Category Archives: Writing

La Lucha

Imbolc                                                                      Maiden Moon

When Kate and I have our business meetings, where we discuss money, calendar and upcoming to do items, we often ask each other, how are you doing? Yesterday I said, “I’m struggling.”

This goes back at least to April of 2014 when we decided to move to Colorado. Probably before that. When I resigned my docent position at the MIA in 2013, following that by leaving my work at the Sierra Club later in the year, is perhaps a better starting point. Part of my reason for both resignations was winter driving into the city. I no longer wanted to do it regularly. Minnesota winters are brutal and produce occasional dangerous driving conditions. That rationale no longer holds here in the land of the solar snow shovel.

My second reason does still have relevance though. I wanted to focus on work only I could do. Why? My life’s quantity of sand has diminished to a third or less in the hour glass. In that remaining time I want to be sure that I’ve offered back to the world what I’ve learned, created. As the African saying goes, “When an old man (woman) dies, a library burns to the ground.”

What counts as such work? Being a spouse and father and grandparent is of course at the top of the list. After that comes creative work. I have novels yet to write, two of which I have picked up again recently.

There is, too, the reimagining project. I’m not sure why it has become so central, but it definitely has. I feel frustrated with it right now because writing it down has proved more difficult than I imagined it would be.

This blog, admittedly a random and chaotic sweep across my life, is also part of this focus. This the work only I can do that I can identify right now, though there may be, probably will be, new work that emerges over time.

Fast forward from 2013 to Shadow Mountain. Since April of 2014, we have been either preparing to move or focused on matters related to settling into our new home. In addition to several projects related to Black Mountain Drive, becoming Colorado grandparents has had its own demands. Then, too, there was cancer last year and the ongoing, familiar to many of you, adjustments to such things as arthritis and other signs of a body reacting to a lifetime of work only it could do.

As a result, I’m struggling with how to fit my work only I can do into my life as it is now. Latin, in particular translating Metamorphoses, is definitely not work only I can do. Its original purpose, helping me to absorb the stories of Greek and Latin mythology and legend, is unique to me, of course.

What am I saying here? I’m trying to write myself into an answer to the struggle, but it isn’t happening. At least not yet. It may be that I’ll have to live with the difficulty for a while longer.

Anarchy and Its Result

Imbolc                                                                                    Valentine Moon

There’s a military build-up by NATO along the Russian front. The Chinese have just placed missile batteries in the Paracel Islands of the South China Sea and North Korea talks about hydrogen bombs. This is in addition, of course, to the ongoing conflicts in the Middle East and Afghanistan.

Since anarchy is the mode of international governance, excepting the small ways in which the United Nations works, it’s not surprising that there are constantly flash points where one nation’s interests rub up against another’s. It’s also not surprising that wars break out, flare, then settle back down, much like inflammations in our body.

This particular constellation of geopolitical sabre rattling has me a bit unsettled. For those of us born in the immediate aftermath of WWII, Korea came next. A police action. Right. Then, the cold war with all its duck and cover drills, spy versus spy, satellites and constant international tension. Vietnam. Bosnia. Afghanistan. Iraq. Afghanistan again. Libya. These were hot wars.

Friend Mark Odegard said in a recent e-mail, “Not sure I like the Russian build up along the borders, nor the US build up, this could get to be a hot war, Putin and Trump what a pair.”

We baby-boomers have lived our entire lives in either the shadow of war or its grim reality. This long run of extreme military engagements started with the war to end all wars, WWI and has rolled on, more or less continuously, ever since. We do not know a world truly at peace, have not known such a world.

I write this because it’s easy to get up, go to work, go out to eat, have family holidays, go to a ballgame, read a book and not even recall that the world is such a violent place. That at this very moment bombs are dropping, people are getting shot. It’s important to remember, to stay informed. How else can we advocate sensible policy? How else can we see the dramatic danger in Ted Cruz’s carpet bombing or Trump’s easy assertion that he’ll “take care of ISIS.” This election matters so much, for so many reasons, but one reason is to retain a measured US military response.

The Trail is the Goal

Imbolc                                                                                           Valentine Moon

Could be the vision statement for Ancientrails:

Once you realize that the road is the goal, and that you are always on the road, not to reach a goal but to enjoy its beauty and its wisdom, life ceases to be a task and becomes natural and simple. In itself an ecstasy.

~ Nisargadatta Maharaj ~

Missed Day

Yule                                                                          Christmas Moon

Not often I miss a day. I did update Current Work yesterday but the bug I had found me back downstairs and in bed yesterday morning. Never made it back up here. I spent the days of the New Year holiday wrestling with a true zombie of the physical world, a virus. Most of them don’t eat brains, but they’ll happily feed on your cells. I feel better today, though not all the way there.

More work still in the loft though I made substantial progress. I’d forgotten how uncomfortable being sick can be, how much it can slow you down. Even so, I only have one small stack of boxes and plastic bins left and the floor will be clear for the first time since we moved in a year ago. That’s a major improvement.

Weird Times

Mabon                                                                               Moon of the First Snow

“There are not many persons who know what wonders are opened to them in the stories and visions of their youth; for when as children we learn and dream, we think but half-formed thoughts, and when as men we try to remember, we are dulled and prosaic with the poison of life.”
—Celephaïs

This is a quote from an H.P. Lovecraft story published in Weird Tales. Lovecraft continues to resonate with some of us. A big celebration of his 125th birthday was held in his hometown of Providence, Rhode Island this summer.

I’ve not read this story, but the quote kindled in me a desire to revisit certain childhood stories that captivated me. The one that has remained with me though I’ve never been able to find it again is The Weatherman. This was the story of a man, a god?, who makes the weather. Well illustrated, it shows an older man with a long gray beard who picks out different colored ribbons from his sack and flies with them through the sky, creating storms and blue skies and snow.

Retelling this story with my child’s wonder would be fun. That’s what struck me with this quote. I’ve been having a lot of these ideas surface recently, then I let them subside rather than acting of them. That time is coming to an end.

Greg Membrez, my Latin tutor, replied to a recent post on facebook about the snow: “Good time to read some Latin?” I’ve been away from the translating since mid-spring and I’d only just gotten started again when I let it slide during cancer season. I need the longer term projects like novels and translating Ovid. They keep me fresh and engaged. Time to get back to them.

 

 

Having a Moment

Lughnasa                                                            Labor Day Moon

I’m having a moment. It’s immediate stimulus has been reading How Forests Think, by Eduardo Kohn. Kohn is an anthropologist who has done significant field work in el Oriente, the east of Ecuador where the Andes go down into the tropical rain forests of the Amazon drainage. But this book is something else. Though it draws on his field work with the Runa, its focus is the nature of anthropology as a discipline and, more broadly, how humans fit into the larger world of plants and animals.

Thomas Berry’s little book, The Great Work, influenced a change in my political work from economic justice to environmental politics. Berry said that the great work for our time is creating a sustainable human presence on the earth. In 2008 I began working on the political committee of the Sierra Club with an intent to do my part in an arena I know well. I continued at the Sierra Club until January of 2014 until I resigned, mostly to avoid winter driving into the Twin Cities.

Since then, I’ve been struggling with how I can contribute to the great work. Our garden and the bees were effective, furthering the idea of becoming native to this place. The move to Colorado though has xed them out.

Kohn’s book has helped me see a different contribution I can make. Political work is mostly tactical, dealing in change in the here and now or the near future. In the instance of climate change, tactical work is critical for not only the near future but for the distant future as well. I’ve kept my head down and feet moving forward on the tactical front for a long, long time.

There are though other elements to creating a sustainable human presence on the earth. A key one is imagining what that human presence might be like. Not imagining a world of Teslas and Volts, renewable energy, local farming, water conservation, reduced carbon emissions, though all those are important tactical steps toward that presence; but, reimagining what it means to be human in a sustainable relationship with the earth.

Kohn is reimagining what being human is. His reimagining is a brilliant attempt to reframe who thinks, how they think and how all sentience fits together. He’s not the only one attempting to do this. The movement is loosely called post-humanist, removing humans from the center of the conceptual universe.  A posthuman world would be analogous to the solar system after Galileo and Copernicus removed the earth from the center. Humans, like the earth, would still exist, but their location within the larger order will have shifted significantly.

This fits in so well with my reimagining faith project. It also fits with some economic reimagining I’ve been reading about focused on eudaimonia, human flourishing. It also reminds me of a moment I’ve recounted before, the Iroquois medicine man, a man in a 700 year lineage of medicine men, speaking at the end of a conference on liberation theology. The time was 1974. He prayed over the planting of a small pine tree, a symbol of peace among the tribes of the Iroquois confederacy because those tribes put their weapons in a hole, then planted a pine tree over them.

His prayer was first to the winged ones, then the four-leggeds and those who swim and those who go on water and land, the prayer went on asking for the health and well-being of every living thing. Except the two-leggeds. I noticed this and went up to him after the ceremony and asked him why he hadn’t mention the two-leggeds. “Because,” he said, “we two-leggeds are so fragile. Our lives depend on the health of all the others, so we pray for them. If the rest are healthy, then we will be, too.”

Reimagine faith in a manner consistent with that vision. Reimagine faith in a post-humanist world. Reimagine faith from within and among rather than without and above. This is work I can do. Work my library is already fitted to do. Work I’ve felt in my gut since an evening on Lake Huron, long ago, when the sun set so magnificently that I felt pulled into the world around me, became part of it for a moment. Work that moment I’ve mentioned before when I felt aligned with everything in the universe, that mystical moment, has prepared me for. Yes, work I can do. Here on Shadow Mountain.

 

 

 

Around the Bulge

Lughnasa                                                            Recovery Moon

Yesterday and today I opened my Latin texts, continuing to translate the story of Medea in Book 7. Yesterday my eyes crossed and my brain froze. Too hard. Today, though, much better. I did 4 verses plus in an hour, then ran out of motivation. My goal is to get back to at least 5 verses a day or more, which was my pace b.c.

Soon, sometime soon, Superior Wolf will return, this were creature loose in the Arrowhead of northern Minnesota. He’s proven as elusive to me as the author as he will to the people who hunt him and his kind. Different versions of this novel, always fragmentary, are in my files from before this millennium.

The gas lines tomorrow. And my new crown. Oh, boy. The final IKEA delivery for now comes on Tuesday. Jon will be up sometime with the base for my art table. I hope he has time to assemble and join the two additional tall bookcases and the cabinet section for my tea and coffee accessories before he returns to work. The mini-fridge is in the garage.

Life has begun to ease around the bulge of April, May, June and July. We ate at an indifferent Italian restaurant last night before the theater (see below). No medical conversation. Memories though of our honeymoon, the Italian food against which we compare every Italian place. And they almost never match up. The Italians have something special with their food and their coffee. And their art. And history.

I told Kate last night over dinner that it felt like my summer had finally started.

Possibilities Opening Up

Summer                                                             Healing Moon

Bookcases 300Spent part of yesterday morning moving books, unloading the old IKEA shelves so that Jon can install my new birch shelves. The loft finally feels poised to move from stacks of books, boxes of art, rows of bankers boxes to a finished space. It won’t happen this week, probably, but very soon.

Having my library in boxes or in stacks on the floor has made me feel claustrophobic. I can’t stretch out, find the books I need, the knowledge I need. It’s difficult to express, but I’ve developed a working environment that fits my peculiar needs; and, it’s been unavailable as a whole since we decided to move late April of 2014. That’s a long time.

There’s a building excitement for me as I can see it together again. Sure, family is critical. Friendships are essential. Travel, the arts, going out is fun, even necessary. But also core is work. Not work in the get ahead, I want to be successful and rich sense, but work as an expression and fulfillment of your unique Self. In work that ability to draw, to do math, to invent new machines, to sing, to dance, to heal, to create quilts, to write, to learn flows out into the world as a new creation, a gift the universe needs, a giving back to the source of our life.

I need to work, now as much as ever, and I’ve felt blocked for months with the move, selling the Andover house, settling in and the emergence of medical problems that have to be dealt with. In this last instance the tomorrow wall has blocked me, too.

I’ll say again that the tomorrow wall, which stops my imagination at around July 8th, has forced me to stay in the here and now of doctor visits, decisions, settling in matters. A good thing. But, it will need to come down. It has become a Berlin wall between me and my work. With the changes underway in the loft I can feel it begin to crumble.

Bound Together

Beltane                                                                  Healing Moon

I thought they had to do with BDSM, but no. They are a type of type, well-known I imagine to my friend Mark Odegard.

“In writing and typography, a ligature occurs where two or more graphemes or letters are joined as a single glyph. Ligatures usually replace consecutive characters sharing common components and are part of a more general class of glyphs called “contextual forms”, where the specific shape of a letter depends on context such as surrounding letters or proximity to the end of a line.

By way of example, the common ampersand (“&”) represents theLatin conjunctive word et, for which the English equivalent is the word “and”. The ampersand’s symbol is a ligature, joining the old handwritten Latin letters e and t of the word et, so that the word is represented as a single glyph.[1]”  wikipedia

just-ligatures-mrs-eaves

Knausgaard

Beltane                                             Closing Moon

Reading Karl Ove Knausgaard’s, My Struggle: Volume I. This book hits me as his memories call up my memories. His father memories call to mind my own, distant father, somehow unknown and unknowable. As he sat at the kitchen table, ruler and fat pencil in hand, mocking up an ad for the Times-Tribune’s Thursday edition, the big one which made us paperboys groan as they weighted down our green canvas bags, I would watch him, wonder why a man of his intelligence would spend time doing this.

His mind (Knausgaard’s) roves around ideas and art and writing in ways I recognize, having traveled many of the paths on which he walks. He wonders about his visceral reaction to art, why one painting moves him and another doesn’t, why so many of the ones that do come from a time before the 20th century. He plays with epistemology, speculating on how confident we can be about knowing the world; it is there, as David Hume said when he kicked the rock and said, “I refute it thus,” referring to Bishop Berkeley’s world of perceptions only, yet the world is not so easily known, forming itself from colors, for example, that represent not what color something is, but exactly the color it isn’t.

And, too, he is Norwegian. So he describes the inner workings of a Scandinavian mind and a culture that references lutefisk, fjords, cold and snow in the way a Hawai’ian might mention taro, palm trees and the hula.

My Struggle is not for everyone. It is personal, microscopic, intimate, plotless, meandering. If you need a narrative that hangs together in the usual way, this is not it though there is a continuity, a sort of modest stream of consciousness, more like blocks of consciousness, that do connect one with the other.

Recommended.