• Shadow and Shadows on the Country

    Imbolc and the 78th Birthday Moon

    Thursday gratefuls: Shadow (formerly known as Nugget). Sleeping with Shadow under my bed. Her struggle to adapt. Mine. The coup. Feeling alive. Purposeful. Elon Musk. His yetzer hara. Luna and Annie. Leo. Shrimp. Subway. Snow. Vince and Levi. Stable PSA. Shadow’s pooping and peeing.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Shadow

    Week Kavannah: Curiosity  sakranut

    One brief shining: All last night when I awoke, I heard Shadow moving beneath the bed, occasionally hitting the wooden slats, once a hard thwock of her head, often moving, then for awhile asleep, repeat.

     

    Felt like a bad doggie dad. I thought Shadow and I were making progress. Then, my nap. I left the bedroom door open as I had the previous night when she slept under me on the floor beneath the bed. She came out that morning and I let her out. She roamed for a while. Came back in. We did this twice.

    Meanwhile she put a tentative paw on my leg, licked my hand. Smiled. Ah, now we’ve gotten somewhere.

    This continued until my nap. Exhausted from the drive to Granby and back I slept two and a half hours. When I got up, I saw Shadow had gone back under the bed. Didn’t think much of it. Then, she wouldn’t come out.

    And, she’s been under there most of the time since. I lured her out with hamburger, but she slipped back under the bed. That was yesterday afternoon and evening.

    This morning I noticed she had two well formed poops and had peed on an old yoga mat. Good girl, missing the Oriental rug. While I slept she got out from under the bed, but she was back there before I woke up.

    Ginny’s going to come after mussar. Shadow responded well to her. I want to get Shadow out from under the bed and into a space where we can interact. I have a dog trainer coming next Tuesday for puppy 101. This is a marathon, not a sprint.

    It will be well, all manner of things will be well.

    About a minute after I wrote this she came out. On her own. The best way. Now she’s in here with me. We can continue the process of getting to know each other.

    I will crate her later today so I can go to mussar.

    BTW: I did close the bedroom door.

     

    Just a moment in oligarch world: First of all. Visit the Egyptian/Israeli Riveria! Swept clean of Palestinians. Home to Trump properties like mega Mar-a-Lago. Adult themed. Rides. Classified documents. And no libtards allowed!

    Have fun in the Sunny Middle East. Visit scenes of actual slaughter and mayhem!

    Or come to D.C. Play with Federal disbursements. Knock your old high school bully off Social Security. Remember that frigid blonde? You can cancel her Small Business loan.

    Never a dull moment when you play Crash the Government. Bring the whole family. Especially the kids and the dogs.

     

     


  • Who knows what treats lurk in the hands of man?

    Imbolc and the Nugget Moon

    Wednesday gratefuls: Ginny. Janice. Granby Shelter. Trinidad shelter. Nugget. Luna. Annie. Dogs. Shadow. Of Shadow Mountain. My first Colorado Dog. Ruth. STEM. Nursing. Nurse Practitioners. Physician Assistants. Education. Alertness. Canine Cognition.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Shadow

    Kavannah: Curiosity    Sakranut

    One brief shining: Shadow, my blue Heeler rescue, on trial for three weeks, spent last night dodging me, being uncertain, hyper vigilant, as you might expect for a Dog rescued from a burning house, sheltered first in Trinidad, Colorado then moved a week ago to the Granby Shelter, so I let her be and went to sleep.

     

    Here is your Da Vinci-style sketch of an Australian Cattle Dog named Shadow.

    Where did I find her when I woke up? Sleeping directly under me under the bed. Very sweet. She came to me as Nugget which seems a bit on the nose for Colorado. Thought about names. Star names. Oz? Granby? Then I hit on Shadow. Shadow of Shadow Mountain. That’s what I’m going with.

    She’s gonna require a lot from me. Australian Cattle Dogs are the Mensa crew among Dog breeds. Which translates into busy, smart, need jobs. My current plan is to do some training with her, more than with other dogs of my past and to start her on the word buttons so we can communicate in my language as well as hers.

    She’s already explored the back yard, peed in the house, settled down, then gotten back up. That’s in the first thirty minutes of being awake. Well, not quite. She peed last night.

    Shadow weighs about 28 pounds so I can lift her if she gets sick. She’s the embodiment of my kavannah for the week: sakranut.

    I can already feel a part of me waking up, a part that pays outward attention at home. It’s easy to get very me focused at home. After all, I’m the only one here.

    Not a bad thing over all. I know, for example, who left the closet door open and who hasn’t unloaded the dishwasher yet. Even so, if a mood turns sour, as they do from time to time, say, in advance of a blood draw, that same knowing can result in darker and darker echoes of the mind.

    Having another animal in the house requires outward looking, other oriented thoughts and actions. At home. That has a positive impact on my mood. Even moving the dog bed and the yoga mat to the balcony upstairs for sunshine therapy. I’ve done this kind of thing many times over the last 34 years. And it takes me out of myself and toward Shadow.

    We’ll see if I have the stamina for her. It’s possible I will not. Though I think one of the most positive results of having her will be to get me moving more. That builds stamina, as does the treadmill newly relocated down stairs. I’m hoping for a virtuous cycle to get set up.

     

    Just a moment in oligarchworld: A mussar friend’s children work for USAID. They told a story of having to sleep in their offices over the weekend while Musk cronies removed all their hard drives and selectively removed “bad” art from the walls. Bad enough. Here’s the kicker. This was in Denver.

     


  • The Last Roundup

    Imbolc and the 78th Birthday Moon

    Tuesday gratefuls: Rich. Doncye. Ruth. Ginny and Janice. Dogs. Annie. Luna. Leo. Gracie. Findlay. Rufus. Tom and the finding of the phone. My phone, back home. Ruby. New computer. Granby. Going on a short trip. Parsha Bo. A mussar approach to parsha’s. MVP tomorrow night.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Dogs

    Kavannah this week: Curiosity   Sakranut

    One brief shining: Why don’t you turn off your hearing aid, Tom suggested, and I did; he kept calling and I walked slowly through the house until, finally, in the newly set up downstairs exercise room, on the black top tray of my treadmill, my all black phone bleated at me, wanting to come home.

     

    And so it ended. A day without my phone. Revealed an Achilles heel. My phone is at the hub of communications in my life. Without it I couldn’t reach out to ask for help. I couldn’t change anything on my computer that required two-step authentication. I felt strange, as if a necessary part of me had been amputated.

    After going all Taoist on it, the phone will reveal itself when it’s ready, Tom called. Thought later I’d given up on the Taoist idea, then realized that no, I’d decided to be calm until the situation resolved and it did. Thanks to Tom and a dash of wu wei.

     

    Vince and Levi came over on Sunday and moved my treadmill, weight bench, weights, stall mats, and kettlebells down to Kate’s old sewing room. Levi was a big guy. Professional football player sized. Vince, on the other hand, is my height, but wiry, strong.

    Levi brought all of my kettlebells down at once, gripping them in two hands, and carrying them like they were a children’s flower basket. As he said, I’m good at picking things up and setting them down.

    He told a story about the Black Mountain Roundup. This Black Mountain is near McCoy, Colorado, north of I-70 and beyond Vail. He and his buddies once a year go to a ranch near Black Mountain. On Friday night they put their stuff in a bunk house, get drunk, and go shooting at the firing range. The ranch chef cooks meals for them. On Saturday they get on Horses to drive in the last of the ranch’s Cattle, then there’s a big meal. And more drinking. Then, he said, the women come because they know Levi and his crew get rowdy.

    He lifted his shirt to display a large rodeo sized belt buckle with Gitt’s Last Roundup on it. it was Gitt’s ranch. He died of cancer a few years back. Colorado, eh?

     

    Just a moment: Even Heather has started calling this a coup. In her Letters From an American today, she said:

    “The replacement of our constitutional system of government with the whims of an unelected private citizen is a coup. The U.S. president has no authority to cut programs created and funded by Congress, and a private citizen tapped by a president has even less standing to try anything so radical.”

     

     

     


  • Loss

    Imbolc and the 78th Birthday Moon

    Monday gratefuls: Barb. Jen. Ruth and Gabe. Rabbi Jamie. My phone. My most asked question (to myself): where is my phone? MVP. CU-Boulder. Sushi. Pain. Back. First World Problems. Technology. Uncanny valley. AI. Wi-Fi. CPU’s. Graphics chips. Internet.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Electricity

    Kavannah this week:  Curiosity. Sakranut

    One brief shining: Sunday I got up and wrote Ancientrails, signed on to the Ancient Brothers to talk about love, got a text from Vince saying he could come with Levi to move my workout equipment which he did as Bill, the last of us five, still spoke, so I went downstairs to help Vince who stayed until nearly eleven when I had to leave for Boulder to pick up Ruth.

     

    That was when I discovered my phone had scuttled off somewhere secret. Here, I knew, because I’d used it that morning. Conundrum. Keep looking for my phone so I can call Ruth? What if I can’t find it and I show up late? Then she’ll get anxious. I decided to look for five more minutes. Nope. Not here.

    Leaving the house I felt naked and irritated that I wouldn’t be able to listen to the Hardfork Podcast about Deepseek. Drove a bit fast to avoid showing up late. Ruth has anxiety issues, as I have had. So I get it. About a fifty minute drive.

    Got to Boulder. Ruth was in tears. She had, she said, called me five times. Including this voicemail:

    “Hey, Grandpop. I’m waiting outside and you’re scaring me to death, so just call me if you get this, or I don’t know if you left your phone, or I don’t know, but I’m outside, so I’m hoping you’ll get here in a few minutes. Just call me.”

    I felt for her, frustrated that with all the available tech I had I still had no way of connecting with her. We had a good lunch. I’d already set this up in the middle of last week, not knowing that her other grandma, Barb Bandel, would die Friday night. That made me even more frustrated because Ruth didn’t need more on her mind. Barb had been in declining health, but her death came with no forewarning. Her death means Ruth and Gabe lost Kate in 2021, their Dad in 2022, and now Barb. That’s a lot of loss. A lot of grief.

    Meanwhile my back began grouching while we ate. My walking limit seems to be about a block, two at the most. This with an extra Tramadol already on board. The ride back tested my pain tolerance.

    Back home I began looking for my phone. I’ve still not found it. I’m going to have to do a sector search I guess. I know it’s here because I asked Ruth to call me at 5 to see if I could locate it. She did, but, in the first of many confounding situations, the call came to my hearing aid. Which meant it didn’t help me locate the phone.

    Did three what I considered thorough passes through the house last night. No joy. Asked chatbot for help. Alexa has a find your phone feature. Oh. I rarely, rarely use Alexa, but here was good use. Nope. The internet is not usable Alexa says. Odd, since I’m on it right now. We had very high winds last night, power went out four times, generator worked, but apparently it reset Alexa. And the Alexa app, which I need to reconnect her to wi-fi is, guess where? On my phone.

    As is my ability to connect to Google Voice, which required a setup code sent to my phone. Arrrgghhh.

    So, blehhhhh.

     

     

     


  • Boom!

    Imbolc and the 78th Birthday Moon

    Sunday gratefuls: Rabbi Jamie. Barb, dead. Gabe. Leo, his sore left front foot. Luke, hunting for work. Annie and Luna, two sweet dogs. Toby in Granby. A possible trip up there. Ginny and Janice. The Wren. Kittredge. Bagels and lox. Mandarin oranges. Ruby’s clean inside! Jon Bailey.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Wren

    Kavannah this week: Curiosity.   Sakranut

    One brief shining: After the Bagel Table where we focused on midrash, I drove over to Kittredge, a little town east of Evergreen, but this time instead of passing through I went up into Kittredge itself, the residential part across Bear Creek, and visited Ginny and Janice in the Wren, one of the earliest homes built there, many of which have names even though modest, the Wren for example was 600 square feet when first built, but now has 850 square feet.

     

    Janice’s family goes back to the founding of Kittredge. Her grandfather dug out the basement in this rocky soil.  Across the street in the home where Janice grew up he also dug out a basement, but came upon a huge boulder. It was under the tiny house.

    Janice remembers him going down there with dynamite. Her mother scurried her and her siblings over to the Wren, then, as Janice said, “Boom!” A pretty confident guy, and strong, her grandfather. Also a boxer.

    Terry, whom, I also know, grew up in Evergreen. He’s my age. In his youth there were only dirt roads around Evergreen, and surprisingly to me, he claims, few Wild Neighbors. Gotta run that down at some point.

    Saw a picture from those days which showed a large Meadow where Evergreen Lake now is. Before the damming of Upper Bear Creek.

    As you can tell from these stories, Janice’s grandfather and grandmother as founders of Kittredge, we live out West. The storylines for us white folk don’t go too far back. Up here Evergreen and Conifer were part of the Ute tribal lands though I don’t think there was much settlement right here. But, I really don’t know. In the area where Denver is now was Arapahoe Tribal land and south of them lived the Jicarilla Apache.

    When we first moved here, I read a history of Colorado, but I don’t remember much of it. Since then, I’ve focused more on the Mountains and Wild Neighbors, the Mountain Streams and plant life. Could be interesting to revisit that history, especially that fraught time as the “frontier” for Eastern white folk pushed into the Rockies. Not a frontier for those already here. Of course.

     

    Just a moment: Back in Oligarch World. Strongman Trump pushes his Bully America vision through tariffs, his anger and revenge over being held legally accountable ignited firings and criminal investigations against his “enemies”, and his let the dogs out way of exposing government inefficiency has granted Elon Musk the keys to disbursements from the Federal Treasury.

    I’ve seen headlines asking if this is a coup. Well, sorta. Except for that election thingy. Yet it is the way fascism and dictators often gain power. They win an election, then forget about them later. Remember that Trump promise to far-right Christians, “You only need to come out and vote this once.”

     


  • Study and Oh, my

    Imbolc and the 78th Birthday Moon

    Shabbat gratefuls: Candles. Zornberg. Moses. Torah. Bagel table. Evergreen. Mountain Lions on video. Fox, too. Great Sol. The Gray Man. Stable PSA. New pain meds? Journax. Tara. Arjan. Vincent. Alan. Luke. Hawai’ian Blues. Rick. www.clearcreekradio.com. 2 pm today. DJ’ng while old. Flannel Shirts. Vermont Flannel.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Passover

    Kavannah this week: Curiosity.   Sakranut

    One brief shining: Unboxed my new curved monitor, 32″, bigger than most of my older television screens, wrestled with putting the stand together, struggled lifting it onto my computer cart, but I got it done, didn’t think I had it in me, but I was wrong. Yay.

     

    With the exception of lunch with Tara I spent the day reading Zornberg’s commentary on parsha Bo. That’s the chunk of Exodus that includes the last of the plagues. Each Torah cycle I gain a new appreciation for how it has shaped, shapes, and will shape generations of Jews. Not because it’s the inspired word of God, which almost no one I know believes it is, but because it is our story. And a story which requires a new hermeneutic each time its read.

    By delving into the midrash*, which Zornberg knows so well, we learn no matter how you may think about a particular passage, somebody has thought the opposite, or had a weirder explanation. Drawn a stranger conclusion. This frees the contemporary reader to look for meanings relevant to our time and space, yet to have them in the context of Jewish history and culture.

    At 8:30 I’ll head over to CBE for bagel table where we’ll construct our own midrash around this seminal Torah portion. I love the communal study, the careful reading, the surprising aha’s. My inner student is so happy being a Jew.

     

    This day in Oligarch world: Trump’s acting Attorney General fired Jan. 6th prosecutors and ordered investigations of every FBI agent who pursued the various lines of investigation necessitated by this complex crime. This is the President, a Republican President, going after the FBI. And after Federal Prosecutors who worked on the cases they were given.

    I know mirror world makes it hard to see the irony here. Trump has weaponized his acting Attorney General to fire and investigate Federal employees he accused of weaponizing justice.

    Tariffs on Mexico and Canada. Our sworn enemies who’ve done nothing but diss us over the 200 plus years since our founding. Not to mention tariffs on China, too. But since they’re been our friend and ally since forever they get much lower tariffs

    Alice, my dear, are you still tumbling through the air toward Wonderland? Stop now. You need proceed no further. The Cheshire Cat and the Red Queen have merged and sit in what used to be the Oval Office. Mirrorworld. Wonderland. Crazyville. All available right here in the United States of America.

    Up, up, and away. The American high speed express to irrelevance has left the station.

     

    *Midrash are collections of commentaries written by rabbi’s throughout the centuries. And, they’re still being written.


  • Trump, Trump, he’s so cruel

    Yule and the 78th Birthday Moon

    Friday gratefuls: Vince. Alan. Rabbi Jamie. Rick. Rebecca. Veronica. Helen. Engineers. Tom. Bill. Jon Bailey. Mountains. Elk Cows. Moose. The Night Sky. Vega. Rigel. Luna. Cernunnos. Lugh. Arawyn. The Other World. Arthur. Avalon. The Grail. The Fisher King Wound. Chicken wings. The Lazy Butcher.

    Sparks of joy and awe: Taxes

    Kavannah this week: Rachamim, compassion    Listening for the melody of the other

    One brief shining: In this libertarian, oligarchic inflected age, a time, as sister Mary found in an Australian news article, of the morbidly wealthy, it may seem like heresy or apostasy or blasphemy to like taxes, but I do: property, income, sales taxes all of which express a profound understanding of the political raison d’etrê, caring for the common good, like dues at the synagogue.

     

    You probably don’t remember the PATCO strike. I do. I rode on a bus with members of the Minnesota AFL-CIO to a protest in Washington, D.C. 1981. Reagan, Reagan, he’s no good, send him back to Hollywood. We played poker, gin rummy, talked politics. Reagan won. He broke the air controller’s union. We returned to Minnesota.

    Leif Grina invited me along. An organizer for the Hotel and Restaurant Workers Union. (Now UNITE HERE, combined with the Needletrades, Industrial and Textile Workers Union) Leif and I were good friends.

    At the time, the early 1980’s, I worked with the labor movement, church social justice arms, and community organizers to create the Jobs Now Coalition^, which still exists, working on its mission of advocating for policies that promote job creation and economic justice. I did this organizing with Joseph on my hip.

    In 1983 we wrote, lobbied for, and passed the Minnesota Emergency Employment Act (MEED)* I consider MEED and the creation of Jobs Now as a key highlight of my work as an organizer.

    We have allowed labor unions to wither in the years since Reagan. This was/is a mistake. All this came top of mind reading the story this morning about the understaffed control tower which contributed to the helicopter/passenger jet collision over the Potomac. Reagan, Reagan, He’s no good. Send him back to Hollywood.

    Trump, Trump, he’s so cruel, send him off to chesed school.

     

    ^ The Jobs Now Coalition was founded in Minnesota in the early 1980s as an advocacy organization focused on job creation, fair wages, and economic justice. It emerged during a time of high unemployment and economic distress, particularly following the recession of the early 1980s. The coalition played a significant role in pushing for policies that promoted employment opportunities and living wages for low-income and unemployed workers.

    Key Aspects of the Jobs Now Coalition

    • Advocated for job creation programs, such as the Minnesota Emergency Employment Development Act (MEED).
    • Pushed for living wages and fair labor policies.
    • Conducted economic research on wages, employment trends, and workforce issues in Minnesota.
    • Partnered with labor unions, social justice groups, and community organizations to improve economic opportunities.
    • Promoted public and private sector investment in sustainable job growth.

    The Jobs Now Coalition was influential in shaping Minnesota’s progressive labor policies, including wage laws and workforce development initiatives. It played a key role in ensuring that job growth benefited working-class and marginalized communities.

     

    *The Minnesota Emergency Employment Development Act (MEED) was a jobs program enacted in 1983 during a period of high unemployment in the state. It was designed to create temporary jobs for unemployed and underemployed Minnesotans while stimulating economic development.

    Key Features of the MEED Program

    • Provided wage subsidies to employers willing to hire unemployed workers.
    • Aimed to reduce unemployment by incentivizing private-sector job creation.
    • Focused on economic recovery during a recession by addressing job shortages.
    • Often targeted disadvantaged workers, including those facing long-term unemployment.

  • Aging Resistance

    Yule and the 78th Birthday Moon

    Thursday gratefuls: Diane, healing. New computer getting setup. New ottoman. Studying parsha Bo. With Zohar and Zornberg. Finished reading Conclave. Now another Gray Man. PSA stable. Kidney functions a bit off. A1-C a bit high. Nothing too concerning to me. Vince. Alan coming to Conifer this morning. Talking with Tom. My life as a conversational flaneur. Moods. Emotions. Art Green. My son and Seoah coming. A birthday this month. Year of the Snake.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Mussar friends

    Kavannah 2025: Creativity

    Kavannah this week: Rachamim, compassion  practice-listen for the melody of the other

    One brief shining: Aging resistance, a less frenzied, hot breath sorta response, a more relaxed, we can survive this attitude, yet still feeling to me like my way is to call out certain actions, especially those injurious to the planet and vulnerable people, while also tending these seed packets: pluralism, globalism, economic and racial justice, feminism, importance of the common good, support for the individual and individualism.

     

    This political disaster feels different from the first Trump infection. Even though he may be sort of more organized with Plan 2025 held in his French fry greasy hand, his Burger King kid’s meal crown slouched rakishly on his orange haired head, and even though he and his cronies have-who can pass up the sports metaphor, football!-flooded the zone; as someone I read in the Washington Post said this is the imitation of competence. In reality it’s a scatter shot series of nods to the base: no to birthright citizenship, freeze all Federal money going out, hammer General Milley, Hegsteth, Kennedy, Gabbard.

    This is not governing. It’s the politics of petty revenge. We’ll have to wait for days, those famous first hundred days, to see the metamorphosis, if any, of our nation’s institution. At some point the executive order Sharpie, a Sharpie!, will have to rest and cousin Donald will have to try for legislation. Court fights will be ongoing. We don’t know what’s happening quite yet.

    This much I do know. My world, a world in which meanness and cruelty have a bad connotation, a world where the American dream of a people joined together by adherence to the idea of equal opportunity, equality before the law, of a nation that welcomes the poor, the huddled masses yearning to be free, will not perish.

    We will tend with care the seeds of this remarkable and yes flawed experiment. Seeds like the Constitution. Also flawed, yet a reminder in its amendments and in the expansion of its protection through the courts, that it is our flawed document. Seeds like FDR’s New Deal which expanded the Federal Government’s role as protector of the least of those among us. Seeds like our liberal Christian churches, synagogues, mosques, Buddhist temples and retreat centers. Seeds like our academic institutions, like the NIH and the CDC. Seeds like our real history: slavery, slaughter of the indigenous, colonialism and those who have stood against these sins of our fathers and mothers now passed down to us the third and fourth and fifth and sixth generations.

    And we will tend to ourselves and each other. Not allowing despair to take hold for too long. Encouraging the forms of declaring our dream still alive and vibrant. Supporting those who take up direct action. Donating funds. Showing up at protests and marches. Maybe forming bookclubs that focus on American history, on the American renaissance, on American authors of all colors, gender preferences, and religious backgrounds.

    We are not down. We are not out. Our dream still guides this nation. We just have to  help people wake up to the chances to embrace it.


  • A comma, not a period

    Yule and the Quarter Century Moon

    Wednesday gratefuls: Jon Bailey. Detailing my car. Seoah is coming. Casa Bonita. Valentine’s Day. #78. Fitbit. Charlie H. Ruby clean inside. Avocado Toast. Lox and English Muffins. Ruth’s excitement about her new Astronomy class. Gabe. Coming up Saturday to interview Rabbi Jamie. Sue Bradshaw. Josh. Kai. Evergreen Family Medicine.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Marilyn and Irv

    Kavannah 2025: Creativity

    Kavannah this week: Rachamim, compassion.  Practice-listening for the melody of the other.

    One brief shining: Looking about the same except for a moon face, wondered if it was prednisone, my fellow traveler on the ancientrail of cancer sat in his chair, bookcases behind him, his lake out the window, and exhibited compassion, his melody a bit jagged after a year of death and illness, yet still poetic.

     

    First iteration. A recruiting poster syle illustration of Mary Oliver’s quote

    When Charlie H. said he was in remission, his surveillance pushed out to four months from the usual three, a sign of dramatic improvement, I felt an uncharitable son of a bitch why him and not me? I didn’t begrudge him at all the good news. No. Happy for him, but wondering why my cancer has proved so damned intractable.

    Especially wondering today because yesterday I had four vials of blood drawn, one of which goes for testosterone and PSA lab work.

     

    Reminded in that conversation of Paul’s online session with poet Jane Hirschfield. He reported two arresting sentences: Death is not a period, it’s a comma. And. Attention is your life.

    second iteration after asking Chabot to correct the spelling of precious

    A comma. “…a punctuation mark (,) indicating a pause between parts of a sentence.” Oxford Languages. Interesting to wonder about that sentence, the one in which your life this time might be an object or a subject, a life acted upon or a life acting on its own. What is the verb in the sentence? Verbs? Was there an adjective for this life of yours? Strong, passionate, weakened, vulnerable, clever, unusual? What is the cosmic sentence which the universe, in its polyvalent, multivalent way, has written that is yours and yours alone? It may be the work of a hundred lifetimes, learning how to read your own sentence.

    One more thought on the comma. Learning to read each other’s sentence would allow us to glimpse the narrative line running through your time. A series of short stories, linked by the main character of your Self which, when combined, would be a novel in many volumes. Can you imagine the shelves in that Library of Alexandria?

    What does that work require? Attention. To your own melody. To the melody of the other. To the moment, yes, of course. But also to the century, the year, the day, the hour. The millennium. Not different from the work of seeing. And hearing.

    “What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” Mary Oliver’s “The Summer Day”

     

    Just a moment: Welcome to the Year of the Snake. Although the Chinese zodiac correlates the snake as “simultaneously associated with harvest, procreation, spirituality, and good fortune, as well as cunning, evil, threat, and terror”, I can only see the last four in the American year of the snake.

     

     

     

     


  • Stupidity is dangerous.

    Yule and the 1% crescent of the Quarter Century Moon

    Tuesday gratefuls: Sue Bradshaw. Kai. Cheryl. Blood draws. PSA. Wellness checkup. Hip and back pain. Charlie H. Ancient Brothers. Awe. Yirah. Love. First love. Sweetness in relationships. Mussar. Dogs. Their beauty and their majesty. Deer, a curious species. Wolves. Mountain Lions. Black Bears. Grizzlies. Wolverines. Elk. Moose. Chesed and gevurah. Timothy O’Leary. Dermatologist.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Driving down Black Forest/Brook Forest Drive with Snow on the Lodgepoles

    Kavannah 2025: Creativity

    Kavannah this week: Rachamim, Compassion

    Practice for Rachamim: Listen for the melody of the other

    One brief shining: Dr. O’leary had his little magnifying glass out as he looked through tortoise shell glasses at my skin while I sat on the exam table naked except for my underwear (really, Depends) and he would say, normal, normal, normal, then grab his green nitrogen bottle and say, I’m treating this precancerous spot on your ear, 1,2,3; that stung well after I left his office. A sweet man

     

    Dermatology yesterday. Today Wellness check. Blood work. Visit with Sue Bradshaw. PSA drawn today. Conversation with her about hip/back pain, shortness of breath, and stamina. Medical tourism.

     

    How can I, we, pursue our lives over the next few years with love, justice, and compassion? I’m thinking right now of cousin Donald’s executive order targeting transgender persons in the military. It’s quoted in today’s Washington Post:

    “…It also takes aim at transgender people in personal terms, accusing them of living in conflict “with a soldier’s commitment to an honorable, truthful, and disciplined lifestyle, even in one’s personal life.”

    “A man’s assertion that he is a woman, and his requirement that others honor this falsehood, is not consistent with the humility and selflessness required of a service member,” it adds.” WP, 1/28/25

    I’m feeling the cold finger of Christian fundamentalism as I read these lines. Difference is badness. Difference is wrong. Difference must be sought out, guarded against. These attitudes remind me of Lutheran pastor Martin Niemöller’s famous confession:

    First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—
    Because I was not a socialist.

    Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out—
    Because I was not a trade unionist.

    Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—
    Because I was not a Jew.

    Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.

    These lines must be engraved in our hearts.

    Trump and his Clown Posse have already come for diversity and equity initiatives and today transgender military personnel. We cannot, I will not, let this go unchallenged. Each time a different group needs the mercy that Bishop Budde pleaded for we have to say, yes. We stand with her. With all those vulnerable to the powerful and cruel.

    We do not stand with the Billionaire’s Cabal that stood beside Trump at his inauguration. We do not stand with the red hats with black hearts. No to the Oligarchy and its defenders.

    Here’s a quote from another famous Nazi era Lutheran clergy, Dietrich Bonhoeffer:

    “Stupidity is a more dangerous enemy of the good than malice. One may protest against evil; it can be exposed and, if need be, prevented by use of force. Evil always carries within itself the germ of its own subversion in that it leaves behind in human beings at least a sense of unease. Against stupidity we are defenseless. Neither protests nor the use of force accomplish anything here; reasons fall on deaf ears; facts that contradict one’s prejudgment simply need not be believed – in such moments the stupid person even becomes critical – and when facts are irrefutable they are just pushed aside as inconsequential, as incidental. In all this the stupid person, in contrast to the malicious one, is utterly self satisfied and, being easily irritated, becomes dangerous by going on the attack. For that reason, greater caution is called for when dealing with a stupid person than with a malicious one. Never again will we try to persuade the stupid person with reasons, for it is senseless and dangerous.”
    ― Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Letters and Papers from Prison