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  • A Rake. And, two photos

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Samain and the Moon of the Winter Solstice

    @willworthingtonart

    Saturday gratefuls: Snow! Cold. Winter. A rest day. Feeling less bad. Template for the counter top done. Jodi. Best contractor I’ve worked with. Rabbi Jamie. Mourning. CBE. Safeway. Pickup. Frozen entrees. Microwave. Tom’s photos. His safe arrival in Minnesota Weather.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Frozen food

    Tarot: Nine of Stones, Tradition. wildwood

     

     

    Chilly. Colorado chilly. 15 degrees, some Snow. Maybe 3 to 4 inches. Good to see. It helps with the wildfire situation. Doesn’t solve it, but it helps. Also, beautiful.

    Snow rake today. I’ve had the rake since we installed the solar panels, but never used it. This year, with the mini-splits installed and heating with Electricity, I plan to. You only have to rake a section off the bottom of each panel and the snow slides off as the sun comes out. At least that’s the theory. I’ve not done it yet, so I can’t really say.

    Safeway pickup as soon as I finish with this. Torah study with Rabbi Jamie at CBE. 10 am. Jon at Gaetano’s for his 53rd birthday. 5:15 pm. Some stuff going on.

    Still feeling a little off, but headed up rather than down. Not sure what that was about. Didn’t like it.

    Pictures today courtesy of Tom Crane’s phone:

    Herme and me
    Kep and I contemplate the partially finished kitchen

     


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  • Fourth Phase Life

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Fall and the Moon of the Thin Veil

    Wednesday gratefuls: A stained house, newly painted garage doors. Daniel. Alvin. Greg. Sandy, coming up to be with Kate’s ashes. Kate, always Kate. The Woolly retreat in November. The Mountains. The Rocks, Lodgepoles, Aspens, Creeks, and Wild Critters. Deep peace.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Roadtrip!

    Tarot: Ace of Pentacles

     

    Daniel stained my whole house in just over a day. A sweet man. The 3M window coverings reminded me of St. Paul, of the Twin Cities. Alvin, his partner yesterday, took down my blue lights. Think I’m gonna leave’m down. Lots of neighbors complaining about lights ruining the dark Sky, a true Mountain amenity. They’re not wrong. Does mean I gotta dig out the box of solar lights I ordered. I need something to identify our house at night. So easy to drive right past it.

    January 2020

    On Monday, Coyote HVAC. Then, choosing between bids for remodeling the kitchen. Probably won’t happen until later in the year. May seem strange, my doing all these things, spending a bunch of money. Not to me. They represent another phase of grief, one in which I celebrate what Kate and I had together while creating my fourth phase life. Hence, I’m enhancing the house she found and in which we shared our last years together.

    Got a note from the Assistance Fund, the one that pays down my copay for Orgovyx from $800 a month to $10. I have to reapply for coverage on December 1st. Won’t miss that deadline.

    Greg Lell, owner of the painting company, came by yesterday to get his check. We got to talking. He was, he said, a dairyCatholic.* He ran the words together. His parents figured out a three to four year gap system that resulted in six siblings for him, and, crucially, a new farm hand growing into the job as one left it. Oddly, he has a distinctive Texas accent, but he grew up in Colorado. Over 15 years in Texas he began to sound like a native.

    Many Woolly brothers, Tom, Mark, Paul, have decided not to attend the retreat. Excellent reasons, probably ones that apply to me, but I need to get outta here, get on the road, be somewhere else. Not new, forty years a Minnesotan, but also not Colorado.

    Largest wood fired kiln in the U.S. Bresnahan in sportcoat

    I will be staying in retreat lodging at St. John’s Monastery in Collegeville. I have done retreats there before and visited many times. The ceramic urn which holds Kate’s ashes came out of the Johanna Kiln, shaped by Richard Bresnahan from clay dug not far from the monastery. The firing of the Johanna Kiln is a major event as it’s a dragon kiln with several bays snaking up a hillside. When it’s firing, volunteers feed split Wood into its firebox 24 hours a day until the ceramics finish their ordeal. Maybe I’ll finally buy a teapot.

    Drew the Ace of Pentacles this morning. The aces are potential, the essence of their suit. Pentacles represent mother earth, malkut, this world, this physical world. In many cases this card may signal success in business, an inheritance, making progress in a career. It also can suggest deep peace, well being in this world. Feeling calm.

    As I’ve entered this new phase of grieving, a great calm has settled within me. A deep peace. I’m more in my life than regretting, mourning Kate’s death. As I said yesterday, my life with her is the foundation for this phase, what I’m calling my fourth phase. I’m modeling this fourth phase idea on the Hindu life phase of renunciation and a focus on the spiritual.

    The Ace suggests I’m on the right path. Let’s call it a new ancientrail. Though the road that led here connects to it, this ancientrail has made a sharp turn toward the West, toward the setting Sun. It is the final phase of life and one I want to walk intentionally. To walk it like a Celtic Christian saint. Peregrenatio.

    *Yes, I did mention the other dairyCatholic I know, Mr. Bill!


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  • Country Roads. Pruning.

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Lughnasa and the Michaelmas Moon

    Saturday gratefuls: Zeus, Boo, Thor. Rigel, Kep. Running the fence. Happy. Susan, who will care for Rigel and Kep during my time at the Woolly retreat in November. Social Security. Orgovyx. The rolled over IRA. My pension. This house. This life. More pruning.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Alan in Fiddler. Taking Jon, Ruth, Gabe.

    Tarot: Ten of Wands, Druid. Queen of Stones, Wildwood. Question-what can I do today to move my new life forward?

     

    Happy Camper. On the way I pass King’s Valley where Marilyn and Irv live. The intersection of King’s Valley road and 285 is deadly. Each year people die. No light. No overpass. Left turns into heavy cross traffic.

    Fire mitigation, May 2016

    When I finished up my first round of fire mitigation, I hired a teenager from down the block. A good worker. On the last day of our work together he got a phone call. His Uncle John, a Harley rider, died in a wreck at the King’s Valley crossing.

    Further on 285 winds down into a Mountain Valley. A right turn takes you to Staunton State Park. I see the eastern Slope of Black Mountain out my loft window; its western Slope is the eastern boundary for the park. 45 mph down the Mountain to the Valley.

    Later, after a steep climb, up yet another Mountain, 285 snakes past Pine. It has a short shopping mall with coffee and gift stores at the intersection with Pine Valley road. Down the Pine Valley road winds the North Fork of the South Platte River, opening out into wide swaths of Pasture, boiling over Rocks. Tom and I drove Pine Valley road to Manitou Springs and the Pikes Peak Railroad.

    Up. Down. Colorado Mountain roads. At Pine the Continental Divide shows up in the distance, well beyond Bailey.

    Happy Camper has a narrow, bumpy, dirt road that winds up a Hillside. At the top is a metal industrial building where Happy Camper grows Maryjane and creates their own branded products. The retail shop is on the right as you drive in.

    When I went in yesterday, there were 8 men of my age, some with masks, some not. They’re all together, so I can help you, said one of the budtenders. Yes, that’s a thing.

    Eight of the Indica Cheeba Chews, please. The black ones? Yes.

    Back home for a full workout. A few tasks. Called Jackie and changed my October 2nd hair appointment. My Tarot and the Tree of Life spread class interfered. Lunch and a later nap.

    It’s been what qualifies as a busy week for me. Glad the weekend is here. It always amuses me that I feel different on the weekends, looser, less driven. I mean, I’ve been retired from a regular work week since 1992. But the weekend, even though I often worked on Sundays, still feels freeing. Yay. Friday’s over! Reminds me I want to experiment with keeping the Sabbath.

    Still working on cooking for one. Sometimes good. Sometimes not. Last night. Not. I had cheese and crackers.

     

    Ten of Wands, Druid.  Queen of Stones, Wildwood

    Until today I have not asked a question of the cards I turn over in the morning. It is usual to ask a question, but the daily “oracle” card can also be read in light of the general trends in your life.

    what can I do today to move my new life forward?

    The ten of wands has shown up a lot for me. It’s about carrying a burden, keeping on keeping on. Staying the course. The Queen of Stones in the Wildwood deck evokes a different, but complementary sensibility.

    The Queen is a Cave Bear, guarding the entrance to her home as dawn paints the near sky. The Wildwood book suggests she raises these questions: How can you best promote well-being at home? Where can you make space to care for yourself and others? What needs to be preserved?

    The ancient Cave Bear is now long extinct. I saw a Cave Bear skeleton, it might have at the Science Museum in St. Paul. They stood fifteen feet with their upper limbs extended. Big. Strong. Master and Mistress of their domain. An apex Predator.

    This Bear Queen has a home, one she uses to raise her cubs, for hibernation in the winter, for shelter in other seasons. So do I. And, as I went to bed last night I had thoughts about what I needed to do next. Pruning?

    Yes, some of that. The bookcases in the bedroom, the still cluttered living room area. The recipe book I have to create out of recipes printed from the internet. I also got the file folders I needed to organize my financial papers.

    Another thought last night focused on reading books about the Tarot, reentering the world of astrology. That research and scholar mode.

    Today the Bear suggests I focus on space. Making it a caring space for myself, for Jon and the grandkids, for guests. So. I will.

    The Ten of Wands reminds me though that I need to put down the pruner and the book, take a break. I no longer need to have my head down, pushing forward. That time died with Kate. I can relax, do something fun.

    Deciding to go to the Woolly Retreat is an aspect of this. Road trip. I’m going to drive. First long trip on the road since 2016. Excited.

     

     

     


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  • Let go (Note: correction below)

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Lughnasa and the Michaelmas Moon

    picture by Mary

    Monday gratefuls: Tara. The Ancient Ones, holding space for my eventful life. Peregrenatio. Rigel, lying down with me last night. A long night asleep. Orgovyx. Exhaustion. Hot flashes. Cousin Riley, his wife. Diane and Mary in Indiana. Bailey Patchworkers. Kitchen remodelers. House stainer. Jon, Ruth, and Gabe.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Death

    Tarot: Death, #13 of the Major Arcana

     

    So many help me. Jon, Ruth, Gabe came up Saturday. We had chicken pot pie and I sent them home with two. They also went to Upper Maxwell Falls to scatter some more of Kate’s ashes. I didn’t feel quite up to going and I wondered if it might be better anyhow. Allow them their own time, their own way of saying goodbye.

    And, it was so. Here are Gabes’s (correction) words about it:

    Gabe

    “Grandma’s metaphorical ashes. The ashes that stuck to the bottom were the parts of grandma that will stay with us forever. The cloudy ashes that eventually dispersed to go to the Atlantic Ocean were the parts of grandma that were temporary and that we don’t need to remember like pain and suffering. And, the glass was the vessel like our bodies, useful but not permanent.”

    Leaving for Durango, Bill not pictured. Tom, Paul, me, Mario

    The next morning I take a walk with my Ancient friends: Paul, Mario, Bill, and Tom. We spoke to each other in our minds, through the spirit air waves as Mario suggested. We gathered afterward. They’ve allowed me a lot of time to process my ongoing, eventful life. And, I love them for it.

    Afterward I went over to an organic breakfast spot, Taspen’s. Been here almost seven years and it was the first time. Meeting Tara, my friend from CBE.

    Marilyn, Tara, the Burning Bush

    We talked. Tara is a great listener and an empath. When I told her I felt I’d expressed self pity when Jon and the grandkids left on Saturday, she said it sounded like love. Ruth had said, See you, grandpop. And, I said, my voice catching, I hope so. Sounded needy and self-pitying to me at the time.

    After talking with Tara, I thought. No. I was vulnerable, sadly hopeful. And I don’t experience vulnerability with them too often. Maybe that’s changing now.

    Today I’m going to the meeting of the Bailey Patchworkers. Kate’s stash and other sewing accessories will be given away to her friends there. I asked for a couple of minutes to speak. I’ll tell them that Kate loved them. That they gave her friendship and motivation for sewing. And, right after we got here. She went faithfully as long as she could.

    They were a very different crowd from her ordinary social circles. She spoke her political truth often, to folks who didn’t agree. As Lauri, her engineer friend said, “I should have disliked her, but I adored her.” That was Kate.

    These are those who helped me just in the last three days. A lucky guy, I am. And, of course, Rigel and Kepler.

     

    Tarot: Death, # 13 in the Major Arcana

    I’ve been drawing cards in what some call a daily oracle. Pick out one card, see how it speaks to the day. Oracle is a poor choice of words in that it has a predictive connotation. I don’t find the tarot useful as prophecy. I’ve found it astonishingly useful as a mirror to my inner world. It shows me things I ignore, or overlook, or diminish, or things I didn’t know were there.

    Let’s see. I’d call it, I guess, The Daily Mirror. Ha.

    Anyhow my point here is that I’m doing my own thing with these daily cards and I’m not only reading the day, but the trends. I’ve had so many cards that spoke to my anima. I’ve remarked on this before. I’ve also had cards like the Hanged Man that speak to a transformation in values, in beliefs, in life way.

    The Death card is the apotheosis of that trend. Yes, indeed, it refers to death. But, to death as transition, as transformation, as a severance with the ways of the past (including life, eventually. for Kate, already), an entry way to the new. If you recall the High Priestess from yesterday, she blocked the way on the path. She encouraged waiting, going down into the depths. I’d call it wu wei.

    The death card opens the way, suggests I embrace the changes that the anima cards have hinted at, the inner knowledge that the High Priestess wanted me to attain before going on. It also suggests letting go.

    Let go, Charlie, of the flat-earth humanism of your post-ministry years. Let go, Charlie, of the old life you had with Kate. (note: this does not mean an end to grief or a diminished view of life with her.). Open yourself to the tarot, to astrology, to kabbalah, to the other world. Open yourself again to the creative life of writing and painting. Live into it. Live with it. Live. Let go of the caregiver, let go of the inner skeptic, the inner editor, the inner cynic. Embrace the mystical, the soulful, the beautiful. Let go.

    Die to the old ways and be born again into a fourth phase of life. One focused on creativity and the other world. Let go.

     

     

    “Meaning: Initiation and transformation.  The core structure of initiation involves an experience of death followed by an experience of rebirth…We often have to die to our old ways of thinking, feeling, or behaving before we can open to our new life.” DTB

    * “After a period of pause and reflection with the Hanged Man, the Death card symbolises the end of a major phase or aspect of your life that you realise is no longer serving you, opening up the possibility of something far more valuable and essential. You must close one door to open another. You need to put the past behind you and part ways, ready to embrace new opportunities and possibilities. It may be difficult to let go of the past, but you will soon see its importance and the promise of renewal and transformation.

    Similarly, Death shows a time of significant transformation, change and transition. You need to transform yourself and clear away the old to bring in the new. Any change should be welcomed as a positive, cleansing, transformational force in your life. The death and clearing away of limiting factors can open the door to a broader, more satisfying experience of life.” biddy tarot

     


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  • Last Glimpses

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Lughnasa and the Michaelmas Moon

    Sunday gratefuls: Jon, Ruth, Gabe. Chicken pot pies. Kep and Rigel. Another cool night and morning. Dish soap and dishwashers. Permanent press shirts. Orgovyx. Fatigue and hot flashes. Rain. Grief. Kate’s ashes. Always, Kate. Sadness. Tears. Vulnerability. Mortality.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Grief. And, Kate.

    Tarot: The High Priestess, #2 of the Major Arcana

     

    On October 2nd I’ll begin a four week course on the Tree of Life tarot spread taught by Mark Horn. He’s the founder of Gates of Light Tarot. He spoke to the one class of the Tarot and Kabbalah course I missed. Rabbi Jamie recommended him and I wanted to keep my Tarot learning underway.

    He asked for 250 words for an introduction to theothers in the class:

    Charles Ellis (Rev. Dr.) has studied mysteries since the garden spider wove its web outside his kitchen window 66 years ago. All of the natural world, including us two-leggeds, has fascinated me ever since. Religion, first Christian, then Unitarian-Universalism, Taoism, and now Judaism are gateways of mystery and to mystery. Philosophy, too, especially process oriented philosophy and existentialism.

    I’m more pagan than anything else, a Celtic influenced follower of the seasons, the Great Wheel explains so much.

    At the Denver Kabbalah Experience and at my home congregation of Beth Evergreen I’ve studied Kabbalah for four years with Rabbi Jamie Arnold. I recently completed his Tarot and Kabbalah class, learning of Mark and this class through that. If you asked my place on the journey, I’d say I’m the Fool, always ready to take the first step, happy to have my dog and the road ahead.

    Looking forward to the class. In fact, I seem to be in a sop-it-up mode right now. I’m also looking for an online cooking class. That will fit in with the kitchen remodel and my new life as chef for a single client, me.  So many things I want to learn, so many ancientrails I’ve already followed. Thinking about going back to Ovid and Dante, too.

    This evocative article. Last Glimpses of California’s Vanishing Hippie Utopias. Memories of the Peaceable Kingdom, the most poorly named commune of all. Judy and me. Then, Johnny Lampo. Then, the mechanic and his wife. Steppenwolf. Psilocybin. A long, very cold northern Minnesota Winter. I fled one of the least well-conceived and executed ideas in my life.

    Ancientrails. The old days when most folks didn’t understand the difference between hippies and radicals. Most hippies were radicals, but fewer radicals were hippies. I made a mistake and added myself to the hippie/radical lifestyle. Nope. Plain old radical me.

    Although. With Kate I was able to revisit the back to the land idea. She was my Earth mama and I was her worker companion. We dug and planted and harvested and tended. Raised dogs and two sons. Artemis Honey. A sweet life. And in the ‘burbs at that.

    Ruth printing her spoon

    Yesterday. Made chicken pot pies. Ruth wanted them and Jon was happy. “Your pot pies are delicious.” I started them on Friday night, making the chicken soup. Mirepoix. Mine was celery, carrots, red onion, and garlic deglazed with sherry cooking wine. Then, water and a whole chicken in the wire insert for the stock pot. Simmer for an hour and a half. Bag of frozen green Peas. Bag of frozen Corn.

    Wore. Me. Out. Friday I had energy. Wednesday and Thursday I struggled. Yesterday. Struggle. Realized I had begun to force myself up the stairs with the same doggedness I felt when caring for Kate. Not a pleasant touchstone.

    Jon, Ruth, Gabe came up. Jon still much clearer, less edgy and angry. Beta blockers, he says. I had them take Kate’s ashes to Upper Maxwell Falls by themselves. Too weary, too short of breath. And, I also thought it would be good for them to have their own good-bye to Mom and Grandma.

    I prepared some of Kate’s ashes for them. Put them in the Ball jar I used on August 18th.

    As they left, beginning to move things from the sewing room, I got a rush of sadness. She’ll never be in the sewing room. Standing at the kitchen window I watched them load. That window has become a place for calling Kate back from the Other World to come stand beside me. Watch it rain, snow. Consider the house, the life we built together.

     

    Tarot: The High Priestess

    from the DTB: Present yourself before the mysteries of life and before the Goddess in humility and with reverence. Open to the stillness and the depths within you to gain strength and wisdom.

    Entering the Stillness   The High Priestess seems to bar our way forward-don’t be in a rush to move onwards. True passivity is strong and fertile, and shouldn’t be mistaken for weakness or inertia. Be open to your dreams and intuitions.”

     


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  • The Alembic

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Summer and the full Lughnasa Moon

    Saturday gratefuls: A wonderful dinner with Tom at the Bistro last night. Tom’s help in pruning Kate’s clothing and sewing stuff. Friendship. Judgement card. Rain and cooler weather at night.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: A close friend

    Tarot card: Judgement, 20th card of the Major Arcana

     

     

    Tarot? So far, remarkable. I apologize if this particular journey of mine doesn’t resonate with yours. I understand. But when, after weeks and months of mourning, grieving I pull a card that one interpreter says: “…represents the results of the fruits of your spiritual work. In an upright position, it’s relief from a difficult journey.”, it jumps out at me.

    Or, this: “To see this card can…indicate that you are in a period of awakening, brought on by the act of self-reflection.”

    Grief, in its most profound sense, is a period of forced self-reflection, a mental and emotional (lev) upheaval that begins with a hurricane of pain and tears, mourning, that gradually dissipates in intensity. As the shock and horror of mourning fades, grieving can begin.

    What pronouns do I use now? Is it still our house? Our car? Her clothes? Our life? How do I react when I see the toothbrush, the hair brush, the favorite t-shirt? The picture? When someone speaks kindly of her, of me, what emotions surface?

    What does it mean, in other words, that I’m alive and she is dead? That’s a first and critical theme of grief. Another, equally critical theme is, who will I be? And, how will I be?

    Kate, Glenwood Springs

    Tom helped me with pruning Kate’s belongings. I know I’m making changes. Necessary changes. Some hard, some less hard. My life now continues without Kate’s physical presence.

    A remodeling of the kitchen, the upstairs bathroom, perhaps a few smaller projects, feels like a right expression of this new life. Yesterday I contacted two remodelers for bids. We’ll see where all this goes. Changing the outer to affect the inner. A mussar principle. Not the only way of affecting the inner, of course, but a valid one.

    Working out, I hope, will let me get some hiking in. Right now I’m under-oxygenated and sore hipped when I walk outside. If that continues, I’ll have to reexamine my assumptions, especially about staying here.

    Studying, learning, writing. All within the next month or so. I can feel it. Is this is a new person? No. Is it a person I want to be? Yes.

    Reading more would insert an older, longed for avatar back into the present day. I’ve been a caregiver, with my first and last energy, and that guy fell by the way. More TV, less reading.

    Is Hawai’i off the table? How about Korea? Or, Taipei. What about travel, a cruise maybe when it seems safe? More Jewishness? More Kabbalah? More Tarot?

    Matthias Grunewald

    “It’s a card of resurrection, conclusions, renewal, and evolution.” This makes sense to me. Resurrecting dormant avatars, renewing my life given drastically changed circumstances, evolving into the third phase widower guy.

    The streak of cards I’ve had since a week ago Wednesday have challenged my flat-earth humanist skeptic heart. And, mind. Keep on rollin’. I’ll learn about spreads at some point, too. Maybe more information.

     

     

    “To see this card can also indicate that you are in a period of awakening, brought on by the act of self-reflection. You now have a clearer idea of what you need to change and how you need to be true yourself and your needs.

    Judgement is the twentieth card of the Major Arcana. Its order is significant: it’s the last card before the completion of the Major Arcana’s numerical cycle. It’s a card of resurrection, conclusions, renewal, and evolution.” Labyrinthos

     

    “The Judgement card is a powerful harbinger of spiritual metamorphosis. Like the Justice card, it’s a card of karma —although of the spiritual variety. It represents the results of the fruits of your spiritual work. In an upright position, it’s relief from a difficult journey.

    When the Judgement card shows up in a reading it can signal a spiritual awakening or time of profound insight. You’ll find yourself having powerful epiphanies regarding parts of your life that are holding you back from growth. It’s an affirmation: that know, you aren’t crazy, you aren’t alone, and it was all worth the effort.

    Arthur Waite in the Key to the Tarot connects this card to personal evolution. It can certainly usher in a period of transformation and rebirth in your life.”  tarotluv

     


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  • Simple Gifts

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Summer and the Lughnasa Moon

    Monday gratefuls: Rigel eating and running. Mary’s pictures from the Van Gogh show and the Beach. Hsieh Ling-yun. Shan-shui poetry, creative sensibility. Wabi sabi. Fermented foods. Korea. The United States, as a vision. The United States, broken.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: The cool Wind off Black Mountain yesterday afternoon.

    Tarot card drawn: The Lovers, number 6 of the Major Arcana

     

    The gifts of our parents. The Ancient ones theme for our Sunday conversation. As it happened, Bill and Ode went first. Happy childhoods, role model parents. Smiles and good feelings. Tom, a thoughtful assessment of what his parents inherited from their parents and how that made him more accepting of what they had to offer him. Paul found gifts. There must be a pony in there somewhere.

    We described our mothers as gentle and well-liked. We recognized from our childhood the post-depression, post-World War II definition of motherhood, realized in the women who birthed us.

    Fathers were different. More individual in our telling. More difficult, sometimes, but also more formative. My father, from whom I was estranged most of my adult life, gave me a willingness to express contrary opinions in the public square. A willingness to use analytics to solve problems, to understand political life. A tendency to wander, to find the curious and the unusual. A conflicted version of hard work. That is, he modeled hard work. Always. But he expected it of me just because he was my father.

    My mom modeled compassion, a desire to meet each person without judgment. She supported me, honored my gifts, which my father challenged, belittled. To this day I don’t know why he did that.

    Mom, Dad, Me

    They were both conventionally Protestant; not overly affected by their faith, but committed to it. Both of them prized intelligence and learning though my father denigrated it in me. Why? Don’t know. They kept in touch with their extended families, Mom’s in Indiana, and Dad’s mostly in Oklahoma.

    At 74 I love learning, love figuring out how and why things work, what the facts and the possibilities are. I try to meet each person without judgment and to exercise compassion for their journey. A radical analysis of our economic, educational, health, religious, and political systems, mine since college, represented a working out of my father’s liberal views carried to what I consider their logical conclusions.

    My impact from both parents seemed less profound than any of the other four in our group. That may be because my mother died young. I never got to know her after I became an adult. And Dad and I never overcame the distance between us.

    We all agreed though that whoever we are now, in the elder stage of life, came through choice, intentionality. We are not the sock puppets of our parent’s gifts or their curses. Yes, they shaped our lives, no doubt, but how we use compassion, a sense of humor, a genius for invention, gentleness, a hard-edged approach reflects how we have chosen to incorporate them in the now long stream of our life.

    A touching conversation.

     

    The Lovers. A sequelae. As a change, a transformative wave, pulses through my life, as it creates difficulties, struggles, it does point toward a new creation. What will that new creation be like? Not sure yet. My sense, if I have to choose between important and unimportant (see below), I’m thinking of the difference between the Chinese literati role model and the engaged political and religious life I have known. Perhaps between passive and active. Learning and doing. Which will inflect my next path more?

    There is a distinct and strong part of me that would read, write poetry, paint, listen to music, dine with friends, go for hikes, travel some. That has always felt like a lifeway that needed to wait. Come the revolution, maybe that would be ok. Come publishing. Then. Yes.

    Now. In the wake of Kate’s death I’m once again reexamining my primary inclinations. When I met her, I leaned into writing, a definite change from life as clergy/activist. Perhaps I could see that change as a step toward a more reclusive, monastic life, a way only partially taken.

    Is now the time? There’s a Trappist/Benedictine soul in this body. With those words referring to lifestyle, not content. There’s a Taoist soul in this body. One which does not take up arms against a sea of trouble, but rather flows around them, with them. There’s a mystical soul in this body. One that finds nourishment in odd places: tarot, torah, astrology, astronomy, poetry, paintings, sculpture. There’s a Great Wheel soul in this body, one that desires only a place in the natural process, a moment of birth, a short life, a long death. There is, too, a Jewish soul in this body, one committed to others, to community, to justice, to learning.

    Will I try to rebuild my past life, only at a different age and place? Will I listen to the murmurings in my soul? Will I follow what I believe to be the deeper path for me? Deeper at this moment in time. The Lovers card suggests I will need to choose. Are these the choices? Not sure. Are these the best choices? Again, not sure.

     

    *”This is one of the times when you figure out what you are going to stand for, and what your philosophy in life will truly be. You must start making up your mind about what you find important and unimportant in your life. You should be as true to yourself as you can be, so you will be genuine and authentic to the people who are around you.” Labyrinthos

    “There is an approaching conflict that will test your values. In order to progress, you are going to have to make a decision between love and career. Neither will disappear forever, but the choice will shape your priorities.”  Trusted Tarot

     


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  • No More Checking on the Idiot

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Imbolc and the waning Wolf Moon

    Friday gratefuls: Kate. Scott. Bill’s tough assignment for Sunday morning. Seeing into ourselves. And talking about it. Biden. Better than expected. He’s got momentum. And, public opinion. 45 fading out. His impeachment. Colder weather here. Sleep. The Psalms.

    from 2016

    No more checking on the idiot. Thank god. Still, for the duration of the impeachment his peculiar style of unthinking, thought garbling, strangled rationales is on display. Gee, his lawyers, the first group, didn’t think he could make a good argument that the election was a fraud. Hmm. The next set convinced him that a constitutional argument made sense. Doesn’t matter anyhow since Republicans (what does that word even mean) won’t calve a 17 vote iceberg to sink his Titanic. More’s the pity.

    It’s important, I believe, to try him for inciting insurrection. No matter the political reality of judgement. If it were up to me, I’d have the Attorney General arrest him for sedition. Try him. Sentence him for as long as his unnatural life lasts. He likes orange so it shouldn’t be much of a hardship.

    Rabbi Hillel

    After some prodding by Rabbi Jamie, I’m going to pick up the study of Psalms this morning at 9:30 a.m. I’m three classes behind, but he assured me I could catch up, no problem. We’re going to work on the 23rd Psalm today.

    One insight I’ve had in re-reading it, reading his translation, reading a couple of others. Walk through the valley of the shadow of death. Or, through death’s dark vale as another has it. I always imagined this as a personal confrontation with death, my death, your death. Not sure why I thought that, but I did.

    Now, it’s clear to me that the issue is grief. Death’s dark veil thrown over life. Mom’s death. Regina Schmidt’s. 450,000 Covid deaths. We are in death’s penumbra as we have not been in my lifetime, save perhaps for the Vietnam War.

    I shall fear no Trump, no matter what he doth.

    Looking forward to this class. It’s been a long slog with Kate and with Covid, mostly life shaved down to workouts, sleep, cooking, shopping for food, TV. Not much intellectual challenge. It’s like meat and drink for me, learning.

    When I look inside, as Bill has suggested we do for this Sunday, and define myself, I first see a student. A curious man. Not sure why I never moved from student to scholar, but I never did. I’m a fine student though and learning feeds my soul.

    I’ll let you know how it goes.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     


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  • Home again, Home

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Winter and the waxing Imbolc Moon

    Sunday gratefuls: Kate at home. Atrial Fibrillation. Meds. Nurses. Wheelchairs. Swedish Hospital. Kate’s refuge. Kep, Rigel. Family home and complete. 3 days. On the way to Mar-a-Lago. Safeway pickup. Mary’s calendar gift. Precious. Thanks. Notes and cards from Kate’s friends. Evelyn Crane. Tom. His sister.

     

    Honey, harvesting

    Kate is home. An apparently leak free stoma site. Complete with circumferential suture. Grateful to the interventional radiologists. The pulmonologists. The cardiologists.

    This visit worried me. Her, too. Had me contemplating life without her. Of course, I can do it. I mean, I can do the tasks, the chores, the necessaries. She pays the bills and folds the clothes. Yes, I can.

    But.

    Who would share breakfast? Commiserate over the latest Trump outrage? Answer my medical questions? Who would hug me? Sleep next to me? Well, Rigel and Kep. Sure. But not Kate. Who would recognize when I slipped into melancholy and tell me? Our family would be very different without her.

    Not now. Now she’s here. And today is what counts. It’s all that counts. The rest is the idle occupation of a worried mind. Today I will see her at breakfast. Hug her. Grump about pardons-are-us in the West Wing. We’ll laugh. Do a money meeting. Wonder how Ruth and Gabe are doing? Think about Murdoch getting ready to head out for Hawai’i.

    I know. If you read these pages, it’s been a downer for the last week or so. Maybe longer. This is my journal, my record of being here. Sometimes it’s this, sometimes it’s that.

    Kate’s home. I can turn my mind to other things. Like the inauguration. Oh, wait…


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  • Joy, Joy, Joy Deep in My Heart

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Samain and the Moon of Radical Change

    Monday gratefuls: 20 degrees. Some snow on the ground. A marathoner kicking past the house around 6:30 a.m. Training. A Trumpless Whitehouse. The Denver Post delivered. Those ribs from Easy Entrees. Kate’s scallops. The Johnson girls. As they get older. Their sis zoom bar. The Ancient Ones, with Alan added. That strong feeling I get now when I get in the kitchen. I’m a cook. The epitome of androgyny Kate said last night. A compliment in my eyes.

    Meme: You know why your candidate lost? You didn’t put enough flags on your truck. Ha.

    One thing I keep wanting to do and haven’t gotten around to: figure out how to display an American flag regularly. I don’t want the Gadsden flag crew and their Confederate battle flag allies to continue having exclusive rights. Displaying a flag does not make you a patriot, but its display almost exclusively by the right wing sends that message. The way to reclaim it for all America is for those of on the left, and liberals, too, to fly it. No, I’m not attaching twin gigundos to the back of Ruby. Not even an American flag decal. But, on the property here. Yes. I’ll figure it out. Maybe you will, too.

    I will be ready for the post-election critiques. I will. But not just yet. I want to roll in the hay we made last week. Dive into it from the upper deck of the hay mow. Disappear in it, swimming through the hay like a happy, happy fish. That hay mow smell, that’s America, the old America, the one I grew up in.

    The farm. Many of us had one in our family because many families created by WWII vets had farmers in their family. The farm in our family was just outside Morristown, Indiana. Family lore has it that Grandpa won it on a bet at the horse track. Its believable, he was that sorta guy, but I do not know the truth of it. Riley, the only boy out of my Mom’s four sibs, ended up living on the farm. I don’t know the story behind how that happened. Many summers I would spend a week or so there along with some time in town with my Grandma, Mabel.

    Lots of good memories. The smell of cedar. The old artesian well that kept the milk cans cool for collection. The moss on it and the damp darkness of its shed. The corn crib with its shucked ears of feed corn. And, the hay mow. Of course, this was all a really long time ago. 60 plus years for some of the memories, but they feel current, alive. Just down the gravel road back toward town, after a bend in the road, is Hancock cemetery. Many of my Keaton relatives, including Uncle Riley and Aunt Virginia, Grandma and Grandpa, Aunt Barbara and several others are buried there. Richard, my first cousin, now lives on the farm, and, like Uncle Riley, is the main caretaker for the cemetery. Small town, rural roots. Me.

    Those were good times, but of course they had their darkness. As does this election. This is not the time for either. Now is the time for connecting today with yesterday and through that lens seeing tomorrow. Enjoy the victory. I sure am.


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