• Category Archives Writing
  • The three R’s: Writin’, Recitin’, Rewritin’

    Summer and the Herme Moon

    Monday gratefuls: Ana. Marina. Furball Cleaning. Prolia. Shot today. Bones. Conifer Medical Center. Korea. The Korean War and its aftermath. Still vibrating. The Cold War. The DMZ. Hanoks. Seoul subway. Focusing on Seoul this trip. And Seoah’s family. Next time Taipei. After that, Japan. The Asia turn for my little family. Mary, Mark, my son, Seoah. Even Murdoch, the dog with genes from the Akita Prefecture. God. Gods. Goddesses. Dryads. Nymphs. Wood sprites. Faeries. Mushrooms. Psilocybin. Midsummer Night’s Dream.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Trail to Cold Mountain

    One brief shining: Here’s how it goes I sit in my Stickley arm chair with the wide wooden arms place coffee and a can of seltzer water on a book or a coaster pick up a page of The Trail to Cold Mountain to read out loud which I do then I put it down and recite the first character’s lines without looking if that goes well I recite the first speech and add the second then so on down the page until I go back and recite from the very first page all the way to the one I’ve just learned.

     

    Five pages mostly learned in that manner. By the end of today I hope to have the first six pages. That puts me into the Cold Mountain poems plus some added lines between some of them. I have the rest of today and tomorrow to finish. Might make it, might not. But. I’ll be close. That will give me the next week to imprint it all. After I’ve gone off book as we actors say (LOL), I’ll spend more time on character development and blocking. Though. The blocking is pretty simple. At least as I have it in my mind right now. Might change I suppose. Ann will finish the calligraphy for the poems by the 17th and hopefully the banner, too. I still to have find a cloak and hood, a pair of medieval woodsman’s boots. Get my linen shirt and pants pressed. I don’t iron. All this for one performance.

    After the 19th, if that’s the showcase date, I’ll decide whether I want to take this to a one man show. That would require a good bit more work. OK. A lot more. Could be worth it though. My fantasy is taking it on the road up and down the Rocky Mountains to theaters in Mountain towns. If that works well, then the Himalayas are the limit. Ha. Could keep me out of trouble for a coupla years.

    The process of creation lifts my spirit, makes my heart sing. Though that’s not to deny the hard slogging it also requires. I’m not like Ode where every day is a good day in the studio. Some days yes. Some days no. Some months, even years between work on a piece.

    I am considering starting a new novel. Which seems deleterious to me in some ways. That is, I have Jennie’s Dead already well underway but I’m stuck. Or, better, just don’t want to work in that universe anymore. And haven’t for a couple of years. Not sure why. Just don’t. I’ve also got the Pagan work underway, too. And, a good bit of work on the Great Wheel. Plus a bit of a start on a novel, the Protectors. And, editing and rewriting Superior Wolf. Yes. Plus now. A possible one man show? See what I mean.

    Even so. The idea of starting a new novel excites me and that may trump the slog of the other work. Or, what feels like a slog right now. Oh, phooey! I love to write. That’s the main thing. I clearly don’t care about getting published, but I do love to write and I am serious about it in spite of not caring about the next step.

    Besides, I do live on a Mountain top.

     

     

     

     


  • Life and imaginary life

    Summer and the Herme Moon

    Friday gratefuls: Joan. Alan. Bread Lounge pastries. The Cuban. Calendars. Mayan. Gregorian. Julian. Lunar. Jewish. Celtic. The Great Wheel. Seasons. Living into revelation. Living with revelation. Seeing the sacred. Seeing yourself as you are. The examined life. The authentic life. The life that burns away everything but love.  Psilocybin. Guides. The layers of our selves. Inner life. Acting. The Trail to Cold Mountain. Brother Mark and sister Mary. My son, Seoah, Murdoch. Korea.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: honest conversation

    One brief shining: After I exercise, I go out on the loft’s deck, sit in the wicker chair carried here from Andover when we had that glass table top, Great Sol still behind the garage because it’s close to noon, and look at my house, the Lodgepoles in the yard, up to Black Mountain, the ski runs there carved by privilege “earned” in the petroleum addiction trade, and pinch myself yes you do live here.

     

    Feeling even better about long periods of time alone. Yet also with times, often intense times in conversation. Going into the world of shared life with Rebecca, Tom, Diane, Alan, Luke, Rabbi Jamie, the Ancient Brothers, Joan, Tal. With the mussar group. With MVP. With Rich and Ron. This rhythm of welcome isolation and precious time with others feels like the right mix for me these days. I do wonder as I write this what I do for fun. Not much as I review my life over the last few years. The occasional hike. Movie. A nice meal out. Keeping up with F1. Art used to have  a big role for me. Not so much now. Perhaps that’s something I can change. Maybe learning Magic: the Gathering will open up an avenue for me. What do you do for fun?

     

    The Trail to Cold Mountain. Learning it a page at a time. A focus for the next three days. I talked to Ann yesterday. She’d doing the calligraphy for Cold Mountain’s poems. I also asked her to make me a white banner with Cold Mountain’s name in Chinese. Two characters. If she can, I’ll hang it in the background as part of the scene setting. The rest of the scene is this:

    Deep in a land of Mountains and Forests. In front of a cliff, a cave. A grove of pine trees opens out from the cave. A campfire burns in the grove, lighting the cave with flickers of light and shadow. Cut logs serve as chairs around the fire. Evening has fallen and a cool breeze carries the scent of pines and a not too distant river. Far off is the place Herme chooses to live. Green peaks in the background.

    Since I completed my first draft, it’s taken up less mental space. Though. If all goes well and other folks think it’s worth expanding, too, it may take up a good deal of my time after I get done traveling. Adding more scenes, extending the run time from 20 minutes or so to over an hour.

    May have gone a little overboard with all this. I bought a woodsman’s shirt, pants. A gourd like Chinese scholars used to hold wine. I’m spending a tidy sum having Ann do the calligraphy for the poems and perhaps the banner. Not to mention the cost of the class. Going to check with the Magic Castle, a costume place, and other prop shops to see if I can rent a woolen hooded green cloak and woodsman’s boots. Wish I’d thought of costume rental before I bought the outfit, but…

     

     

     


  • Wrasslin’

    Summer and the Herme Moon

    Wednesday gratefuls: A complete first draft of the Trail To Cold Mountain by Herme. A good sleep. The internet. Computers. Smart phones. Tablets. Hearing aids. Kindles. AI. Vegetables. Fruits. Eggs. Beans. Truffles. Pork schnitzel. Potatoes. All food. Great Sol. Giver of energy, life, light. The lesser light, the Moon. Giver of tides. Illumination at night. Reflected glory. The sacred. The holy. The divine. Revelation. Seeing. Hearing. Tasting. Touching. Smelling. Our bodies. Our souls. Our selves. The distinctiveness of each thing on Earth.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Writing

    One brief shining: Wrestled to the bear to the ground yesterday produced a completed first draft of the Trail to Cold Mountain, a playlet, twenty minutes of dialogue and poetry, half written by me and half written by Han Shan Cold Mountain, the ninth century Tang dynasty recluse poet who lived for thirty years on Cold Mountain.

     

    So much satisfaction in having a first draft of my first script. Far from finished. I’ve already made edits in the first paragraph, but I have a beginning, a middle, and a surprising end. By the 19th of August, our showcase, I’ll have a finished draft. Whether I’ll have it memorized? Doubtful. But I’m gonna give it my best.

    I backed into this project with the poetry of Cold Mountain. Got most of the ten poems memorized. Tal says I sink deep into the role when I’m reading the poems. I may have mentioned that my fellow acting class members have applauded me several times. Not so much with what I’ve written.

    Four of the characters have speaking parts. Herme, The Seeker, Gaius Ovidius, and Han Shan. The fifth, a helper, does not. I feel confident about Herme and Han Shan. But the Seeker (an Asian woman) and Gaius, a Roman Centurion, need a lot of work. Defining them clearly and separately while finishing revisions of the script. That’s my task over the next three weeks.

     

    More and more leaning away from October 8th. Too much to do before I leave for Korea (see above and below) and too little time after I get back on September 27th. Thinking about 2024. Either on my birthday, my 77th, or in the late Spring. Still focused on celebrating aging. On aging men. In this divided country of ours.

     

    On August 17th I have my first of ten sessions with Rabbi Jamie’s Introduction to Judaism. Perspectives on Jewish Identity. Here are a few of the 9 questions. 1. What is Judaism? Is it a religion? A culture? A set of observances?  2. What does it mean to be Jewish? 9. Consider these four dimensions of Jewish identity:

    Cultural/Ethnic – cuisine, dress, calendar, etc.

    National – ties to land and country, political affiliations, etc

    Communal – Circle of extended family and friends, synagogue membership, etc.

    Spiritual/Religious – personal beliefs, rituals, values, etc.

    Profile your own identity using these four categories. Now use them to profile a Jewish Israeli.

    I look forward to digging into these and the other questions, then discussing them with Jamie.

     

     

     


  • Joy

    Summer and the Herme Moon

    Monday gratefuls: Herme. The Seeker. Gaius Ovidius. Han Shan. Writing a very short play. Acting. Distractions. Procrastination. Writing again. Working on revelation. Sacred. Divine. Holy. Spiritual. Religious. Worship. Inspiration. What do these words mean? Are they still important? Judaism. Sarah. BJ. Family. Ruth and Gabe. Marina Harris. My son and Seoah. Murdoch. Korea. Adapters. Travel. Love. Burning it all away but love. Life’s purpose.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: the religious life

    One brief shining: Here it is the Lodgepole out my window I look at it and see all its Branches arranged towards the East where Great Sol becomes seen each morning no need for western facing Branches due to the shade of others those Branches toward Great Sol right now hold Needles and Cone, survival and reproduction of the species, unseen but known to me is that most magical and necessary of all transformations/transubstantiations photosynthesis gathering in the nuclear fusion power of Great Sol, combining it with carbon dioxide and water, then stepping it down into sugars and oxygen and fixed carbon. A miracle of the ordinary. The ordinary as miracle.

     

    Oh. Speeding into my mind since last Tuesday night Herme and the nature of revelation. Prompting a creative torrent can’t keep up with it. Have to slow down. Stop. Read. Watch television. Burning through my photosynthetically captured energy reserves. Glad my thyroid stimulating hormone has given me the ability to use the energy as long as I can. More than glad. Joyful.

     

    This is so much fun. Considering how to lace lines from Han Shan into my own written dialogue, stage directions, settings. Imagining how to advance the plot, how to have a smash bang ending. Yippee! Having to figure out how to represent each character distinctively. When I have trouble having to do that for one character. Gotta thank Alan for suggesting acting classes. I’ve learned so much about myself. About talents and skills long buried. Not gone. Which makes me happy.

    Acting combines the intellect and the emotions, the lev heart/mind, into a sharpened tool with the whole body. The voice. Movement. Posture. Cadence. Emphasis. Volume. All important. Plus memory. Putting it all into the mind and retrieving it as necessary, remembering per Meisner how to live truthfully in an imaginary situation.

     

    Also going to sleep thinking about revelation. What does it reveal? How? When? How do we know it when it’s happening? Waking up with revelation still on my mind. Seeing revelation through my window.

    The book of Nature, of super nature, always open to one page or another. Great Sol in the Sky. The Lodgepole out my window. The first six inches of Top Soil. Feeling the Oxygen breathed out by the Lodgepoles going into my lungs. Another miracle. The transfer of Oxygen into my blood stream so the energy gained from Plants and Animals can transubstantiate into my organs, flesh, bones, lev. How marvelous! How wonderful.

    These are the ordinary encounters, yes, but still inspirational. Perhaps they don’t rise to the level of revelation. The line between revelation and an ordinary miracle is still not clear to me. Perhaps an ordinary miracle involves the intellect more. I can look up photosynthesis, read about it, yet its role in our life of very life is so intimate, so critical, and so ignored that seeing where it is happening, right now, opens my heart in wonder.

    Yet it does not have the jolt, the jitterbugging of the Rainy Night Watcher. That was a hairs on the skin rising up goosebumps moment. I take from those indicators that my body/lev responded holistically. No mental processing. No slotting of the experience or wondering about Elks. Rather an oh this is happening to me right now! Wow. What? Gosh. A frisson of fear. I can still see him dimly lit at the side of the road, watching, his Antlers spread wider than the space of the two Lodgepoles just behind them.

    Loving this, too. Reimagining revelation. Yes. That’s the key.

     

     


  • Changes

    Summer and the Herme Moon

    Thursday gratefuls: Rebecca. Mussar. Hail at 5:30 AM. 48 degrees. Living at altitude. That Bull Elk Tuesday night. Wildness. Wild neighbors. Fox. Moose. Marmot. Robin. Magpie. Abert’s Squirrel. Red Squirrel. Ravens. Crows. Lodgepoles. Aspen. Various Grasses. Judaism. Sadness. Acting Class. Herme. Taking shape. Writing. Creating a short play.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Wildness

    One brief shining: Wham wham wham woke me up as Hail pounded against my bedroom window followed by driven Rain Thunder and Lightning all the old familiar sounds from my Midwestern days not so welcome in the Arapaho National Forest with all its Lodgepole Pines.

     

    Breakfast with Dick Arnold, my roommate in Israel. He says the Tomatoes in Israel are the best anywhere. Something about irrigation with slightly salinated water and the Tomatoes compensating by producing more sugars. Looking forward to that. Israeli restaurants divide up by dairy or meat. He’s lactose intolerant so as long as he’s in the right restaurant, he can eat anything. Handy. Kosher, I’m sure. Dick was a therapist specializing in kids and abused women.

    Talked to him about Ruth a bit. He gave me a tip. When I told him I felt sad about her situation, he said it might be empathetic sadness. In other words a feeling I’m getting from her, too. Might help guide me when I’m with her. He said something else that surprised me, but made sense. After that all caregiving, you’ve been opened up. I understood what he meant immediately. I knew I’d changed over the last few years but I thought it was just aging. Not only that. A welcome opening of my heart.

     

    Came back from breakfast, read some more from Cuming’s Korea’s Place in the Sun, felt sleepy and took a long nap. Over to Jackie’s for a hair cut. The estrogen was flowing. Jackie, I said, you run a friends central salon. Friends, mostly women, stop by, give her a hug and kiss. Same for Rhonda. A warm, loving space. We could use more of them. And. My hair looks great.

     

    Thinking about Herme, the short play. Four characters: Herme, Gaius Ovidius, the Seeker, Cold Mountain. I have Herme and Cold Mountain down. I need to work on Gaius and the Seeker. That is, I have to create their characters as distinct from Herme and Cold Mountain. Not only voice, but posture, attitude. Guess that’s why they call it acting. According to Meisner, I have to find a truthful way to be them in an imaginary situation. I also have to write more dialogue, edit some of what I’ve got. The challenge is real, but I’m getting there.

    Feel like I’ve found a strong ending by changing the way the last poem will be read. In the voice and character of the Seeker. Signalling that she has joined Herme and Cold Mountain. Joan came up with the idea that Herme and Cold Mountain are the same. I liked that idea and I’m using it. Tal has helped me see how I need to shape the characters and the dramatic arc. I like the collaboration.

    My first time writing a play and I find the help supportive. Mostly. I’m a little defensive. Hey, that’s my work we’re talking about. Maybe it’s the changed nature of my nature that Dick helped me see. Allowing help in.


  • Cold Mountain

    Summer and the Summer Moon Above

    Thursday gratefuls: Great workout. Learning Cold Mountain, one poem a day. A good night’s sleep. Protein. Carbs. Veggies. Fruit. Eat the rainbow. Exercise as a mood lifter. Challenges. Developing Herme. Cloaks. Psilocybin. Spores. Growing my own. A gray day. The Monsoon. Korea. The Hermit Kingdom. The Land of the Morning Calm. Chaebol. Kangim. Keshet. Beit She’an. Good food. Cod.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Hooded Man

    One brief shining: Writing again beyond Ancientrails this time a one man short play enjoying dialogue as the only tool well stage directions too beginning to soar again feeling the sun under my wings the air over my head timeless now while I dive into the deep pool below cast a net bring out a flopping sentence or two to advance the story. Landed it!

     

    Happy to say I’ve sidewised myself back to writing. This Herme project. Rolling, rolling, rolling. Dialogue advances. The idea emerges.

    Second Cold Mountain poem from memory: (well, mostly)

     

    One thousand clouds, ten thousand streams

    Here I live, an idle man

    I roam green peaks by day

    Back to sleep by cliffs at night.

    One by one, springs and autumns go,

    Free of heat and dust, my mind.

    Sweet to know there’s nothing I need,

    Silent as the autumn flood.

     

    Plan to weave together a Celtic backstory, throw in a bit of magic, and a Tarot major arcana archetype-the Hooded Man-with the Chinese Rivers and Mountains school of poetry. Liking the idea of turning it into a one man show. Still.

     

    On top of Shadow Mountain sits my home

    Lodgepoles and Aspens, Bunch Grass and Spruce,

    Cedar siding and Solar Panels outside

    Inside I ride out my days alone, yet not alone

    Accompanied by the dead and their living souls

    By the words of poets and writers, movies

    By words from my own hand, written

    Yet often unbidden. A man untroubled.

    Rock beneath stays quiet, unmoving.

     

    Playing now. Having fun. What creation can bring into a life. My life and yours. Who cares about legacy? Not important. Who cares about today, this wonderful only ever never again day? I do! Ichi-go, ich-e.

     

    Purple Haze. Nope. This time. Rust colored, apocalyptic sunseen and sungone. Bad air for all. Courtesy of the Ancient Brother’s Sunday topic: Fire. Yet this is also true. Those burning parts of Canada will resurrect, become green again. Yes, their carbon dioxide has gone up in, well, smoke. But the recapture of it on Mother Earth’s own schedule has already begun. We may not be around to experience that rebalancing. But it will happen.

     

    I see the Extremes knocked down affirmative action at Harvard and UNC. Expected. Never been sure how I felt about affirmative action. Its intent? Sure. Necessary. How it actually worked? Always wondered how those who were considered admits by affirmative action felt. I know for sure how some white parents and students thought. A toxic mix at best. We’re not done with this work and this sets us out on a different road to achieve results. Perhaps California’s reparations?

     

     

     


  • First World Problems

    Summer and the Summer Moon Above

    Tuesday gratefuls: Friends and family visiting. Visiting friends and family. Travel. Korea. Israel. Murdoch and his pink slipper. Conifer Cafe. A great workout, 140 minutes. Loaner hearing aid. New one on the way. Amy. Her trip to New Zealand to watch the U.S. Women’s Soccer team. Honeycrisp Apple and Peanut butter. Aspen Perks. Primo’s. Breakfast Places. The Bread Lounge. Parkside. Wildflower. Blackbird Cafe. And friends to eat breakfast with. Tom. Alan. Rebecca. Marilyn and Irv. Tara.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Sharing meals

    One brief shining: The often empty hearts of politicians seeking advantage power and wealth collude with the often empty hearts of the wealthy who want or is it need advantage power and wealth too so often this happens that the two become the same seeking that which is unnecessary for tasks that no one wants completed in the process ruining lives soil a planet the only one we have while what they truly need doses of love justice and compassion eludes them both.

     

    Yesterday. Breakfast at the Conifer Cafe. Tom. Violet there, too. This time with red hair. I may go blond soon, she said, as she poured me some more coffee. Tom and I dealt with first world problems needing solution. His: AC problems. A tradesmen inflicted wound of a compressor coil which knocked out one. Stress after that knocked out the other one. With Kate this would have qualified as a reason to visit a hotel until all was well and truly cool again. Mine: a hearing aid that won’t charge. Made an appointment with Amy. Went down the hill to see her. She gave me a loaner and says a new one is on the way.

    As I said a few posts ago, we can view these problems as hassles or as evidence of our continuing agency. We’re not dead yet. They are opportunities to retain contact with the world, meet new people, cement working relationships. And as my buddy Alan says these are first world problems. Not talking about starvation, war, oppression, poverty. A useful reminder when things bump bang and whimper in the night.

     

    I plan to spend most of today working on Herme. I’d like to get at least two different sets of Cold Mountain poems organized. Both with an internal trajectory. I also want to spend a good bit of time on the introduction to the project. Playing further with the idea of a one-act play.

     

    Also need to call Colorado Gas and schedule a change out of my meter.

     

    Beginning to think about the Korea trip at a bit finer grain. Gifts for Seoah’s family. For her and my son. A house warming gift for her parents. Seoah’s brother built them a new home. I did buy today two contemporary histories of Korea.

     

    Oh the winds of change. Noticed Putin’s face looked a little sour in a Washington Post photo. Well it might. Strong men who suddenly look weak often don’t last long.

    Until tomorrow.

     

     

     

     


  • Guests

    Summer and the Summer Moon Above

    Monday gratefuls: Tom. Roxann. Lodgepoles. Aspens. Sunlight. Another blue Sky day. Ruth and Gabe in North Carolina. Joan. Tal. CBE. Israel. Trip payments. Fixing the wireless keyboard. Dead hearing aid. Marilyn and her award. The Bread Lounge. Quiet days, cool nights.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Guests

    One brief shining: Sentences can run from harsh to gentle, grating along the tongue of the mind or softly caressing it, making the tongue recoil or roll over in delight sentences can be funny or serious delighting the mind or causing it to work carefully and sentences can confound the mind throwing it into utter confusion what power sentences have!

     

    Tom’s visit comes to a close with our final breakfast out this morning. It’s been a real delight to have him here, continuing our Colorado conversation begun on December 19th, 2014 when he drove Kepler, Vega, Rigel, and me out here. We slept on the floor in sleeping bags that night. Gertie came with Kate in a packed rental van. She fed Gertie cheeseburgers along the way.

    He returns to the heat and humidity of a Minnesota Summer. Different from the arid West.

    It’s been a season of visits for me. Ode and Dennis in May. Mary a week ago Saturday. BJ and Sarah that Sunday night. Tom last Thursday until today. Nice to have folks in the house for a bit.

    Tom has noted it feels strange for there to be no welcoming dog here. And it’s true. I’m dog identified. Yet I don’t feel their absence in the same way. I would love to have another dog, but I’m also enjoying having no one to care for but myself. So easy to contemplate travel, staying longer somewhere in the afternoon. Getting up at any time. Perhaps it’s the memories of so many dogs that keeps me company. Iris and Buck. Celt and Sorsha. Scot and Morgana. Tully and Tira. Bridget and Emma. Tor and Orion. Hilo and Kona. Rigel and Vega. Gertie and Kepler. 18 dogs. All still alive in memory, each one’s memory a blessing. As is Kate’s.

     

    How bout those Russians, eh? Can’t fight a war, didn’t stop a rebellion. Putin’s looking a lot less like a strong man since the weekend. Instead of putting down the Wagner group when it seized a military HQ in Rostov-on-Don he allowed Prigozhin to slip away into Belarus and Prighozhin’s troops to stand down with no penalties in either case.

    May they both get what they deserve.

     

    Lots of ideas still floating around for Herme and Cold Mountain. Enough for a one act play? I won’t know unless I try to write one. The idea gives me energy. I like the idea of a one person play: Herme and Cold Mountain.

    I also like the idea which resurfaced as Tom and I talked about cooking yesterday afternoon. A serious class in cooking basics and maybe one on a particular cuisine. At a cooking school. Realized I’ve taken all these other classes, why not one that will positively affect my daily life?

     

     

     


  • Laying-In

    Beltane and the Shadow Mountain Moon

    Thursday gratefuls: Leslie. Her laying-in. CBE. Steve and Jamie Bernstein. Rebecca. Joann. Tara. Irene. Rabbi Jamie. Mark and Dennis. Good conversation last night. Prostate cancer. Liver cancer. Breast cancer. Aging. Stents. Psilocybin. DMT. Bufo Frogs. Mescaline. The 60’s.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Human composting

    One brief shining: Ode thinks my work needs on occasion more juice the trail of droplets not so easy to follow as the short sometimes terse words of my main voice and he’s not wrong but this kind of sentence takes more more of what I’m not sure but more and I do not always have more just what I say and that’s that and I write on.

     

    Leslie’s funeral in addition to the usual kaddish and eulogizing by the Rabbi and memorilization by family and friends had on the title of the service a laying-in ceremony which sounded to me like something for babies you know putting one in the crib for the first time or beside the mother for nursing. Obviously not it. So what.

    After the service had concluded and Leslie’s wonderful life had brought smiles and tears and laughter the two young attendants from Feldman’s mortuary went over to the pine box that held Leslie’s body and took off the top. Inside Leslie had a covering of silk on which those at the service poured wood chips and compost. The laying-in. Human composting.

    Judy Sherman died of ovarian cancer earlier this year. She chose aquamation and had the liquid result poured around a special tree at Seven Stones Cemetery. Body disposal practices have begun to change and change dramatically. Two years ago I did what Kate wanted and had her body cremated. I’ll choose one of these alternatives. Not sure which. Research. The thing they have in common is less to no pollution.

    I found the laying-in ceremony at the same time thoughtful and affecting. Given a paper cup we all dug around in sacks of the wood chips and compost for enough material to fill the cup. Moving to the Pine box we chose where we wanted to distribute the material. I chose what I imagined was her head. Each in turn passed the cup to the next person in line.

    Instead of dust to dust which has an evanescence about it this felt more like earth to earth, a return to the Mother in the way of all animals and plants. It was typical Leslie. A pioneer and in a way that had a certain political edge but a gentle one.

    I dressed up. Sport coat. Gray slacks. Blue shirt. Silk tie. Panama hat. First time in nine years. I knew Leslie and wanted to respect her life. Still felt weird. More like costuming. I remarked to Irene, the dream lady, that it came from a past life.

     

    Dennis and Mark came last night around five. We talked about drugs and art and Mark’s road trip. The upcoming conference in Aspen. I’ll buy them breakfast this morning and send them on their to Paonia where both Dennis and his brother Terence are from. Also where the High Country News is published.

    Good to have Mark here in the flesh. It’s been a while. Dennis is an unassuming guy, bright and like the rest of us hearing aided and surgically restored. In his case six stents thanks to a recent stint in the hospital.

    Massage later this morning, then on to Mussar.


  • Entheos

    Beltane and the Mesa View Moon

    Monday gratefuls: Curiosity. The Ancient Brothers. Mark and Dennis. Coming May 23rd. Yet more Rain. Even more swollen Streams. Ancientrails as a life project. Tom and his time with Charlie H. Bill and his time with Bella. Mark and his time at the gym. Anytime Fitness. My treadmill. Marilyn. Ginnie. Josh. Jane. Kat. A banker. Vulcan Centaur.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Rocket Scientists

    One brief shining: A beautiful woman with a long braid dangling over her t-shirt down to her space themed spandex had, on the back of the blue t-shirt an outline of the Vulcan Centaur rocket, on the front ULA and I asked, I’m too ignorant to know but is that a real rocket ship?

     

    Yes. She answered. And I was working on it until I quit my job a year and a half ago. What was your area of expertise? Vibration and acoustics. Oh. I see. Not sure why I keep running into engineers. But I do.

    CBE is amazing. All these smart people. This was at the Dismantling Racism class yesterday afternoon. Looked up the Vulcan Centaur and it’s been under development since 2014. Supposed to fly for the first time in July. Had a setback a month ago though with a second stage explosion during preparation for a launch.

    The class has gotten better. Taking a mussar approach to the work. I like it for the inner work though I chose an opponent for my practice this week. Four areas of possible practice each week: with HaShem (God), with Self, with a fellow, especially a victim of anti-black racism, or with an opponent.

    My practice involved an e-mail to a person with whom I’ve had long standing differences. Sent it last night and got a reply this morning. A sweet one. Maybe there’s something to this approach. The middah this week is kavod, or honor. Honoring self and other. The theological idea is the all made in God’s image trope. Said another way, we’re all human, all riding this blue spaceship our only home together with all the other critters and plants. Honor it all.

     

    During the Ancient Brothers session on curiosity I identified curiosity as my defining characteristic. And naming what I call the valedictory lifestyle. As a valedictorian myself I’ve occasionally become curious (see!) about what happens to others who graduate first in their class academically. Turns out usually nothing spectacular. Sure a lot go into academics. Some have successful careers in business or the sciences.

    But usually no stars. No one off achievements. No amazing inventions. Why? Because we’re generalists. We easily get sidetracked by something new and shiny. If purity of heart is to will one thing, we’re not at all pure.

    I call them enthusiasms. My enthusiasms can last a long time. Religion has turned out to be the longest lasting, but inside that broad category I’ve been all over the place. From existentialist atheist to Christian to Unitarian-Universalist to Pagan and wanderer with the tribe. There’s a piece of each of these, often substantial pieces that remain intact within me. All somehow glued together with Taoism.

    There’ve been many others. Art, my twelve years at the MIA. Politics, lasting almost as long as religion, but again all over the place in terms of action. Islam which I studied after 9/11. Horticulture. Cooking. Heating with wood. Beekeeping. Dogs. World travel. F1. Science. Tarot and Astrology. Cinema. Acting. Writing. Getting degrees. Tea. Korean and now Spanish. Oh, and one that actually has been lifelong, reading. Not sure when I learned but I’ve never ever stopped. Buying books, too. To feed the habit. I’ve dabbled in painting and sum-e.

    Enthusiasms in my life are more than dabbling but less than enough to gain full mastery. But I must admit it’s been, is being, a hell of lot of fun.