• Category Archives General
  • Where am I going?

    Fall and the Sukkot Moon

    Wednesday gratefuls: Diane. Coming to help me prune. Jogging. Sleep. Acting. Chekhov. The Seagulls. Cool. Shirley Septic and Waste. Kep. Poor guy. Bumping into stuff. Ukraine. Putin. Missiles. Will. Minnesota. Hawai’i. ? Lab draws this morning. Flu shot.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Hawai’i

     

    Picked Diane up at the Federal Center Station of the RTD yesterday afternoon. Drove back to the Natural Grocers where we picked up supplies. Apples. Aloe Vera juice. Organic fish sticks. Mixed vegetables. Raspberries. Blueberries. Bananas. Tomatoes. Lettuce. Headed back home.

    At the Natural Grocers we got into a conversation with the cashier. Where’re you from? San Francisco. Here. Oh, I’m from Hawai’i. Oh, I’m moving to Hawai’i. What Island? Oahu. Oh, I’m from Oahu. The North Shore, where all the surfing is. Yes, I’m going to that side, too. Oh, Kailua, Kane’ Ohe’? Yes.

    Diane picked up on my answer and asked about it, given my recent blogs. Oh, just trying to bond with the cashier, I said.

    More I thought about it though I realized Hawai’i is still top of mind when I think about moving. And, I’ve been telling people I’m moving to Hawai’i for quite awhile now. An interesting, unbidden piece of information about the move.

    Not sure what it means. If anything. But there you are.

     

    Mussar tonight. My turn to lead. Anavah. Humility. A key idea in mussar is taking up the right amount of space. That’s the idea of humility. Neither self-deprecating nor self-aggrandizing, being who you are.

    Here’s a Rabbi’s take on anavah.*

     

    How do you experience anavah in your own life? Do you ever take up too much space? Too little? If so, why? How can you create a you that takes up the space you deserve?

    One of my favorite stories from the Torah. Jacob and the Angel at the Jabbok Ford.** I see it as an example of anavah. Jacob wrestled with God/the Angel/a man to determine the right amount of space between him and the sacred.

    One interpretation is this. Jacob was on a journey, fleeing his brother Esau. He had divided his livestock and servants in two, reasoning that he might escape with half his wealth if his servants encountered Esau. God had come to him in a dream and told him to go to the land of his fathers and God would be with him.

    As they crossed the ford of the Jabbok River, Jacob stayed behind. While he was alone, a man came and wrestled with him. Jacob was alone as a result of his struggles with his father-in-law Laban and his brother, Esau.

    Jacob had experienced rejection by his father-in-law and his own brother. He had fled them. Who was he now? Was he a man who fought with his closest relatives, made them angry, divided his family? Or, was he a man of the sacred, following a path that was his pilgrimage?

    That night beside the river at a ford, places known for their magical qualities, Jacob had to decide who he was. He struggled within himself, trying to decide whether he was a bad brother and a bad son-in-law or was he a good man who had done what was necessary?

    In that struggle he learned that he was neither. Or both. When the inner jihad was over, he had a new self-awareness. he was now Israel, for he had experienced the sacred within himself and survived to gain a clear identity, an authentic Self.

     

    *Just as the Torah begins with Parashat B’reishit, Mussar practice begins with the middah of anavah. All other middot are accessed through this core character trait. The middah of anavah is essential for living with integrity. When we think of humility, we may imagine someone who is the picture of modesty and meekness. However, in Mussar, humility is not defined as being so humble that you disappear; rather, it is about having all of your character traits in balance so that the inner light of the soul shines pure and clear as originally intended. As Mussar teacher Alan Morinis puts it, “Being humble doesn’t mean being nobody: it just means being no more of a somebody than you ought to be.”
    …In our own lives, we hide our authentic selves from the truth of our lives. When we live out of balance, despite the fact that we may be falling apart on the inside or on the outside, we betray our lives. We take up either too much or too little space; either we take away space from others, or we abandon them when they need us. Our sacred connection to anything important—our families, our communities, our work—all suffer when we neglect to live life with anavah in balance. Celebrated with intention, Shabbat provides the time, space, and opportunity to reconnect to our core essence, reacquire a sense of proportion, and connect anew with the people and projects in our lives with both humility and presence. Anavah, approaching our lives with humility, means not taking up too much space in the Garden, not trying to fool others with some disguise of our true selves; but to honestly offer our truest selves to the people and work we encounter in our lives. Humility: Shabbat as a Return to Our Authentic Selves” by Rabbi Michelle Pearlman and Rabbi Sharon Mars in Mussar Torah Commentary, p.3, 6

     

    **22 The same night he arose and took his two wives, his two maids, and his eleven children, and crossed the ford of the Jabbok.23 He took them and sent them across the stream, and likewise everything that he had.24 And Jacob was left alone; and a man wrestled with him until the breaking of the day.25 When the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he touched the hollow of his thigh; and Jacob’s thigh was put out of joint as he wrestled with him.26 Then he said, “Let me go, for the day is breaking.” But Jacob said, “I will not let you go, unless you bless me.”27 And he said to him, “What is your name?” And he said, “Jacob.”28 Then he said, “Your name shall no more be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with men, and have prevailed.”29 Then Jacob asked him, “Tell me, I pray, your name.” But he said, “Why is it that you ask my name?” And there he blessed him.30 So Jacob called the name of the place Peni’el, saying, “For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life is preserved.”31 The sun rose upon him as he passed Penu’el, limping because of his thigh.32 Therefore to this day the Israelites do not eat the sinew of the hip which is upon the hollow of the thigh, because he touched the hollow of Jacob’s thigh on the sinew of the hip.

     


  • rental agent draft

    rin, I’m looking to move to Oahu within the next 6-8 months. No later than March, 2023. I’m single, widowed, 75. I have an Akita, 85 pounds. Apartment or Condo. Quiet is important. 2 bedrooms. High speed internet. Probably AC. If not in Honolulu, parking. Between $3000 and $4000 or so a month.


  • Burning Bear Creek Trail

    Summer and the Aloha Moon

    art@willworthington

    Wednesday gratefuls: Alan. Susan Taylor. Burning Bear Creek trail. The blue Columbine. The Dictionary of Art. Burning Bear Creek. Kep. Groomed. North Fork of the South Platte. The Denver, South Platte, and Fairplay Railroad. Highway 285 which covered its rails. Mountains. Bailey. Award Winning Pet Grooming.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Burning Bear Creek

    Tarot: Knight of Vessels, Eel

    “The Eel is a shapeshifter. He is purposeful and agile,  gliding over the water (emotions) with such ease and quickness that he can adapt his physical form to accommodate even sudden changes.

    Knight of Vessels Wildwood urges you to apply the same adaptability as you begin to pursue your own goals. He invites you to find opportunities to express yourself.” tarotx.net (edited)

     

    Found it. The trailhead to Burning Bear Creek Trail. Surprised myself by walking uphill for some ways without huffing and puffing. Fist pump. Two months ago I drove past the trail head and found other beautiful vistas including the huge beaver dam and pound. Also the hillsides with beaver cut tree stumps.

    The trail begins right at the road and the parking area only has enough space for two or three vehicles. I expected a turnoff and a larger parking area so I missed it. This time I followed the mileage suggestion and found it at about three miles from Hwy. 285 on Park County #60.

    There is a two mile stretch of 60 before the trailhead that is private property, grandfathered in I imagine because it is in the Pike National Forest. Maybe four or five homes along the way. This is isolated country, back country. What a wonderful place it would be to grow up. Pronghorn Antelope, Black Bear, Beavers, Mule Deer, Fox. Burning Bear Creek. Moose. Mountain Lions. Mountain vistas. Pine and Aspen Forest. Mountain meadows. Wild Flowers. A neighborhood of wild Animals and Mountains and Creeks and Plants.

    The trail starts uphill right at the road and continues across a meadow for a couple of hundred yards. Well maintained, it has rock dams every so often. Water shunts down the hillside then, not eroding the trail. A lot of work went into this, one of hundreds of trails in the Rockies.

    When I got a hundred yards along the trail, this is what I saw.

    A couple of things began to bug me. Had I locked the car? (Had I turned the burner off?) And. Why had I chosen to hike without my camelpak? A short hike, that’s what I told myself. Wasn’t the water I missed but the bear bells. I plan to purchase bear spray, too, now that I’m hiking in the true back country.

    I’d set my timer to 15 minutes. I decided I’d go back right away and continued on. A 30 minute hike was what I’d planned.

    Further on I found a patch of blue Columbine, Colorado’s State Flower, as well as a contrasting red Indian Paint Brush.

    The Blue Columbine is endangered because hikers dig them up for their Rock gardens. Silly folk. They could come back in the fall and collect the seeds. I may do just that.

    The trail took a downward slope as my timer went off. I could hear Burning Bear Creek running below so I decided to go on.

    Up the slope of the Valley’s other side I could see that the trail leveled out. Went up to investigate.

    I found this marker pointing up this section of the trail.

    Oh. My. I’ll be coming back with bells on. And Bear Spray, Water, and Snacks. And, a longer time line.

    On the way back

    Finally, I stopped at the Shawnee National Historic Site. About half way back to Bailey.

     


  • This and That

    Beltane and the Beltane Moon

    Mice Eaters

    Monday gratefuls: Groveland. The Ancient Brothers. Alan. Devolution. Thinking. Miguel de Unamuno. Philosophy in the key of human. Secular sabbath. An at home retreat each week. Kya. Will she be Kep’s new girlfriend? Snow. Falling. Not the Snow. Me. Because of the Snow. Ouch. Breakfast. Road trip. Del Norte. Saturday. Meet Kya.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Mouse that got away

     

    I’ll post Devolution later in the day. I have to make some changes to the word file and I don’t have time right now. Going out to breakfast with Alan.

    Enjoyed the presentation. Trying to write like I talk. More and more. Felt like it hit home for the folks listening. Though. It seemed to engender talk about climate change and that was not really my point. Though it is a subsequent point for sure.

    Got me excited again about the book. The non-fiction book about faith in the seen. The known. Look at what you see.

     

    Oh, man. Wore my tennis shoes. Mistake. Stepped down with my dog bowl of dead Mice and slipped on the rubber mat intended to make an unsteady place safe for Kate. Cue irony. Fortunately I hit only my back muscles, but I went down hard. Ooof. Have my help me I’ve fallen button on but I could get back up. Lucky. Shows the risks of living alone are real. Intractable.

     

    Reading Miguel de Unamuno’s, The Tragic Sense of Life. He was a philosopher who intrigued me in college. Never went back to him. When I looked again at Santayana’s material, he reminded me of Unamuno. Bought books of both. Both Spanish though Unamuno is a Basque and might have resented that identification. He’s funny. And contrary. An existentialist. Reminded me again why I loved him long ago.

    Like returning to this kind of reading. It informs my thinking and with a guy like Unamuno, my heart. I’m a secular guy with a heart attachment to the universe through the particulars of Mother Earth, Luna, and Sol.

     

    This is the week of home maintenance. Altitude Electric for work on the generator. So it works next time there’s a power outage. House cleaning. So the house is, well, clean. Coyote HVAC for seasonal maintenance on mini-splits. And, a doggy time with Kep in for his shots and annual physical.

     

    The usual classes in Kabbalah: Astrology and the Sefer Yetzirah. Mussar. And my first acting class tonight. Treading the boards again at 75. We’ll see.

    Kate’s yahrzeit observed at the Kabbalat Shabbat service this Friday. 6 pm. Jon and the kids coming up for that. Then Gabe’s meal at Brooke’s Tavern.

     

    On Saturday a journey to Del Norte, about 3 hours south. To an Akita breeder. Rehoming a 9 year old female, Kya. She doesn’t like dominant females. No joking about this please. I’m taking Kep with me. We’ll see if they seem compatible. If so, I’ll bring her home for a trial. Kep needs a buddy. Bad.

     

    BTW: As I suspected. Ravens. Eating the mice. A bit of Snow last night and I found their distinctive tracks. Happy to help these magnificent Birds. Cycle of life.

    On one of the traps the red light blinked. The peanut butter had disappeared. But. No mouse? Smart mouse or a resurrected one? I dunno. A mystery.

     


  • March 21

    Spring and the Seoah Citizenship Moon

    Monday gratefuls: Better energy. The Ancient Brothers. Kep. The Grandma wall. Loading the last, for now, donations to Mountain Resource Center and/or Goodwill. A dull gray day. Uncommon. Snow. Light. Flash bulb memories. Sabertoothed Tigers. Skulls. Dancing Bears. The Grateful Dead. Music. Mozart. Ives. Faure. Bach. The Beatles. The Band. Neal Crosby. Bob Dylan. Jefferson Airplane.

     

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Surrealistic Pillow

     

     

    Third day of exile from my blog. Little dot keeps going back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Usually solves itself, but not this time. So with extreme reluctance borne of many calls to technical assistance I broke down and called my webhost, Ionos. No joy. They haven’t called me back. Maybe they’re down? Frustrating.

    I’ll be back when I can. It does like Ionos has had some problems. The whole server farm industry and its business model remains opaque to me. Yet this blog, the most consistent thing I’ve done over the last 17 years can’t be seen without it. I don’t know where on the planet they are, who runs Ionos, why they’re having trouble. I have a regular backup for my blog but it’s saved on Ionos, too.

    On with them now. It’s a glitch on their end. My website is one of some still affected by a web programming issue.

     

     

    Yesterday was a weird day. I got up achy, feeling crummy. Headache, muscle aches, general yechh. Got on the call with my Ancient Brothers and my check-in echoed that. When we were done talking about flash bulb memories, I felt better. My energy level had improved.

    Still fatigued, but I could get stuff done. Loaded Ruby with the last of the donations from pruning mine and Kate’s things. Probably will be more, but that will require another pass that sits in priority well behind the kitchen, the loft, hanging art, even the outdoors.

    With spring will come cleaning out the garage. Oddly, I was well underway with this task when Kate got sicker. It fell away from my attention. Over 3 years ago. It’s going back on the board. Power wash. Seal the concrete. Get rid of the old freezer. Eliminate clutter. Organize tools. That sorta thing. Look forward to it.

    Energy level seems still improved. I hope this also clears up some of the brain fog I’ve been experiencing. The low stamina included intellectual work. I couldn’t read or think about one thing very long before I tired out. Didn’t like that. It can be an effect of hypothyroidism.

     

    Got started with Ada Palmer’s Too Like Lightning. Amazing world building. She’s a professor at the University of Chicago which means very brainy. It shows. Her area is medieval and renaissance literature.

     

    Feel oddly disconnected when I can’t post. Like there’s a core element of writing missing. You. I hope they hurry up and get this fixed. I only know a handful of my readers and I’ve communicated with them. But perhaps you I didn’t know read my blog. I hope you keep at it even after this caesura.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     


  • March 20

    Spring and the Moon of Seoah’s Citizenship

    Sunday gratefuls: Fatigue. New meds. Being alive. Feeling crummy. Kate, always. Spring. Yes. Rosh Chodesh. Men’s group at CBE. Sleep, good sleep. Those two or three hours of discomfort each afternoon. Psychological discomfort. Kep. Award Winning Pet Grooming. Marina Harris and her team. Cleaning the loft. Rich Levine. Alan Rubin.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Blue Colorado Sky

     

    Ooof. Something’s off. So hard to tell what. Levothryoxine? New statin dose? Erleada acting up? Don’t think I’m sick. Got past that. Weaker yet. A bit woozy. Don’t feel rested after a good night’s sleep. I mean, dude! WTF? If this lasts into the week, I’m gonna see Kristine again. I see Eigner (oncologist) on April 4th. Will be part of the discussion.

    Tough to get stuff done. Tough to not get stuff done. Gosh, gee whillikers. Feeling like a bit of a mess right now. Don’t like it. Kate struggled a lot with the meds and therapies supposed to heal her or at least give her comfort. Getting a better idea of what she experienced.

     

     

    Enough of that. Now onto the good news. It’s the Spring Equinox. Ostara. Easter bunnies. Dying and rising gods. Day and night on a roughly equal footing. Light beginning to stay with us longer. I’m usually reluctant to see Winter go. Not this year. Give me warmer weather, some flowers. Let me dance a jig on my back deck. (right now has a mound of snow about three feet high so it will be a while.) Migratory Birds. Fawns. Elk Calves. Kits. Moose Calves. Bear Cubs. Babies of all kinds. Life shows up in all its wonder.

    Sure, a fallow season. Cold. Snow. Food in short supply. Beautiful. Yes. Necessary. Yes. But warmth and green Grass, flowing streams, Trees leafed out. Good, too.

    I forgot to mention chocolate. Bunnies with their sweet little ears missing. Marshmallow chicks. Candy eggs. Hunting for eggs.

    Easter. Passover. Pesach. Liberation. Defeating slavery. Defeating death. That’s all good stuff. This year? I’m leaning in to overuse this overused but helpful phrase.

    I need a dash of resurrection, a soupçon of parting Red Sea. Give me that Moses’ staff. Roll away the stone in front of my energy. Let me race across the bottom of the Sea. I wanna see it fold in over Pharaoh’s soldiers. Even that was a Cecil B. DeMille’s thing.

    The fertility of the Rabbit. The goddess Ostara mentioned in the venerable Bede’s The Reckoning of Time. General rollicking good fun along with all the serious death defeating and liberating going on.

    Oh, boy do I need that energy. Big time. I image I’m not alone. It’s been a long Covid. Which, I think, made Winter even tougher for us temperate zone folks. For me it’s been a year filled with death and scrabbling to get hold of my own illness and its sometimes-ornery treatments. Then the hypothyroidism. I needed that. Though. If levothyroxine can return my energy level, then I’m glad we found it.

     

    I’ll let you in on something occult. I always feel better after I right this. One of the reasons, I imagine, that I’ve stayed at it for over 17 years! Feel better now. Breakfast. Then, the Ancient Brothers consider Flashbulb memories.


  • No Title

    Imbolc and the waning crescent of the 3/4 Moon

    Sunday gratefuls: Jon, struggling, trying. Making prints and entering them. Ruth, happier, easier. Gabe, a sweetheart. Rigel. Kep, using the doggie bed he’s ignored for months! Ciabatta rolls from Bread Lounge. Sourdough from same. Reading. And, more reading.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Remembering the old dream

    Tarot: Nine of Stones, Tradition

     

    An interesting Tarot pull this morning considering my first topic this morning. Theory. By the end of college I had a clear idea of what I wanted to do. Theoretical Anthropology. That fit together well with my double major Philosophy and Anthropology. Theory folks look at a discipline from a meta level, considering how assumptions and conceptions in the field match up with the field actually does. They can also propose next steps for field work, or suggest whole new fields of inquiry. Say, bio-linguistics, or one that was just emerging as I graduated, Cognitive Anthropology.

    I would have been the first Ph.D. in Anthro from Ball State and the Department was behind me. The religious affairs advisor sponsored me for a Danforth fellowship for graduate study.

    Three problems. I never finished the Danforth fellowship application. Both Brandeis and Rice accepted me but could offer no fellowships. Fellowships for theoretical anthropology didn’t exist, at least at the time, in those programs. The third was the real stopper though: I decided that university education was a tool of the establishment (it is) and inculcated capitalist/militarist values in its often unwitting students. It does.

    I decided to take a principled stand and not try anymore to get into graduate school. In hindsight? Dumb. Of course education was a tool of the establishment, but I didn’t have to be. Especially with the tenure system. Of course, it inculcated capitalist/militarist values. Those are establishment values. But I didn’t have to inculcate them. I could have worked against them.

    Also, something I can admit now, but could not then. I was afraid I would fail. Ashamed of that as I look back. But, the combination of all these factors ensured I would end up in the winter of 1969, cutting rags in the Fox River Paper Mill, owning a house in Appleton, Wisconsin, and trying to live up to the promised I’d made to be in an open marriage.

    Again in hindsight I wonder I didn’t go into treatment for alcoholism even earlier than I did. I was a living embodiment of the adage: If you don’t know where you’re going, any road will get you there.

    Those were painful years. Each morning excruciating as I tried to combine living as if I was Christian with anxiety about my future, my marriage, my drinking. Those years and that anxiety continued through seminary, ameliorated a bit by the heady intellectual work in seminary. Which I had not expected, but loved.

    Judy and I divorced

     

     

     


  • Unextinguishable

    Imbolc and the 3/4 Moon

    Saturday gratefuls: Vince. What a good guy. Kristine Gonzalez. What a good and thorough doc. Maren, for getting me past the electronic gates of the patient portal. Finally, a good medical practice. And, local. Cheryl, too, at Quest in the practice. A good phlebotomist. A local team for medical and Snowplowing/handyman needs. Jodi and Bowe. A good team for the kitchen. Ruth, Jon, Gabe. Coming up at 3 pm. Safeway pickup. Alan and the Bread Lounge this morning.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Irreducible Mind, Edward Kelly, et al

    Tarot: Nine of Vessels, Generosity

     

    Digging into the books written by Ed Kelly and his collaborators. Many flashes across the dark desert, a storm coming that will bring rain to the arid behaviorism of the Watson-Skinner crowd.

    These books, there are three: Irreducible Mind, Beyond Physicalism: Toward Reconciliation of Science and Spirituality, and Consciousness Unbounded: Liberating Mind from the Tyranny of Materialism, fat ones, heavy on my sturdy Stickley chair, reflect the work and interaction of a multidisciplinary team. Ed says in the preface to Irreducible Mind (IM) that the purpose of these volumes is to get to advanced undergraduates and early graduate students in disciplines like philosophy, neuroscience, and psychology before they experience, and I love this phrase: hardening of the categories.

    Guilty. I am guilty of a hardening of the categories on just these issues. Skepticism has its place, oh yes, but when it turns, it turns bad. It creates walls that can’t be breached even by new data, creating the very situation that it purports to avoid. Ed offers several antidotes to this rotten form of skepticism.

    Francis Bacon, 1620: “The world is not to be narrowed till it will go into the understanding…but the understanding to be expanded and opened till it can take in the image of the world as it is in fact.” p. xxii, intro to IM

    Also, and you’ll like this Bill, by Philosopher F.C.H. Schiller: “For the facts to be ‘discovered’ there is needed the eye to see them.” ibid.

    Gotta lot more good quotes. Ed is a funny and acerbic guy. Here’s my favorite: “chess-playing computer programs represent real progress toward real intelligence in roughly the same sense that climbing a tree represents progress toward the moon.” xxv, intro.

    This feels like a spot I could have inhabited a long time ago if I had not allowed my flat earth empiricism (a variety of rotten skepticism) to keep me on a conventional and conservative line of thought about these matters.

    Combining this work with kabbalah, tarot, and astrology should be enough to keep me busy for the next quarter of a century if the docs can keep me kicking that long.

    This kind of stuff excites me, makes me eager. I’m getting this house set up for good eating, good exercise, good study, good thought. Now I have subject matter that actually conforms to my old reimagining faith project. Wow.

    A strong and unextinguishable part of me is an academic, episodically trained in esoteric fields like philosophy, theology, kabbalah, and now the war between physicalism and idealism. I like that part of me and want to feed him over the next few years. Feed him better, more consistently. The Hermitage. A good spot for all of this. And, for conversation about it.

    Thanks to Ode for putting me on this path.

     


  • Black Poetry Month

    As I Grew Older

    Langston Hughes
    It was a long time ago.
    I have almost forgotten my dream.
    But it was there then,
    In front of me,
    Bright like a sun,—
    My dream.

    And then the wall rose,
    Rose slowly,
    Slowly,
    Between me and my dream.
    Rose slowly, slowly,
    Dimming,
    Hiding,
    The light of my dream.
    Rose until it touched the sky,—
    The wall.

    Shadow.
    I am black.

    I lie down in the shadow.
    No longer the light of my dream before me,
    Above me.
    Only the thick wall.
    Only the shadow.

    My hands!
    My dark hands!
    Break through the wall!
    Find my dream!
    Help me to shatter this darkness,
    To smash this night,
    To break this shadow
    Into a thousand lights of sun,
    Into a thousand whirling dreams
    Of sun!


  • The Consolation of the Natural World

    Yule and the Moon of the New Year, at 4% Crescent

    The Webb in its L2 orbit:

    “Telescope deployment is complete. Webb is now orbiting L2. Ongoing cooldown and eventual instrument turn-on, testing and calibration occur. Telescope mirror alignment and calibration also begin as temperatures fall within range and instruments are enabled.

    The telescope and scientific instruments started to cool rapidly in the shade of the sunshield once it was deployed, but it will take several weeks for them to cool all the way down to stable operational temperatures. This cooldown will be carefully controlled with strategically-placed electric heater strips. The remaining five months of commissioning will be all about aligning the optics and calibrating the scientific instruments.” NASA

    Monday gratefuls: Mental health care for teens. Jon’s care for Ruth yesterday. The tenderloin roast. Yumm. The blizzard in Maine. The cold in Minnesota. The mind numbing 45 degrees we had here today. Ode in Mexico. Peak TV. All the wonderful series on now. Righteous Gemstones. Pennyworth. Bulgasal. Hotel del Luna. Qin Empire. New Book-Becky Chamber’s, A Long Way to a Small Angry Planet.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Life

    Tarot:

     

    Tom asked me this morning how I got along so well with prostate cancer. With grief. With living alone. OK, he didn’t ask those last two, but I figure he implied them.

    When first diagnosed in May of 2015, six months after we moved to Colorado, cancer hit me hard. I sat there in Eigner’s office listening. Who me?

    When I got in the car to drive back home, the first thought was: Don’t drive when in the grip of strong emotions. Oh. Yeah. Sat there for a minute wondering if it was a good idea to pull out of the parking lot. But. How am I gonna get home?

    The mountains were still new to me then. Amazing me each time I went somewhere. Still true, yes, but then my amazement was new, too. I chose to drive back Deer Creek Canyon Road, a sort of back way from Littleton to Conifer.

    Turning left about three miles north of the Denver Botanical Gardens, I began the trek up the site, millions of years ago, of the Rocky Mountain Orogeny.  Rocky Cliffs rose from the Earth and the road began to climb as Cliffs and Streams and Boulders began to dominate. Colorado Blue Spruce, Ponderosa Pine, Lodgepole Pine. Aspen. A few Willows and Dogwoods along Deer Creek

    Numb. Yes, numb. But then. These Mountains. The layer cake of their formations. One strata on top of another pushed up, up, up out of the Bedrock during the Laramid Orogeny, 80 to 55 million years ago. This Rock was ancient then, resting in place, awaiting the slow changes that come even to the seemingly obdurate.

    These facts were fresh with me because, as is my way, I’d been reading a lot about the Rockies before and after our move. I like to know where I am. And how it got to be there.

    Huh. It hit me. I’m such a Mayfly. Even my cancer is such a small thing. Big to my life, sure, but in the scope and sweep of these Mountains, Granite and Gneiss and Marble and Shale exposed after a long, long sleep. A sweep of the second hand.

    As is also my way my Body went out to the Mountains, following them as I drove. Embracing them as teachers, as guides on this Planet we share. I gradually became calm, understanding that my life and the life of the Mountains are not separate, but joined. Now and forever.

    There is a Great Wheel not wedded to the Seasons of temperate latitudes, but one wedded to the creation, life, and inevitable doom of this Rocky, Watery place we call home. I am part of that Great Wheel’s turning. As are each of you who read this.

    Before what I have long called the Consolation of Deer Creek Canyon, I experienced the Consolation of the Great Anoka Sand Plain, the shore of the Glacial River Warren. There in Andover I planted, Kate weeded. Flowers and vegetables grew. Dogs ran here and there in the Woods. Bees flew in and out of the Gardens, the Orchard.

    Each fall I would find Folk Alley radio on the internet, turn it up so I could hear on our small brick patio outside the lower level. There I would replenish the soil with compost and other nutrients. Digging out onto a tarp, then shoveling it back in. When that was finished I would open the boxes of Bulbs, Corms, and Tubers and Rhizomes. They would go in the Soil, with a bit of fertilizer, at the right depth, then get tucked in with a hard pat. Next Spring there would be Lilies, Tulips, Iris brightly signaling a new growing season.

    I loved that work on those fall afternoons. I’d often hear the Andover Marching Band practicing. The Garden of course had its rhythms. It was finishing as I planted the perennial Flowers.

    The Garden fed us all year. Fresh veggies, canned veggies. Fruits, too. Raspberries, Honey Crisp Apples. Plums. Cherries. The Bees gave us Honey.

    The Garden was part of me and I, after the eating the produce and the Honey, was part of it. I call this the true transubstantiation.

    In all Seasons I would hike to my Tree in the Boot Lake Scientific and Natural Area. I would sit with my back against it, looking at all of its Children who grew in an irregular circle around it. I sprinkled Tully’s ashes there. She was a sweetheart and I wanted to honor her.

    I’ve gone on too long. The point is, I long ago found my place in the Natural World, its bounty, its death, its ongoingness. And as the Mountains along Deer Creek Canyon reminded me, that was and is enough.