Bad hand grip. I’m going to die. Low stamina. Why are you not on the treadmill. You’re impossible!

What I’m proposing is a gentler version of self-talk. Ah, I see we’re having trouble opening that jar. You stumbled on the way to the  kitchen. This is a surprise? No. It’s who I am right now.

This stumbling guy. This cancer trial guy. A father, a brother, a grandpa. A reader, a writer, a friend to the other. A man.

A man who deserves your compassion and concern, not your judgment or contempt.

Hangs head. Yes, I know. I want to do that, I do. But in the moment of pain. You can no longer do what you used to. I worry. Is this the slope? Work harder. Please.

Not very dignified, eh? No. At some point I catch on to the negative self-take. Big sigh. Charlie, not again. Then I sit myself down with myself. Self-compassion is on the agenda. Even if I am weak, I remain Charlie. With limits–as always. Just different ones.

Got my notice for a pre-trial start up appointment. I imagine I’ll get my first treatment date. I need to get started. Yes. I’ve chosen to surrender myself to the trial, to the new drugs. I chose this.

All of the treatments will be in Rocky Mountain Cancer Care’s midtown office near Presbyterian.

Kate, on her death bed, told me: Trust your doctors.  Zip up. Abandon the rabbit holes. The critiquing. Lean in.

With all the upset and uncertainty of the last year plus I hope these trials can calm the worried me.

 

Watch.

Storms come and go.

Shelter.

General
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Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Artemis:  Miles from earth 205,372. Miles from moon 75,496. As of 4:45 am, April 5th, 2026.

Shabbat gratefuls: Luke and the phone. Tramadol. Miralax. Shadow outside. Shadow inside. Artemis II. Ruth and David.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Moon

 

Kavannah: Hakarat Hatov.  Gratitude.  “Who is rich? Those who rejoice in their own portion.” Pirkei Avot (4:1)

Tarot: paused

All I got today

 

 

 

 

 

General

Exhaustion

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Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Shabbat gratefuls: Shadow beside me. Artemis mine. Artemis II. Exploration. Living. Ruth at 20. David. Gabe. Jesse. Cancer.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Ruth

 

Kavannah: Hakarat Hatov.  Gratitude.  “Who is rich? Those who rejoice in their own portion.” Pirkei Avot (4:1)

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: Found my phone.  Google led me to Luke’s parking lot. Emailed Luke. He found it.

Like the relief of being added to the Actinium + ARPI arm.

 

For a month and a half, like late October and November of last year, I’ve had consequential procedures, tests, visits with the oncologist. I get tired during these marathons.

Most of these visits require my body. Bones cannot be scanned without the bones.

Good data. Key decisions demand it. The impact on me? Mine alone.

What if adding exhaustion to an existing disease state drives me into a dark place mentally? As this last flurry of data gathering did. I wrapped this month and a half long process last Monday with an EKG. My old one: expired.

Neither exhaustion nor my cancer drove me into anything.

A barrier lowered.  Old familiars saw their chance.

Shhh, Charlie. Don’t worry about frailty. What? Frailty. Not you. Lassitude. You don’t get around well. You do the best you can.

By evening: the troubling PSA. New metastases. The pull of letting go.

I let them into my consciousness. Thursday the clutter and naysayers began to quiet. A plan existed. The trial. I got what I wanted.

Even so. After my mother died, I not only let the demons in. I set up housekeeping with them. Entertained them with alcohol and anxiety. Oh, the times we had.

I spent most of my twenties in thrall not only to alcohol and tobacco, but to bad choices.

I found my power. Kicked the demons out of the house. They left the house. Not me.

I know those demons lie in wait for my moments of vulnerability. They were there when I spent three days staring at wallpaper patterns. They showed up after Kate died, suggesting drastic changes.

Not gone.

Waiting.

For me.