Category Archives: Politics

Still Learning

Imbolc and the Snow Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Shadow. Cookunity. Cold night. Drinking the Golden Calf. Midrash. Torah. Religion and its ignorers. Ginny and Janice. Tethering. Salmon and white Bean salad. Battle Mountain, Joe Pickett. The many sided crystal of perspective. Lenovo laptop.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Midrash

Week Kavannah: Social Responsibility. Achrayut.

Practice: Working on Seed Keepers, Seed Savers

One brief shining: Working with AI, an odd by which I mean new and novel experience, to give form to a Seed Keeper’s Almanac, a self-help manual to recreate an America always longed-for, yet never lived in, a hybrid format in paper and on the web, replenished and renewed by its users, focused on dreaming America as neither an utopia, nor as a replica of a faux golden age, rather as a stewpot where different ingredients in different amounts blend together into a powerful, compassionate whole.

 

An issue for me. How to reconcile my lower energy, dog-distracted, hermit favoring life with a steady felt need to stand upright in this most ridiculous and chaotic of times. Not be absent.

I write, yes. I talk with friends and family, reinforcing their desires to get out there and do something. I’m part of a religious community dedicated to a just and compassionate world. Yet. What is mine to do?

The more I futz with chatbotgpt, the more I find possibility in the idea, the bringing into reality of a self-help manual for that world I’ve worked for my whole life. A connected hermit. A dog-distracted but still alert old guy. Using my energy as I can.

 

Thinking about those isolated from this dystopian new world disorder. Trappist Monks in the Gethsemane Abbey. Amish families around Lancaster, Pennsylvania and Fort Wayne, Indiana. Subsistence farmers. Those of us old folks with adequate financial resources. (mostly. Though Social Security and Medicare…) Expatriates like Mary and Mark. Wilderness dwellers in the North Woods, in the Mountain Ranges of this great land. Oddly perhaps some Native American nations. Probably some recluses and communal living folks far off the grid.

And, of course, the oligarchs.

The rest, even cousin Donald’s base. Nope. Vulnerable. Without cover. That includes my son and Seoah. Ruth and Gabe. Luke. Ginny and Janice. Anyone unfortunate enough to be poor. Or different in a way that the oligarchs and their tattered army dislike.

This struggle will continue for the rest of my life. That alone means something to me. A need to not kneel. Not acquiesce. A need to do what only I can do. Now.

 

Just a moment: I had a no good week in part. Feeling down, dog defeated. Weak in body and mind. Took wrassling and seeing others to bring myself back to level.

That’s ok, though. Learning how to live through the troughs as well as the highs is a key lesson. OK. Learning to live through the occasional abyss as well as the getting along just fine days. Glad I’ve advanced enough for that.

Back to working out. For example…

 

The Daily Miraculous

Imbolc and the Snow Moon

Shabbat gratefuls: Talmud Torah. Shadow, her jaws, her claws, her intensity. A cold night. Good sleeping. Studying Zornberg. The Golden Calf. Cookunity. Shrimp and cheesy grits. American Idols. MAGA. Cousin Donald. $$$$. Matt Desmond. Jon Stewart. Working out. Finishing taxes and 529.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: AGI

Week Kavannah: Social Responsibility. Achrayut.

“Being human means being conscious and being responsible. By becoming responsible agents for social change we actualize not only our humanity but also our mission as Jews.” Viktor Frankl

One brief shining: When I turn my coffee grinder on and it begins its whirring chomping way through the dark roast espresso Beans, my ear knows, just knows when enough has been ground to fill the coffee maker. How?

 

The human body. Talk about awe. It knows so much more than we realize in consciousness. Like the length of time it takes to grind enough coffee beans. Or, where we are in a room and what’s behind us. Or, how fast we have to go to avoid a car merging into our lane. How to move and twist for a layup. When we’re in love.

How to get enough oxygen to your brain. Blood to your organs and extremities. How to make hormones that regulate blood sugar. How to clean toxins from your blood.

Or your brain. Which makes a navigable world each time you open your eyes. Taking in the right amount of data. Not too much, not too little.

The new field of sociogenomics recapitulates Heidegger and his dasein. We affect the world and the world affects us. Through genomics. How the body’s genetic material adapts and gets adapted to by its social environment.

The wonder, the awe of it all. Kate and I often observed that the wonder is not that the body fails sometimes, but that it works so well almost all of the time.

Breathing. Moving us through space. Reminding us to rest. To sleep. Perchance to dream. To wake. To eat. Making use of the fuel we provide it through metabolism. Parceling out nutrients to each and every cell. Speaking of miracles. Of magic. Of life.

 

Just a moment: I’m imagining a new Whole Earth catalogue. Or, better, a Seed Saver’s Catalogue. With colorful pictures, descriptions of Seeds like organizing, working the political process, current facts about poverty and its many solutions, success stories from around the country and the world, resources.

What Seeds might you include? I would want information on the American Renaissance. Poetry. Slavery. Stonewall. How to grow a garden. Raise Chickens. Wild Neighbors. Climate Change. How to repair a leaky faucet. How government works. The constitution.

Perhaps some sort of AI way of generating new and more information, connections. A link, maybe, to the Wikipedia project.

Liberty and freedom. Communal responsibility.

How to train a dog, raise cattle. Do wildfire mitigation. What are the responsibilities of a citizen?

Engaging, short articles. Lots of images. Lots of resources. If possible, free to all. A labor of love of country and Mother Earth.

They Call it Puppy Love

Imbolc and the full Snow Moon

Friday gratefuls: Mini-splits. Shadow. Ginny and Janice. Luna and Annie. Leo. Gracie. My Lodgepole companion. The crooked Aspen outside my bedroom. The Mountain Lion family near Morrison. Black Bears. Soon. Mule Deer and Elk. Fox. Abert’s Squirrels. Red Squirrels. Rabbits. Voles. Mice. Marmots.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Wild Neighbors

Week Kavannah:  Yirah. Awe.

One brief shining: Tis an odd season this with taxes due next month, the wearing of the green celebrating St. Patrick who took Irish Wolfhounds to the Pope, big Snows covering basketball tourney roads, and hints of Spring with resurrection and liberation waiting to manifest.

 

Always of two desires in these months. Crack wind, Winter blow, Snow. Stay longer. Fire in the fireplace. A good book. Cold nights for sleeping. Yes.

Open vistas. Clear Skies. Mountain Wildflowers. Aspen Catkins. Lodgepole Anthers. Rabbit families. Chipmunks. Greening Willows and Dogwood. Mountain Streams in full voice, tumbling and turning. A sense of possibility strong in the Air. Yes.

Dog journal: If you’ve never had a skittish puppy lay at your feet, head rested on your slipper. If you’ve never had a puppy wriggle up the side of your leg and look you in the eye with, yes, puppy love. If you’ve never had a puppy. I wish you had.

Shadow incarnates love. Adoration. Companionship. Even the struggles and the outright exhaustion. All part of the joy.

Puppies, like Wildflowers and Spring, remind us of the Great Wheel, Maiden-Mother-Crone, life begetting life. Old age and youth running next to each other in partnership. With love.

Shadow. A small streak of black fur bounding through Snow drifts, racing around the perimeter, the fence line, all young muscle and limber movement, all newness. A potion to ease the aching joints and rigidity of 78 year old bones.

 

Just a moment: I keep finding Seeds. Books about Seeds. Seed-Keepers. Seed Savers Exchange Catalogue. Seeds. The Seed Vault in Svalbard. Chapters in the Light-Eaters. Lectures in online botany classes.

Recalling the spiny nubbin of a Beet Seed. The delicate Carrot Seed. The thick Pea. The Soil in an Andover raised bed leavened with compost and top soil, organic chemicals. Pressing the Seeds into the Soil. Feeling a frisson of future salads, side dishes.

In remembering these things a sort of strange hope rises. That we, the faded flowers, now the Seed heads of yesterday’s generational garden will leave our Seeds of love, justice, and compassion to grow in the rich Earth of this once and future nation.

Maybe we could create a Seed Catalogue for our nieces and nephews, our grandchildren. Even a Seed Savers Exchange for the ideas and actions that still hold the promise of a victory garden for diversity, for equality, for shared wealth and opportunity.

Or a nation in exile limned in a new Whole Earth catalogue for those of us who hold fast to the notion that rapaciousness, cruelty, mockery, and misogyny have no place in America’s fields and beds. Plant these instead, these seeds of liberty and freedom with their attendant responsibilities.

Plant this seed of love and that one of compassion. Fertilize with chi, illuminate with ohr, moisten with joy.

Shadow. N.A.R. Storm.

Imbolc and the Snow Moon

Friday gratefuls: Jorge Borge. Herman Hesse. Thomas Mann. Sinclair Lewis. Theodore Dreiser. Goethe. F. Scott Fitzgerald. Ralph Waldo Emerson. Thoreau. William Cullen Bryant. Dante. Homer. Euripides. Moses. Ovid. Mary Oliver. Coleridge. Wordsworth. Poe. Hawthorne. Cooper Powys. Joanne Greenberg. And so, so many others.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Creativity

Week Kavannah: Patience.  Savlanut. When I rush, slow down. When I want to speak, wait. When my inner agonizer arises, calm him, move on

One brief shining: Said the shema, said my I am comfortable with who I am and what I have, turned on the oxygen concentrator when I heard a crash and then another crash from the space where Shadow was; went back out of the bedroom to find my laptop, my Kindle, various papers, and a bag of treats splayed out on the floor, a shocked Shadow looking sheepish, a little scared. So I picked things up, comforted her, and returned to bed.

 

Dog Journal: As her comfort level increases, Shadow has become more and more a regular puppy. Chewing up her brand new bed. Trying to get into the treats I left on my computer table. Being bouncy and happy and wiggly. She has learned sit, down, and touch.

She still does things that confound me. When I want her to come in, she stands by the door, won’t come in until I sit down. Often, too, she will run back outside if I get up too fast. When it’s cold outside? Annoying. Like right now for instance.

Having her here when I wake up. When I come home. Glad to see me, tail wagging. Yes. Many times yes.

 

N.A.R. notes. Wagner did a phenomenological analysis of Christian church growth. He found the most growth in Pentecostal congregations in the third world and mega-churches in the U.S. His conclusion? The holy spirit was at work reshaping the church for a new era.

From within his worldview this was a logical conclusion. Where there are signs of vitality, there is the current activity of God in the world. He also noted that in these new congregations, these gatherings local leaders were the authority. The megachurches, too. Apostles and prophets were the missing elements from denominational governance. Instead of bureaucracy there were charismatic leaders who spoke directly with God and acted in (his) stead.

We will see later how this lead to the powerful, politically motivated Christian Nationalism that we wrestle with today. Wagner’s work I’m discussing now is from the late 1990’s.

 

Just a moment: I have George Friedman’s The Storm Before the Calm out again. Going to reread his last chapters. The Trump/Musk assault on American norms of the last 80 years may be the storm Friedman predicted. Sure feels like it anyhow. A tearing down of the old paradigm followed by a reshaping. The reshaping will not be the work of the MAGA folks but of a coalition, I would imagine, of the center-right and the center-left, perhaps forming a new political party.

 

Know thy adversary

Imbolc and the Snow Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: MVP. Snow storms. Tourney weather. Indiana. Small towns. The 1950’s. Mary and her morning ritual. Mark training a new generation of Saudi engineers and physicists. Diane healing. Shadow and her still forming personality. Chewy. Kate, always Kate. Bond and Devick. Sue Bradshaw. Dr. Buphati. Kristie Kokenny.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Salaam, dog sitter

Week Kavannah: Patience.  Savlanut. When I rush, slow down. When I want to speak, wait. When my inner agonizer arises, calm him, move on

One brief shining: Shadow scratches the familiar sound of a collar against nail; she cleans the Snow out from between the pads on her paws put there as she flew like a small black missile through drifts from the recent Snow, pure Dog and Puppy delight, oh Shadow.

 

New Apostolic Reformation. Finished my second book on this almost invisible movement. The New Apostolic Church by C. Peter Wagner. As I mentioned before, I studied with Wagner during the late 1980’s in a two week church growth seminar at Fuller Theological Seminary in Pasadena, California.

This movement began to be understood as a new thing under the Sun thanks to Wagner’s academic work on church growth. He began as a student of church growth. Where was it happening? How was it happening? Were any of the things he learned replicable?

Those of us responsible for the health of congregations in the former mainline Protestant denominations sought answers to the opposite problem, church decline. That’s what led me to this prominent conversative seminary seeking answers that might help us turn things around.

My thesis for my Doctor of Ministry showed that the Presbyterian Church had begun to decline as a percentage of the U.S. population in the 1920’s though numerical increases hid that decline until the 1970’s. We were not alone. United Methodists, U.C.C., ELCA, and Episcopal churches had begun shrinking, too.

Maybe the church growth movement had some answers. Wagner had the most information and experience, so I went to him. Didn’t help. All the former mainline churches have continued a slow sinking into obscurity. Chatbotgpt offered these numbers about the Presbyterian church:

  • 1983: 3,131,228 members
  • 2013: 1,760,200 members.
  • 2022: 1,193,770 members.

Wagner looked at these and the comparable numbers for other mainline denominations, saw the decline in conservative denominations which was smaller, but still noticeable at the time, and declared the beginning of a Post-Denominational era.

Where were churches growing? In Latin America, China, and Africa. Pentecostal churches for the most part. Non-denominational. Also megachurches in the U.S. which had begun to plant smaller versions of themselves. These were the congregations Wagner began to call the New Apostolic Reformation. Denominations were a post-Luther Reformation phenomenon, usually created by division over doctrine.

These independent, non-hierarchical congregations had the current energy and vitality in the Christian church globally. Over the final years of his life, Wagner died in 2016, he served as a visionary apostle (his language, or, rather his use of New Testament language) to help these loose knit congregation develop cohesion without becoming denominations. An apostle in this sense has the same status as an apostle of Jesus. They lead. Prophets, a notch below them in spiritual authority, receive new revelation from God, the apostles execute the commands of the new revelation.

Neither apostle nor prophet had a role in church governance before the N.A.R. Instead there were denominational bureaucracies. These bureaucracies managed selection, education, and ordination of clergy who then served as employees of congregations.

The NAR form of governance, while eschewing formal bureaucracy, relies on individual, usually male, leadership who have power only in their domain.

This is getting too long for one post. I’ll share more tomorrow.

 

Jewish Men Together

Imbolc and the Snow Moon

Sunday gratefuls: CBE Men’s group. Orion. The Night Sky. The 1% waxing sliver of the Snow Moon. Ritalin. Ruth and the Flatirons. Gabe and college. And guitar. Tara and Eleanor. A Shadow playdate. Safeway Pickup. Silver Bistro. Cook Unity. Conquering the experience of pain. Back to working out.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Shadow and Eleanor zooming

Week Kavannah: Patience.  Savlanut. When I rush, slow down. When I want to speak, wait. When my inner agonizer arises, calm him, move on.

One brief shining: Tara brought Eleanor over, leggy curly haired and full of puppy energy Eleanor, who sniffed Shadow, Shadow sniffed back and the playdate was on as the two circled each other, smelling for information, then running full tilt in the back through Snow drifts, chasing, quarreling a bit, Shadow rolled over bared her teeth after saying I submitted now stay the hell away from me, a long conversation with my heart friend Tara as they played.

 

Dog journal: Shadow had her first playdate here. Not her last. I have a large fenced yard, almost an acre with Lodgepoles and an Aspen. Snow drifts that last throughout warmups because it faces north. In the Spring there will be Rabbits and Mice and Voles and Squirrels to chase. The occasional Mule Deer and Elk for Shadow to herd. A good place for Dogs. No Rocky ledges for Mountain Lions. Fence keeps out Coyotes. Safe enough during the day.

Like nanny’s at a Central Park Playground Tara and I let our Dogs run while we talked. Tara, like Marilyn, is part of MVP. She said yesterday that she and Arjan would take Shadow whenever I had to go somewhere. Limited prospects on that, but still, like the offer from my son and Seoah, appreciated.

 

CBE men’s group last night. We began to get down to it. We told some of our stories. Moving from Chicago. L.A. Florida. Minnesota. Buffalo. Dallas. To find our true home. Both in the Mountains and as Mountain Jews at CBE. Fleeing in-laws, a broken life, New York City. Looking for Mountains and trails. Quieter. Simpler. Often finding and not finding what we sought.

A question unique to this sort of group. How long can we stay here? Where will we go if things get bad? The question of 1930’s Germany. Of Babylon. Of Russia under the Tzars. Of the Inquisition era in Spain. As evil Donald continues to extend his poison from sea to shining sea and well beyond.

I felt for the first time that there may be a more important question than maleness, the nature of the masculine role in society for a men’s group. At least this men’s group.

Another factor. As Jamie observed, there aren’t that many Jewish men. In the world. What unique role might we have in a world bent on rushing headlong into a dangerous yesterday?

If these men commit, stay the course, this will be a fourth anchor point for me at CBE. Mussar/MVP. Torah study. Men’s group. Friends.

 

Inner Gyroscope

Imbolc and the Snow Moon

Shabbat gratefuls: Snow. March. Shadow. Not quite potty trained. Great Sol. Toys for Shadow. Her food. Her wiggly happy greeting. Not allowing pain to rule. MVP. Seder. Venom’s Last Dance. Parsha Terumah. The Mishkan. Talmud Torah. Hanna Matsuri. Luau. My son. Seoah. Murdoch. Physical therapy. Amazon.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Doggy playdates

Week Kavannah: Patience.  Savlanut. When I rush, slow down. When I want to speak, wait. When my inner agonizer arises, calm him, move on.

One brief shining: After my nap, my body ached, I didn’t want to get up to move to do this anymore this weakness this doldrum of the daily life; then it was right then I began to throw my covers off saying to this too old too soon guy that no this weakness this sapping of the life force did not represent my nefesh it was my fear and my doubt so get back to your workouts your smiles your Shadow. And I did.

 

A Da Vinci-style blueprint sketch of your inner gyroscope, complete with intricate mechanical details, rotating rings, and Renaissance-style annotations.

Another tough week at times. Mostly coincident with back pain. When tired and in pain, I find my inner strength weakens and the yetzer hara begins to take hold, dragging me back toward the slough of despond. Dredging up the what are you doings? The what sort of life is thises? The inner castigator. You should act politically. Write another novel. Stop watching so much TV. Be a man, not a patient. You know. That sorta thing.

Eventually my strong inner gyroscope rights from being pushed over by reactivity and shadowed understandings of reality. Puts these thoughts in context of my life, of my strong purposes now: Being a friend. Being a family guy. Loving Shadow. And myself. Learning and sharing about the New Apostolic Reformation. Writing Ancientrails. Learning Mussar. Studying Torah and other ancient texts. Sitting in the Mountain world, feeling its changes as Snow and Cold, Mule Deer and Elk gather round in their most ancient of all ways.

Life without a solution to pain challenges the soul. So does each day of our lives. It’s our task, and ours alone, to find the footholds on this technical climb and scale the rock face, as always with no rope.

 

Just a moment: How bout that live TV roast of former ally, Zelensky? The United States has become, in the scorching hot winds since January 20th, a thug nation. Extorting a nation when it’s down for its natural resources. Demanding them as vig for all the money spent on their defense.

If this government were an ordinary mobster on the streets of New York City or Philly, there would be a task force out to put them in jail. Instead they control the world’s most powerful military, led a hostile philistine take over of the Kennedy Center, and seem more focused on destroying governance than governing.

Note that here in the Rockies, not too from the Gulf of America, I’m writing this in the official language of our country, English, with no help from immigrant labor and a safe distance from those war-mongers in the Ukraine.

 

 

Morality Plays

Imbolc and the Snow Moon

Friday gratefuls: Alan. Marilyn and Irv. Snow. March, our big Snow month. Shadow. Difficult nights sleep. Ramadan. Elon Musk, a real Bond villain. Mussar. Hana Matsuri. Torah study. Men’s group. Smart phones. The internet. The cloud. Clouds. NOAA. National Weather Service. Critical government services.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The sound of Shadow eating

Week kavannah: Netzach with zerizut and simcha

One brief shining: Driving up the hill Tuesday after lunch with Alan, Denver temperature 66 degrees, climbing on 285 past the Hogbacks, past Indian Hills, past Windy point, temperature in the low 50’s, by the time I reached Shadow Mountain Home the air was 47 degrees, 19 degrees cooler than Denver.

 

60 years ago I was a freshman at Wabash College in Crawfordsville, Indiana. In my first semester I joined the Scarlet Masque, a group of actors who put on plays for the town of Crawfordsville. Guerilla theatre had a moment in the mid-1960’s and we decided to perform medieval morality plays on the main commercial street of Crawfordsville.

Medieval morality plays convey straightforward messages about good and bad, sin and redemption. They present difficulties for actors because the lines rhyme. Here’s an example from the Castle of Perservance:

MANKIND:
What need I toil, or sweat, or strive?
Why should I labor, while I am alive?
Gold and silver will serve my will,
And I shall do what I like still!

BACKBITER:
Well spoken, my jovial lad!
Hold fast to pleasure, be never sad!
Why fret and fast, why should you care?
Eat, drink, and make good cheer,
For life is short, and death is near!

MANKIND:
Ha! By my soul, thy words are sweet,
And thus my heart shall take its seat.
A lordly life shall I pursue,
And bid those beggarly monks adieu!

This is, I admit, a long winded introduction to my real point. Over the last six months or so, I notice I’ve drifted in my reading and in my television watching to contemporary morality plays. I’ve read mysteries and thrillers. I’ve watched police procedurals, movies about assassins, the FBI, science fiction movies about alien invasions.

What do they share in common with the medieval morality plays? They present clear messages. Good Bond. Bad villain. Good police, bad criminals. Bad arms dealers, good assassins. Over the course of 45 minutes to an hour and a half, though the battle goes back and forth with the outcome often in doubt, in the end good triumphs. The vanquished bad actors get what’s coming to them.

Ah.

It took me until last week to realize why I felt soothed by these works. So much in the world and in the U.S. seems an inversion of values I hold close. US friends with Russia. Extorting Ukraine for precious metals. Gutting NOAA and the National Weather Service. Finding money for deficit increasing tax breaks in programs like Medicaid and food stamps. Not only are the bad guys not getting punished, they’re making front page news daily.

Not so in NCIS: New Orleans. That wife who poisoned her husband and brother with polonium. Behind bars. Or, FBI. The three terrorists who tried to bomb a baseball game in Central Park? Foiled and arrested.

BTW: Whose name could I have replaced Mankind’s with in the excerpt from Castle Perserveance?

My Aching Back

Imbolc and the Birthday Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Shirley Waste. Shadow. More out and about. Alan. Tupelo Honey. Ritalin. My aching back. Limiting. Good sleeping. 23 degrees. Some wind. Great Sol. Sunlight on the Lodgepoles. Taking out the trash. Vince. Marina. Ana. Sunny days.  The Mountains.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Shadow’s wiggly energy

Week Kavannah: Netzach with a dash of zerizut and simcha

One brief shining: Each night before I go to bed, my baby, I say the shema: Hear oh Israel, yod hey vav hey is (God), yod hey vav hey is One, touch my menorah and say I am content with what I have and I’m content with who I am, and immerse myself in this ancient faith made new by Reconstruction, by my own journey, by Kate’s, by its insights into the nature of this strange efflorescence of the universe knowing itself, humanity

 

Aversive conditioning. Wanted to try Tupelo Honey, a Southern restaurant in downtown Denver, a downtown I do not know well, having had few occasions to drive into it or park; I suggested it to Alan for my birthday lunch, he agreed; he could walk from his condo.

About noon yesterday my back ached. I didn’t know where I was. Mostly I wondered why the hell l had suggested a downtown location. Turns out I parked not too faraway from the restaurant, but my lack of familiarity with downtown Denver, and my silly attempt to use Google’s walking directions led me far away from my goal. Lunch with Alan.

I arrived after a tortuous route, twenty minutes late, my back screaming. No celebrex, remember? Turns out that part of downtown is known for its complexity. So, now I know, eh? Pain does not encourage a thoughtful or rational approach to problem solving. The body wants it to stop. That distracts the mental work necessary to, say, follow a confusing map in a no through streets part of the city.

Food was good. Not great. I expected the kind of fried Chicken my Aunt Mame used to make at the Copper Kettle in Morristown, my mom’s hometown. Nope. A thin skin with some sweetness in it. The rosemary and thyme crispy potatoes were good.

Walking back to the garage Alan went with me. I had already tumbled to the fact that it was much closer than my original route. My back had already gotten agitated and didn’t calm down until I was back home. If I go into Denver again, I may park, as Alan suggested, at a strip mall outside of downtown and Uber in.

Not gonna be anytime soon.

 

Just a moment: Talked to buddy Paul Strickland yesterday. He and his wife, Sarah, attended a conference in Camden, a Maine seaside town. Conference title: Democracy Under Threat. His thoughts after the conference have not yet congealed, but he did report some interesting facts.

One especially chilling number. Counting Russia, China, and India as authoritarian governments plus smaller countries like Belarus, Hungary and many others, some 71% of the people on earth live under authoritarian regimes. 71%. That means democracy serves less that 29% since some of those are monarchies, but not necessarily authoritarian. A sad day for our planet.

Reactionaries and Electronic Communication

Imbolc and the Birthday Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Shadow. Potty trained. To the outdoors! Sit and down, making progress. Shadow Mountain under 18 inches of white Snow. Vince. Salaam. Dog watcher. Democracy under Threat. Paul, in Camden. Mark and the desert. Mary and Oz. My son and Seoah, in the former Joseon Dynasty. Lodgepoles with unloaded Branches. Aspen’s gray-green against the Snow. My right hip and back.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: No poop in the house this morning

Week Kavannah: Netzach

One brief shining: Snow once more high on the Trees, soft, undulating, imitating the Rub al’Kahli, the empty quarter on the Saudi peninsula, where Bedouins rode camels, eating dates off Palms at an Oasis, while here the tall monarchs of the Forest, the Moose, use their long legs to find food even in a white desert

 

Got up this morning, picked up my hearing aid from the night stand. I’d left it there, forgetting to take it out to its charger. After letting Shadow outside, I looked for it. Where did I leave it. It needs to charge for the Ancient Brothers conversation at 8.

Imagine my surprise after searching upstairs and down, high and low, to find it where I automatically put it, behind my ear. Routine. Who says aging isn’t funny?

 

Firing the Joint Chiefs, military advisors to the President. Now the three-star Generals who run the Judge Advocates in the Navy, Army, and Air Force. Because they tie the hands of soldiers trying to win wars, Hegsteth says. Calling them jagoffs. Oh. And 8% cuts to the military over each of the next five years. Do the math. Using military bases and gitmo for detaining immigrants. This administration wants to bend the military, make it serve partisan politics. And to act in this country.

Add that to Trump’s coziness with Putin and J.D.’s embrace of the German Far Right. Whaaa. There may be an overall playbook at work here, but it looks like  something simpler, whatever they used to do, we’ll do the opposite.

This must feel revolutionary to the MAGA base. It’s not. It’s reactionary in both a literal and figurative way. It’s not making America great again, it’s making America a different country, yet not a better one, just one defined by greed, naked self-interest, and diminution of the other.

 

Just a moment: Conversation. Communication. Interaction. Topic of an Ancient Brothers’ morning. Is the screen captivity of Millenials, Gen Z, Gen alpha a plague on human interaction? Or, is it a new form of being human on a crowded planet. Let’s bracket the insidious software of Tik Tok, Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook. Not because their manipulation of the human mind isn’t real, effective, and pervasive, but because I want to find the communication possibilities wherever they are.

Conversation in 3-D most would consider the gold standard. Neuroatypicals may be an exception. Conversation on the phone or on a service like zoom might come next. Then, e-mail. Texts. These are mediums where your message has no software filtering, magnification, or distortion.

After these more transparent communications come what I would define as social media. Especially the four mentioned earlier. Even these can be used for communication, especially for wide dispersal of a message. The difference is in the software that encourages liking, uppolling, changes of who sees and receives your messages and whose messages you receive and see.

There is in them a capitalist hand that wants profit, not better communication. What matters is the stickiness of the platform. Eyeballs. Length of time on the site. It seems obvious to me that serious and deep interpersonal communication in such an environment has more challenges, invisible levers, and problematics.

How does all this effect culture? The ability to form deep and meaningful friendships, find love? I just don’t know. Much more to learn here.