Samain and the waning crescent of the Holiseason Moon
Wednesday gratefuls: Jon, in trouble. Ruth, caring for a friend. Gabe, cheerful and helpful. Hanukkah. Lights, presents. Gratefulness. Sarah, Anne, BJ. Tender brisket. Melts in the mouth, they said! Neil Stephenson. Termination Shock. The Master of Djinn. Reading. Fantasy. Science fiction.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Gifts
Tarot:
Hanukkah. Lights, camera, presents!
Samain and the Holiseason Moon
Sunday gratefuls: Ancient brothers. Bright, Sun shiny Day. Black Mountain. Enduring. Wildfire. Drought. Kin. Of all kinds, furry and other. Cooking. Kitchen(s). Beds. Chairs. Computers. Televisions. Wires. The internet. Newspapers, online and papery/inky. Reporters. Politics. Climate. Its changes.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Cooking.
Tarot: Sunday-The Queen of Stones. Bear. Wildwood Tarot Monday-The Sun of Life, #19 of the major arcana
Oh, boy. A little bleary eyed at 8:30 am. Slept in till 7:30. Made a chicken stew(soup). A Joan Nathan recipe. A Jewish Julia Childs. I made brisket as well for our traditional Hanukkah dinner tonight. Instant Pot. Moist and tender.
Had an interesting experience while I was cooking. A sense of well-being and rightness rose up. I love this! Cooking. It made me so glad that I’d persevered with the kitchen remodel. I feel alive in the kitchen in the same way I do when I write. Paint. With the occasional call from the mitzvah committee at CBE, Jon and the kids I have real people to cook for too. Including me. Maybe I’ll work on a cooking for yourself cookbook.
YEP. Forgodda about it. So, this is now the post for Sunday and Monday.
Saturday evening cooking put me down. For the night plus a bit. Has me thinking about finding those cushiony mats for the stove and prep area. It’s the standing. Combine low to no testosterone and sarcopenia. Result: Legs not as strong as the gardening days. Or, the more recent fire mitigation days. Even so you’ll note I’ve found a happy place. The kitchen.
The Ancient Brothers (our new name, probably the one we’re sticking with) zoomed. Paul joined on the road from Burlington to Robbitson, Maine. Topic: post-pandemic life. Positives from the pandemic. I’ll share the article and some of our thoughts later this week.
Lunch with Tara, who has moved on from her position as director of the religious school at CBE. Sushi! Tara and Marilyn, both last name Saltzman, not related, Kate and I met our first ever evening at CBE over six years ago. Both of them are good friends today. I celebrated her work for the synagogue and our friendship.
Jon discovered what he believes are hookworms in his feet. So. No Hanukkah yesterday for the kids. Maybe tonight, or we might do it on Saturday. My brisket and the chicken stew with matzo balls rest in the frig until they come. I had a bit of the brisket last night. Moist and tasty. The chicken stew has a second lap to its cooking and I won’t do that until I know they’re coming for sure. Part of it is making the matzo balls. Needed the rest yesterday, too, so I’m not unhappy with waiting. Still worn out from Saturday evening.
Need to go down for breakfast and break Kep and Rigel out of the house. It’s housecleaning day. I so look forward to the day when the house has been reorganized, the kitchen remodeled. I have boxes and piles everywhere on the main level. Getting ready for emptying the kitchen when I get a firm date from Jodi.
Bought a Roomba. Kep. It will keep the main level and my floor downstairs clear of dog hair. Shoulda bought this years ago. Happy Hanukkah, me!
Samain and the Holiseason Moon
Friday gratefuls: Thanks giving. Kate. Who was always prepared. Ruth, who did not want to talk about Grandma. Then, did. Good stories, well told, bringing Grandma to Thanksgiving. The Ham. The Stuffing. The Pecan Pie and the Cranberry sauce, both made by Ruth. The Texas Toothpick Gabe got me served the ham. “It was the best present ever for you, Grandpop.”
Sparks of Joy and Awe: The kitchen remodel
Tarot: doing a spread later
It has come and gone. The first major holiday without my wife, without Grandma, without the oldest sister, without Kep and Rigel’s and Jon’s mom. These are holes in the fabric of our family, dug by Azrael. Left to be filled in as we knit together a new family, one without her physical presence.
Since I have long cooked the holiday meals and since Kate’s presence as an active participant in the holidays began to fade a couple of years ago, it was not as painful as it might have been for me. Ruth, less so. Jon, too. Gabe seems pretty level.
We spent time talking about Kate. Jon remembered when she brought the makings for pizza when he was in rehab. Ruth remembered Kate and her cooking. Gabe said he didn’t remember much. I told about the time in the Galliard Cut of the Panama Canal when a woman sitting with us pulled out wet wipes, just like Kate always did, and I gave in to her be prepared way. Then there was that time in Pizarro’s house (really) in Lima, Peru. She leaned her head on my shoulder. So much more.
On our honeymoon I got pneumonia and spent most of the time in Vienna recovering. Thanks to the antibiotics Kate had packed. Kate as the ninja weeder. Her name for her dogged attention to the plants out of place in our garden. A bandana around her forehead, a spading trowel in her hand. She gave so many things all she had. The ski bags she made for Jon. That dress she made from six-year old Ruth’s sketch. The shirts she made for me. Her medical practice. Her quilts. What a woman. So lucky I met her and got to love her. Be loved by her. May her journey be what it needs to be.
Slept in for an hour this morning. Cooking and cleaning up after a big meal. Whew. I find myself now able to do all that, not cringe. Just do it. What I’m not is a great host. Kate had that gene though neither of us enjoyed the role. Wonder if I could learn? Not sure. The introverted me finds shepherding an event and cooking/cleaning for same just too much. Not sure if I want to learn though it is an ancient and honored part of entertaining. Making folks feel welcome, seeding good conversations, maybe a game or two.
Whenever reading books about the Middle East, especially historical works, the rules of hospitality are so prominent. No matter who, even an enemy, deserved and received at least three days of food and shelter and freedom from attack. Don’t know whether that reflects actual practice, but they did lift hospitality to a prominent social norm, for sure.
Sunday night, the first night of Hanukkah, Jon and the kids return. I’m making brisket, traditional, and Jon has the making for latkes. We got a gift from Schecky and BJ, a box of lox (hah), latkes, apple sauce, sour cream, Hanukkah candles, and gelt. The presents from the sisters, the wrapped ones, are on the downstairs table. Not sure yet how we’ll handle the 8 days of present giving and candle lighting. We’ll decide on Sunday.
Another first without Kate.
Samain and the Holiseason Moon
Friday gratefuls: Alan. My phone. Derek. Laurie Knox. The Bailey Patchworkers. Holly Bailey. Kate’s gifts, still coming in. Hanukkah presents from the Aunt’s. Jon, Ruth, Gabe. Coming up here tomorrow and Thanksgiving. Cincinnati Chili tomorrow. Honey Baked Ham on Thanksgiving. Kep and Rigel. Indulgent. Another later morning for me. By 30 minutes.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Mary in the Midwest
Tarot: Thanksgiving Spread. What can I do to make this Thanksgiving joyous? Eight of Stones, skill. Ten of Vessels, happiness. Page of Stones, Lynx.
The first card I turned over, the issue card, was the Ten of Vessels, happiness. This is a card about family, coming from the watery, emotional realm of vessels and cups. It celebrates completion, realization, harvest. Exactly the issue. Yes, Kate will not be with us for the first time on Thanksgiving. Yes, that’s sad. I feel it already.
Yet. We live now. Not then. Thanksgiving is a harvest itself. Those around the table are folks brought in from the various corners of your life. In my case Jon, Ruth, Gabe. Each thanksgiving is a harvest of the moments big and small in the past year. In our case. Whadda year. Lot of my friends, too. Seeking joy in times made cold by Covid, by death, by other losses. This is when joy is most important, if it’s authentic.
The second card. The eight of stones, skill. This one took me aback at first. Then, I realized. Oh. Yeah. This is what to avoid. This meal is not about skill in the kitchen or being on our best behavior. A focus on those things will kill the joy. This is a time to say yes. To be with each other as family, not as chefs or party planners.
The third card. Action to take. The page of stones. The earth focus. Malkut. Here and now. Learning how to live in this place, with others. We’re learning how to be here for each other. We have learned how to be here for each other. Thanksgiving will be joyful if we (especially me) remember we’re all just students, figuring out how to be human. How to be family.
Having two stones in this spread reminds me that this Thanksgiving the focus is on us, here, in this place. Right now. In the physical realm. Together. Food. Hugs. Dogs. Life as family, family as legacy, family as home.
Samain and the Holiseason Moon
Monday gratefuls: Rigel. Her head on my pillow most of the night. Kep, so happy to get up. Orion of the morning. Skeletal Aspens. Lodgepoles waiting with spring loaded Branches. For Snow. Shadow Mountain. Solid Rock beneath my house, my feet. Black Mountain. Which tucks in the Sun.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Mitzvah
Tarot: See notes from my hexagram spread next post
Holiseason. A primer. I discovered holimonth 15 years ago. That was December with its abundance of holidays. Then I extended the idea to holiseason. (discovered later that this was a word anyhow. But, hey.) Holiseason by my reckoning runs from Samain on October 31st to the Feast of the Epiphany on January 6th. [A Kate aside here. She left Sunday School for good when one of her teachers, 4th or 5th grade, kept pronouncing the holiday epi-fanny.]
Holiseason contains multiple holidays, many of the holidays of light like Divali, Christmas, Hannukah. Thanksgiving. Posada. Advent. Kwanza. Winter Solstice. Gregorian New Year. Dia de los muertos. All Saints. And, of course, Samain. It’s my favorite time of the year. Lots to celebrate.
Reflecting on my radical career. One thing in particular. A long time ago, either 1975 or 1980, I attended a conference. Liberation Theology in the Americas. There were two and I can’t recall which one I attended. Cornel West. Harvey Cox. Lettie Russel. My roommate was a priest from Guatemala. Lots of impassioned speeches. Marxist analysis. Great meal conversations. Bus tours by a Detroit Socialist party that had made some political progress.
At the time I thought the conference was important for the clergy and theologians. Only later did I realize that the most radical moment came from a member of the Iroquois Confederacy, a medicine man in a 700 year lineage of medicine men.
At the end of the conference he performed a ritual typical of the Confederacy, planting a pine tree as a sign of peace. In the original rituals tomahawks and bows and arrows and knives would have been placed into the hole, covered in soil, the tree planted on top of them.
Afterward, and this part of the story I’ve told many times, he gave a long prayer. I listened carefully. You can read it below.*
When he finished, I went up to him and asked, “I noticed you didn’t mention the two-leggeds.” Oh, he said. Yes. The people are the most fragile of all. We need all the other spiritual forces healthy if we are to survive. So we pray for them. If they are well, so are we.
That was the radical moment at this most radical of all theological gatherings. I see it now. I carried on with work for economic justice: affordable housing, supporting unions, worker owned cooperative businesses like food co-ops and grocery stores and drug stores. Restaurants. Direct financial aid to the unemployed seeking work. Until.
Kate and I attended a Physicians for Social Responsibility conference in Iowa City. On climate change. This was in the mid-1990’s. A national conference they had now well-known figures in the climate change movement presenting. Each day we would go back to our hotel and express wonder that this science was not public. And, it wasn’t then. At least not enough for anyone to notice.
No habitable planet. No need for justice. I decided then that the remainder of my political work would be on climate change. And so it was. But, I could have made the same realization back in 1975 or 1980. Had I listened to the Iroquois medicine man.
Spring Bee Hiving Moon
The essence of the Peacemaker legend follows as told by Mohawk chief Jake Swamp at the planting of a Tree of Peace in Philadelphia in 1986. “In the beginning, when our Creator made humans, everything needed to survive was provided. Our Creator asked only one thing: Never forget to appreciate the gifts of Mother Earth. Our people were instructed how to be grateful and how to survive. But during a dark age in our history 1000 years ago, humans no longer listened to the original instructions. Our Creator became sad, because there was so much crime, dishonesty, injustice and war. So Creator sent a Peacemaker with a message to be righteous and just, and make a good future for our children seven generations to come. He called all warring people together and told them as long as there was killing there would be no peace of mind. There must be a concerted effort by humans for peace to prevail. Through logic, reasoning and spiritual means, he inspired the warriors to bury their weapons and planted atop a sacred Tree of Peace”
It is said that the Tree of Peace given by the Peacemaker symbolizes the Great Law of Peace. The symbol is a great white pine, and it is said to shelter all nations who commit themselves to Peace. Beneath the tree are buried the weapons of war of the original five nations. Above the tree is an eagle that sees far. Also, four long roots stretch out in the four sacred directions, and they are called the white roots of peace. The Peacemaker invited any man or nation desiring to commit to the Great Law of Peace to trace the roots to their source, and take refuge beneath the Tree of Peace. The Peacemaker’s teachings stressed the power of reason to assure righteousness, justice and health. Faithkeeper Oren Lyons, an Onondaga, states that the Great Law of Peace includes freedom of speech, freedom of religion, and the right of women to participate in government.
The seed-idea underlying all Iroquois philosophy is that peace is the will of the Creator, and it is the ultimate spiritual goal and natural order of things. The prayer below comes from the people of the Iroquois Confederacy. The prayer is based on the tradition of interconnectedness that the Iroquois or Haudenosaunee possess. This prayer is said to be the backbone of the Iroquois culture. The prayer expresses the belief that rather than take the world for granted, it must be respected, and that we must thank all living things in order to align our minds with creation and the Creator. Usually, a faithkeeper is selected to share the prayer of thanksgiving at the opening and closing of social, government, and ceremonial events. The prayer is comprised of three levels:
Spiritual Forces on the Earth, Spiritual Forces in the Sky, Spiritual Forces beyond the Sky
The Spiritual Forces on the Earth are:
the People, our Mother Earth, the Waters, the Fish, the Grasses, the Plants,
our Sustenance, the Animals, the Trees, and the Birds.
Throughout the year we bring our minds together as one
We give thanks to one another
All year long she gives us all that we need
We give thanks to our Mother Earth
Everyday it quenches our thirst
We give thanks to the waters In winter it replenishes the lakes.
We give thanks to the waters
During the year they purify the lakes
We give thanks to the fish
When the wind turns warm a green blanket appears
We give thanks to the grasses
In early summer the flowers turn sweet
We give thanks to the medicinal plants
In early summer they help us survive
We give thanks to the food plants
In midsummer we dance for the green corn
We give thanks to our sustenance
In midsummer we dance for the red beans
We give thanks to our sustenance
During the winter their pelts warm the soul
We give thanks to the animal creatures
Since early times they have been our companions
We give thanks to the animal creatures
In early spring we are glad they reappear
We give thanks to the animal creatures
At one point in time it became a symbol of peace
We give thanks to the trees
At the end of spring the sap will flow
We give thanks to the trees
In early morning they carry messages
We give thanks to the birds
In times of danger he warns the people
We give thanks to the birds
In the summer they sing sweet songs
We give thanks to the birds Spiritual Forces in the Sky are:
the Four Winds, our Grandfather Thunder, our Elder Brother Sun, our Grandmother Moon, and the Stars
Throughout the seasons they refresh the air
We give thanks to the Four Winds
In early summer they bring the falling drops
We give thanks to our Grandfather Thunder
Every morning he brings light and warmth
We give thanks to our Elder Brother Sun
Every night she watches over the arrival of children
We give thanks to our Grandmother Moon
In the night their sparkle guides us home
We give thanks to the stars
The Highest Spiritual Forces beyond the Sky are: our Protectors, Handsome Lake, and the Creator
All the time they remind us how to live
We give thanks to our protectors
At one point in time he brought back the words of the Creator
We give thanks to Handsome Lake
Everyday we will share with one another all of these good things
We give thanks to the Creator.
– Prayer of Thanksgiving, Iroquois Confederacy
Samain and the Moon of the Thinned Veil
Sunday gratefuls: Kate, always Kate. Nearer to my heart as the veil thins between this world and the Otherworld. Rigel and Kep, good dogs. Xiola, that pit bull that showed up yesterday. Hope she got home ok. Low hanging Cloud this morning. Fog on Shadow Mountain. Samain, Summer’s End. New Year’s day for Celtic lands. Long ago. Glasgow. Needs all the power it can get. Then, to use it.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Fog
Tarot: Eight of Cups, Druid Craft
Happy New Year! Feliz Samain! The season of light has fallen behind us. As I write at 7:30 am, the sky has only begun to lighten, a blue steel. As I feed the dogs in the afternoon, the sky heads toward late twilight. The temperatures are cooler and Snow is in the forecast. All Crops are dead except those few winter hardy ones like Winter Wheat, Garlic.
Up here the Aspens are naked. I found a skim of Ice on the Dog’s outdoor Water yesterday. This morning the shed and the roof of the house have a coating of Frost. I’ve begun layering with flannel shirts, fleece, and lined outer shirts. The boiler works harder now.
The Celts began their year today. The Samain festival marks the end of the growing season and the harvest season. Samain is the last harvest festival, preceded by Mabon in September and Lughnasa in August.
Through its influence millions of children will go door to door tonight dressed as Bob Ross (Gabe), candy bars, ghosts, celebrities, goblins, animals, witches. Whatever seems fun. Most will not know that the costumes mimic the Celtic belief that the veil between this world and the Otherworld thins on this day. That means the dead, those of Faery, other creatures like goblins can cross into this world more easily. In the ancient Celtic mind anything strange might happen or show up.
And, yes, it also means that the living can cross over into the Otherworld if they can find a portal, a place where the veil thins even more. Holy wells, caves, dolmens, sacred groves. A place made sacred by repeated worship. The living, though, have to be careful if they cross over because the return from Faery, or the Otherworld, may not be as easy. For sure eat no Faery cake nor drink no Faery wine.
Today is my first Samain without Kate; I feel her absence and her presence more keenly today. A family altar anchored by her ashes helps me place her both here and there. Wherever there might be.
The fog, the frost, the chill in the air underscore this day as one of a thinned veil. A day after which the strength of the growing season must see us through until Imbolc when the ewes freshen and milk becomes available. Even then we must wait until Ostara, the first day of Spring, to see the world once again as a place that can support the living.
To start the year here suggests an emphasis on the inner world, on life lived with family, often huddled around peat fires for warmth. Eating, being sustained, by the crops of the time of light.
A book dear to me, The Fairy Faith, written by W. Y. Evans-Wentz, recounts his several visits to the smoky huts all round Ireland, Scotland, Wales, and Brittany. In those villagers’ homes he heard the stories that kept the family enthralled over the long nights following the New Year. Stories of elves, fairies, goblins and more. Evans-Wentz went on to become famous as the translator of the Tibetan Book of the Dead.
We have stripped the world of its magic with Enlightenment reason and scientific method. Many, most, are as I used to be: either/or folks. Either the scientific, logical worldview or nothing. I prefer, Yes science and logic. Yes magic and mystery.
Sure this is meteorological Fall. Yes. It’s also Samain and Mabon ends today. It’s true we don’t know what happens after death, but it’s also true we really DON’T know what happens after death. The second law of thermodynamics explains dissolution, decay, the inevitable crumbling of organic structures. As far as it goes. Yet it cannot imagine a world untouched by its rule. But, I can.
Having the New Year today suggests that there is a way of understanding that comes in the dark, in the midst of decay, in the inner reaches of our psyche. A way best accessed when the light recedes and time for reflection grows. A way that precedes the way of light both in time and in spiritual significance.
Remember Steiner’s Springtime of the Soul at the feast of Michael the Archangel? September 29th. I believe Steiner recognized the same wisdom as the ancient Celts. To become more of who we are we need to go inside, into the dark, into the fecund place where the imagination lives.
During the season of light we work and live in the outer world, coming to the dark and the inner life mainly at night. During the season of dark, the fallow time, we can more easily spend time in meditation, dreaming, listening to tales told before a crackling fire. Perhaps writing and painting and cooking to express for others our inner work.
Join me this Samain as we honor the dead, honor the pool of memories that bind us all as one, honor the subconscious mind, honor the mysterious and the immeasurable. Honor faeries, goblins, elves, Tarot cards, the Tree of Life, and astrology. Kabbalah. Everything that seeks to penetrate or contextualize the interesting, but limited world of science and logic.
Moon of the Thinned Veil
Tuesday gratefuls: Induction range on its way. Goodbye dangerous polluter. Last mini-split installed. The Loft. Electrician today to finish up? Kep and Rigel. To whom I’m a companion human. Thanks, Jon! The Subaru leaving to help CPR. And, me. John Ruthenberg. Gonna plow me for $30. Pruning, still underway. That New York Strip last night. Boiled potatoes, salad from Jon’s garden. A bit of ice cream.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Mark in communication again
Tarot: The World, #21 of the Major Arcana, Druid Craft
David’s back he said in the land of the living. Looked a bit peaked still to me. Back in the land of the living hit me for the first time as an odd way to talk about recovery from illness. Made me wonder about its origins. Some diseases thin the veil for us, remind us of our 100% fatal disease. Life. And what of the time while we’re sick. Set apart, no longer normal. Dead to the life we know.
He works hard. Steady. Not a big guy. A bit taller than me, a thin frame. Very polite. Perhaps ex-military? Look forward to writing the check for this project’s completion. Coyote HVAC was a good choice.
Stiff Winds yesterday evening. Blew the leaves right off the Aspens on my property. A golden Rain, Snow. Gold skirts around the base of each Tree. Opened up the Sky over my bedroom window. Last night the Stars were clear and high, easy to see from my pillow. Winter is coming.
Orion has returned. An old and trusted friend. The Winter Sky is my favorite of the year. No Aurora’s here in Colorado. I miss those. I could stand on my front porch in Andover and watch curtains of green light oscillate across the Northern Sky. Orion and his faithful Dog, Canis Major, return each fall.
The Hermitage will be ready for the first snows of the season. Mini-splits installed. A new kitchen at least underway. The neon Hermit sign hung on the wall with care.
The season enters a new phase when the Aspen Leaves get blown off their Branches. The Groves become skeletal, ready to survive heavy wet Snows, carrying on conversations below Ground as the Air grows cold. We Humans add layers as Winter descends. Deciduous Trees do the opposite.
Winds hitting 24 mph whir the anemometer on my weather station. A few Aspen Leaves left to go, but not the bigger Trees.
This Sunday Samain kicks off Holiseason which runs until January 6th, the Feast Day of the Epiphany. I’ve created an offrenda for Kate up here in the loft. When it’s done, I’ll post a picture. It’s a family offrenda, too. Kate is the only one on the other side of the veil.
Rigel ate the ostrich feather duster yesterday. And, the day before she chewed the fur from the turtle rattle I bought for Kate. She’s an ornery girl sometimes.
Kep’s sorta my loft dog. Sometimes. When he feels like it. Right now he’s sleeping nearby.
Three things happening today: Astrology and Kabbalah class. Induction range delivered and installed with the old one hauled away. Hair cut with Jackie. Tomorrow just trash. Included by default: cardio today, full body workout tomorrow.
On Thursday I’m going to lead the Mussar group because Carol, who was going to lead, was in a wreck and is now in the hospital. Life.
Fall and the Moon of the Thinned Veil
Thursday gratefuls: Mike Rogers. Bear Creek. Rigel, a warning bark at 4:45. Then, continued warning for a good bit. Noisy girl. Kep slept. Blue Mountain Kitchens. Going with their proposal. Cool nights. The new fitted sheet. Dan Herman and his gifts. A full workout. HIIT. Starting today. CBE. A community of friends, a tribe. My tribe.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Golden coins scattered across the driveway
Tarot: The Moon, #18 of the Major Arcana
I’ve fallen in love. No. Not that kind. Never say never but I’m not seeking a new relationship. At all. No, this love is with the Rocky Mountain Fall. The Elk rut. The shofar of the Mountains, the bugling Bull Elks. Hyperphagia rampant within the Bear Tribe. The gradual change of the Aspens from their quaking green Leaves to small dabs of gold as each Tree transforms, heavy with gold coin.
Each morning I get up, come upstairs and the driveway has a scattering of those coins against its black surface, illuminated by the rising Sun. My heart beats a little faster.
Not just the Rocky Mountain Fall. The Spring, too. Even the too dry Summers. The mad dash of the melting Snow throwing itself down the many Creeks, headed toward the World Ocean, oh so far away. Winter. Ah, the darkness. The Sky at night. Orion returned. Clear Sky.
Kate said she felt like she was on vacation every day. I feel at home. And we both stayed in spite of or rather because of the Altitude. 8,800 feet. High and lifted up.
Speaking of high. Only in Colorado. The past president of CBE, Dan Herman, brings me Vegetables from his Garden. Yesterday bright orange Carrots, sweet red Tomatoes, and a miniature Cantaloupe. Plus. A small plastic baggie of Marijuana buds, still curing. I burnt the resin off the scissors and was high for 4 hours! he said. Smiling.
Breakfast with Marilyn and Irv on Monday. Alan and I will have breakfast on Monday here in Aspen Park. Rabbi Jamie on Tuesday afternoon. Luke and Elisa teaching the Torah and the Stars class on Tuesday morning. The MVP meeting last week with Rich and Ron, Tara and Marilyn, Susan.
Got lucky when I married Kate. In so many ways. Who knew her conversion to Judaism, long before I met her, would have such a wonderful impact on me after her death? This small tribe gives me the human element, along with Jon, Ruth, and Gabe for my Rocky Mountain home. Like an Aspen Grove, connected beneath the soil. Not clones, hardly, but the same symbiosis. Nurturing each other. Making life possible and worthwhile.
Rigel sent up an alarm bark at 4:45 am this morning. She has a big chest. Loud. And she continued for a while. Not sure what it was. Could have been a Bear or a Mountain Lion. But. When I went in the kitchen, I noticed that one of Dan’s gift Tomatoes was half gone. Rodent sized teeth marks on it. Maybe Rigel got it, or them? Probably not, but I can hope.
More money stuff today. Refi work. Bills to pay.
Returning to HIIT. High intensity interval training. Gotta get my cardio back up in the sweat zone. HIIT is more time efficient, yes, but it also impacts whole body health. Left it behind a few months ago. Picking it up again.
Coyote HVAC is on hold. David is still sick. Going to next Monday. These guys are kind, understanding, and stand up honest. Pretty damned refreshing.
Tomorrow AM Judi from Blue Mountain Kitchens comes by with the new cabinet guy. Measuring. Checking. I’m going with them. The Bear Creek proposal was about twice what I had to spend. Got a sweet message back though from Mike Rogers offering to check Blue Mountain’s proposal. You can lean on us as friends, too, he wrote.
Think I could get a little sappy about the kindness of strangers. And, familiars.
Fall and the Michaelmas Moon
Thursday gratefuls: Simchat Torah. Rabbi Jamie. Bereshit. Alan. CBE. Dancing with the Torah. A full workout. Kids. Jon and his medical woes. Rigel and the sagging bed. Michaelmas and its promise. 37 degrees this morning. Rain. Greg Lell, now starting on Monday. Coyote HVAC.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Dancing with the Torah. Seeing it fully unrolled. (Simchat Torah=Rejoicing in the Torah)
Tarot: Three of Swords, Druid
Started painting again. Abstract, influenced mostly by Rothko, but also Kandinsky. Fun. Realized I’d gotten myself into a productive rut. That is, my time either had to be productive or restful, nothing in the intermediate state of fun. If I wasn’t handling bills and errands, I worked out. Cooked. Pruned. Planned for projects. Trying hard to get life into flow. Except. Life won’t push into flow. It arrives there on its own.
When Elisa and I met on Monday, one message came through bright and mature: have fun. Oh? What do I do for fun? As I considered that, I awoke to my recent needs to be either productive or relaxing.
No surprise, really. Over the caregiving years if I was not relaxing, and often even then, I cooked, made appointments, got errands done, organized. A flaw in my caregiving was not honoring the need to have fun. For Kate and for me. No wonder that state persists.
Pushed myself last evening to get out of the house and over to CBE for Simchat Torah. This is the holiday that ends the sweep of holidays that include the High Holidays and Sukkot. It marks the reading of the last parsha, Torah portion, and beginning again with Bereshit, Genesis.
In the last reading Moses looks out on the Promised Land from Mt. Pisgah, but learns he will not get there. He dies on the Mountain. The Torah ends. And, the Rabbi reads both the Moses passage and the start of the next:
“1:1 In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.
1:2 And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.”
A never-ending story. If you are Jewish and a regular attender of Shabbat services, you will have heard the complete Torah read through as many times as you are years old. This is the origin story, a historical saga, a religious primer, a law book, but most of all it gives the Jewish people a common mythology, a fairy tale shared among all members of the tribe. Naming it mythology or fairy tale in no way denigrates the Torah. It is the foundation for the dreams, the aspiration, the daily life, the purpose and mission of all observant Jews and most non-observant ones as well.
Knowing this story is, in my outsider opinion, more important than circumcision, the kippah, the chuppah, or ketuba in Jewish identity.
Yet, it manages to retain its centrality without becoming a prison, as too often happens with Christians, especially those who claim to believe in the divine inspiration of scripture.
How? Thanks to the Jewish love of debate, discussion, a willingness to consider the opinions of others. Studying Torah is not like studying the Koran or even the Christian scriptures (which include the Torah). Jews go into the study of Torah, an activity given very high priority for all, not just Rabbis, with an expectation of differing opinions, no solid, definitive interpretations, but a belief that out of such learning will come guidance for daily life.
On Simchat Torah the scrolls themselves are held by members of the congregation who lead congo lines of congregants dancing and saying blessings to the accompaniment of music. Last night a trumpet and a piano.
The atmosphere is upbeat, celebratory. Fun. I like this holiday and its energy, but in years past though I’ve attended I’ve held back. Observing, not dancing.
Last night I danced with the Torah. I let my self-consciousness disappear (mostly), got my feet twisting, shoulders turning as we moved through the sanctuary behind the two carrying the scrolls. I was a bit out of breath, but I wouldn’t have missed it. I needed to get out of productive or relaxing cocoon and let loose.
Who would have thought it would happen during a Jewish holiday? Rabbi Jamie, I imagine. Jews celebrate physically, musically, emotionally, communally.
After the dancing the entire Torah scroll is unrolled and congregants take up prayer shawls, put the shawls around their hands so they won’t get oily hands on the scroll itself and hold it up. It becomes a physical never ending story as a circle is formed and the end comes next to the beginning.
I did not yet join in holding the Torah. Still a bit too shy. Next year in Evergreen!
After all this Rabbi Jamie had Torah study in which we looked at the first chapter of Bereshit. Bereshit is the first word in the Torah and is often translated in the beginning, but that’s not the only translation. This was intellectual dancing with the Torah. I blurted out part way through, “I love this!” And, I do. Studying scripture I find great fun.
So there. I had fun. I danced. I thought. I saw friends. Maybe the curly haired boy from the Rebirth card yesterday came part way out of the dolmen.
Fall and the Michaelmas Moon
Wednesday gratefuls: Coyote HVAC. Starting next Thursday. Greg Lell, starting tomorrow on house staining. Mussar. Tarot. Kabbalah. Astrology. Elisa Robyn. Rabbi Jamie. Alan. David Jordani. Tom Crane and his colleague who recommended the mini-splits. Shirley Waste. Frozen dinners. Cool nights. Rain and snow on the way. Ruth and her first homecoming. Max. Claire and Patrick, his mom and dad. Paul and Sarah, grandpop and grandma. Kate, aunt.
Sparks of joy and awe: Writing. Michaelmas. Tom and Roxann, anniversary.
Tarot: Rebirth, #20 of the major arcana, Druid
And so this day comes round at last. Michaelmas. The feast day of the Archangel Michael, defender of heaven, God’s most fierce warrior. Tom and Roxann celebrate their wedding anniversary on this day, usually on the North Shore, sometimes with a cooked goose. Jen, mother of Ruth and Gabe, celebrates her birthday. And Rudolf Steiner thought of this day as the springtime of the soul.
I feel, different. Better. Almost like having awakened. Not woke in the social justice sense, but in the, oh this is what my soul needs to do next sense. Seems like the Tarot and my chart reading with Elisa on Monday and my own feeling that Michaelmas could be the date for a life transition have synched up, said YES.
I’ve got a few things underway: house staining starting tomorrow and the mini-splits install beginning next Thursday. My Tree of Life Spread class starts on Saturday. I meet with Kristie on Friday. PSA at 1.0. Not quite low enough. Perhaps a kidney issue in the bloodwork panel. We’ll see. Started a new painting. Changed my days, I hope permanently. Looking forward to the Woolly Retreat at the end of this month.
The loft’s organization makes sense now. Not cluttered. Some more work to do. Still pruning downstairs. Wanting to get further along before snow. Not quite sure how to manage that. But, I’ll figure it out. Back at my workouts and feeling better physically.
Here’s something I got from Elisa on Monday. “I’m a reconstructionist. Just not a Jewish reconstructionist. I’m an MOT (member of the tribe) of Congregation Beth Evergreen and Jamie is my Rabbi.” “Oh,” Elisa’s face lit up in a big smile, “That’s such an Aquarian thing to do. To be in but not of something. And you may decide later that that’s over for you.” “Yes. When I met Kate, I had known for a year or more that I had to leave the ministry. It was over.”
Since September 23rd, I have drawn the Lady, #3 of the Major Arcana, three times, The Moon, #18, and, today, on Michaelmas, Rebirth, #20. In the last 8 days I’ve drawn 5 Major Arcana. The Lady and the Moon both point toward the anima and the inner world, living into the feminine creative energy, my Yin chi. The rebirth card. Well, that’s another matter and it came on Michaelmas. I consider that more than significant. It’s a clear message.
According to the Druid Craft Book, the message is: “You hear the call and awaken to the new light of day. You have entered the darkness and drunk of the cup of silence. You have chosen life and emerge reborn.”
Meaning: “The Power of the Call. You may have heard the call of the spiritual path you are seeking. Rebirth into a life that is more fully your own. You may have come to a crossroads in your life, and a decision is required that will take you in a new direction.”
Life has given me no choice. Change or retreat. Grief forces the soul to reconsider its location, its direction, its purpose. Yes, even its calling. I count my grief as having begun on September 28th, 2018, three years ago yesterday. That was the day of Kate’s bleed. The acceleration of her decline.
From that day forward my life had as its everyday anchor Kate’s medical and emotional and spiritual needs. Not that I could fulfill them all, no, but her gradual physical diminishment meant no day could pass without considering them.
I took her hand that day, September 28th, and never let go until April 12th of this year. The letting go was so painful, so shocking. Disorienting. Even disfiguring my soul. Nothing abnormal. Mourning. Then, grief and its labyrinth.
It was as Dante said.
IN the midway of this our mortal life,
I found me in a gloomy wood, astray
Gone from the path direct: and e’en to tell
It were no easy task, how savage wild
That forest, how robust and rough its growth,
Which to remember only, my dismay
Renews, in bitterness not far from death.
Those caregiving years were not hell. Kate, my love and my soulmate, was still alive; but, they did hold suffering and torture for both of us. When she took that long, last ride, I climbed the mammoth frozen body of the Devil into purgatory. I’m still there, but I can see the sky above me.
Today I identify with the curly haired boy standing at the exit of an elaborate dolmen. A priest, a Druid perhaps, sounds a trumpet of relief. The journey through the Inferno is complete. Purgatory lies almost behind.
I can feel the hesitancy in him. The darkness, the strangeness of purgatory still more familiar. The long, long path from that dark Wood more known than what lies ahead.
Symbols of eternal life, of rebirth, like the Holly and the Mistletoe and the Hare and the triskelion crowd the picture below him.
Will he step out of the door? Embrace the Hare. I know he wants to. The energy and promise, the possibility of life renewed, remade, reimagined, reconstructed only just ahead.
He feels, as I do, an expansion in my chest, a lifting of the head, eyes no longer cast down, or around in a worried scan. That feeling, that alone, can propel him out into the sun.
Let it be so. For him. And, for me.
