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  • How I see things now, May of 2025

    Beltane and the Wu Wei Moon II

    I’ve been meaning to lay down some tracks for a while. Not sure I have a whole album yet, but here’s a start.

     

    I’m a Tao de Jew. With a strong measure of Paganism, or what Reb Zalman called Gaia consciousness.

    Yes, I suppose in our own journeys we will often become syncretists even though syncretism itself gets no love from religious folks or scholars.

    Can I unring the wu wei bell now that I’ve converted to Judaism? Can I eliminate my full body immersion in the Arapaho National Forest? Can I set aside the teachings of Jesus about the oppressed and the stranger? Or, in its metaphorical grandeur the notion of resurrection?

    No, I cannot. Why? Because these and other ideas have found roots in my psyche, helping to shape my nefesh as it provides a link between the inner world of my neshama and the world, the One, of which it is an inextricable part.

    I see the neshama as helical strands of dna connecting all life to its distant origins in the evolutionary story. I see the neshama as a vital, vibrant link with what Jung called the collective unconscious, the deep well of human experience available to each and all.

    The neshama links each of us to the One through depth and purity, retaining a clarity of purpose unsmudged by the conflicting tensions of the yetzer hara and the yezter hatov.

    Wu wei offers insight into the movement of chi, of life force through the One. It flows in and out of the neshama, in and out of all things, while never being separate from any of them. The vitality of the One moves through and with the ten thousand things. If we stop and listen, stop forcing matters, we can follow chi with ease by attending to wu wei.

    When I look out the window, wander in my yard, drive among the Mountains, the Creeks, and the Forest and breathe in Treeness, Creekness, Mountainness, feeling my temporary porous barrier, my skin, blend into this Mountain world and the Mountain world blending into mine, I follow the pagan path which nurtured me and nurtures me.

    This is nefesh, that link between the desires of my neshama and the aspects of the One in my immediate life. The One is one. Not two, not three, not many. One. This is why transcendence as an idea, one shaped by the notion of a three-story universe and Whitehead’s fallacies of misplaced concreteness, makes no sense to me, in fact repulses me as a spiritual goal.

    What I do understand about death. That resurrection is real and total. That no bit of matter or energy gets destroyed. Whether we resurrect as a spray of molecules or a somehow intact consciousness, I have no idea. Will find out myself someday. As will you.

    Luke 4:18-19

    18 The Spirit of the Lord is upon mebecause he has anointed me to bring good news to the poorHe has sent me to proclaim release to the captiveand recovery of sight to the blindto let the oppressed go free,   To proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

    Whether I find this passage formed me or guides me, I don’t know. I do know that the essence of this bit from the Gospel of Luke has informed my life from a time before I had become fully aware of it.

    How do I understand it now? As a statement of the One, igniting in all a sense of responsibility and care for all. I often tell the story of the Iroquois medicine man who prayed for the winged ones, the four leggeds, the Waters, the Trees and the Mountains, those who swim in the water, and all those who live in the soil.

    He never mentions the two-leggeds. When I asked him about that after he had planted a Pine Tree as a symbol of peace, he said, “Oh. We two-leggeds are the most fragile of all creation. In order for us to survive we have to ensure that all the others on whom our lives depend thrive. So we pray for them.”


  • Stage 4, a Dead End

    Beltane and the Wu Wei Moon II

     

    Got my PSA numbers back again. .19 by Quest labs vs. .20 by Lab Corps 3 months ago. After consulting chatgpt about the likely significance of two different assay methodologies, I’m comfortable that I’m in as good or better shape than I was last time. Means for 3 months I can coast, happy I’m still in hormone sensitive territory. Where I wanna be.

    Even so. Stage 4. Watch a television drama. If the writers want to ratchet up tension for a character or those who care about them, you’ll hear a sentence like this one from I, James Wright on Britbox: “I have stage 4. There’s no stage 5.” Effective. However. For those of us with real Stage 4 cancer. Damn.

    If I were an engineer or mathematician, I might create a graph. Identify feelings on one axis and dates of blood draws on another. Pretty sure the feelings would anticipate the quarterly surveillance, showing spikes up as a quarter’s end nears, then a flattening.

    Unless. Say back pain cranks up loud. Demanding attention. A thought about cancer crosses my frontal lobe. They link up, twirl around an empty syringe or full pill bottle. Spikes in between the quarter’s ends.

    Point. Stage 4 cancer acts like chronic pain, always draining resources, sometimes more, sometimes less. Never absent. How can it be? There’s no stage 5.

    Right now I’m feeling pretty good. These numbers did not rock my world. A slight thrill. A breath held, loosed.

    Again the always oddity. No matter what the result. Not today. Not tomorrow. Lesson? Live today, here and now. Not because some self help moron suggests it, but because, fortunately, I don’t have a choice.

    I don’t have to leap ahead to the end game. To hospice care. Long term care insurance. Family coming for last visits. Will that be the denouement to my story? Likely. But not yet.

     

     


  • Makes my heart sing

    Imbolc and the sliver of the Birthday Moon

    Thursday gratefuls: Wiggly, happy Shadow. Amy. Sit, Shadow. Down, Shadow. Touch, Shadow. Shadow work. Ivan Illich. Bringing liberation theology to North America. Cornel West. Mary Radford Reuther. The Iroquois medicine man. Planting the peace tree. Detroit. Spring Ephemerals. Crocus. Grape Hyacinth. Snowdrops. Waiting for Aspen Catkins and Lodgepole Anthers. Black Bears. Big March Snows still on the way.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Adopting Shadow

    Week Kavannah: Netzach with a dash of zerizut and simcha

    One brief shining: A Mountain Spring follows heavy Snow like the 4 feet Kate and I came home to in 2016 after my son and Seoah’s wedding and our trip to Singapore; the melting Snow feeds the Colorado River on the western side of the Continental Divide and the Platte River on our eastern side which then carries Shadow Mountain water from Cub, Blue, North Turkey, and Maxwell Creeks, all flowing into Bear Creek, to the Gulf, not of America, but of Mexico.

     

    Dog journal: Amy came again yesterday. We worked again on sit, down, and now touch with an outstretched palm. Touch leads to the command, come. We both agreed that Shadow’s making real progress. Less skittish. More exploring. Learning commands.

    Shadow now moves through her space with no fear, checking things out. She came out of the laundry room a moment ago, then went over to smell the bag of her food. Telling me in dog language that eating anytime now would be welcome. Almost 7 am so it’s the right time. Gonna pause writing for a moment and fill her food bowl.

    Crunching sounds. A sip of water. Shadow’s breakfast. Soon it will be outside again.

    Learning how to teach her, how to let her make her way through trauma and puppyhood makes my heart sing.

     

    Getting ready, with reluctance, to work on my taxes. It’s not hard once I get into it, filling the organizer for Phil, my accountant. Mailing it. Same with the final push for Ruth’s 529. This week. Stuff that is hard for me. Why? Don’t know. Something about patience for details. For which I have little. Maybe numbers?

    Went through a period where I didn’t claim my charitable contributions because I don’t believe charity should get a tax right off. It should be done, I reasoned, for its own sake, not for the sake of saving taxes. A purist at heart. Gave that up. Though I still believe it would be a more honest world if the rich didn’t get tax benefits for what they perceive as charity.

     

    Just a moment: Fitness and I have had a struggle over the last six months. I quit. Then went back. Quit again. Moved all my stuff downstairs to make working out easier. Did a few turns on the treadmill, some resistance. Stopped again. Did 68 minutes of cardio while trying to find Tupelo Honey. A testimony to neither my discipline nor my common sense.

    Right now I’m waiting again. Don’t have to, but I am. Pain doc ordering up home-based physical therapy. Want to work that as part of my  routine. What routine, he says? I know I need this. But self-care fatigue has me in its grip.


  • The Demon of Ignorance. In the long view

    Yule and the Quarter Century Moon

    Friday gratefuls: Alan. Jamie. Frederick Posner. Mindy. Ellen. Janet. Ginny. Janice. Luke. Findlay. Leo. Gracie. Murdoch. Warmer night. Still cool. My son. Rich. Seoah. Living will. Estate plan. Affairs. Light. Dark. Tao. Light in the dark. Dark in the light. Wu wei. Chi. Ohr. Shiva. Creation and destruction. In the long arcing spiral of existence.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Shiva

    Kavannah 2025:  Creativity

    Kavannah week:   Appreciation of Opposition

    One brief shining: Two brown paper bags at a time, crunching the snow on my driveway, I moved my Safeway pickup order from the back of Ruby, into the kitchen, yes you need to do these things, keep the muscles working, placing the bags on the  counter; after, I drove Ruby into her stall, gave her fresh oats and a quick rubdown, and returned to the house to put away my groceries.

     

    Here is the Shiva Nataraja depicted in the style of the intricate bas reliefs at Angkor Wat

    Hinduism helps me at a time like this. Tom reminded me of Shiva the other morning and I’ve stayed with that thought. Vishnu stabilizes the world; Shiva engages in constant acts of creation and destruction. Both acting over unimaginably long periods of time*, heading toward destruction, then renewal.

    Seen in the context of a kalpa, what is the four year presence of an avatar of the id, guided by fear and lust and greed, not unusual attributes found in humanity. Especially in the Kali Yuga, a portion of the kalpa under the destructive, yet cleansing influence of Kali.

    I suppose you could see this as the opposite of living in the moment. This way of understanding the cosmic cycle insists on embedding ourselves not in the here and now only, but also in the extended experience of kalpas and yugas. From this lofty perspective cousin Donald and his Clown Posse present as bit players, foils in a cyclic dance between chaos and order, a just world and an unjust world. Just as you and I do.

    Here is the depiction of Shiva Nataraja dancing atop the demon of ignorance, styled in the intricate and symbolic manner of Hindu temple art.

    In the Shiva Nataraja I have here at home Shiva dances on the demon of ignorance. We can imagine cousin Donald beneath Shiva’s feet. I’m even willing to imagine this demon of all thing’s petty as a cautionary tale in the oh so finite history of our United States. From the next century: Never again.

    When we focus on the moment, we lose the breadth and depth of history, of time in the sense of kalpas and yugas. This can be a serious problem in that we may universalize what’s happening in the moment and fail to understand the much, much larger context in which all events occur. A French historian looks at the longue durée. The long duration of history. I prefer the Hindu version because of its cyclical nature, but my primary point this morning?  As bad as he has been and will be cousin Donald does not write the long arc of history. None of us do.

     

    *The Cyclical Nature of Time (Yugas and Kalpas)

    • Hinduism views time as cyclical rather than linear. It is divided into vast cosmic cycles called Kalpas, each lasting over 4.32 billion years.
    • Within each Kalpa are Maha Yugas (Great Ages), consisting of four Yugas (epochs):
      1. Satya Yuga (Age of Truth) – the golden age of righteousness.
      2. Treta Yuga – a slightly diminished moral and spiritual state.
      3. Dvapara Yuga – further decline in virtue and wisdom.
      4. Kali Yuga – the age of darkness and chaos, characterized by moral decay and ignorance.

    The current era is believed to be Kali Yuga, considered the final and darkest age before renewal.

    End of the Kali Yuga

    • At the end of Kali Yuga, it is believed that the world will undergo a period of destruction and renewal.
    • Kalki, the tenth and final avatar of Vishnu, will appear. Kalki is described as a warrior on a white horse, wielding a sword of divine justice. He will restore righteousness (Dharma) and end the cycle of Kali Yuga.

    3. Pralaya (Dissolution)

    • After the end of a Kalpa, the universe undergoes Pralaya, or dissolution.
    • Pralaya can occur on different scales:
      • Naimittika Pralaya: The end of a day of Brahma (the creator deity), where the physical world is dissolved but the subtle world persists.
      • Prakritika Pralaya: The dissolution of the entire cosmos into its primordial state.
    • After Pralaya, Brahma begins the process of creation anew.

    4. Shiva’s Role: Tandava Dance

    • Shiva, as the cosmic destroyer, plays a crucial role in the end-of-the-world concept. His Tandava dance symbolizes the cosmic cycles of creation, preservation, and destruction.
    • This dance is both destructive and regenerative, reflecting the cyclical nature of existence.

    5. Philosophical Perspective

    • The “end of the world” is not feared but is seen as a necessary phase in the eternal cycle of creation and renewal.
    • From an Advaita (non-dualist) perspective, the physical universe is ultimately illusory (Maya), and the dissolution is a return to the unmanifest reality (Brahman).

    Hindu eschatology emphasizes the impermanence of material existence and the eternal nature of the soul, offering a profound perspective on time, change, and cosmic renew


  • Ripped from the Headlines

    Yule and the Quarter Century Moon

    Friday gratefuls: Rabbi Jamie. Loving rebuke. Unloving rebuke. Mark in Al Kharj. Hyperpanda. Saudi Arabia. Mary in Brisbane. Diane healing. My son. Seoah. Murdoch. Eleanor. Kingsley. Tara. Arjan. More Snow and Cold. Mini-splits keeping me warm. Go, heat pumps. Mussar. Listening for the melody of other persons. Salmon. Russet Potatoes. Asparagus. Baby Beets. Celery. Mandarin Oranges. Muesli. Milk. Protein powder.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Firefighters

    Kavannah for 2025: Creativity

    Kavannah for this January 10th life: Perseverance & Grit  Netzach

    One brief shining: Rooting around for something to eat for dinner last night, peanut butter and English muffin, no, ramen, no, Chicken potpie, no, then, there in the back of the top freezer door, a rubbermaid container, what is it, Senate Navy Bean soup, the last bowlful, ah.

    Here is the image styled as a dramatic movie poster titled “LA Burning.”

     

    Let’s see. LA on fire. Trump gaining his long deserved status as a felon today. Our criminal President. The picture of the Presidents at Carter’s funeral. Every one with a hand over their heart. Except for cousin Donald. And how bout that threshold we just passed, eh? An average “2.7 degrees Fahrenheit, above those the planet experienced at the start of the industrial age.”*

    Wonder if the wizard in his Mar-a-Lago Oz has a heart for him? Doubt it. Already taken by the cowardly lion. I can see Trump’s inner persona with a Bert Lahr face, without the humor.

    That threshold? It was the goal of all the carbon dioxide emission heroics planned. If only we do these things now, we’ll stop the rise of the hockey stick at or below 2.7 degrees F. How we doing on containing emissions anyhow? We did reach a record last year there, too. The highest rate of carbon emissions ever. That’s right. All the angst generated in all the world and not only have we passed a critical threshold going up, a failure, we’ve ensured a yet hotter world by increasing rather than decreasing carbon emissions. All in the article linked to below.

    Oh. And that felon about to run the most powerful nation in the world? He got this: (an) unconditional discharge, in which a defendant is not fined, locked up or given probation. You can read more details about this outstanding moment in Presidential history here: Trump Sentenced.

    All this ripped from today’s headlines. Gosh, gee whiz. What an interesting country we have. What a hot country we have. What a felonious President we have.

    LA burning? a tragedy for humans and infrastructure. One that will take decades I imagine for a full recovery. Here’s an irony. I don’t how much, don’t even know how to figure it out, but much of the water pouring down on those fires has to have come from Colorado Snow melt draining into the Colorado River.

     

    Just a moment: Sometimes the world around me outstrips my ability to grasp, understand it. Even at a rudimentary level. I’m ready for four years of daily lessons in humility.

     

    *2024’s record breaking heat.


  • Sometimes Dreams Devolve

    Yule and the Quarter Century Moon

    Thursday gratefuls: Rabbi Jamie. Laurie. Tara. Eleanor the dog. Rich. Joanne. Marilyn and driving in the dark. Irv. Nate. Cold. Snow. Dr. Whited. CT scans. Aortic artery. The heart. The lev. Mussar. This too is for the good. Doctors, Nurse Practitioners. Physician’s Assistants. Medicine.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Cancer

    Kavannah for 2025: Creativity

    Kavannah for this January 9th life: Chesed – loving kindness

    One brief shining: This computer, the one recording my fingerstrokes in bits and bytes, I bought in a slight morphine haze after having had my left knee replaced in 2016, eight years ago this last December; I will receive its replacement, another Dell tower and new curved 32 inch monitor today, which means that awkward phase moving from one computer to another will begin soon after.

     

    I have two addictions these days. One is buying books. And keeping them. The other is buying a new computer every now and then. I don’t need to. In either case. But both of them trip a little trigger that delivers the equivalent of sugar water for rats in a cage. Given that my previous addiction, alcohol, was both destructive and over time cost more than these two combined, I have come out about even I reckon. Can you say rationalization?

    Anyhow my shiny new platinum Dell tower will arrive along with a bigger, curved, 4K screen. That means I can take this 27 inch screen downstairs and watch Criterion Channel movies on it. Or something. I’m just grateful that my thing is not new cars, or houses.

     

    Mussar last night. The stories we tell, this group of confidants, soul replenishers. The seeing and being seen. Intellectual stimulation. Gentle challenges. Digging into the inner world with each other, sometimes guts and all. Hugs and smiles each time we meet. Lunches and breakfasts, texts and phone calls in between. A sphere of intimacy as close as BFF’s, approaching family without quite the same level of obligate love.

    Kate and I came to this group together until she died. I went as her spouse. She was on the board at the time. Eight years, or nine. Long enough for the Velveteen Rabbit effect to have worked on each one of us.

     

    Just a moment: Conflagration. Crown Fires. Santa Ana Winds. Movie stars. Canceled premieres. Canceled houses. Armageddon. Hard not to wax apocalyptic. We’ve all seen L.A. burn, get swallowed by earthquakes, invaded by aliens, wrecked by rampaging gangs. This time though the disaster is not on the lot, the lot is the disaster. Life imitating, well, art. Sort of art that is.

    And add the compassion of a past, yet future President, who says: the fires are Gavin Newsome’s fault. Just makes it all the more surreal.

    California is a repository of the American Dream, one forged by those who kept going west until they got stopped by the waters of the wide Pacific. And sometimes Dreams devolve into nightmares. Right now in LA.

    Selfishly, I hope we’re not the next fire prone area to make national news.

     

     


  • You’re Alive

    Samain and the Moon of Growing Darkness

    Wednesday gratefuls: Ley Septic. Living Waters. Snow and cold. Great sleeping. Sue Bradshaw. Synthroid. Celebrex. Erleada. Orgovyx. The bubble gum and baling wire keeping me alive. Laurie’s Chi-Town Food Truck. Laurie’s dog. Joy and Kaitlan. Rich and Rick. Mary in Oz. (Aus). The Pacific. The Southern Ocean. The Atlantic. The Sea of Japan. The Yellow Sea. The South China Sea.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Mark’s new job

    Kavannah: Perseverance and chesed

    One brief shining: Snow came in through the screen of my opened bedroom window, sprinkling my head with a Mountain Winter baptism, Waters evaporated into the Sky, perhaps from the Pacific Ocean or the Gulf of Mexico, falling on my head, including me in the great cycle of Water, a most holy act of Mother Earth and her sacred Atmosphere, necessary for sustaining life, and preparing me for the life I lead today, this November 27th, 2024 life.

     

    Thanksgiving is tomorrow. Disputed cultural territory, yet a beloved holiday, too. Now followed by Native American Heritage Day. Better known right now as Black Friday. Whenever potential customers go idle thanks to holidays, ads and special promotions announce its coming and try to wrest a few bitcoins from the collective purse. The curse of the holiday times.

    Oh, part of that, too. Sporting events get scheduled. Plenty of seat time. On this point, see the aforementioned ads and special promotions times 2. Thanksgiving football. The Detroit Lions and the Chicago Bears. For example. In some instances the sporting event is the holiday: Superbowl, World Series.

    I choose to let the curse be a mild one, granting the capitalists their pound of financial flesh. I can enjoy a meal with Ruth, Gabe, and Jen without participating too much. As our time at the Water Grill tomorrow will allow.

    Family. Friends. Loved ones. Together, seeing, being seen. Hugs. Smiles. Reawakening old relationships, reinforcing new ones, sustaining active ones. Humans connecting around important themes: Gratitude, Light, Darkness, Sacred Nature and her progeny. Love.

    As we all pass through this Holiseason, well underway, I hope you can take every opportunity that presents itself to pinch yourself, you’re alive! You have friends and family! And if not, my wish for this Holiseason is that you find one or the other or both.

     

    Just a moment: Saw Sue Bradshaw, my PCP, a nurse practitioner and a sweet woman. Each time she sees me she takes my hand and smiles. I smile back, squeeze her hand. Healing before any talk or probing and prodding.

    We discussed my multiple medications and conditions. I told her she was taking good care of me. Well, I’m trying, she said. Then added, look at you, you walked in here. I replied, Yeah, as we might say back home, above ground and taking nourishment.

     

    How bout that cease fire in Lebanon? You go, Joe. Underappreciated, yet still putting in the hours and the big effort. A sad end to a good Presidency, perhaps now lifted a bit by a diplomatic holiday miracle. A late November surprise.

     


  • See.

    Mabon and the Sukkot Moon

    Tuesday gratefuls: A cool night. Slept well. Dr. Repine. Alice, from Alaska. Gary. A most excellent workout. Freddie’s steak sandwich as a treat for self care. Glad to get back home after driving to Colorado Eye Associates. Glaucoma. Left eye’s retina thinning. Vikings in London. Again, after all these centuries. AI glasses. Podcasts. Ovid. Homer. Cervantes. Reading the Old Guys.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: retina photography

    Kavannah: Savlanut, Patience

    One brief shining: Set your chin here, on the left side, you’ll see a green star focus on that, red takes over my visual field as my right eye rests against the lens of the retinal photography machine, which looks like a large kitchen appliance with eyes, stay focused on the star, don’t blink, don’t think, don’t move, flash of red, then to black and Dr. Repine had an actual photograph of my retina, ironic if you think about it, a photograph of the main instrument I use to see the world.

    the kind of report I get from retinal photography

    Had my eyes dilated yesterday for the various looking at my lookers that takes place each visit. Narrow angle glaucoma. As a result of which, long ago, Jane West lasered holes in my iris, drains for vitreous fluid so I wouldn’t suddenly go blind. Which narrow angle glaucoma can do to you if not managed. It’s rare. But not to me. Even with the drains the glaucoma doesn’t give up. As I’ve learned about so many bodily processes.

    This time my left eye shows signs of more aggressive thinning in the top quadrant of my left eye. We’re fine for now, Dr. Repine. See you in six months. Seeing the ophthalmologist. A deep dive into the world of medical machinery. Retinal photographs. Visual field tests. Eye pressure tests. That machine with the changeable lenses. Magnifying lenses. Most made, it seems to me, in Germany.

    Good news: 20/20 in my right eye. 20/25 in the left.

    The golden Leaves have begun to turn a darker shade, perhaps ochre on some. Drying out. Blowing off with even the gentle Winds. Already some Tree skeletons, especially the bone colored Aspens. Even the Lodgepoles shed a few Needles. Preparation. Readiness. Plant intelligence. We’re not the only ones. Even all us animals are not the only ones who have senses, read the room and react accordingly. Check out the book, Light-Eaters.

    The plaid and flannel season well underway. A while back I decided to make clothing choices easier by choosing flannel plaids for the fallow time. Found myself tending toward lighter weight flannels and plaids even in spring and the cooler part of summer. Lauren calls me the plaid guy.

    We respond to changing air temperature, moisture types and amounts. Having spent the last 50 years in the north and/or at 8,800 feet I know how. Love the changes. The adaptions. Blow cheeks, crack Wind. Come Snow and Ice.

     

    Just a moment: Saw the movie Troy three or four days ago. Was in the Trojan War part of Ovid’s Metamorphosis at the time. Ovid changed up Homer. A lot. The movie did, too. Yet both were compelling in their way. Made me take out Emily Wilson’s Iliad and put it under the Metamorphosis. My next read. All part of Herme’s Journey. Infusing the classics even more into my heart. After the Iliad? Don Quixote.

     

     

     


  • Ruth

    Beltane and the Shadow Mountain Moon

    Sunday gratefuls: Ruth. Jen. Gabe. Sarah. Northfield Nighthawks, class of 2024. Ritchie Center. Pomp and Circumstance. Elgar. Mortarboards and gowns. Rituals. Rites of Passage. Alexandria High School, 1965. Nuggets v. Timberwolves. Battered Fish and chips. Bangers and mash. A perfect post graduation meal.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Ruth, the graduate

    One brief shining: Up from the gymnasium floor, above the first two tiers of smooth concrete seats, we found four in a row, sat down and waited through an excruciating band warmup, a practice presentation of the colors, other family and friends streaming up even higher past us, until Elgar’s piece* used for the inauguration of Edward VII, and the Northfield High School Class of 2024 began to file in, mortarboards turned to art projects with glitter and team symbols, their teen wearers torn in that liminal space between serious moment and unrestrained hilarity.

     

    Yes. It happened. Ruth graduated! Sarah and I drove down, I chose to park faraway and Uber in. To save a lot of walking. In that sense it worked well. However, I did park faraway. Further than I thought. Yeah, sure, maps. Who needs a map? I knew where I was. And, I did. It just wasn’t close to Denver University. Oh, well.

    The whole ceremony, once it began, ran right at two hours. Done pretty well. Things moved right along. It was one of thousands of high school graduations that day. Just one. But it was the one. The one that mattered for us. Ruth’s day.

    We tried to locate her. Hard even though we knew she’d sit in the fourth row from the back and on the right side facing front. I mean, there were all those blue gowns and faces obscured by unfamiliar funny hats with tassels. Plus, just to give it another degree of difficulty the girl who sat next to her had the same curly hair. Oh. There she is. We waved. She didn’t see. How could she?

    There were many speeches. A lot of flying high. A lot of you will succeed against any diversity, will persevere, will find your dream if you work hard and stay kind.

    Then, Ruth crossed the stage: Ruth Elizabeth Olson. Her moment. Our moment. Diploma and Nighthawk metal feather in hand she went down the steps and back to her seat next to the curly haired girl and that was that. Well, in another 30 to 45 minutes.

    Dinner after was at a British Pub themed fish and chips joint where Ruth and Gabe and I have eaten many times. Where we ran into more graduates, in particular Wilson, a former friend of Ruth’s from her Macauliffe days.

     

    *BTW: Elgar’s composition

    The title is taken from act 3, scene 3 of Shakespeare‘s Othello:

    Farewell the neighing steed and the shrill trump,
    The spirit-stirring drum, th’ear-piercing fife,
    The royal banner, and all quality,
    Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war![1]


  • Swings

    Spring and the Purim Moon

    Thursday gratefuls: Diane. Rebecca. Mussar group. Rabbi Jamie. Evergreen Market Cooking School. A usual busy Thursday. Alan and Tara tomorrow. Shabbat. Then, Socrates’ Cafe. Jackie. Purim Spiel. Sunday. Ancient Brothers. Evergreen Chamber Orchestra. Busy guy. Bechira. Choice point. Kehillah. Community. Resurrection. New life.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Choosing how I feel

    One brief shining: Got a call two nights ago from Joanne, hello Charlie, do you still want the Shema on your tallit, yes I do, thank you, you’ll look spiffy.

     

    Over the next few days I’ll have lunch with Rebecca, breakfast with Alan, attend Thursday afternoon mussar, have a session on Jewish holidays with Rabbi Jamie, learn knife handling skills at a cooking school, continue work on my torah portion with Tara, participate for the first time in the Socrates’ Cafe, go to a Purim spiel at CBE, discuss pleasure with the Ancient Brothers, and attend a chamber music concert at St. Laurence Episcopal. Gosh. Cramming human interaction into a four day weekend. More than I usually do in a month.

    All the while last week’s storm slowly sublimates, Great Sol beams it up, up, up into Water vapor. Half of my driveway looks like the leading edge of a Glacier with striations of Snow laid down at different points of the storm compacting each other, creating a layer cake look. In the back where the white has no disturbance the drifts and shallow areas quietly lose their height, as if they were a slowly deflating balloon.

     

    My revenant from yesterday has moved on or sunk back in. This morning I’m glad to see Great Sol, glad to see my Lodgepole companion, glad to sit here on the third level of Shadow Mountain Home, and write.

    Moods swing. Sometimes like that big, big swing in Bangkok*. A huge swing, over 90 feet high, featured in a ceremony with Hindu origins. Certain Thai folk would swing and swing and swing trying to reach a bag of coins placed on a pillar. Occasionally one would reach out for the bag of coins, miss, and fall to their death. Mood swings can have us reaching for a bag of feelings just out of our grasp, feelings that would either make us finally all right, or doomed.

    So many suicides, I’m sure, were people on the Giant Swing, hoping for relief, any relief, from suffering, reaching for it. On a less dramatic note we can allow our moods to engulf us for a minute, an hour, a day, a week and while there to wreck havoc on our sense of well-being.

    I’ve learned some tricks to deal with them. Tal’s How do I feel? Writing blog posts. Knowing that they’re moods and not permanent conditions. An awareness that they come and go. Perhaps talking of Michelangelo. Prufrock let his  mood take over.

     

    *According to ancient Hindu mythology, after Brahma created the world he sent Shiva to look after it. When Shiva descended to the earth, Naga serpents wrapped around the mountains in order to keep the earth in place. After Shiva found the earth solid, the Nagas moved to the seas in celebration and made the earth stable completely. The Swing Ceremony was a re-enactment of this. The pillars of the Giant Swing represented the mountains, while the circular base of the swing represented the earth and the seas. In the ceremony Brahamanas would swing, trying to grab a bag of coins placed on one of the pillars. wiki