Category Archives: Writing

Acting, Health, Writing

A significant day

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Lughnasa and the Korea Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Shirley Waste. Off all cancer meds. Got rid of last medical bill I didn’t owe. Performed The Trail to Cold Mountain in class. To applause. 2 hour workout. Yesterday. A good day. Ticking off pre-trip have to’s. Vince coming today. Seeing Ruth at noon. Joan’s poncho with hood. Abby performing without the words. Chocolate chip cookies. The Church of Hera. That Squirrel at my window.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Trail to Cold Mountain

One brief shining: A ritual of abandonment I take the compacted trash to the yellow trash bin and the recycling to the green bin throughout the week then on every other Wednesday the bins tilted and rolling like thunder across my asphalt driveway, I deposit them lids forward to Black Mountain Drive as other’s drive by on their way down the hill to jobs in Denver or Littleton or Lakewood.

 

Some days. Have more in them than others. Tuesday was such a day for me. Wrote a post about conversion, ate some breakfast. While waiting for breakfast to settle before my work out, I called New West Physicians.  After a year of back and forth convinced them that no, I did not owe them $429 for that echocardiogram from April of 2021. Raised both arms after the call. Victory! Worked out. A good one. Took a long nap.

 

Telehealth call with Kristie. Stop the Erleada and the Orgovyx right now. Today. Should start feeling better in a month. While in Korea. Could be off the meds for weeks, months, years. I choose years. But of course my cancer has all the agency in the matter. Still blood draws every 3 months. I imagine if the PSA continues undetectable for a certain length of time they might stretch that out a bit. If the PSA starts rising? A PET scan. Probably radiation again, though maybe new meds. Part of the plan is to live long enough for new and better treatments to be on the table. I’m ok with that plan. Now well into my ninth year with cancer. Still alive! Would not have been so in my instance as recently as 20 maybe even 10 years ago. Grateful.

My oncologist, Dr. Eigner, is retiring. His wife died a while back and he wants something different. I get it. I’ll see him for a last visit when I get back from Israel. He wants that. And so do I. He’s guided both me and Kristie over the ups and downs since my diagnosis in May of 2015. That’s a long time. I’m grateful to both of them for the kind and compassionate care they’ve given me. Healers in truth.

 

Over to the synagogue for the last class of the character study. Wore a short sleeve shirt and shorts. Beep! Wrong again. We performed outside at the synagogue’s amphitheater and after the sun went down it was chilly. Joan thank god had brought me a poncho with a hood for my costume. Wool. Saved me from shivering through The Trail to Cold Mountain.

Three folks said, “Brilliant!” Not sure what that means though it’s positive. Felt good. Screwed up a bit. Will practice more, but I know it. Just jitters, I think.

 

 

Dogs, Family, Feelings, Friends, Judaism, Plants, Poetry, Reimaging revelation, Torah, Wild Neighbors, Writing

Love

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Lughnasa and the Waning Crescent of the Herme Moon

Sunday and Monday gratefuls: The Trail to Cold Mountain. Off book. Kristie. Off meds? Sunday’s Ancientrails, forgotten. Unusual. The Ancient Brothers on love. A morning with Rich and Ron. Also about love. Burn away everything but love. Study today. Jewish identity. Cool and Foggy morning. Good sleeping. Ready for packing. Cable organizer. Reinforcing off book for the Trail to Cold Mountain. So many wonderful people in my life. Korea and Israel. Same continent. 5027 miles apart. [Osan to Jerusalem]

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Good friends

One brief shining: A bowl filled with strawberries, blueberries, black berries, and slices of mango sat by a wooden cutting board with lox heaped upon it next to a lazy susan with cream cheese, capers, cut onions, almonds warm cut bagels on my plate as Ron and Rich and I sat together talking mussar, parenting sons, writing, such a good morning.

 

I have now a surfeit of riches. Wealthier than I could have dreamed possible. And, yes, in terms of money, too. More important than money though friends and family who love me. Whom I also love. Who will open themselves to me and I to them. A wonderful morning yesterday as an example.

The Ancient Brothers gathered on zoom to talk about love. Ode talked about Robert Bly’s connected universe, all atoms linked to each other in a grand chain of becoming. As are the atoms in each of us. Bill added Buckminster-Fuller’s Cosmic Plurality:

“Cosmic Plurality”

Environment to each must be

All there is, that isn’t me

Universe in turn must be

All that isn’t me AND ME

 

Since I only see inside of me

What brain imagines outside me

It seems to be you may be me

If that is so, there’s only we

Me & we, too

Which love makes three

Universe

Perme — embracing

It-them-you-and we

 

Paul offered Rilke:

Widening Circles

Written by Rainer Maria Rilke

Translated and read by Joanna Macy

I live my life in widening circles
that reach out across the world.
I may not complete this last one
but I give myself to it.

I circle around God, around the primordial tower.
I’ve been circling for thousands of years
and I still don’t know: am I a falcon,
a storm, or a great song?

 

Tom reminded us of the love we learn from the dogs in our lives, the angels of our youth and of our old age. Of kindness. Of the sweetness of vulnerability.

 

I spoke again of the gift given to me between Mile High Hearing and Dave’s Chuckwagon Diner: The purpose of life is to burn away everything but love. If we perfected a just society, we could live only in love with each other. So to burn away everything but love, seek justice. If we could see the ohr [the shard of sacredness, divine light] in each other, in all Trees and Rocks and Roads and Flowers that love Great Sol and Mule Deer and Elk and Mountain Lions and Bears and all Mountain Streams and all Rivers and Oceans and in the Air we breathe, we would cry out in revelation like Mohammed, like the writers of the Torah and like Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, there, the sacred, it’s right there! And we could/would love it all.

 

Acting, Asia, Writing

Fusion energy

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Lughnasa and the Herme Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: A great workout yesterday. Murdoch, the hooman. 15 days till Korea. Whoa. 11 days till the showcase. Whoa! Memorizing. Acting. Writing. My new idea for a novel. Desiderata day. Great Sol, our energy, our life. The Wild Neighbors. Han Shan. Chinese poetry. Chan Buddhism. Asian history. K-dramas. Korean literature. China. Romance of the Three Kingdoms. Monkey’s Journey to the West. The Dream of the Red Chamber. Outlaws of the Marsh.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Asia

One brief shining: Murdoch sat hind legs crouched, front legs straight on the leather bench next to my son, gazing across the table at another man in a blue US Airforce t-shirt as if ready to join the conversation and I got three pictures in quick succession from Seoah across the 9,000 miles that separate us something families do.

 

Closing in on being off book for The Trail to Cold Mountain. Maybe today, certainly this week. Good thing since the showcase is a week from Saturday. Remembered I have logs in the back already cut. Will try to lift one this evening. Still no cloak or boots. I’ve gone from being frustrated and tired of the whole thing back to energized.

When I work on things like this, I have them in my head as a priority task. All the time. You know, that nagging thing you need to finish. But can’t quite seem to get to. At least not enough to close it out. At some point with each of my novels I’ve reached that point. The energy drains out of them. The story is stale. It’ll never be any good. I want to chuck it, start over, or start something new.

Got there with the Trail to Cold Mountain last week. I had to perform last during the class. It was well past 8 and I was tired, my body beginning to wind down for sleep. I gave an unspirited, clunky version of my piece. Fell right into the writer/actor abyss. Why have I bothered with this? I’ll never act anyway. Maybe I’ll say I can’t make the showcase. Won’t matter. I’ve done what I wanted.

Except. I didn’t. I kept memorizing even though it felt like a waste. Then, a breakthrough. As I got close to having it all down, my excitement about Han Shan and even the work I’d written returned. I can do this. I’ll introduce Chinese Rivers and Mountains poetry to a new audience, blending my words and his. Donning the costume, using the gourd water bottle and the logs, the parchment paper filled with Cold Mountain’s poetry. Herme will have his night to shine.

And, it just occurred to me, that threshold will be crossed. In the months after Kate died I felt and lived like a hermit with benefits. Friends, that is. The notion of the Hooded Man from the Tarot Deck, so strong an archetype for me. I had him created in neon. Herme.

Now I’m bringing that archetype to life, blending it with the Asian pivot my whole family, save for me, has made. A fusion of life with family Mary, Mark, Seoah, my son, Murdoch, the Jangs, life with friends Tal, Alan, Joan, Deb, Rebecca, and life with CBE-classes held there, performance at the synagogue’s amphitheater, Tal my teacher, the Rabbi’s son.

To be clear. This does not constitute all I wanted to do with the threshold ceremony. I still want to do the mezuzah hanging ritual and a celebration of male aging. Pushing it off to next year, maybe my birthday. 77.

Acting, Politics, US History, Writing

Unforgivable

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Lughnasa and the Herme Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Acting class. Abby. Joan. Rebecca. Tal. Deb. Voices. Haunting voices. Dreams. Hail. Rain. Thunder. Lightning. Acting. The Trail to Cold Mountain. Almost finished as a script. Cool mornings. Good sleeping. A drive back in a Rain soaked Night. Again.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Feelings

One brief shining: Last night a cool breeze came off Berrigan Mountain making the synagogue’s social hall comfortable while I shuffled my pages of The Trail to Cold Mountain and raised the music stand a bit.

 

Most scripts are collaborative, Tal said. The playwright gives them to a director and a group of actors. Everybody has their say. I like that. I enjoyed writing this script. It felt natural to me. Might try a different idea. As well as a new novel.

I know there is a certain amount of avoidance involved in starting a new novel while I have others at important stages of revision or with a few thousand words left to complete a first draft. Well, maybe more than a certain amount.

However, it’s the act of writing (like I’m doing right now) that excites me, turns me on, and the rush of a new idea, or a new form? Wow. And since, for some reason, I don’t care about readers, or at least not enough to become skilled at marketing my work, why not go with the journey?

 

Going to see Oppenheimer in about 45 minutes with Gabe. I found my copy of Oppenheimer: American Prometheus yesterday and brought it downstairs. I want to read it. Probably later in the fall. This is the book underlying the movie.

Can you imagine having Nagasaki and Hiroshima on your heart? I can’t.

Been reading in the Korean histories about the nuclear frisson there. How South Korea wanted the bomb but the U.S. walked them back from it. And, how an unfortunate series of preventable events led North Korea to pursue it. The whole rogue state thing was unnecessary. Could have been different.

 

The big one has landed. Trump’s indictment in January 6th. Here’s a line from a fascinating Atlantic piece about it: “Enough of all this; we can love our friends and our family and our neighbors without accepting their terms of debate. To support Trump is to support sedition and violence, and we must be willing to speak this truth not only to power but to our fellow citizens.”  This is it.

All else pales before a President who commits high crimes and misdemeanors. I agree. The rest is awful and unforgivable. Classified documents. Financial and sexual abuse of one sort and another. Yes, a despicable person. Sure. But for a President to act against the nation which elected him? A firing offense. Of course. But also a disqualifying one for future office.

Of course. Innocent until proven guilty. Yet. We all know. Even, perhaps especially his followers and sycophants know. This man wanted to upend the peaceful transfer of power after a national election. That’s as far away from ok as a defrocked pedophilic priest saying the mass.

Acting, Feelings, Judaism, Politics, Writing

Chesed and The Emotive Presidency

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Lughnasa and the Herme Full Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Gabe coming up today. We’ll see Oppenheimer together tomorrow. (He said he was going to wear a suit.) Prolia. Bone density. Resistance work. 2 hour workout yesterday. Ann. Her good work on The Trail to Cold Mountain. Zoom. Skype. Pixels. Computer GPUs. CPUs. Screens. Keyboards. ChabotGPT4. AI. Skynet. The Internet. Laptop. Desktop. Tablet. Smartphones. Our world of small miracles. The James Webb. Starlink. The Book. The Chair. Vision.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Internet

One brief shining: “Charlie,” the woman in the blue coat called through a cracked door so I got up and went to her; she had her left leg wrapped in blue with an orthopedic black boot up to the calf  and resting on one of those little scooters you see every once in a while now; her name was Carol it said on her blue coat, “Sit here,” I did and she placed a small tray with a syringe near me, had me turn to face the wall since the Prolia shot goes in the back of the arm, she stuck me, I said thank you, and left.

 

I mention Carol because her demeanor was so calming and warm. An instant connection. This woman cares. I could feel it. Kindness came off her in waves. Due to my delicate condition I see lots of medical professionals over the weeks and months. Few of them are robotic or uncaring, but many, most of them are hurried. And I know why. The era of corporate medicine times “patient encounters” and the ability to upcode. A patient’s feelings or the end result of a visit are not part of the metrics. In spite of those cute little surveys sent out after each encounter. Be ye not fooled. They are not striving to improve their service though they may be trying to improve how you evaluated your visit. Not. The. Same. Thing.

 

Fell back asleep this morning. Happens some times. Up at 8:30! Oh, my. I chuckled at myself. Today is Trail to Cold Mountain day. Editing the script, refreshing memory, going one page deeper into memorization. Acting class tonight.

Gabe’s visit will include Oppenheimer tomorrow. Looking forward to having him here. I need to see these kids more often. Not sure how to do that. Their lives are busy now and I can no longer hop in the car to go see them without losing a day after to recovery from the drive. A conundrum.

 

Let the silly season be seen as well underway. A NYT article reports Trump and Biden tied in a hypothetical rematch. Not sure I can stomach much more of this. Already. And we’re a year plus away from the voting. How he wrote wonderingly can this be? A man with indictments already in two investigations and other indictments likely in two others against a man whose performance in office has not been flashy, but has been much, much better than I anticipated. And in the midst of genuine crisis after crisis. Covid. The Ukraine. Inflation. The economy post Covid. We are well and truly divided.

Read this George Will column for a cogent explanation as to why this upcoming election may be so painful. Here’s a quote from it: “In a National Affairs essay with that title [The Emotive Presidency], Mikael Good, a Georgetown University political theory student, and Philip Wallach, a senior fellow at the American Enterprise Institute, argue that “Trump’s masterstroke” was to realize that, for his core supporters, his governing is of secondary importance.”

 

 

 

Acting, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Shadow Mountain, Writing

The three R’s: Writin’, Recitin’, Rewritin’

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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.

 

 

 

 

Acting, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Shadow Mountain, Writing

Life and imaginary life

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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…

 

 

 

Acting, Aging, Fourth Phase, Judaism, Writing

Wrasslin’

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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.

 

 

 

Acting, Art and Culture, Beyond the Boundaries, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Reimaging revelation, Science, Wild Neighbors, Writing

Joy

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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.

 

 

Acting, Korea, Travel, Weather +Climate, Writing

Changes

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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.