Resonance. Vibrations. JFK in Dallas. Martin Luther King in Memphis. 9/11.
I was sick, resting at home, and reading Le Morte d’Arthur. I know. There it was, the open Lincoln convertible with Jackie holding a slumped over JFK. Jack Ruby shooting Lee Harvey Oswald. The Texas Book Depository. I watched until my eyeballs went dry.
Later, LBJ. Model Cities. The Civil Rights and Voting Rights Acts. Then, sadly, Vietnam.
King on the Lorraine Motel balcony with Abernathy. James Earl Ray. A bullet severing King’s spinal column. Abernathy cradling his head. MLK had come to support striking sanitation workers. I loved this, seeing King make a turn toward economic justice issues. He had also recently come out against the war in Vietnam.
In King’s place Ralph Abernathy, Jesse Jackson, Andrew Young, and John Lewis carried on his work, but MLK’s gravitas and personal power died with him.
Then. Look at this! What? I saw, along with millions, the hard to grasp scene of a passenger jet plowing into the World Trade Center. At first my brain had trouble accepting that scene as real. Later on fire, smoke, people plummeting to the ground. Flight 93. The Pentagon.
Bush’s declaration of a war on terror. Forever wars. Afghanistan. Iraq and Kuwait. Shock and awe. Twenty-five years later: Iran, Lebanon, Gaza all roiled up in the aftermath of 9/11.
Personal: Joseph. A freshman at the University of Minnesota. Pre-med after two trips to Guatemala with his step-mother/second mother, Kate.
A complicated emotion surged through him mixing pride in his adoptive nation and anger, yes, but more, surfacing a warrior spirit perhaps prefigured in his skiing, his running. He felt the powerful call of a patriot determined to protect his country.
Soon he had visited a recruiter, switched his major to Astro-physics/Physics, and turned himself toward the military. Twenty-five years later he’s in command of Cobra Squadron on Osan AFB in South Korea.
Gloria Steinman. Dead. She taught me so much. Through her writing and organizing, but more through the women she inspired. The ones I knew well.
It’s been a sad couple of weeks: Dolly Parton, Tim Curry, and the actor who voiced Optimus Prime. Figures who stood out: music, quirky acting, Transformer movies, and now feminist organizing. Even the idols of our youth are mortal.
I have, since early seminary days, considered myself a feminist. Gratitude to Gloria Steinman, Betty Friedan, and others who pushed second wave feminism onto the national stage. The personal is political.
More sad news. When Carol, my p.t. person from Mount Evans Home Health Care, came yesterday, she told me they were being shut down as of September 30th. That leaves us mountain folk with no access to in home physical or occupational therapy. Would have made my recovery much slower, especially when I was just out of rehab and very weak.
There is still physical therapy up here, but getting to it requires a car, a driver, and sufficient mobility. Many cannot meet those criteria. A rural life problem. Not unique to us, rather shared by people who live far from urban centers. Health care for any who live in spots where economy of scale works against them. A tragedy. At the most personal level.
Robin and Connie spent three hours packing books yesterday. Move preparation. Had a guy come up yesterday to inspect my roof, too. More sad news, I’ve got to replace my roof on the house and garage. Making it worse. Not enough hail damage. Meaning this will be an out of pocket expense. Yikes.
Ruth and Gabe will finish pulling books on Friday. They’re coming up to be with me on the anniversary of Jon’s death in 2022. This is the hard date for them. Ruth in particular since she found her dad dead on his basement couch.
I’ve not gotten word on when his yahrzeit will be remembered at Beth Evergreen, but they will probably come up then, too. Say kaddish with the worshippers.
Melissa now makes me a hot meal every weekday evening. A real treat. Last night. Hot sausage with baked beans and coleslaw followed by a baked apple dessert. Until a week from Friday.
Gutters get cleaned today. All windows washed on Monday. With new roofs? What a fine sight to see.
Shabbat andThursday and Friday gratefuls: 25th amendment. All the wars. All the diplomats. All those who desire peace. Dr. Josy. Audrey. Tom and Jessie. Mary and Mark. Joe and Gabe
Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: zoom
Tarot: paused
One brief shining: Artemis II has reawakened my interest in space flight. Black and white image, rabbit antenna, gathered around the electronic hearth. The Apollo program began in 1961, the year I entered high school and ran until 1972. Three years after I graduated from college.
Artemis II, an hour ago, sped through space 150,000 miles from home. Don’t know about you but visions of Neil Armstrong dance in my head. The peril of Apollo 13. The first and last men on the moon. We stopped for 53 years. Politics.
As a boy of maybe twelve, or thirteen, my best friend Mike Hines and I stared. Three silver objects moved toward the moon. And went behind it. Wow, we both said, waiting to see if they emerged.
They did.
When we told my Dad, he took notes. Well, he said. An interesting afternoon boys. We all looked at the moon. The Apollo program started the next year. Taking around 24 astronauts behind the moon and back home.
This was the time of UFO’s. Sightings made the newspapers. On the next day after talking to dad: Two Alex Boys Claim UFO’s went behind the moon. Mike and I puffed up. Our names in print!
I name the moons, The Moon of Liberation celebrates Passover. The Moon of Tides came before it. Celebrating Paul and his home on the Atlantic in downeast Maine.
I like the traditional names, too. April can be the full flower moon. The New Spring Moon.
“A Trip to the Moon” by Georges Méllè. I’ve seen it twice. Colorful, quirky I found it captivating. Short.
Joseph wrote a paper, his capstone for his astrophysics degree, on the origin of the moon. He advocated for the giant-impact model. According to him, a Mars sized proto-planet called Theia hit a still forming earth. Injecting a massive amount of the young Earth into the sky. Creating our moon.
This a shortie that I wrote on Thursday and Friday.
Wednesday gratefuls: Artemis launch. The Moon. Passover. Exodus. Jews. Israel. Palestinians. Iran. U.S. War. Peace.
Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Maddie
Kavannah: Wonder. Malchut. Shadow
Tarot: Ten of Stones, Home. Teshuvah. Return to the home of my soul.
One brief shining: Space: The Final Frontier. Captain Pike of the USS Enterprise. Over the last year I started watching Star Trek series and movies. Trying to gain a more complete experience.
I remember that hot July Indiana day. 1969. Our small black and white television crackled. Judy and I lay on the bed almost naked. The gravelly voice of Walter Cronkite said, “Oh, boy.” One small step.
Today, perhaps at 6:24 PM EDT, Artemis II will slowly rise, then accelerate, carrying four astronauts on 10 days of wonder. I followed all the lunar landings, up to and including the last one in 1972. I was 26.
Ever since Sputnik. NASA. Doing the thing, not because it is easy, but because it is hard. The Space Race. I was so proud. To be an American. NASA had fulfilled every science intoxicated kid’s dream. Humans break free of Earth. To dance among the stars.
James Webb. Hubble. ISS. Starlink. We did not abandon space when Apollo shut down.
It gives me great joy to see us once again escorting astronauts across the high bridge to their crew cabin. More than three hundred feet above the ground. A tiny human habitat sitting on top of so much power. The courage to sit while controlled explosives push you deeper and deeper into the zero-gravity chair.
The Orion crew cabin came to life at Lockheed Martin’s Littleton, Colorado offices. At Beth Evergreen we have rocket scientists. Helen, a vibration engineer. Her ex. My friend Veronica who worked on the GOES satellites. Space is big business in Colorado.
Florida’s Space Coast. The orange first stage of Artemis already at the launch pad. Except for the fact that I dislike crowds, I’d love to be there. Feel and hear the rumble. Watch Artemis push beyond our sight, into the cold vastness.
On my way to a morning at RMCC I was a passenger. Ruth drove. Just beyond a familiar exit on 470, I looked up and saw Blue Origin. A several story glass façade.
A human launch. NASA in the news. Great billows of fire and smoke. Call up a primary fascination of my childhood. Buck Rogers. Commander Cody: Sky Marshall of the Universe. Primed. Then. Real humans. John Glenn. Neil Armstrong.
When a young boy’s fantasies begin to inhabit real life. Could it get any better? Mercury. Then Apollo. Even my son Joe spent several years dreaming of becoming an astronaut. Part of why he joined the Air Force.
Space flight returned me to a truer definition of home. Do you remember the blue marble photograph? Taken from the 1972 Apollo 17 crew capsule. Earth is my home. Our home. No matter how successful we become in space exploration. That blue marble? Home.
Not the U.S. Not Indiana. Not North America. The whole boundaryless earth. Our home.
Artemis rises.
Leaves the blue marble.
Flies far from home.
Friday gratefuls: David Brooks on love and autonomy. Who do you love? Bo Diddley. Quick Silver Messenger Service. The 60’s. Don’t you need somebody to love? Jefferson Airplane and Gracie Slick. I want to hold your hand. The Beatles. Love is a many splintered thing.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Celtic Cross Spread
Life Kavannah: Wu Wei Shadow, my Wu Wei mistress
Week Kavannah: Gevurah strength, discipline
Creating Space: “Gevurah is the strength to create space and to hold space… it’s what helps us nurture our passions.” — Renee Fishman
Tarot: Doing a Celtic Cross spread for the New Year
One brief shining: Laid out the cards selected by intuition from my Wildwood Tarot deck, placing the first card horizontal, for the present, and the second card over, vertical for the challenge, then in the way of this spread, cards from three to ten, four surrounding the first two, and four more running up the far right side beside those six, and turned them over one by one to get an answer to my question, how do I live my best life in 2026?
Partial picture of my Celtic Cross spread
This year of new beginnings (as are all years) opened itself it to me in many ways. Moments of reflection, what happened last year? Moments of projection, how will I be in this new year? What will I be? Who will I be?
The virtue of a tarot spread draws on its evocative strength, not predictive messages. The Celtic Cross spread identifies many threads that need attention, matters that will support or impede answering my question, How do I live my best life in 2026?
Without belaboring a full reading I’ll offer some highlights. My present showed the two of Stones, a card that suggests a need for grounding and balance while taking on an adversary. I took this to reflect my role in the struggle for a renewed and cleansed nation.
The challenge to living my best life, strikingly, displayed the ten of Vessels, or happiness. This card had two powerful messages for me: a challenge this year will be giving and receiving support and love. That is, not going so far down a political struggle path that I lose sight of family, friends, spirituality, Shadow. Second, as a ten it represents the end of a cycle, a coming home, a feeling of security. I take this to mean I’ve been on a path, trying to find a way to be in the world that gives back while also leaning into love and support. And, I’ve tentatively struck that balance. Next comes living out of that love and support toward a rich future.
The rest of the cards encourage reliance on creativity, on my subconscious, on intuition, all leading toward the 10th, or result card, #1 of the Major Arcana, the Shaman. Here’s Gemini on the meaning of that card:
Connection to Nature: He is a master of his surroundings, understanding weather patterns, healing plants, and the habits of wild creatures.
Mediator and Guide: As a gatekeeper to unseen worlds, he reads signs and explains the rules of the spiritual structure to others, often acting as a teacher for those who listen.
Balance: While the Seer (The High Priestess) represents inner knowledge, The Shaman represents coming into one’s outer surroundings and the practical application of that knowledge.
Not sure what this suggests as the result of living my best life in 2026, but I’d be happy to represent any of those three.
Addenda: If you have time, read the David Brooks article I posted a link to in the gratefuls. I agree with his premise that we have swung too far toward the autonomy end of the autonomy-community pendulum. I disagree with him that broad political buckets like conservative or liberal either explain it or offer a remedy to it.
I do, however, strongly agree with him that we must love, deeply, passionately. I love my friends, my family, Shadow, Artemis, a nation devoted to succor for any in the world who need it. I love justice and compassion. I love Judaism and being a Jew. I love Mother Earth and Great Sol. I love plants and wild neighbors. I love you, dear reader.
Shabbat gratefuls: The peace of Shabbat. Seeing Shadow at noon today. Dr. Bupathi. Ending radiation. Fatigue. MVP. Those who care. Knowing what I want. Lame duck red tie guy. MAGA cracking. Intellectuals. The thought is the father of the act, often quoted by Curt Ellis. The act leads to a changed lev (heart-mind), mussar. Rabbi Rami Shapiro.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Seeing Shadow at Flying J
Life Kavannah: Wu Wei Shadow, my Wu Wei mistress
Week Kavannah: Netzach “Endurance and Tenacity: Netzach represents the inner strength and fortitude required to pursue a goal or a passion over a long period, especially when faced with obstacles.”
Being a metaPhysician
One brief shining: Like a first date, what will she think of me, what will we do, yet not, another punctuation in my ten month relationship with Shadow-my wu wei mistress in boarding school-I’ll see her today for the first time in a week in the main parking lot of Flying J Ranch, down Shadow Mountain Drive. I’m a little nervous, should I take bones? Treats? Toys?
Dog journal: Natalie will take Shadow to Flying J; I’ll drive down five minutes to see them. I wonder what she’ll do? Will she greet me like one of those camouflaged returnees from deployment? Tentative at first, then all waggy and kissy. Or, will she leap into my arms? Or, will she shy away, give in to her embedded flee first instinct? No idea.
Will be very interested to get Natalie’s take on Shadow after her first week at school. Along with the prozac and the dog run, this is a full on press to keep Shadow and me together, each with its own purpose. Prozac to tamp down her reactivity from whatever trauma she experienced in Trinidad. The dog run plus heated dog house to assure she can stay outside even if the training and prozac aren’t enough. With the dog house she can survive cold nights and I can sleep.
A long journey, far from over, I hope. Netzach
Just a moment: The paragraph below from Thomas Friedman’s Dec. 11 column* sets out an interesting hypothesis. Trumpism does not care about foreign or domestic policy in the usual sense. Rather he and his intense cult feel as if a civilizational rug has been or is rapidly being pulled out from beneath them, leaving them in a world they no longer recognize, that may have no room for them. No room of their own to invoke Virginia Woolf. No home. I’m empathetic with the psychic disjunction this must create. Like how I’ve felt during Trump the Ascendant.
I have a new understanding of Trump’s project and that of his followers. Even more the project of his followers than himself. Consider these: J.D. Vance, The Heritage Foundation, The New Apostolic Reformation, the Christian Nationalists lead ironically by orthodox Jew, Yasem Hazony, and the displaced white working class. The project summed up? Make Western Civilization white again.
In his National Security Strategy Trump declares our old allies in Europe and NATO as seeding their own destruction through allowing uncontrolled immigration. They face, as this document puts it, civilizational erasure. Read, control by non-whites from Turkey and Africa. That’s their fate, he says, unless they stop suppressing the speech and political action of their far-right citizens. Dog whistle for right-wing white nationalists.
When understood this way, the global movement toward authoritarianism, toward right wing populism, toward homogenous national identities, wants to stiff arm the advance of Renaissance and Enlightenment and liberal (small l) ideas, and return the globe to pre-European colonial times.
They will not succeed. Perhaps in the short term, perhaps in certain places, but even the most revanchist of MAGA, of Orban’s Hungary, of Putin’s Russia, already think of themselves as individuals, individuals who have choice and agency in how they live their lives. That’s what powers their actions inside these wanna be totalitarian states. The very essence of liberal political thought.
We will find our way out of this Oz created by weak and insecure wizards. All we need to do is clack together our ruby slippers. Our red shoes.
*”Humans have an enduring, structural need for home, not only as a physical shelter, but as a psychological anchor and moral compass, too. That is why Dorothy in “The Wizard of Oz” (my favorite movie) got it exactly right: “There’s no place like home.” And when people lose that sense of home — whether by war, rapid economic change, cultural change, demographic change, climate change or technological change — they tend to lose their center of gravity. They may feel as though they are being hurtled around in a tornado, grabbing desperately for anything stable enough to hold onto — and that can include any leader who seems strong enough to reattach them to that place called home, however fraudulent that leader is or unrealistic the prospect.” Trump isn’t interested in fighting a new cold war; he wants a new civilizational war. NYT, Dec. 11, 2025. Thomas Friedman
Thursday gratefuls: Marilyn. Rich. Ron. Jamie. Susan. Joanne. Close, loving friends. Alan and Tara, too. And, the Ancient Brothers: Mark, Tom, Paul, Bill. Dr. Josy and Natalie. Jackie and Rhonda. Grace incarnate, Godly people. Each one a malchut in my life. Shadow, the absent. Elk. Mule Deer. Wolves. Bears. Mountain Lions. The cycle of life among humans and their wild neighbors.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Marilyn
Life Kavannah: Wu Wei Shadow, my Wu Wei mistress
Week Kavannah: Malchut Wonder. A feeling of surprise mixed with admiration caused by something beautiful or unexpected.
Being a metaPhysician
One brief shining: After a good night’s sleep, a long nap, and Marilyn offering to drive me yesterday plus my hernia moving back up and out of the way (reducing in medical lingo), I felt so much better, no pain in my left leg and hip, rested, clear headed.
The current disaster: Here’s my letter to the editor of the Washington Post commenting on the Hegseth/Bradley mess.
“I have a son in command in the military. I asked him about this. He pointed to rules of engagement which come, according to this article, from the “target engagement authority” which is Hegseth. In spite of the fog of politicians attempting to provide cover for themselves, Hegseth’s own statement that the Admiral acted within his legal authority condemn Hegseth, not the Admiral. I agree that the Admiral tortured the rules of engagement to justify a strike on men struggling to survive. Who’s responsible here? Could it be the toxic combination of little men playing war (Trump and Hegseth) entangled with the Special Operations ethos of getting the job done no matter what?”
Arcing back for a moment to yesterday’s post about humor as a moral compass, I want to underline the lack of a moral compass on the part of this whole administration. Absence of an ethical framework results in decisions made situationally, often with the heat of passion at the helm, rather than considered weighing of good and bad consequences.
Think Noemi with the family dog in the gravel pit. Think Kennedy mindlessly ignoring long established science supporting vaccines. Think Trump pardoning Hernández while waging “war” on Maduro. Think Hegseth, the dry drunk wanting more lethality. And getting it.
This administration makes decisions in the service of more power and profit for those in office and for those closest to them. We know it’s wrong. They may not. They may see it as the spoils of victory, reinforced by a stunning “mandate” at the polls. Trump himself, the beating heartlessness at the top, believes in garbage people and shithole nations, which implies of course that he and his are not garbage and that their nation is not a shithole. I beg to differ.
My point is this. An unpredictable, greedy and often ignorant leader at the top empowers the more cunning, the more ideological in his government to get done what they want no matter history, tradition, right and wrong. They all operate in their spheres with vastly different priorities and focus. No one reins in Miller, Noemi, Kennedy, Bessent, Hegseth.
Wednesday gratefuls: My son. Seoah. Murdoch. Hanna at Panorama. (Ha) Driving. Sitting with no neck support. Seeing Alan there, too. Forgotten. Tom and Mayo. Hold the ketchup. Mary and the creatures of Oz. Swooping Magpies and the horned Lucifer Bee. Among many others. Gabe’s beautiful photograph. Ruth and her A-basin ski pass. MVP w/o me.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Hanna
Life Kavannah: Wu Wei
Week Kavannah: Chesed. Loving Kindness. “Kindness is the language the deaf can hear and the blind see.” Mark Twain
Tarot: Being a metaPhysician
One brief shining: A forty-five minute drive from home, back and hip flaring, to Panorama Orthopedics across from the Taj Mahal (Jefferson County Building), using my still new handicapped placard to get a bit closer to a clinic devoted to folks with bad knees, arthritic hips, and bum shoulders, only to find that the medical assistant who made my appointment failed to register it in the scheduling system.
It was that sorta afternoon. Got sorted by putting me at the end of Hanna’s patients for the day. Which left me sitting in a waiting room chair, no neck support for an hour. Called back. Another waiting room chair. So achy I crawled up on the exam table while I waited and took a nap.
Hanna came in. The third beautiful, young well-dressed woman P.A. I’ve met through Dr. Patel’s practice. I’ve never met him. Her silk blouse and gold bling, watch, bracelets, fancy engagement ring all working well for her.
Very kind and candid. Probably nothing to be done except hip injections. In 80 year olds (and 78 year olds, too) labrum tears are common, wear and tear of old age and exacerbated by arthritis. Surgery usually not done. Same for my hip. The plan: a second steroid injection, see if we can eke out four/five months instead of three. If not, we’ll have to revisit it. Next Tuesday after my visit to Evergreen Orthotics for my neck brace. A long day on the road.
Too exhausted after all that to make it to MVP. And, I cooked the Cabbage and Butter Beans sheet pan meal! First time in a while I’d made something for the potluck. I missed going because I love that group. Too knackered.
Just a moment: Caving. Here’s what I think. The Democrats had proved their point. Republicans don’t care about affordability. Of health care premiums. Of food for the poor. Of food. Trump and his Republican sycophants do what they damn well please with no regard for the rest of us.
So the Dems chose Senators not intending to return and said, end this. We’ll kick and scream, but this way we restart payments to Federal employees and SNAP recipients, plus we get a vote on extension of health care premium subsidies.
Dogs: Yesterday, after a long day outside, Shadow came in, laid down and went to sleep. Her legs moved as they will in sleeping dogs. But this time, every so often, her tail would wag softly, briefly. Made my heart glow.
Wednesday gratefuls: Shadow. Ginny and Janice. Annie and Luna. Tara and Eleanor. Gardening. Artemis. Her Carrots sprouting. Her Beets beginning to thicken. Her Cucumbers close to finished. And, all those Tomatoes! PSA. P.E.T. scan. Good care. Jane and the Mitzvah Committee. Paul and his hospice work. Mark and his care for his friends. Bill in his in the moment life. Tom and his caring. Ancient Brothers, good friends.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Darkness
Year Kavannah: Wu Wei
Week Kavannah: Ometz Lev. The inner strength to move forward
Tarot: #5, The High Priest (Druid Craft) “The card represents a bridge between the physical and spiritual worlds and emphasizes the importance of following a spiritual tradition, leaning on collective wisdom, and seeking community.” Gemini
One brief shining: As my friendships at Congregation Beth Evergreen broaden and deepen, as the Torah becomes my story, as mussar shapes my character, as having a Rabbi provides a backstop to life’s difficult moments, I know the wisdom for me of “leaning on collective wisdom and seeking community.”
Just a moment: Back to Hazony and his Conservatism Rediscovered. When last we left this story we had finished discussing principles 1 and 2: Historical empiricism and Nationalism. Today we’ll investigate #3, Religion.*
Here is Hazony’s summary of #3: “The state upholds and honors God and the Bible, the congregation and the family, and the religious practices common to the nation. These are essential to the national heritage and indispensable for justice and public morals. At the same time the state offers toleration to religious and social views that do not endanger the integrity and well-being of the nation as a whole.” p. 30-31, Conservatism Rediscovered, Yoram Hazony
I gave you the complete summary so you could see the glaring problems in it. First and most dissonant with American history and tradition is the opening sentence. Our constitution provides for the free practice of religion and forbids the nation to take action favoring one religion over others. Here’s an excerpt from the Bill of Rights: “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof…”
In Hazony’s conservative fever dream of a “restored America” the state upholds God and the Bible. Hazony intentionally inflects his third principle with Christian language. This dovetails, can you see it, with the New Apostolic Reformation’s concept of making disciples of all nations.
Here these two ascendant political movements declare not only their willingness to abrogate freedom of religion, but to in fact establish a state religion. Which in turn abrogates the second part of the freedom of religion clause which ensures just that- the freedom to practice your religion. Full stop.
The last sentence in his summary, so necessary, since Hazony himself is an Orthodox Jew, tries to leave a bit of wiggle room. But its full intent reveals itself in these words: “the state (read The conservative Christian state) offers toleration to…views that do not endanger the integrity and well-being of the nation as a whole.”
This invites a political calculus into religious freedom that is, pardon the word, anathema to the first amendment. Muslims. Politically active black churches. Pagans. Hindus. Who knows what might be considered dangerous to the state?
No, this principle is not about religion. It’s about power, giving the state a rationale to quash dissent, no matter its source. The second sentence unveils its true purpose since this state sponsored religion is “essential to the national heritage and indispensable for justice and public morals.”
The ten commandments on school walls in Louisiana. A conservative evangelical definition of when life begins. Dismissing LBGT+ folks as unnatural. More capital punishment. These ideas and their like already shape policy in U.S. states and at the Federal level. Imagine what comes if a group like the New Apostolic Reformation gains more, much more, than its nascent power. Which is their intent.
Just say no to principle number three.
*National conservatism has, according to Hazony, five main principles:
Shabbat gratefuls: Teshuva. Candles. Ellul. Morning darkness. Shadow, my sweet girl. Kate, always Kate. Artemis, aglow with her heater. Which also illuminates the Japanese lanterns. Cool night. Fog. Dew point. Humidity. Monsoon Rains. Winds. Great Sol still hidden by Mother Earth. My son. Seoah. Murdoch. Coffee. A morning delight.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: My son and Seoah
Year Kavannah: Wu Wei (and my mentor in it, Shadow)
Week Kavannah: Ometz Lev. Inner strength to move forward. Courage
Tarot: Seven of Swords (Druid Craft deck)
Intelligence over Brute Force:
Rather than aggressive action, the Seven of Swords advises using your intellect to navigate difficult situations smartly.
Truth-Seeking:
The card encourages looking beyond the surface and discerning the real truth of a situation, avoiding self-deception or being deceived by others.
One brief shining: Next week another blood draw, my quarterly instance of true high stakes testing, a titch of anxiety already making its way into consciousness, roiling slightly the calm waters of my inner world, while I go through the now well worn ruts of it will be what it will be, life is short and I’m old, a good run so far, wonder what happens in the new territory if and when I get there.
Cancer: Stable so far. PSA next week. I’ve responded well to androgen deprivation therapy ever since the last dose of my long radiation. Over six years. In other words Orgovyx and Erleada have kept my cancer in stasis through Kate’s illness, through my second visit to Korea, through my son’s taking command of his squadron, through Covid, through the deaths of Gertie, then Kate, Rigel, Kepler, and Jon, through my conversion, through adopting Shadow, through the building of Artemis. I bow my head to the scientists who developed them. True life savers.
When looked at from that perspective, gratitude comes unbidden. In this odd case looking backward soothes the soul, while anticipation stains it with worry. An important lesson in living in the moment, in this August 30th life, on this Shabbat.
Dog journal: Murdoch, now eight years old, rests a lot. Whenever my son and I talk, he turns the camera to the side or under his desk and there lies a sleeping tan and white Akita, happy with the people he loves.
Murdoch has traveled more than most people. From his birth home outside Macon, Georgia to the not so far away Warner-Robbins AFB. From there to Colorado, Conifer. From Conifer to Loveland. From Loveland to Hawai’i. From Hawai’i to Korea. Throughout he has loved the Sun in spite of his breed’s double coat developed for the Mountains of the Akita prefecture in Japan where Akita’s originated.
Shadow sleeps on her “place.” A towel I’ve been training her to lie on until I say “free” and throw a treat away from it. A calming spot. Good for anxious dogs like her. Shadow Mountain is my place. Hers, too.
Just a moment: Read about Robin Westerman’s diaries. Her secret plans and grievances. Her admiration for school shooters. Her careful planning. Makes me sad, not even angry. Tragedy grown from tragedy.
“I have a son in command in the military. I asked him about this. He pointed to rules of engagement which come, according to this article, from the “target engagement authority” which is Hegseth. In spite of the fog of politicians attempting to provide cover for themselves, Hegseth’s own statement that the Admiral acted within his legal authority condemn Hegseth, not the Admiral. I agree that the Admiral tortured the rules of engagement to justify a strike on men struggling to survive. Who’s responsible here? Could it be the toxic combination of little men playing war (Trump and Hegseth) entangled with the Special Operations ethos of getting the job done no matter what?”
Arcing back for a moment to yesterday’s post about humor as a moral compass, I want to underline the lack of a moral compass on the part of this whole administration. Absence of an ethical framework results in decisions made situationally, often with the heat of passion at the helm, rather than considered weighing of good and bad consequences.
Think Noemi with the family dog in the gravel pit. Think Kennedy mindlessly ignoring long established science supporting vaccines. Think Trump pardoning Hernández while waging “war” on Maduro. Think Hegseth, the dry drunk wanting more lethality. And getting it.
This administration makes decisions in the service of more power and profit for those in office and for those closest to them. We know it’s wrong. They may not. They may see it as the spoils of victory, reinforced by a stunning “mandate” at the polls. Trump himself, the beating heartlessness at the top, believes in garbage people and shithole nations, which implies of course that he and his are not garbage and that their nation is not a shithole. I beg to differ.
My point is this. An unpredictable, greedy and often ignorant leader at the top empowers the more cunning, the more ideological in his government to get done what they want no matter history, tradition, right and wrong. They all operate in their spheres with vastly different priorities and focus. No one reins in Miller, Noemi, Kennedy, Bessent, Hegseth.
Made My Heart Glow
Samain and the Summer’s End Moon
Wednesday gratefuls: My son. Seoah. Murdoch. Hanna at Panorama. (Ha) Driving. Sitting with no neck support. Seeing Alan there, too. Forgotten. Tom and Mayo. Hold the ketchup. Mary and the creatures of Oz. Swooping Magpies and the horned Lucifer Bee. Among many others. Gabe’s beautiful photograph. Ruth and her A-basin ski pass. MVP w/o me.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Hanna
Life Kavannah: Wu Wei
Week Kavannah: Chesed. Loving Kindness. “Kindness is the language the deaf can hear and the blind see.” Mark Twain
Tarot: Being a metaPhysician
One brief shining: A forty-five minute drive from home, back and hip flaring, to Panorama Orthopedics across from the Taj Mahal (Jefferson County Building), using my still new handicapped placard to get a bit closer to a clinic devoted to folks with bad knees, arthritic hips, and bum shoulders, only to find that the medical assistant who made my appointment failed to register it in the scheduling system.
It was that sorta afternoon. Got sorted by putting me at the end of Hanna’s patients for the day. Which left me sitting in a waiting room chair, no neck support for an hour. Called back. Another waiting room chair. So achy I crawled up on the exam table while I waited and took a nap.
Hanna came in. The third beautiful, young well-dressed woman P.A. I’ve met through Dr. Patel’s practice. I’ve never met him. Her silk blouse and gold bling, watch, bracelets, fancy engagement ring all working well for her.
Very kind and candid. Probably nothing to be done except hip injections. In 80 year olds (and 78 year olds, too) labrum tears are common, wear and tear of old age and exacerbated by arthritis. Surgery usually not done. Same for my hip. The plan: a second steroid injection, see if we can eke out four/five months instead of three. If not, we’ll have to revisit it. Next Tuesday after my visit to Evergreen Orthotics for my neck brace. A long day on the road.
Too exhausted after all that to make it to MVP. And, I cooked the Cabbage and Butter Beans sheet pan meal! First time in a while I’d made something for the potluck. I missed going because I love that group. Too knackered.
Just a moment: Caving. Here’s what I think. The Democrats had proved their point. Republicans don’t care about affordability. Of health care premiums. Of food for the poor. Of food. Trump and his Republican sycophants do what they damn well please with no regard for the rest of us.
So the Dems chose Senators not intending to return and said, end this. We’ll kick and scream, but this way we restart payments to Federal employees and SNAP recipients, plus we get a vote on extension of health care premium subsidies.
Dogs: Yesterday, after a long day outside, Shadow came in, laid down and went to sleep. Her legs moved as they will in sleeping dogs. But this time, every so often, her tail would wag softly, briefly. Made my heart glow.
Free Exercise
Lughnasa and the Cheshbon Nefesh Moon
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Darkness
Year Kavannah: Wu Wei
Week Kavannah: Ometz Lev. The inner strength to move forward
Tarot: #5, The High Priest (Druid Craft) “The card represents a bridge between the physical and spiritual worlds and emphasizes the importance of following a spiritual tradition, leaning on collective wisdom, and seeking community.” Gemini
One brief shining: As my friendships at Congregation Beth Evergreen broaden and deepen, as the Torah becomes my story, as mussar shapes my character, as having a Rabbi provides a backstop to life’s difficult moments, I know the wisdom for me of “leaning on collective wisdom and seeking community.”
Just a moment: Back to Hazony and his Conservatism Rediscovered. When last we left this story we had finished discussing principles 1 and 2: Historical empiricism and Nationalism. Today we’ll investigate #3, Religion.*
In Hazony’s conservative fever dream of a “restored America” the state upholds God and the Bible. Hazony intentionally inflects his third principle with Christian language. This dovetails, can you see it, with the New Apostolic Reformation’s concept of making disciples of all nations.
Here these two ascendant political movements declare not only their willingness to abrogate freedom of religion, but to in fact establish a state religion. Which in turn abrogates the second part of the freedom of religion clause which ensures just that- the freedom to practice your religion. Full stop.
The last sentence in his summary, so necessary, since Hazony himself is an Orthodox Jew, tries to leave a bit of wiggle room. But its full intent reveals itself in these words: “the state (read The conservative Christian state) offers toleration to…views that do not endanger the integrity and well-being of the nation as a whole.”
This invites a political calculus into religious freedom that is, pardon the word, anathema to the first amendment. Muslims. Politically active black churches. Pagans. Hindus. Who knows what might be considered dangerous to the state?
No, this principle is not about religion. It’s about power, giving the state a rationale to quash dissent, no matter its source. The second sentence unveils its true purpose since this state sponsored religion is “essential to the national heritage and indispensable for justice and public morals.”
The ten commandments on school walls in Louisiana. A conservative evangelical definition of when life begins. Dismissing LBGT+ folks as unnatural. More capital punishment. These ideas and their like already shape policy in U.S. states and at the Federal level. Imagine what comes if a group like the New Apostolic Reformation gains more, much more, than its nascent power. Which is their intent.
Just say no to principle number three.
Hazony, Conservatism, p. 33-34
Tragedy grown from tragedy
Lughnasa and the Cheshbon Nefesh Moon
Sparks of Joy and Awe: My son and Seoah
Year Kavannah: Wu Wei (and my mentor in it, Shadow)
Week Kavannah: Ometz Lev. Inner strength to move forward. Courage
Tarot: Seven of Swords (Druid Craft deck)
Rather than aggressive action, the Seven of Swords advises using your intellect to navigate difficult situations smartly.
One brief shining: Next week another blood draw, my quarterly instance of true high stakes testing, a titch of anxiety already making its way into consciousness, roiling slightly the calm waters of my inner world, while I go through the now well worn ruts of it will be what it will be, life is short and I’m old, a good run so far, wonder what happens in the new territory if and when I get there.
When looked at from that perspective, gratitude comes unbidden. In this odd case looking backward soothes the soul, while anticipation stains it with worry. An important lesson in living in the moment, in this August 30th life, on this Shabbat.
Dog journal: Murdoch, now eight years old, rests a lot. Whenever my son and I talk, he turns the camera to the side or under his desk and there lies a sleeping tan and white Akita, happy with the people he loves.
Murdoch has traveled more than most people. From his birth home outside Macon, Georgia to the not so far away Warner-Robbins AFB. From there to Colorado, Conifer. From Conifer to Loveland. From Loveland to Hawai’i. From Hawai’i to Korea. Throughout he has loved the Sun in spite of his breed’s double coat developed for the Mountains of the Akita prefecture in Japan where Akita’s originated.
Shadow sleeps on her “place.” A towel I’ve been training her to lie on until I say “free” and throw a treat away from it. A calming spot. Good for anxious dogs like her. Shadow Mountain is my place. Hers, too.
Just a moment: Read about Robin Westerman’s diaries. Her secret plans and grievances. Her admiration for school shooters. Her careful planning. Makes me sad, not even angry. Tragedy grown from tragedy.