• Category Archives Cinema and Television

  • Going Nowhere

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Beltane and the Mesa View Moon

    Thursday gratefuls: Tom. Rebecca. Diane. Going Nowhere. Maui. Shadow Mountain. The heart and its journeys. Joy. Simcha. Kate and her yellow roses. Jon’s prints. Gabe and his guitar. Ruth and her art. Kep, my sweet boy. Rigel, my sweet girl. Living alone, but not lonely. Dave and Anytime Fitness.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Simcha

    One brief, shining moment: Ram Dass after his stroke made a short film, Going Nowhere, and watching it last night before bed the title burrowed into my heart-mind (lev) and released my soul, freeing it from need, from desire, from the ache of producing, not bad for thirty minutes of TV. (Thanks, Tom.)

     

    Yeah. So simple. The best stuff is. Going Nowhere. But home. And, my favorite Ram Dass quote: We’re all just walking each other home. Yes. Sink into that idea, that feeling, that koan. And find the via negativa.

    Embrace the way of no way. Walk the path of no path. Live the life of no ambition. For in the literal end we are all going nowhere. Except home. Kate is home. Regina is home. Kep is home. Rigel is home. And, in some paradoxical way that I do not understand, so am I.

    Here is also a truth. I do not find my no path to nowhere following Ram Dass. I do not need or want a guru. A Hanuman. Though I admit I would enjoy living in his house. I have found my own via negativa.

    Didn’t recognize it until that phrase going nowhere pinged around in mind like a pinball shot by Tommy, the deaf dumb and blind kid. Yes. The Great Wheel. It goes nowhere turning always back to its beginnings, the same seasons, the same celebrations, the same holidays, the same Earth, the same Winds and Weather, the same life coming up from the Soil, the same Fallow time when we all need to rest.

    We all go nowhere from the start. From birth we could know the release of life’s journey home because we experience it over and over. If we wanted, we could celebrate our birthdays as our unique marker on the via negativa that is the Great Wheel. We take our journey around Sol and return to the same spot. Having gone nowhere. (I bracket the movements of the Solar System and the Milky Way because they too are going nowhere.)

    Each year we live is a rehearsal for our journey home. No. Not a rehearsal. A lived experience of the via negativa. What a thing to acknowledge on our birthdays! All the striving and sorrow, all the anger and love, all the joys and learnings, all going nowhere as we have done each year. A true and lasting journey to nowhere. The real ancientrail.

    The ineffable journey home. No. Not ineffable. We train for it each year. If we could embrace the changed seasons, the changing seasons, as our teachers, our guides on the way to mystery, the mystery would reveal itself to us.

    The fallow time is now my time, heading toward my own Winter Solstice, the great and final dark night of my soul’s ancientrail in this earthly instance.


    Cinema and Television Feelings Fourth Phase Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant.

  • Painting Begins

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Spring and the Painted Moon

    Wednesday gratefuls: Doug. Working hard. Kep. Kate, always Kate. Tom in Miami. Mark. Mary in Eau Claire. My son and his wife. 3 Margaritas, now 3 Victorias. Carne Asada. Marty, who helped me pick colors. Alan. Marilyn in Belize. Passover. Easter. Christian Nationalism. The dissident right. The Trumpian right. The moderate right. All spotlights on aspects of our culture in trouble. Trump’s legal troubles. The Fed.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Marilyn in Belize with her granddaughter

     

    Doug showed up around 9:30 yesterday morning. Bandana tied around his head and a red striped shirt. Painter’s pants. We talked a bit. He complimented me on the work I’d done to get the room, Kate’s old sewing room, ready. He worked steadily until 4:30. Spackling holes, putting up the blue tape, using a brush where he needed to. He’ll be working in that room today, too.

    Meanwhile the kitchen has boxes and a light stand and a bronze container for canes and umbrellas and my recycling container. Its floor is almost full. Makes it tough to cook. So I didn’t. Went out to Three Margaritas which is now 3 Victorias. Not clear why. I asked the waiter. He said, all the same, all the same.

    I’ve been such a good boy on the Mediterranean diet. Fruit and nuts and fish and chicken. Vegetables. Had Carne Asada. Tasted good. I rarely go out to eat for dinner. Usually breakfast or lunch. It was a treat. Nice to have someone else cook. See other folks enjoying their food.

     

    Been watching the Netflix series, Narcos. The rise and fall of Pablo Escobar. My first foreign travel other than Canada was to Colombia. In 1989. Just after Escobar had partnered with communist guerillas to invade the Supreme Court. He gave them two million dollars and in return they burned a whole roomful of evidence against him.

    The Supreme Court building still had damage when we saw it. Watching the series I now understand why the Fodor’s travel guide warned against travel to Colombia. The State Department also recommended against. La Violencia ended in 1958, a period of violent struggle between the Liberal and Conservative parties. This period, the time of Escobar from 1976 when he formed the Medellin Cartel to his death at 44 in 1993, rivaled La Violencia and exceeded it in that Escobar brought the violence into urban areas.

    Odd to see the turmoil roiling that country during the time of my visit. It was the first place I saw armed guards patrolling urban neighborhoods. That shocked me.

     

    Speaking of Escobar how bout that Trump? Fantasizing about how to do the perp walk. Should he smile at the journalists? Or walk by with his head held high? Will his peeps show up? As long as the perp walk ends up with the Orange One in a jail cell, I don’t care at all how he comports himself.

     

    Read an interesting opinion piece in the Washington Post about Xi’s visit to Moscow. According to this article by David Ignatius, Xi went to Moscow to prop up his western flank by creating an Eurasian bloc with China firmly in control. As Putin’s war in Ukraine has weakened rather than strengthened him, he needs the cover of Xi’s China. Worth reading.


    Asia Cinema and Television Hermitage Shadow Mountain Travel

  • Young Men’s Dreams, an Old Man’s, too

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Imbolc and the Waiting to Cross Moon

    Saturday gratefuls: Tal. Bread Lounge. F1. Red Bull. Scuderia Ferrari. Mercedes. Charles LeClerc. Max Verstappen. Carlos Sainz. A hobby. I think. Warming. Snow melting. Dr. Doverspike. Coming today. Kep, the early. His rear legs. Love for and from him. Tal’s dream. His own theater company. Like the Group of the early 1920’s. Young men’s dreams. Old men’s dreams.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Dreams

     

    Had lunch with Tal. He got let go at Evergreen Players where I had taken two acting classes from him. Budget. He landed on his dream. He’s doing two acting classes right now, holding them at CBE. American Jewish Playwrights and Improv.

    His plan. Build a theater company based on the Group, a late 1920’s creation of Lee Strasberg and others. An ensemble, The Group often performed plays written for them, using the same pool of actors, the Group, to cast each play. Tal wants to develop an ensemble which will choose plays and perform them, directed by himself. The plays will fit the ensemble rather than assembling a cast to fit the play. He had the first board meeting for his company last week.

    Luke, too. Wanting to work with the things he loves: Tarot and Astrology and Art. A young man with a dream. He had an interview two days ago with Judaism Yourway for a tech position with them. If he gets it, it could fund his developing a practice with Tarot and Astrology. Give him more time to develop his art.

    The late twenties, early thirties. A time for exploration. Testing the self. Trying this, then that. Who will I be? Who can I be? When will it happen for me? Dreaming with them both. An old man’s dream, may these young men realize theirs.

     

    This old man has dreams, too. He wants to write a book, another book. That one about the pagan life. About finding and developing a love for Mother Earth and Father Sun. But. He’s stuck. Maybe depressed?

    I have plenty of time. Plenty of material, both original and researched. I know how to stick with a project until I have completed manuscripts. Yet. I’m not writing. Not even picking up a keyboard.

    Maybe the deep sadness over cancer has combined with suppressed feelings over Kate’s long illness and death, over Jon’s life, his divorce, his death, and Ruth’s mental health to cast a darker pall over me than I’ve known. Recognized.

    When I worked with Alan and Cheri last weekend, I discovered I had stamina. Yet when I come home, I fall into routines. Some helpful. Like Ancientrails. Like caring for Kep. Though I’ve not been as good a dad as he’s needed of late. Zooming with friends and family. Zoomies. Exercise. Cooking for myself.

    But my reading has tailed off into finishing CJ Box’s long Joe Pickett series. I watch too much tv. I don’t feel energetic at home. One or two events outside of the house and I’m done with my day. Yes, there’s the trifecta: low testosterone, altitude, and my funky diaphragm. And, yes, they affect me. But I’m beginning to think my low energy may have deeper and other roots.

    Not sure where to go with this. Not sure I’m right. Paying attention in a different way now.


    Acting Astrology Cinema and Television Family Feelings Fourth Phase Friends Health Hermitage Judaism Literature Shadow Mountain Writing

  • Oh, the Wonders We’ll See

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Beltane and the Beltane Moon

    Tuesday gratefuls: Deb. Robbie. Tal. Gretchen. Alan. Terrence. Jill. Nights. Lunar red. The full red Moon. Cloudy skies. Skipping Sefer Yetzirah. Learning things in astrology. Not enough. Reading plays. Loving it. Art is not only sculpture, prints, paintings, metal work. Literature. Theater. Music. Oh. Remembering.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Alfieri and Felix

    Tarot: #8, The Stag

     

    “The Stag shows our connection to the universe and…organic life on this planet. The hatchet is a symbolic image of the human will to alter the environment. In order for the environment to change more positively, we need not only more effective actions but also (to accept) our responsibility to nature. On the shield, the picture of a great Oak tree reminds us that we must preserve and protect natural resources.” tarotx.net

     

    Wow. Up at 9:22 am this morning. To bed at 10:30 pm. Acting class and pre-bed routine. Woke up and felt great. I went, huh? No time to write Ancientrails before Astrology class. No time to exercise so I skipped Sefer Yetzirah. Skipping class. For me? Hardly ever. I loved doing it this time.

    Had brunch, then exercised. Felt and feel great. Pay attention to accidents. Like the fall, yes, but in this case a late night, late morning. Well. I could do this, I guess. Just because for the last 30 years I’ve gone to bed early and gotten up early does that mean I still have to? No. It doesn’t

    If my acting lessons take me anywhere, which I’m not expecting, but if they do, rehearsal? At night. Performances? At night. Services at CBE? At night. It would open up a different lifestyle for me.

    On that note. I got stuck. My Minneapolis Institute of Arts experience led me to a Johnny-one note approach to the arts. Painted. Sculpted. Printed. Sewn. Splattered. Photographed. Videoed. Yes. If I couldn’t regularly see high quality art of this kind, well…

    Then my buddy Alan suggested I take an acting class. Sure. Why not? At the very least a reminder of a different art form. One I’d engaged in the long ago far away. Whoa. Heart work. Body work. Get the mind out of the way work. Reread some contemporary work like The Odd Couple, View From the Bridge, next American Buffalo. Act scenes from them. Develop the Self in a new way.

    I mean. Like the proverbial 2×4. Oh. Yeah. And music, too. Gotta get somebody, maybe Alan, to help get my audio world turned on here on Shadow Mountain. Will begin again to read classical literature. Metamorphosis first, I imagine.

    As Ode said, routines. The only difference betweeen a rut and a grave are the dimensions. Yeah.

    So I may become a later to bed, later to rise guy. For art’s sake.

     

    Here’s a realization I had today. When I take something from Taoism, I take it as a Taoist.When I take something from Christianity, I take it as a Christian. When I take something from Judaism, I take it as a Jew.When I take something from Islam, I take it as a Muslim. When I take something from Hinduism, I take it as a Hindu.

    Furthermore. When I take something from Japanese culture, I take it as a Japanese. From Colombia as a Colombian. From the Celts as a Celt.

    Syncretism and appropriation are dirty words in most intellectual circles. I’m not trying to create a new, smashed together religion, nor am I lifting ideas from their living culture to reorient in mine.

    Nope. When I say I’m a follower of Shiva, which I am, I mean I’m aware of and beholden to the cosmic dance of creation and destruction and Shiva is its name. When I say ichi-go ich-e is important for me, I’m saying this moment, this one while I’m typing on the keyboard, throwing these ideas out into the cyberether, will never happen again. And, is precious for that reason. When I say I follow the Great Wheel, I’m an ancient Celtic thinker noticing the stars and the changing of the seasons, tying them together in a long, yet repeating spiral.

    I don’t pick and choose. Nope to that either. Some ideas and concepts that come to me as I read, listen, see change my way. When they change my way, they become part of me, part of my ancientrail.

    Neither striving for nor hoping for a neat package tied up with a bow. Nicely systematized. Not important to me. Insights into life and how to live it? Very important to me.


    Aging Art and Culture Astrology Cinema and Television Feelings Fourth Phase Friends Humanities Latin Letters Literature Music Myth and Story Shadow Mountain Tarot Translating Metamorphoses Travel Writing

  • Kavanah

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Spring and the waning sliver of Seoah’s Citizenship Moon

    Tuesday gratefuls: Snow. Cooler. Cytopoint. Syringes. Home injections. Orgovyx. Erleada. Levothyroxine. Life. Living it. Well. Eudaimonia. Taoism. Travel. Short trips. Long trips. Boredom. Organization. Dullness. Joy. Chicken pot pies. Art. Music. David Sanders. Kate, always Kate. Rigel. Gertie. Vega. The Colorado dogs. With Kep. Who yet lives.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Max. The baby. Growing. Sitting up on his own. Go, Max. Go, Kate.

     

    The days of our lives are sand in an hourglass. Do they still make soap operas? Is there still day time TV? I cut the cord so long ago that I have no idea. TV news is an oxymoron. Infotainment is not a thing. It’s a distortion of what the news was meant to be. The strait jacket of a show at one time. Escaped. Death by a thousand channels, most of them unwatchable? Escaped.

    If sports were your thing, cutting the cord would have been difficult. I get that. But I was a Vikings fan. The football equivalent of a Cubs fan before they broke away from their apparent destiny. Didn’t miss it. Especially now in Colorado.

    Movies. Yes. Series dramas. Yes. Comedy. Yes. Content from all over the world. Yes. With Netflix, Amazon Video, and HBO Max I’m happy. Maybe a bit too happy. The amount of good, even great content, has grown so fast.

    Kingdom

    The Koreans have given us dramas in a new tone, more human, less formulaic. Then there are the history based series like the Vikings, the Last Kingdom, Qin Empire: The Alliance, Resurrection: Ertugrul. Science fiction.

    First run movies. Caches of old movies. HBO Max provides access to the Turner Classic Movies archive as well as Studio Ghibli. And the occasional Criterion flick.

    All you have to day is pony up some cash, sit your butt in the chair, find that remote, and you’re off to the Warring States Period, the rise of the Ottoman Empire, Space Force, anime. Spirited Away. I’m only a little ashamed to admit that I love it.

    The shame comes in when I admit how much I’ve been loving it. More than I need. Less than I want. Not sure how to balance this as part of my day. I’ve made advances. I’ve taken back reading time from the TV.

    Now that my energy has improved, I see the trap the weariness had snapped around me. Oh, I’m too tired. But, I can watch TV. Covid played a role here, too. And Kate’s long illness. However those are dropping away, have dropped away.

    Intentional. Kavanah. What’s your intention? A Jewish idea that informs prayer. You’re not supposed to pray without intention. No formulary, rote prayer. Know what you mean to do with your prayer.

    Kavanah. Our hours need kavanah. My hours, the late afternoon hours, need kavanah. I’ve allowed myself to get into a rut. Intention can lift me out of it.

    Working on it. Boredom helps. Energy helps. The coming of Spring helps. I can do this.

    What will help most are two things: 1. finishing the kitchen, common room, my level refurbish, remodel, redecorate. 2. finishing my work with David Sanders, turning the ship of my life toward a new destination without losing the gifts I have in it right now.

    A slow process. Grief. For me at least. But, a needed process. Letting go of Kate yet keeping her close. Difficult inner work.

    Will be doing more of all this today. And tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow hopefully not to the last syllable of recorded time.


    Cinema and Television Colorado Coronavirus Dogs Family Feelings Fourth Phase Friends Health Judaism Shadow Mountain The Move Weather +Climate

  • Every Single Day

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Spring and the Seoah Citizenship Moon

    Friday gratefuls: Therapy. David. A new way of choosing what to eat. (not a “diet”). Ukraine. Putin. Russia. The Russian Orthodox Church. The Presbyterian Church. Reconstructionist Judaism. Taoism. Animism. Paganism. March Madness. How about St. Peter’s! Playing the Boilermakers. Santayana. Unamuno. William James. My always friend, philosophy. And, always Kate.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Energy

     

    David’s going to write up some material based on the work we’ve done over the past month or so. We’ll discuss it next week. Still eye on the ball. What’s this new life? What does this 75 year old man want to do next?

    wallup.net

    An odd feeling drives my interest in it now. Boredom. I’ve argued often that boredom is a good thing. Doesn’t feel good, but the purpose vacuum lures creativity. The boredom grows from my new found energy. I find the late part of the afternoon excruciating. Bored. Too much energy to sit still. Too much habituation over the last three plus years and this last year in particular to sitting, watching TV.

    The blank space in the afternoon has become my prod, a goad. What follows from here? Yes, wu wei. Yes. Still, I want to have some things to flow with, to carry me along toward that great ocean beyond this reality. I don’t want to get caught in meaningless productivity or pointless “hobbies”. I also don’t want to continue as I am now. A good sign, I think.

    David’s work is part of that. An outside observer, skilled in the psyche. Looking forward to what he has to say.

     

    Today was write Ancientrails. Breakfast. David. Workout. Mussar. That got me to 2:30. Kep starts looking at me with those adult doggie eyes around this time. Dinner, dad? Now? No, not yet. 3 pm. Dinner, dad? Now? This is a minute later. Nope. You have to wait. He waits, slumping down on the floor, almost a sulk but not quite.

    After that? Not much. TV. Reading Amanda Palmer. Working the Wordle and the Spelling Bee. Looking out at the backyard, wondering when it will hit me. This. Is. The. Way. Considering that may never happen. A little frightening. Forced to live a life of food, reading, friends, and family. Travel. Oh. The horror.

    Life is a cabaret, old friend. May it never end.

     

    Damn. Those Ukrainians! A counter punch. How bout that? I’ve thought of Paul Wellstone’s buddy, Al Franken. It takes brains to be a good comedian, a talent for observation, for understanding how people’s psyche works. Not a surprise that Zelensky has done well. That he’s done much better than well? A big surprise to Putin and the Russian Army. He may end up having the last laugh.

    Saw this on Facebook and can’t resist sharing here:

     


    Cinema and Television Dogs Feelings Fourth Phase Shadow Mountain Writing

  • A busy day

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Samain and the Winter Solstice Moon

    Tuesday gratefuls: Colonoscopy prep. Jon last night. Cancer worries. Jon’s 53rd on Friday. At Gaetano’s. Ruth and Gabe putting their Hanukkah gift mugs in my cabinet. Our cabinet. Cabinets emptied. Whew. Bowe starts demo today. The new cabinets, the bottom ones needed for the quartzite fabricators are here. Bowe installs those on Thursday. The plan anyhow. Herme is home. Neon. Noble gases. Elements. Sulfur. Helium. Carbon. Uranium. Lead. Potassium.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Phase Four

    Tarot: Six of Stones, wildwood

     

    Dove off of always under construction Highway 70 at the Peoria exit. Then spent an interesting 15 minutes searching for Identgo, the TSA contractor for my TSA prechek appointment. 39th Street is a boundary line. On its south flank Aurora extends into its eastern suburbs. On its north it serves as an artery for capillary streets that end at the freeway’s fence. Concrete buildings with truck bays facing the street. A few RV’s parked in what look like permanent positions. Lots of extended chain link topped with razor wire. The faceless underbelly of small companies or the warehouses for big ones.

    Identgo, also the site of Unicorn Drug testing, sat at the end of one of eight rows of sad, buff colored small offices. Christ-Ministry. Gospel Church. Mountain Stone. Identgo.

    I had a thick sheaf of documents, divorce decree, marriage licenses, a birth certificate. They stayed in their envelope. This was a much more casual process than I had imagined. The gender fluid person who checked me had on outrageous boots. Made of brocade with thick laces and standing on 5 inch heels these were uncommon.

    “Those are some boots” started a longer conversation. They showed me photos of other cool boots. A Canadian designer was their favorite. He also had high boots that looked like cows hooves. Dress shoes in yellow. Or, fading from yellow to purple.

    They had been in Tokyo and NYC working for Identgo. In spite of the cheesiness of the office, the process itself was high-tech and quick. A handheld computer did most of the work. A blue screen for a photo, $85 and Bob’s your uncle.

    Hopped onto 70 listening to a CPR program about Westside Story and why Puerto Ricans felt a remake was overdo. Short answer: Rita Moreno was the only PR in the first version though she did win an Oscar. Also, it reinforced Puerto Rican’s as an immigrant group somehow involved in teen delinquency. Might not have been so bad if it didn’t go on to become the best musical and fourth favorite movie of the Oscars.

    Turned off I-25 near Bronco’s Stadium and into another, more upscale warren of businesses. Zuni Street. At 13th, near the brand new and strange Meow Wolf, I turned left into a newer, snazzier business mall. Morry’s Neon.

    When I got there Tina, Glen, and one of the master benders were eating Mexican food off paper plates. Probably food truck fare. Glen took me back in the shop, plugged in the Hermit. I said. Wow. He smiled. Showed me how he would hang it. Clean it with a soft brush. The transformers good for about ten years. Other than that. No maintenance.

    Tina took my money. Glen loaded Herme in the back of Ruby. Onto a moving blanket I had positioned there for that purpose. Back up the hill. And, none too soon.

    Since Kate’s illness, the pandemic, and her death, I’ve not gone down the hill much. I find myself overstimulated in the city. Traffic. Exits. Navigating. Too many people. Lights. Police. Just. More. Than. I. Need. Strange for a guy who did  nothing but urban work for over 25 years. But, true. Exurban, mountain me.

    When I got back, the remainder of the cabinet cleanout. Though I had a huge stack of boxes in the living room on Saturday, I used all of them except one. I did the last few jars while I fed the dogs this morning. Lots of evidence of mice. Wish I could have a cat.

    This whole process got hard. Oh, I remember Kate using this cherry pitter. Who owns a cherry pitter, anyhow? Her canning stuff, pressure cooker, water bath. Empty Ball jars. The mustard yellow fondue pot. A relic of the sixties. Her sixties.

    There’s a dark beauty in grief. As it deepens feelings, it opens me to more feelings, to the wonder of our time together. Cooking. Harvesting honey. I came across a quart jar of Artemis Honey with the Ode made label still on the lid. Peaches. 2016. 2018. Western slope peaches. Canned right here. There was currant jelly, too. Ground cherry, wild grape. All by her hand. So much. Quilts. Mug rugs. Runners. What a life we had.

    In an hour I’m leaving to take Jon to his colonoscopy. Sarah and BJ, two of Kate’s sisters, may have convinced him to let them help him sort out his house. That would be a big deal. He might get the stimulus to finish the kitchen, other rooms. That would be so good.

     

     

     


    Cinema and Television Family Feelings Fourth Phase Memories Minnesota Tarot Travel

  • Mystic

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Lughnasa and a slice of Chesed Moon

    Fountain formation rocks close and in mid distance

    Sunday gratefuls: Cool night. A good day, cleaning and organizing. Grief. Kate, always Kate. Jon feeling better. The Ancient Ones at 9. Sourdough. Sourdough and eggs. Mushrooms. Bread baking. Reconstructing my life. Tarot. Kabbalah. Mysticism. The life of Rocks and Rivers, Trees and Flowers.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Book of Life

    Tarot: The High Priest, #5 of the Major Arcana

     

    Dante Luca Signorelli

    Well, all righty then. Got the loft decluttered, though if you saw it you might not agree. I have a different standard for my workplace than my living place. I like both organized, but the point in my workplace is access and stimulation. In my living place I want a clean house, with things put away in their storage spots. I’ve not achieved this yet downstairs, but it’s the goal toward which I’m pruning.

    I’m pleased with the work I did yesterday. The flurry of medical matters over the last few weeks defocused me and got me off the pruning path I’d been on. Last week I got back to full time exercising and kept to a single change I wanted to make. All my appointments go in the afternoon, early afternoon if possible. Keeping the morning clear for Ancientrails, working out, and, eventually, writing again.

    One change. A small one. Made for four weeks with clear intention. In this case, each time I call an office or a car service center, schedule haircuts I tell them I want to be seen in the early afternoon. Two to three more weeks and it will be part of me. After that, another small change.

    So on.

    The entire Harry Potter oeuvre, cinema, came to HBO Max on September first. I’ve been watching them, finished the Goblet of Fire yesterday. I love the immersive world created by set and costume designers, the increasingly dark plot lines, watching the young actors grow both into their roles and as people. Rowling’s cleverness, a distinctly British type, makes everything tinged with irony and spooned over with nostalgia.

    Puts the seriousness with which I’ve been taking Tarot, Kabbalah, Judaism in a different perspective. Yes, serious. Yes, fun. Yes, not the ordinary persons experience. A sort of hidden world that includes Astrology, too. The occult, if you fancy that term.

    Talked to Rabbi Jamie on Thursday and told him about my speculation concerning reconstruction. That it’s content neutral, a hermeneutic, a way of interpreting the human experience of reality, of each other, of the hidden. Also, that it opens the door for Tarot, Astrology, the Great Wheel. They too can be matters of serious consideration, tools for diving into the inner Lakes and Forests of the Other World we each carry within us.

    Too, it opens the possibility that the Other World may be just that. May be that, with an emphasis on be. Or, better, the Other World becomes the Other World as we listen to it, feel its presence in our lives.

     

    The High Priest

    “The Hierophant advises that you return to the role of a meticulous student. Learn everything you can about your chosen area. Let that knowledge become a part of you and an operative influence on your day-to-day awareness. In this way, you can slowly and steadily establish real credibility in your field or chosen subject.”

    The dream w women asking me to return, to finish my studies. Facing down the animus figures who were rigid and angry. Following the lead of the anima figure who encouraged me, said yes. Even now 56 years later. I can still study, learn. Write. The German shepherd at the gateway who sprung from beneath a cloak and licked me. The magical themes: gateway, angry men, supportive women, the Shepherd, the fiery chair which burned the men and was cool to me. The strong sense of longing to go back. Be a scholar/student. And a writer. The sense of now is the time. This was all at Wabash, though an updated, unfamiliar one.

    This life calls to me. Again. Still. From a deep place. And this card reminds me. Again. Look to the library, to the mind, but most of all to the heart. What matters for my soul? For the souls of others?

     


    Astrology Cinema and Television Dreams Judaism Kabbalah Myth and Story Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant. Shadow Mountain Tarot

  • I am

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Lughnasa and the Chesed Moon

    Monday gratefuls: Helen Reddy. I am Woman. The Women’s movement. Cancer. Its sequelae: pet scans, orgovyx, friends reaching out, fatigue, persistence. Shortness of breath. Family. T-shirts. Living in the moment. The Day. A Day. This Day.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: The voice of the 1960’s

    Tarot:  Prince of Pentacles

     

    Watched I am Woman. A biopic about Helen Reddy. Got drawn in by a snippet of the movie in which Tilda Cobham-Hervey sings Delta Dawn. Didn’t know that was Helen Reddy. I’ve been listening to it in my head for weeks now, since I thought about a parody featuring the Delta variant.

    Not a great movie, but a good one. My anima is strong, perhaps even dominant. Movies which feature women overcoming obstacles and flourishing speak directly to me.

    Many tears. Why? Well, sixties music almost always moves me, reminds me of the passion, the wonder, the promise of those magical years. Speaking truth to power. Yes. Especially when the vulnerable do the speaking.

    Remembering Kate. Her determination to go to med school. The Dean who tried to turn her away because “You’re already married to a doctor.” Her determination to conquer the obstacles in her life: back pain, sexist managers, a lost voice, her final illness. A strong, smart woman. Ill-used by many of the men in her life. But always, always getting back up and going on.

    Cleansing, the lacrimae. Sacred waters. Draining pain and sadness and nostalgia. Bringing me into the present after a trip through the past.

    Got a lot done over the weekend. Money stuff. Pruning. Cleaning. Writing.

    What is a good use of time? A key question for those raised in the success obsessed American culture. I still clip articles about improving my productivity. Why? That ancientrail, my highest potential, trapped me in a long and narrow tunnel, one I’ve struggled against, embraced, knelt down and crawled through on my hands and knees.

    All those novels. Unpublished. Kate wanted me to publish before she died. All that injustice. Still there, seeming deeper and more entrenched now, after all the work. That damning number, carbon in the atmosphere. Still rising.

    And then we die. Leaving behind an unjust world, a world heating up behind human endurance, creative works birthed but never raised into adulthood.

    Tarot cards speaking to my anima, encouraging her, telling her to dive in, create, dance, sing-the High Priestess, the Lady, even the eight of Pentacles. Today, again, the Prince of Pentacles. That’s the patient, methodical, practical approach guy. Speaking to my animus.

    Animus and anima working together, literally yin and yang, vibrating, humming, feeding each other, feeding off of each other. My neshama emerging, cheering them both.

    I am Woman. I am Man. I am. Both.


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  • The Frozen Rose of Texas

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Imbolc and the Megillah Moon

    Sunday gratefuls: All the Megillah’s. More snow. More cold. A good sleep. Cold chicken. Red Lobster biscuits. My Ecuador alpaca coat. My new LLBean insulated plaid shirt. My duckies. Love the cold, don’t love being cold.  Vaccines. Covid. 45 gone. 46 in. Judah and the Black Messiah.

    Sparks of Joy: Fresh, white Snow. Rigel jumping up on the deck like a 5 year old. Life.

     

     

    Those vaccines. Hard to come by up here in the mountains. Not yet. We’ll get them though. Sooner, I imagine. Haven’t gone the obsessive click now, click again, click now, click again route. We’ve survived Covid so far doing what we’re doing. Gonna keep at no visits, grocery pickups, only essential medical visits. Probably for a while after the vaccine, too.

    Love that they’re out there. That we’re eligible. That others are getting them. That more will get them. Might be Happy Hanukah and Merry Christmas. Ho, Ho, Ho. or Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel. If that happens, I’ll still enjoy the darkness of the Winter Solstice, but I’ll be right there with the light worshipers, too. Can you imagine how festive a season that will be?

    Meanwhile a hyper clean, car sized robot will roam Mars punching holes in its surface and storing soil in special containers for the second part of a three stage project. The second stage is a lander that picks up those containers and the third stage returns them to Earth for NASA and European Space Agency labs. 2025-2027. Far away from the virus infected planet it left last July. Smart Perseverance.

    And, maybe, just maybe, our nation will have made progress on sorting out its painful contradictions. I watched Judas and the Black Messiah yesterday on HBO Max. Fred Hampton was 21 when J. Edgar conspired with the Chicago P.D. to eliminate him. 21. When I watched, I kept saying yes, Fred, yes. Power is people. Capitalists, no matter their color, exploit the people. A Rainbow Coalition. Yes, Fred. Then he died in his bed, never waking up, his pregnant Deborah arched over his body.

    Of course, the move reminded me of the damning curse of racism, but it went further, much further. Fred brought together Puertoricans and poor whites. He saw the thread that wove together the oppressed and was able to speak to it, to help others see it. No wonder they killed him.

    What if the Proud Boys and the Black Panthers saw common cause? They could. It’s corporate capitalism that keeps them both down. What if those of us on the far left joined, too. And Chicanos. And Asians. And Native Americans. There would need be no violence. That sort of self-awareness would win at the ballot box.

    I know. Texas. How would you like a $16,000 bill for keeping the heat on? See the paragraph above.


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