Category Archives: Politics

Its Beary business

Summer and the Aloha Moon

Saturday gratefuls: Living at 8800 feet. Cooler than down the hill. Sealed driveway. Hawai’i. Jet planes. Masks. Santa Fe art crawl. Gabe. A sweetheart. Ruth. Sad. Jon. Jon. Kep. More inside work done. A week with less going on. Kate’s memorial Iris bed in bloom. Best week of exercise in a long time. Sleep.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Iris

Tarot: Two of Stones, Challenge

art@willworthington

“The Two of Stones asks us to consider: Who and what are the challenges and challenges in our own lives? Do we handle them from a grounded and well-balanced place?” tarotx.net

 

Down the hill yesterday to Santa Fe Drive, the first and largest of Denver’s Arts Districts. On the first Friday of every month they have an Art Crawl. I asked Jon, Ruth, and Gabe if they wanted to go, eat at the food trucks that line up at several spots on and off Santa Fe. We met in front of the Dart Gallery where Jon had a print exhibited for a show back in March.

We got food from various trucks and sat on a concrete structure that had absorbed a lot of heat during the day. It was uncomfortably hot and humid. 82 when I left for home. When I got to Shadow Mountain and it was 57 degrees, I put it down in my record book (here) as the largest temperature spread between down the hill and back up since I moved here. 25 degrees!

Wandering here and there we went into galleries and workshops and centers for the arts. One gallery had a tall, finely crafted lamp encased in a metal and wood surround for a mere $12,000. This guy’s work was meticulous. Still…

Gabe said he was really sorry they missed my performance. Everybody’s phone was shut off because Jon chose to wait until his check came to pay his phone bill. I messaged them several time and had grown concerned. Sarah and BJ connected with them somehow and alerted me. Glad that’s all it was.

Ice cream cones in hand we wandered back to our vehicles and I left the urban heat island for the Mountains.

 

This morning I took off for Evergreen to have breakfast with Rebecca. Almost to 73 on Brook Forest Drive I saw what at first appeared a large dog off leash. Nope. A medium sized Black Bear, the second I’ve seen since we got here. It loped along unconcerned about traffic. I watched until it disappeared in the tall Grass, going about its Beary business.

The thrill of seeing these wild animals never wanes. No matter how long you’ve lived up here seeing the animals who live on their own by ancient, ancient rules of which we have no part stops us in our tire tracks. They are the past and the future. Their lives would only improve if human civilization shrank or disappeared.

The Bear had a shiny coat, moved with the ease of a healthy animal in its place, following its own designs. What a privilege to be here.

 

On a less sanguine note. The Extremes, for sure. But enough about them. How bout that Xi Jinping in Hong Kong:

“Political power must be in the hands of patriots,” he said, after swearing in a new leader for the city, a former policeman who led the crackdown on huge anti-government protests in 2019. “There is no country or region in the world that would allow unpatriotic or even treasonous or traitorous forces and people to take power.” NYT, 7/2/2022

Except maybe in that beacon of liberty, the dis-United States of America.

I’m beginning to feel energized. Maybe it’s the Synthroid, yes, that’s possible, but I love a good bare-knuckle fight where good manners and courtesy go by the wayside. Not energized enough to do what I would have, organize resistance, but energized enough to keep writing, keep poking the corporate/capitalist/right wing Christian demagogues, keep rallying the folks who still have some empathy with the poem on the Statue of Liberty.

Blue state values advance. Red state values retreat. This will become more and more evident as the years go by. Whether we accept and reinforce this sorting or try to reclaim a United States may be the biggest political question of the next decade.

 

 

 

The Devil and The GOP

Summer and the Aloha Moon

 

Ovid in exile

 

“The Iron Age

Last was the age of iron: suddenly,

all forms of evil burst forth upon this time

of baser mettle; modesty, fidelity,

and truth departed; in their absence came

fraud, guile, deceit, the use of violence,

and shameful lusting after acquisitions. (Bk 1: 172-177)

Now men demand that the rich earth provide

more than the crops and sustenance it owes..” (Bk 1: 185,6)

Charles Martin, trans. Ovid’s Metamorphoses (published 8 A.C.E.)

 

By now you’ve seen the latest. (In)Justice Roberts: “…it is not plausible that Congress gave EPA the authority to adopt on its own such a regulatory scheme.” Answered in dissent:

“Justice Elena Kagan, writing for the dissenters, countered: “The Court appoints itself — instead of Congress or the expert agency — the decisionmaker on climate policy. I cannot think of many things more frightening.”” Washington Post, 6/30/2022

This on the heels of Dobbs and the decision making concealed carry not only easier, but paving the way for a possible elimination of any form of gun control. Not to mention the ominous foreshadowing by (In)Justice Thomas about LGBTQA+ rights.

And who knows what may lie beyond them since a friend who knows the law, Cousin Diane, pointed out that Loving v. Virginia is the case that gave the rationale for granting same-sex marriage and anti-discrimination laws against any one of a different gender orientation. If Loving goes, even (In)Justice Thomas will be in trouble. Course he already is. That Ginni.

A time of rampant unashamed racism tightening governmental control (oh, the irony) over women’s bodies will disproportionately effect poor women and women of color in red states. You know the demographics of the Deep South. Intersectionality on display. Classism and racism combine to grind down ever further the women of Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, South Carolina, Louisiana, Texas, Florida. At least now you can go to school and pray for them.

 

Groups focused on root causes of racism, classism, climate change, the abysmal state of American agriculture, and immigration get my money, my attention, and my hopes.

The High Country News is a progressive voice in the West, edited and printed out of Paonia, Colorado. In this issue it has a wonderful article by a Native writer, Dina Gilio-Whitaker, titled Environmental Justice is Only the Beginning. Here’s a taste of her thinking:

“Manifest destiny and technology-intensive modernism, amplified by the incentive of capital, have resulted in gross-mismanagement, and in many cases, total destruction of forests, grasslands, rivers, lakes, wetlands, watersheds ocean and desert biomes and countless other ecosystems-all within a few short centuries of European arrival.” HCN, July, 2022, p42-43

Black Lives Matter, The Root, and the Southern Poverty Law Project are my go to sources about racism. I’m sure there are other, equally good organizations, but these seem level-headed, aimed at the goal, and actively pursuing racial justice in tangible ways. That tangible ways is important to me. Abstract theorizing is necessary. Yes to Critical Race Theory for example, but if that’s all there is, nothing changes.

Classism.org has an easy to grasp definition with a page full of examples. In many ways this is my core justice issue having grown up in a working class town in agricultural/industrial middle America. Many of my friend’s parents were faithful members of the UAW and got the benefits that accrue from organized workers facing down the bosses of multi-national corporations.

Many of my friends themselves suffered when Detroit did not do well as Volkswagen and Toyota ripped into their sales in the 1970’s. My hometown, Alexandria, as I’ve written here before, was never the same after. Two factories employing thousands of workers went dark over a few years.

Democratic socialism is the answer to oligarchy, but the oligarchs consistently use the boogeyman of communism, which they don’t understand either, to paint socialists as nothing more than Friends of Russia.

 

So. Why the Devil and the GOP? Because behind each ism I’ve discussed and the horrendous, terrifying decisions of this Extreme Court, lies capitalist America. And not just capitalist America but a few of its most rapacious winners like fellow gangsters Bezos, Gates, Thiel, and Musk. Straight Outta the C suite, brother. The oligarchs.

Our culture’s deepest injustices have their roots in the Golden Calf. Some believe it was destroyed at the base of Mt. Sinai, but it keeps getting rebuilt by frightened individuals who must amass more and more and more to feel safe. Gold is not safety. Gold is a prison, a place to hide from what you fear. Often it’s a place high up, surrounded by glass and looking out on the lights of the city below.

I’m not going to discuss right now how the oligarchs have convinced the white working class to fear the same things they do, but it is not accidental, and the story has it source deep in American history.

That’s it, then. The Devil’s party is the GOP. Not because they’re satanists, no, but because they worship an idol made of bonds and stock options. The GOP is the party of the oligarchs. Money in its diverse guises is their center of value rather than other people and the planet on which we live.

And, the Devil has taken control.

 

 

Jesus, Take the Wheel

Summer and the Aloha Moon

art@willworthington

Wednesday gratefuls: Hamish’s wife: I couldn’t believe he wasn’t an experienced actor. (She acts, too) Bless her pea-pickin’ heart. Jon paid his phone bill. Cassy. That Cassy. More Richard Power’s novels in the mail. 4 down, two more available. Looking at Aspens for Diane Kroger’s plant one tree for six years pledge. Sundance Nursery, Evergreen. Cooking Salmon, the James Beard way. Sitka Salmon Shares. Hiking the holy Valley.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Cassy.

Tarot: Three of Stones, Creativity

“It is time to create, spark old energy, and show something new.

An artist listens to a deep voice and feels the breath of all things. Courage, freedom, and skill, which allows the artist to allocate energy, must be purified and focused on meaningful and effective achievements.”   tarotx.net

 

Oh. My. Gosh. I’m the fucking President and I want to go to the Capitol. He said as he lunged for the wheel, tie flapping all over the back seat. No. We’re going to the West Wing. Darn Secret Service. This bastard would be in jail right now if the agent hadn’t been so picky about doing his job.

Maybe Carrie Underwood can issue a new release of her heartbreaker about a desperate mother sliding on ice with her newborn in the back. This one? Trump Take the Wheel. It features a desperate President only wanting to be with his peeps (his armed peeps) as they hunt for the traitor Pence through the Capitol corridors.

There could be a stanza about Pence on the gallows, begging for mercy. But Trump Took the Wheel. Anyone who wants to take this song idea and make it real, go right ahead.

 

Had a day yesterday with nothing on it. Hiked the holy Valley. A few of Kate’s remains are still where I spread them. Most are gone downstream, headed for the world ocean. The Wild Roses. Columbines. New Pine Cones coming. Kate’s Creek running full. Still. It had rained not long before I got there and the scent of Pine Trees was everywhere. Rain wet my jeans as I walked through low hanging Brush. Cool, too, though the day would quickly hit 78 in Evergreen.

Drove over to Evergreen to get new brushes for my electric toothbrush. Thought I did. But, no. Wrong ones again. Geez, how hard an it be? Decided to toss out this one, which I don’t like and go back to the less complicated Oral B.

Then down to Sundance Nursery to look at Aspen’s, discuss planting some in my front. Got the info. About as much as I thought. Next spring. Aiming to plant my six trees per Diane Kroger’s idea about working toward a climate solution in which each person on the planet plants one tree a year for the next six years.

Back home I took a long nap. Performing and the attendant late night coupled with the hike wore me out.

Later I cooked a Salmon steak, tator tots, and had some of the cucumber dill salad I made on Monday. My diet has changed. Thanks, Diane, for the nudge. Salad today with the rest of the Salmon on it. I enjoy being in my kitchen.

Almost finished with Plowing in the Dark. Not going to proceed to the next two, Gain and the Gold Bug Variations. Need a palate cleanser. Some non-fiction perhaps, sir?

 

Hamish’s wife said she couldn’t believe I wasn’t an experienced actor. Since she acts quite a bit, I took that as a sincere compliment. Especially since Hamish only relayed it to me after I texted him about his own acting. Maybe Robbie did mean what she said, “You’re a real actor!” Getting positive feedback is good for the soul.

 

Enough. Tomorrow. Why the left always eats itself. Remember. Power first. Then policy.

 

Disgust and Rage

Summer and the Living in the Mountains Moon

Friday gratefuls: Mussar. Rabbi Jamie. Luke. Bear. Kohler generator. Maintenance. Kaspersky. I still trust them. Helped me recover my password manager. Why I couldn’t post earlier. Rain and a cool down. Pride Shabbat tonight. View from the Bridge. Learning lines. Tal. Hamish. Sunday. Kep.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Buddies

Tarot: Knight of Bows, the Stoat

“In The Wildwood Tarot, Stoat is associated with the sovereignty of the land. This is because, during the summer months, his coat is a burnished copper, but in the winter, the coat turns white – still with his small black tail. The color combination of red, white, and black has an ancient and sacred connection to the land we encountered in The Wildwood Tarot.

The sovereignty of the land means the ground below our feet is sacred. When we separate ourselves from the land, we lose touch with an important and ancient part of ourselves – and our journey through Wildwood will reunite ourselves to the land.”   tarotx.net

 

 

A need to connect to the land could not be more important on this a sad, sad day for America. At least America as I have understood her and still understand her. Guns and abortions. Talk about virtue signaling. These are decisions that play to a base and do not reflect the constitution or even the vast majority of Americans. You’ve seen the numbers, I presume. It’s not a reach to call them The Extremes.

America has become a fantasy land bred on 4Chan and nourished in the annals of the KKK. Evangelical Christianity married white supremacy and its bastard child is the reckoning in all the news outlets today. Oh, Trump. Yeah. He seems almost like a side show. This is inexcusable. Villainous. Wrong. Evil.

Making children come into a world where their elementary school will be a place they fear? That’s absurd. Feeding both sides of this shitshow. Remarkable. Absolutely fucking remarkable.

Burning women at the stake? Is that where we’re headed? A Scarlet Letter. A for abortion. Feels like it. I’m so angry I could, I don’t know what. At least not yet.

Gonna make this a short one because my rationality has been overcome by sheer disgust and rage.

 

Beltane and the Living in the Mountains Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Life review. Sumi-e. Ruth. Snow. Yes. I mean it. June 1st, big Snow. Limbs down. Good sleeping. Astrology. Sun sign, Moon, and Ascending. Kep in the bed for the second night in a row. Hawai’i. I was there last year this time. Richard Powers. Reading. Trail hiking. TV back in its usual spot. Alan. Tom.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Snow!

Tarot: Queen of Arrows

“In Shamanic terms, Swans are about developing a sense of self, awakening your intuition, and a graceful disposition to others…Within the card lies the promise of rebirth and creativity – the tiny primrose peeping through the long grass. Willow is also more than a symbol of sorrow, it also promotes great healing and relief of pain…Queen of Arrows is completely independent, but she loves groups that bring like-minded people together.” tarotx.net

 

These heavy, wet Snows put a lot of pressure on powerlines. My lights flickery. Power on and off. Not sure if the generator is on or not since I’m up in the loft. The maintenance kit for it has not come in yet. Ordered a month ago. Still working after that brief hiccup when Diane was here. Grateful to have it.

Also grateful to have the Snow. Fire repressing Snow. And the liquid flowing into my tiny Aquifer here atop Shadow Mountain.

Snow has started up again. How bout that?

 

Astrology class yesterday. A question for the day: What gives you purpose? I said as I get older each new day gives me a sense of purpose. Yes. We live in the moment only. But that those moments, together, constitute our days, months, years. And each day with sunseen and sungone is a whole life. A rising up, a developing morning, a quiet midday, a winding down, and then, darkness, a night of sleep.

Resurrection. Death. Resurrection. A new chance. A moment in which life can begin again. Old angers put aside. New loves recognized, acted on. Beauty admired, inhaled. Actions taken for justice. Following the Tao. Letting the day flow as it will. “Within the card lies the promise of rebirth and creativity – the tiny primrose peeping through the long grass.” Queen for a day.

Simpler. Write. Workout. Lunch. Rest. Read. Go out or watch TV. Enough life for me. No pressure, no angst. Just the day. Some words. Some movement. Food. Learning. Other people some days. Some days not. Rest. My purpose; my day.

 

Guns + white supremacy + Trump/GOP validation + inflation + job slippage among working class whites + fear of other others (liberals, gays) = chaos and violence. Topping this all off with a stacked supreme court? Priceless.

My hope lies in two places: Gen Z, Ruth and Gabe, and dissolution. The acids of populist insurgency dissolving the current order, bringing chaos, forcing a new alignment of forces and beliefs. Probably not in my lifetime, but if so, yeah. I want to be there, put my foot on the accelerator.

Not much, I know. But there nonetheless.

 

 

RazzPutin

Beltane and the Beltane Moon

Friday gratefuls: Blue Sky over Black Mountain. A fading contrail. Sun hitting the solar panels. Wind. Muscles still healing. Luke. A sweet guy. So talented. Rabbi Jamie smiling, easy. Mussar. Kate’s yahrzeit tonight at CBE. Her plaque on the yahrzeit wall lit up. Kya. The road trip to meet her tomorrow. Ode on the Road.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: A possible buddy for Kep

Tarot: Six of Vessels, reunion

 

At first I thought. My class reunion in September. Read a note about it before I shuffled the cards. That’s pretty on the nose. But something deeper. The mound, a dolmen? Pouring out of it. Water. Into a pond on which six small vessels float, a light in each one. Ferns and arrow root frame the vessels. Two otters look intrigued. They might slide into the water and play. The sun is behind the trees, faint as if it were dawn or dusk. Long shadows jut out from the leafless, gnarled trees.

The deep and holy well of memory gushes into the pond of our everday, our present. Perhaps unexpected. Yet with strong emotion. Emotion that can illumine our life. If we let it. Maybe I’m the Otter, the one with his head up, looking at the Waterfall. Maybe I’m the Arrowroot, ready to offer stored up energy for the table of this life.

This continues the story from yesterday, of old bonds broken, other old bonds recalled and renewed. Gushing out of the dolmen, informing me. Philosophy. Acting. Writing about travel, politics. Writing itself. Friendships nurtured. Maybe movies. Art.

This is the Watercourse way. Following the River of self where it flows, not forcing it. Embracing the eddies and pools, the rapids, the sudden falls. Ah.

 

The war in Ukraine. America loves an underdog. The plucky Ukrainians against the old Russian empire led by Czar RazzPutin. The bare-chested bear baiter ruler against the comedian. Seems like an obvious win for the Empire, neh?

Funny how things are working out. As the military loves to say, the Ukrainians have taken the fight to the Russians. The supposed easy victims now become the aggressor. Must be confusing for the folks back at Russia military HQ. Heads will roll.

While I sit atop Shadow Mountain, fingers crossed that some event or another doesn’t pull us all in. Biden’s got this one right. Unite the allies. Send weapons. Money. Intelligence. Stay out of it otherwise. A larger war would serve no ones interest. A Ukrainian victory just might make the world safe for democracy. For awhile. As we’ve often claimed as our motive.

 

Of course. That assumes the electorate in the U.S. still wants a democracy. I’m pretty sure the majority do, but there’s that troublesome fringe  of fascists, organized and strong. Trumpites. Trumpettes. Trumpists. Fascistii with too long red ties, those red hats, and hearts filled with sadness over the loss of white privilege.

Live free or die. Don’t tread on me. Those confederate battle flags. Flown in defense of a form of government that will, by definition, restrict freedom. Oh, well. May you live in weird times. We are.

 

 

This is not that kind of fight

Beltane and the Beltane Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: CBD. THC. Heart. Inflammation. Life itself. In all its glory and misery. Whacked back. Still ouchy. Rain. Two falling Charlie’s. Our fragile government. Acting class. Falling out of like with Astrology. And Sefer Yetzirah. Weary of stuff that doesn’t feed more than my intellect. Melancholy. No. Melancholy lite.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Rain in the Mountain West.

 

Feeling low. Melancholy lite. Don’t like it. Mostly related to the pain lingering from my Monday fall. Not intense, but reminding me every time I get up from sitting. Dingbat. Don’t wear tennis shoes in the snow. Will pass.

More into searching for and finding joy. Letting go of some now longstanding quests that have become merely intellectual exercises for me: Sefer Yetzirah and Astrology. I’ll finish these classes then I’m focusing on Tarot, on Acting class, on writing. Other reading, thinking that has impact on my heart as well as my head. Some more jazz.

 

In a fog. No, not my mind. My house. At 8,800 feet it happens sometimes. The cloud layer the dewpoint and the temperature converge on top of Shadow Mountain. This time it’s also raining and snerting. An odd mix. Not a mood lifter, but in my instance, a mood intensifier. Still. Moisture good. Drought bad.

 

How bout that Supreme Court? Ideological decisions, rank ideological decisions like overturning established law because they can. That will weaken the Supremes, make their legitimacy as a high court doubtful at best. And legitimacy is what makes any court what it is. The final arbiter of cultural clashes. A minority will feel heard, that’s true. Not the purpose of the Supreme Court.

And. That’s not good for our democracy. We need our institutions to manifest the authority granted them by our constitution. Not tilt themselves against it.

This may, just may because Democrats are fickle creatures, upend the midterms. An organizing tool that binds women, race, and economic condition, even religious conviction together against the Republican, Trump-led, anti-democracy party. The party of autocrats. That’s what I’d use as my slogan if I were the Democratic strategists.

The old free-market, pro-business blueblood, National Review at the extreme GOP is gone now. It’s become the party of grievance, of sweeping away America as I understand it with racist tropes, vote nullifying, voter nullifying, white supremacist, evangelical “piety”, and an astonishing new way saying know nothing.

This is no longer a culture war in the metaphorical sense, but in the naked grab for power, use whatever tools work, back alley street fight way. Democrats come ill-equipped for it. We still believe, even if weakly, in the public square, of debate among reasonable people. Taking the normal tensions of public life and using elections, governing bodies to sort them out.

This. Is. Not. That. Kind. Of. Fight.

(quick weather sidebar. Not only foggy. No. It’s a foggy snow. Strange weather. But. Still. Moisture.)

A liberal democracy has an exposed belly to this kind of attack. Turning its own strengths into weaknesses. Look at Putin, Orban, Egypt, Turkey. Almost France. Democracy’s with no democracy, rather autocracy with a democratic facade. Even Hong Kong. A future Taiwan. If we join them. Melancholy will become a world state of mind.

The Roe v. Wade leak could, at least for a moment, make us find a path that unites the very disparate parts of the Democratic coalition. This would strike at the heart of poor communities, especially poor communities of color. And, women, all women. Liberal religionists, too. Yes, there are such folks though their numbers and power have faded away, become almost ghostlike.

If this uniting does happen, we need to seize the moment. Find the political super glue to hold that coalition up as the shining beacon it still can be. Damn it, we are racists who want to end racism, not further it. Sexists who want women to enjoy full equality and esteem. Greedy fucks who want money to be distributed among the have nots so children do not die. So their parents might have a chance. Internationalists, yes, but internationalists who are pro-trade and pro-immigration.

We’re not that much different from the populist, fascist right in our deeply entrenched sin, but we know what sin is and want to repent. Tangibly, concretely. In public. Not sin more.

That’s our weird strength. And we must own it.

 

 

 

Four Dead Mice

Spring and Kate’s Yahrzeit Moon

Seoah and Kate, Brook’s Tavern, 2019

Wednesday gratefuls: Trash pickup. Four dead mice. See how they lay. The new chandelier. Astrology. Sefer Yetzirah III. Luke. Leo. Kep. Findlay. Supermax. Snow mostly melted. 55 yesterday. Sunny. Cold waning, not gone. VRCC. Kep’s allergy shots. Recovery. Exhaustion. Illness.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Road Trips

 

Four dead mice. All in the trash. Zappers zap. Four d-batteries. Interestingly it says you can still use the batteries when the indicator shows they don’t have the oomph necessary to kill a mouse. Will kill 60 rats with fresh batteries, so I imagine many more mice. Still makes my heart sore, but a little less so this morning. Desensitization. Don’t like that. Taking a life should never be casual.

Still. All that evidence of mousey invasions. Chewing dog treats. Eating in to my new loaf of sourdough bread. Which I, for some reason, did not put the bread box. Gnawing the flap on the dog treat box. And all those turds. They must walk and poop at the same time.

 

Cold. Hanging on. Fatigue. Stuffy nose. Feeling blah. Head stuffed with cotton. Hard to think around it. Yecch.

 

Chandelier came. Custom made. Expensive. Not sure I like it. No. That’s not right. I love it. Not sure I like it for the place I wanted it for. Sigh. Gonna get it hung anyway. See how it looks. Might play with its location if I don’t like it over the common room table.

I need a week or two of feeling healthy, energized. Then I can dive into the last of the inside work. Discovering how much my workouts do for me. A lot. Especially the cardio.

Sewing Room area has more work. The chandelier needs to get hung. Kitchen. Still infrequently used items to put in high spots. Shelving to finish installing. Like that. The bookcase downstairs. The rotating shelf. A few items that need to find new homes. Either here or elsewhere. At least one more visit to Goodwill.

But already functional. Usable. Comfortable, as somebody said. A good word, happy to hear it.

The quotidian. Necessary for the soul to feel calm. What I want and need. Like most of us, I imagine.

 

Feel like I had made good progress, then got derailed by this cold. Have to start over again. That I can make progress is, I suppose, the point. Read the Mayo Clinic website and they counsel waiting until your body is ready to get back to exercise. Then, gradually. Feels like the story of my exercise over the last year or so. Get started, get feeling good. Injure something. Start over. Repeat.

 

Finished Matt Rose’s book on philosophers of the far right. It’s last chapter is interesting. In it Rose offers an apologia for Christianity against the critiques leveled by these extremist thinkers. Not sure why the chapter is there. Maybe the book was too short. Anyhow I noticed that some of their critiques and mine share a common theme. But not one that I would ascribe only to Christianity, but all major religions except one, Taoism.

 

 

the moment when change is possible

Imbolc and the Moon of Seoah’s Citizenship

Babar on Dick Cavett, Jon Olson, Spark Gallery

Sunday gratefuls: Jon. Spark Gallery. Tom Liker. His paintings. Santa Fe Art District in Denver. Rocky Yama Sushi. Rabbi Jamie. Divorcing. Luke. The Mussar group. MVP. Snow. Cold. The Ancient Brothers. David Sanders. Kep. Ukraine. Zelensky. Kate, always Kate. Rigel. Kristine. Kristie. Erleada. Orgovyx. Prostate cancer. Deer Creek Canyon. Living with, living in spite of, living into. Living.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Rabbi Jamie

Tarot: Two of Vessels, Attraction

 

Accent acute. Accent grave. The cedilla. Diacritical markings. “The word diacritic is a derivative of Greek diakritikos, meaning “separative” or “able to distinguish,” which is based on the prefix dia-, meaning “through” or “across,” and the verb krinein, “to separate.”” Merriam-Webster

Kairos. Another Greek word. This one often used in theology, there translated as crisis. This from wikipedia: ‘the right, critical, or opportune moment’. In modern Greek, kairos also means ‘weather’. It is one of two words that the ancient Greeks had for ‘time’; the other being chronos. Another translation: the moment when change is possible.

We have lived for this whole millennium in interesting times. Since 9/11/2001. That was the first and so far most impactful inflection point. It is easy to separate, to distinguish between the pre-9/11 world and its aftermath in which we still live.

It was a kairos moment, a moment when change was possible, and we chose, through the dark machinations of Rumsfeld, Cheney, Wolfowitz, and their likable stooge, George Bush, Osama Bin Laden’s exact goal: an asymmetrical war considered a holy war, or. better, an unholy war against Muslim’s who co-opted the idea of jihad.

We were in the right; they were in the wrong. Let’s go get’em! Now 21 years later the wreckage of our intervention has left smoking ruins in Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria, and to a lesser extent in Lebanon and Palestine. We’ve spent lives, a trillion dollars or two, but who’s counting, and our reputation as a beacon of liberty. Coming well after another stupid war, the Vietnamese War, these twenty one years have eroded the idea of democracy and helped fuel the rise of oligarchs and autocrats.

Kairos II. A macro problem, let’s call it. Because the next big shock was microscopic, a virus. Can’t even see the damned thing. We’re still not done with it, may never be done with it, and millions have died world wide. We’ve holed up in our houses, become afraid of our neighbors and friends, let alone the maskless vigilantes who so badly misunderstand liberty that they’re dying by the thousands without needing to.

Kairos III. Sorta in the middle of all this, what?, horror? George Floyd. In my former home town, Minneapolis. The San Francisco of the Wheat Belt, a progressive’s dream city if there ever was one. Black Lives Matter. Riots and protests. All over the world. Where did we put that beacon anyhow?

Of course riding high above all this was Kairo Prime of our time, climate change. Super wildfires. Ocean rise. Tumbling condos. Jacked up hurricanes and tornadoes. Changing weather patterns. A lot of record warmth. Uneven rains, 800 year droughts. Geez.

We got a lot going on here as I head into my 75th year. Three quarters of a century and I’ve never seen any time like these last twenty. Even the Vietnam War and the movement seem preparatory, not diacritical as I once thought.

And I have grandchildren. Who have to live into this world we’ve birthed. Yes, none of this had to happen. But cooler heads did not prevail and we got global warming. Peaceniks failed and we got forever wars. The civil rights era came up short and we got George Floyd, Trayon Martin, Ahmaud Arberry. How do I sit down with Ruth and Gabe and say sorry?

I really, really don’t know. Yes, of course love. Yes, of course compassion. Yes, of course justice. Knowing this from the jump doesn’t seem to have saved me from implication as a failure in every kairotic moment, every event diacritically identified here.

And, I’m tired. Not sure I have the eagerness or the energy necessary for another fight. Without a fight how can I hope to live with myself in my last quarter century? Or so.

Yet. Joy. Patience. Loving kindness. Honor. Holiness. Also necessary. Perhaps I can evoke, provoke those? Keep tossing virtues into the collective until something catches fire? I don’t know and I don’t pretend to know.

I do know that I cannot be silent, nor complicit. The chief sins of our age.

 

A Master Class. Kitchen. Erleada. Ruth.

Imbolc and the 3/4 Moon

Today -4 6:45 am

Thursday gratefuls: That below zero crunch in the Snow. Minnesota. Abraham Lincoln. Rich. Judy. Marilyn. Tom. Irv. Fresh Snow beauty on Black Mountain. On the Lodgepoles. On the Hermitage. Master Class in Black History. Back to reading. Loading coffee cups in the new shelving. Figuring out how to use the Speed Brew Bunn. (for high altitude)

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Money

Tarot: The Hooded Man, #9 of the Major Arcana

 

Loaded coffee cups into the pantry cabinets, smaller than the old ones, but probably better this way. While feeding the dogs. I’m getting underway. More this morning.

Vince came to plow the driveway. He has a six wheel ATV. An odd-looking thing. But powerful. He did a great job, including eliminating the small ridge of snow in front of the front door that both Josh and Ted left. I think Vince is a find. He also does landscaping.

Connected with Ruth yesterday. She’s in the Denver Springs psych hospital. Voluntarily. She sounded good. Joking, asking me to give Rigel and Kep a hug for her. She wants, really wants, to get her psyche calmed down. I hope she’s able to do that. I love her so much and it makes me hurt to see her in trouble.

The ? Room

Decided I’ll schedule the Modern Bungalow delivery for my birthday. A way to celebrate with a major change in the front room. I don’t know what to call that room. Great room sounds pretentious. Living room doesn’t feel right. It has a breakfast nook and a fire place. The area around the fire place is a separate space. I don’t know. Any ideas out there?

a repeat. but apt.

Been watching a Master Class in Black History on Amazon Prime. It’s excellent. I got to know Cornel West a bit at the 1974 Liberation Theology Conference in Detroit. I also met Angela Davis when I worked on the West Bank. There were a few members of the communist party who lived on the West Bank and were active in neighborhood politics. I can’t remember the couples name right now, but they held a do for Angela and invited me. This would have been in the mid-1980’s. Very much worth watching.

BTW: I agree with everything I’ve heard so far on the program. Knew some, but also learned a lot.

Felt a sag in my excitement about the new kitchen as I start to reorganize it. Realized it was the midday blues. Gonna get back to exercising, starting today. Better energy when I work out. Was gonna go to On the Move Fitness, but wrote Deb a note and said, “I’ve got the Omicron jitters. Let’s schedule a zoom session.” Probably over cautious. But. I’m not now, nor have I been sick for the last two years. In less you count prostate cancer, of course.

The Erleada, which I’ve been taking for 6 days now, did drop my energy level at first but that seems to have waned. Also a few hot flashes. Not bad. Not good. Oddly, just as I typed Erleada, the phone rang. McKesson Biologic Pharmacy. They’re the folks that handle my Orgovyx script, too. Kind and competent. My favorite combination.

And, ta dah! $10 a month rather than $3,000 or $650.

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