At Blue Cloud Abbey

Imbolc      Waxing Wild Moon

Somewhere in the Coteau Hills.  Blue Cloud Abbey sits on a prominence great enough to give a view of the plains in all directions.  To the east, back toward the Twin Cities, the city of Milbank glimmers in the night.

We have been here since last night, Thursday and will stay through breakfast on Sunday.  This retreat has a much freer form than our usual scheduled time with each person.  Much has been said already, enough to make the heart open and tears to flow.

More on that at another time.

The Abbot spoke briefly to us at lunch yesterday.  He said they had an interest in us, the Woolly Mammoths, since we, too, are men on a journey together, a fraternity.  His comments have sparked some interesting thoughts already.

Later, I’ll tell you of Frank and mine’s encounter with Bud of Peterson Earth Movers.  Time to huddle up.

Blue Cloud Abbey

Imbolc      Waxing Wild Moon

The next 3 days + I will be on retreat at Blue Cloud Abbey in Marvin, South Dakota.   The annual gathering of the Woolly Herd finds in eastern South Dakota at a Benedectine Abbey.  As usual, what the retreat will be like hides behind the curtain of our relationships.

My part will consist in a reprise of the 25 random things about me exercise for everyone and discussion of an article on solitude in the cyber age (the Deresiewicz piece I mentioned here) and an Economist article, The Frat Boy Goes Home, about the departure of GW.

On a personal note I plan to focus on my non-existent meditative and contemplative life.   Both meditation and contemplation have been, at various times, part of my spiritual practice, but have fallen away in the last few years, fallen away it seems in favor of a more tactile devotional form:  gardening.  I also have to consider, however, the Deresiewicz possibility, which is that my life has flattened out as I have gone more cyber, that I have pulled my root system up to a different layer of the soil.

What I do know for sure is that I want some more contemplation and meditation in my life.  This retreat is an opportunity to get going again.

I’m So Happy

Imbolc      Waxing Wild Moon

The sun set bathed in salmon robes.  The temperature has gone up; the wind has quieted.  There is still a faint light as we move toward full darkness.

Most of the day today I worked on the Sierra Club blog.  Boy, do I feel in over my head.  Just like last fall with the political committee, only this time I have an actual responsibility.  I’ve got to get up to speed on both the Club’s campaigns, complex in some instances, like Building Sensible Communities, and I also have to know the on-the-ground work at the capitol.  So far I’ve not figured a good method for doing either.

All of which, oddly enough, makes me happy.  It means that I’m into something with sufficient complexity and importance to demand all of me.  Art history has me the same way, as did religion and neighborhood politics before them.

Imbolc: The Great Wheel Turns

Imbolc  Waxing Wild Moon

Imbolc.  The celebration of lamb’s in the belly, imbolc and the festival honoring Brighid*. (see information below from the Encyclopedia Mythica.This is my favorite web source for quick, accurate information about Gods and Goddesses.)

When I came back to my Celtic roots during my transition out of the Presbyterian Ministry (the state church of a Celtic country), Brighid became central to the spirituality I began to develop.  As a fire goddess, her Imbolc celebration symbolizes the quickening of the earth as the reign of the Caillieach, the crone, recedes under the sun’s (fire) unrelenting return.

As a fire goddess, the blacksmiths worshiped her, as did the housewife with her hearth-fire and the poet, the filid and the bard, roles critical to ancient Celtic society.   Brighid inspired the poets.  Thus, she supported craftspersons, domestic life and the spark of genius that kept kings and the ruling class in check and still gives Ireland fame in letters to this day.  She became associated with fertility, hence the ewe and the lamb in the belly.

In one interpretation of the Great Wheel, the earth goes through three phases:  the first, or the virgin/maiden takes prominence with the beginning of the agricultural year, Imbolc.  The second, the Mother, takes the God as her husband at Beltane (May 1) and reigns over the growing season.  As the harvest comes in the Cailleach, the old woman or crone, takes charge.  The year proceeds in this way through virignity, motherhood and old age; a procession repeated over and over, as this archetypal linking of the year and the maturation of humanity repeats over and over in human society.

On this February 1st, as the business cycle continues its skid, the Great Wheel can teach us that the cyclical nature of human events will right this plunge and prosperity, too, will return.  You might see the business cycle as going through its crone phase, except the crone was a wise woman and as near I can tell this phase of the business cycle represents foolish men.

Time has many puzzling aspects, not the least is its appearance of linearity while we experience, too, and more profoundly, its cycles.  I see the cyclical nature of time as more true to my experience and more hopeful.  The Great Wheel, the natural cycle, does not require a cataclysm at the end to right injustice and imbalance, as do faith traditions invested in chronological time.  Each year each season brings its own opportunities for renewal, for celebration and each season is only that, a season.  In regular succession the next season will come.

I used to close my e-mails with this quote I discovered carved into the Arbor Day Lodge wooden border in its reception atrium:

There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrain of nature–the assurance that dawn comes after night, spring after winter.    Rachel Carson

This is the great and wonderful gift the Great Wheel can bring to your life, if you let it. Continue reading Imbolc: The Great Wheel Turns

Agnotology, A Sad and Important Word. Thanks, Robert Proctor

Winter  (for us Celts, the last day of Winter.  Imbolc starts tomorrow, actually this evening.)   Waxing Wild Moon

Clive Thompson taught me a new word:  agnotology.  Clive writes a regular column in Wired, one of my favorite magazines.  He reports in his column (2/09 issue) on the work of Stanford historian of science , Robert Proctor.  Proctor believes that when it comes to contentious issues our knowledge decreases.  He offers climate change, evolution and Obama’s religion as examples of contention decreasing our knowledge.  Thus, the neologism agnotology means “the study of culturally constructed ignorance.”

Proctor says his research shows that when society doesn’t know something, it’s often because special interest groups have intentionally created the confusion.

“People always assume that if someone doesn’t know something, it’s because they haven’t paid attention or haven’t yet figured it out.  But ignorance also comes from people literally suppressing the truth–or drowning it out–or trying to make it so confusing that people stop caring about what’s true and what’s not.”

Clive believes we need to focus on the disinformation revolution.  “The ur-example of of what Proctor calls an agnotological campaign is the funding of bogus studies by cigarette companies trying to link cancer to baldness, viruses–anything but their product.”

I’ve known about the holocaust deniers, the global warming deniers and the active suppression of test results by drug companies but I never had a word for it before and now I do.  These agnotologists give evil a fleshly form.  Think of Cheney and his willingness to bend intelligence to fit his preconceived agenda for war in Iran.  Think of the dozens of websites I come across in my Sierra Club research that point to cold weather and cite it as proof global warming has no clothes.  Think of the anti-Semites of today trying to cloud the horror of Nazi death chambers with manufactured doubt.  Agnotological campaigns all.

As Thompson says later on in his column, “If we are argue about what the facts mean, we’re having a debate.  If what we argue about what the facts are, it’s agnotological Armageddon, where reality dies screaming.”

A Pain

Winter             Waxing Wild Moon

Kate’s neck has begun to hurt again.  I hope it doesn’t mean the nerve root block has lost its potency, but it might.  Where we go after that we don’t know right now.

Errands and business meeting in the AM.  Nap and Sierra Club research in the PM.  Workout, then a bit of TV.  Now, off to bed.

Survey: Americans give cold shoulder to thought of moving to Twin Cities

Survey: Americans give cold shoulder to thought of moving to Twin Cities

Last update: January 30, 2009 – 5:08 PM
While “We Like It Here” has become a badge of honor of sorts for inhabitants of the Twin Cities area, a national survey by a respected research firm has found that Americans elsewhere have little interest in moving to the land of the wind-chill factor.

The Pew Research Center released results Thursday of its survey of where Americans would most like and not like to live.

The Top 10 were all in the South or the West, led by Denver. Next were San Diego, Seattle, Orlando, Tampa, San Francisco, Phoenix, Portland, Sacramento and San Antonio.

The Twin Cities area landed 26th in the 30-city metropolis heap, followed by Kansas City, Cincinnati, Cleveland and Detroit.

http://www.startribune.com/local/38697482.html?elr=KArksLckD8EQDUoaEyqyP4O:DW3ckUiD3aPc:_Yyc:aUycaEacyU

They really don’t know what they miss by not living here.  A convinced and happy immigrant.  Me and the Norwegians, eh, Ole?

A Bit More on the Humanities. OK, Maybe a Lot More

 Winter    Waxing Wild Moon

I reproduce part of a David Brooks column here because it relates to the humanities thread I began a few posts ago.  He seems to counterpoise the liberal education as defined by Harvard against the institutional life devoted to what I would call a vocation.  This seems wrong-headed to me on a number of fronts, not least that the liberal arts education received its birth within the church and there is not much more institutional a creature than the church.

Vocation and its fit within an institution has been part of my life.  Ministry qualifies as one of the oldest professions, vocations, that exists.  Ordination confers upon you a responsibility to a particular institution, a responsibility defined by my Presbyterian vows to uphold the peace, unity and purity of the church.  The role of clergy specifically demands nurture of the institution and the tradition which it serves.  While in the Presbyterian church, I followed that vow with energy.

Brooks does not speak of the demand within any vocation and the institution they support:  law, medicine, education, even journalism for the prophetic voice.  This voice recognizes that traditions, in order to survive, must live and in living they must be constantly weighed in the crucible of every day practice.  Sometimes they fall short; the rote learning of the nineteenth century has given way to  learner centered education.  The church’s ministry, previously open only to men now has women in equal to greater numbers.  Continue reading A Bit More on the Humanities. OK, Maybe a Lot More

Up On the Twisted Side of the Bed

Winter  Waxing Wolf Moon

“Nothing, to my way of thinking, is a better proof of a well-ordered mind than a man’s ability to stop just where he is and pass some time in his own company.” – Seneca

Seneca comes along just in time as I head out the door for an oil change for our truck.  Waiting for an oil change gives a well-ordered mind a chance to stop where it is and spend time in its own company. Not sure what I’ll do, but that’s a story…wait.  What was I on about?

When life gives you vehicles, make oil changes.  Sorry, I got up on the twisted side of the bed this morning.

Might have been that weird dream I had.  No, really.  I lived in China and had gone to work, in an offbeat way, for Jackie Chan, a wealthy man.  He rewarded me for doing things for him, at first straightforward, then not.  I can’t recall the first things I had to do, but the last is clear.  He wanted me to intervene in an election, but he didn’t want to win.  He wanted to lose the election.  Strange, I thought, but ok.

So, I did something and, sure enough, he lost.  He was happy.  So, what would Carl say about that?  Not sure.

A bright orange sun rose in the southeast at dawn, while stratus clouds took up part of the sky.   Now the stratus clouds define a narrow band from the horizon part way up the sky in the east with the rest clear.  The day has diffuse light rather than bright sun thanks to the band of stratus.

Retirement Parties, Funerals, and Hospitals

Winter   Waxing Wild Moon (a wonderful thin crescent turned upward toward Venus, the bright evening star)

Went into Mary Broderick’s retirement party this afternoon.  A fine affair with the obligatory good noises and a gracious speech by Mary.

It seemed, though, a bit formulaic, a ritual with parts:  the buffet with an assortment of snack-like food, people milling around wondering how that one there knows our Mary, tables set out with small candles (though in this case they were small lights made to look like flickering table candles), a receiving line.  It was clear Mary moved these folks to good ends.

The flavor of the whole had a heavy dose of institutional Catholic.  The decor while updated (by Mary) had a non-ostentatious feel, but a studied one.  Mary mentioned the several Catholic organizations with whom  she worked, thanking them.  I wondered how someone of her vitality and intelligence could thrive within the often sclerotic bureaucracy of Catholicism.

It all had a Northeast flavor, the old Northeast, a Catholic immigrant neighborhood where caring for each other was the norm.  A mix of good will, old ways and downhome charm.