Category Archives: Minnesota

Art and Culture, Colorado, Humanities, Literature, Memories, Minnesota, Mountains, Music, Myth and Story, Shadow Mountain

Art Years. Mountain Years.

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Luke at 34. Bella Colibri. Rabbi Jamie’s Rosh Hashanah sermons. Shadow, the morning kisser. Artemis’ Cucumbers. Pizza and Burger plants in my son’s garden. Seoah’s half marathon. Mary’s political neighborhood. Mark and West Texas. From afar in Hafar. Ruth and Gabe, students. The Never Ending Story. Fourth Wing. Iron Flame.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Harvest

Year Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Malchut. Wonder.    “Wonder is the beginning of wisdom.”  Socrates.

Tarot: Five of Pentacles. (Druid Craft)

  • Focus on internal resources: For a querent, this version is a powerful reminder that sometimes the help we need is within us, but our focus on the problem prevents us from seeing the solution. It is a prompt to shift perspective, recognize internal resources, and understand that our perceived limitations may be an internal block rather than an external lack. 
Festival Theater, Stratford

One brief shining: Trumpets blaring we would file into our seats at the three-quarter round thrust stage of the Guthrie Theater when it stood attached to the wonderful Walker Art Center, find our seats, and wait as the Gospel of Colonus, or the Bacchae, or the Christmas Carol came to life, poor players strutting and fretting upon the stage until they were heard no more. Applause!

 

Minnesota: Though now a Coloradan, a Rocky Mountain guy, a Jew, a widower, I once was a Minnesotan and happily so. Especially when it came to the arts. Those trumpets I mentioned? Oddly, when my family vacationed in Stratford, Ontario I had encountered them years before. Why? Because Michael Langham, the director of the Guthrie when I first attended on a student discount, had been the director of the Stratford Shakespeare Festival during those long ago family vacations.

The Walker allowed all of us tucked into the rarely visited Upper Midwest of the Heartland access to the latest and the greatest of modern and contemporary art. What a gift. The MIA, an encyclopedic museum, covered art from ancient Chinese ceramics and bronzes through impressionists and abstract expressionists and had its own contemporary art exhibitions.

I spent twelve happy years guiding tour groups through the Asian galleries discussing the Jade Mountain(s), the Japanese Tea Ceremony, Song dynasty ceramics, and Korea’s amazing celadon glazed pottery. Yes I also led tours that included Goya and Rembrandt and Kandinsky, Chuck Close and Egon Schiele, but my heart remained always in the Asian collection.

It was a distinct privilege to immerse myself in the thousands of years of art in the MIA’s collection, to have my understandings of the modern world upended at the Walker, to have the Western world’s best playwright’s effort brought to life while I attended the Guthrie.

Too, there was and will always be for me: The Saint Paul Chamber Orchestra. Decades of attendance acquainted me with Mozart, Teleman, Bach, Ives, Copeland, Fauré. And, ta dah! Kate.

Today my chamber music is the golden swathes of Aspen Leaves on Black Mountain. My Guthrie is the rain swollen Maxwell Creek while the Arapaho National Forest recapitulates the MIA and the Walker. So be it.

Memories, Men, Minnesota, Politics, US History

The Heart of Darkness

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Lughnasa and the Cheshbon Nefesh Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Paul. Tom. Naps. Shadow and her new Lobster. Nylabone. Her morning sweetness. Rain. Smoky the Bear on Low Fire Danger. The family in South Korea. In Denver. In Saudi Arabia. In Australia and K.L. In Longmont. Planting Carrots. Watering them in. Irv and his new tooth. Rumi. Kabir. Hafiz. Basho. Cold Mountain. Woodsworth. Coleridge. Blake. Keats. Thomas. Harris. Berry. Whitman. Dickinson. Oliver. Collins.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Mountain roads

Year Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah: Rodef Shalom. The desire to generate well-being for ourselves and others.

Tarot: The Greenman, #4

  • “Creative fertility and power: Represents the abundant, regenerative, and vibrant male energy of the natural world.
  • Assertive dynamism: Signifies a new and thriving drive to begin projects, relationships, or new ways of living.”  Gemni

One brief shining: Morning darkness now greets Shadow and me as we get up, covering the back yard, obscuring the Lodgepoles, the Aspen, Artemis except for the glow of her heater, all the toys and socks and bones Miss Shadow has relocated there, the Bluebells, the invasive Mullein, those sawtooth Ground Covers I don’t recognize; the same darkness obscures 10,000 foot Black Mountain as if its Massif did not exist. What does your inner darkness obscure?

Minneapolis: Forty years of my life were spent in Minnesota. Most of them in the Twin Cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul. Cities I loved and love still. My heart breaks for Minneapolis, a city with flaws, sure, it’s a place inhabited by humans; yet also a place committed to a diverse citizenry, to beauty, to citizen based planning, to justice for all. Does it fall short on all of these? Of course it does, yet no more so than most, probably a lot less.

And yet.  The Annunciation shooting yesterday. Melissa Hortman and her husband. Gilbert. Only two months ago. George Floyd.

When I worked on the West Bank in Minneapolis, I conducted a memorial service for a long time resident of that then counter-cultural neighborhood. I don’t remember her name, but I remember how she died. Standing on the back porch of her second floor apartment, a bullet so spent it didn’t pierce the back of her coveralls, did shatter her heart. She had children, was in her early thirties.

I do remember saying in my eulogy for her that the only sense that could be made of her death lay in one place. The need to control gun violence. I don’t recall if we did anything about that then, I suspect not or I would remember. This would have been in the mid-nineteen eighties.

In the same time period I counseled a young Black man from the Southside to give evidence against a known gangster. Another young Black man who had committed more than one murder, his violence keeping others in the neighborhood quiet.

To show the complexity. He did give evidence. And then was harassed at his job at a local pharmacy by friends of the man he’d sent to Stillwater Prison. So often that he eventually moved to Florida. His sister, too.

I think of Joseph Conrad’s, The Heart of Darkness.

Asia, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Korea, Memories, Minnesota, Politics, Shadow Mountain

The Second Day

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Lughnasa and the Korea Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Shadow, looking at me across the pillow. At 4:30 am. My son, working. Seoah and her sister. Shopping. A warm morning. The Tomato fruits setting. Kale, Spinach, Beets growing. Having my son and Seoah under my own roof. Family. A strong, dispersed family. The view from Shadow Mountain.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Sharing pizza with my son

Year Kavannah: Wu wei

Week Kavannah:  Ahavah. Love.

Tarot: Knight of Vessels, The Eel

One brief shining: A quiet, gentle feeling with my son and Seoah sleeping above me as I type; a joy that comes from deep within, neither from a happy place, or even a place of satisfaction, rather a connected and comfortable spot, one where no expectations other than love lies.

 

The Jangs: Jet lag saw yesterday a quiet day with my son staying here, drafting personnel reviews while Seoah went to be with her family at the Air BnB.

Apparently it was an emotional Sunday evening with tears and alcohol at the BnB. Not sure what  triggered all that except Appa’s jet lagged yearning for a life in the U.S. he was not able to live. He fought for and with U.S. soldiers in the Vietnam War so I imagine this is a long nurtured dream.

He never went past elementary school, yet learned and successfully applied the principles of organic farming as a grower of vegetables and rice. He’s also been village headman for Seoah’s home village, Okgwa, for many years. Education does not equal intelligence or reveal skills.

Appa’s long sober so it was not him drinking but Seoah’s brother-in-law, the six foot green grocer, and her sister, Min Yun. I imagine the unexpected confluence of jet lag, altitude, and American beer led to stronger effects than anticipated. Travel, eh?

Seoah’s sister recovered well enough to convince her husband to drive her, Seoah, and their kids into Cherry Creek for some fancy, label focused shopping. My son was happy he didn’t have to go. Me, too.

I spent a quiet Monday here with Shadow as my son worked. In the evening I went out to Ripple, a new pizza and soft ice cream joint, picked up a large pepperoni and green olives which we ate together.

Sharing a meal, just him and me, called up the Irvine Park years when we lived in my condo. Irvine Park had a lovely square with a Victorian fountain, a bandshell, and great oaks, one of which played backstop for many evenings of catch.

Yesterday, talking about Hawai’i, Seoah said, quite casually, “Yes, we’ll all live there.” Indicating my son and me. If my son does decide to retire at the end of his twenty years, one year after he finishes in Korea in 2027, that’s been the plan.

A good goal for me. A Hawai’ian sunset.

 

Just a moment: I knew this was coming. Trump Administration Will Reinstall Confederate Statue in Washington. NYT, 8/5/2025. Gotta pander to that base with the Epstein files nipping at your MAGAmatic heels.

Dogs, Dreams, Fourth Phase, Greenhouse, Memories, Minnesota

Shadow and Artemis Add Them Back

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Summer and the Greenhouse Moon II

Wednesday gratefuls: Halle. P.T. ending. Forced to decide my own workouts. Overnight Rain. The darkness of early Morning. Shadow sleeping beside me. Her life outside. The Wren. Again. Planting the Fall garden. Artemis. Great Sol still hidden. His consort, Mother Earth, wrapped in nurturing Night. World Whale and Dolphin Day.

Sparks of Joy and Earth: Soil with Seeds

Year Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah: Ahavah. Love.

Tarot: Page of Arrows. The Wren. What can I do to reinforce my exercise routine?

One brief shining: Poured seeds into my hands, delicate Lettuce, spiky Beets, tiny Arugula, round Chard, pushed them down onto the Compost/Top Soil with Horse manure, wrote small signs and placed them at the end of rows, got out my copper Watering can and poured a thin stream over each of the furrows, Mother Earth impregnated. Now we wait.

 

Dreams: I don’t remember the full dream as I often don’t. We’d gone north on a highway that  appears in my dreams on occasion, this time all the way, to a land of Boreal Woods and Lakes far past the small towns where I often end up, past my dream world Chicago and its complicated highways and ports.

A retreat with several friends including Kate. While there we made places to sleep out of Buffalo hides. The rest of the time we wandered in the Forest, went to the Lakes, split off into dyads often.

Then someone came, maybe three days into our stay, and said, “Rabbi Jamie’s dead.” This confounded us all, sent us into shock. Nobody had any details.

In all the confusion the dream came to an end.

 

Artemis: The Fall Garden. Awaits the awakening of leafy Chard, Spinach, Arugula, Lettuce, and well-Rooted Beets. (Just remembered I need to plant Nasturtiums and Marigolds.)

Before the nights grow too cool, Nathan will have added cold frames and overlapped the thin Cedar planks. Artemis should be able to grow Vegetables outside into mid to late September, while continuing to grow Herbs and Lettuce, Chard and Arugula inside over the Winter.

Walking outside to Artemis I realized I missed having physical tasks outside. How limited I’d allowed my outside world to become until I started with Shadow and now Artemis. Again directly in touch with this Land, with growing things: Puppies and Vegetables. How I’ve missed it.

 

Neshama/Nefesh: The Neshama connects us to, is our connection with, the One. Realized yesterday something about my Nefesh, which connects me to and is my connection with the world outside my body.

I’ve always considered myself primarily an intellectual, working with ideas and words. Reading. Learning. Studying.

When I wrote about my life review yesterday, it became clear that no, that’s not my primary way of being in the world. I have been, as far back at least as high school, a doer, an actor. Whether as a literal actor in “Our Town” or as class president in high school. As part of the movement in the sixties. As an organizer in the Twin Cities. As a Gardener and Bee Keeper in Andover.

Colorado is another chapter, different. It’s been more about care-taking, about dealing with illness and death. About facing the final chapter.

Yet I also need those doing roles, too. Shadow and Artemis have added them back into my life.

Memories, Minnesota, Politics

That Time I Worked As a Minister

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Summer and the Greenhouse Moon II

Tuesday gratefuls: Home. Artemis. Shadow. Shadow Mountain. Black Mountain Drive. Conifer. Evergreen. The Jangs. The mini-splits. Lodgepoles. Aspens. Blue Bells. Pentstemons. Tomatoes. Beets. Lettuce. Ruby. Ruth and Gabe. Joanne and Alan. Halle. Jake. Generator maintenance. Kate’s chair. My serious reading chair. Minnesota Council of Non-Profits. MICAH. Jobs Now. Stevens Square Community Association. Loring Park Community Association.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Work, well done

Year Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah: Ahavah. Love.

Tarot: Ten of Stones. Home. How can I celebrate my garden and my life?

One brief shining: Pick up a book, an old technology I know, open it and let your eyes fall on the first page, the first sentence, the rest of the pages still thick in your hand; in the good ones adventure lies in that thicket of words, or information, maybe enlightenment, maybe inspiration or self-criticism, a world made in the covenant between author and reader, so old, so old.

 

Life: I lay in bed this morning doing a little life review. In conversation with Paul yesterday I remembered the Philanthropy Project which morphed as organizing often does into something else, becoming the Minnesota Council of Non-Profits. That led me to MICAH. Last week I wrote about the Jobs Now Coalition.

These three organizations still have significant roles to play in Minnesota’s political life. I had a lead role in organizing each of them. In some real sense they are a part of my legacy.

Then, I thought. Let’s review some other wins. We kicked General Mills out of the Stevens Square Neighborhood and Control Data out of Eliot Park, denying corporate feel-good missionary work that would have taken control of their communities away from their residents.

On the West Bank we built five hundred affordable housing units, a 200 unit apartment building, and a parking ramp. We also funded the start up of a worker owned drug store, bike shop, and hardware store.

With Bea Swanson we found funding for her ministry in Little Earth of United Tribes, a grandmother helping mothers. Started Sin Fronteras, without borders, to get money to the undocumented who needed to apply for green cards.

With Leadership Minneapolis we created a definition of leadership as love, justice, and compassion which got us all fired by the Downtown Council. Odd, in a way, since I led the Minneapolis Planning Commission’s plan 2000 which involved all key downtown players in creating a guide for planning decisions in downtown and its nearby neighborhoods.

The nature of organizing, of course, means no one person can take credit for this or that achievement. Even so, I know that in each of these instances I played a central and significant role.

There was also the unseating of a long time Hennepin County commissioner and replacing him with a progressive. Working the DFL convention to get Paul Wellstone nominated in his first run for the Senate.

All of this work I was able to do because of the Presbytery of the Twin Cities Area which funded the West Bank Ministry. A ministry shaped around these verses from the gospel of Luke:

18 “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
and recovering of sight to the blind,
to set at liberty those who are oppressed,
19 to proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord.”

Dogs, Family, Fourth Phase, Memories, Minnesota, Politics

It still exists

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Summer and the Greenhouse Moon II (Full)

Thursday gratefuls: Shadow, the outdoor girl. Artemis ready to receive plantings for a fall garden. Halle. Capybaras. Marmots. Nutria. Mice. Cool morning Breezes. Mezuzah. The ritual for hanging them. Monism. Squirrels. Tarot. The Forest Lovers. Wild Neighbors screeing. Rain incoming. What did the idiot do today?

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Wind and Rain

Year Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Hearing on the side of merit

Tarot pick: Forest Lovers, #6 of the major arcana

One brief shining: This morning I shuffled the Wildwood deck, cut it three times, and asked the deck what I needed to do about Shadow, my mystery girl, and it gave me this card, the Forest Lovers, the male and female energy present on Beltane, the start of the growing season.

 

Dog journal: A hot night. Mid sixties. Shadow outside yet again. Once again challenging my vision of our relationship. How it should go. At night in particular.

Last night we were having a hug on the small patio stones outside my back door. We shifted our stance a bit and I stepped on her left rear back paw. She yelped and ran off. No way she was coming in last night. No words, no apologies. I hurt her. She left. Fast.

Better this morning. I think she knew it was an accident, but her love of freedom and being her own Dog wouldn’t allow an immediate reconciliation. Damn it! Neither of us needed that.

The Forest Lovers. Drawing this card made me see that as I’ve wondered and as Tom suggested yesterday the wu wei here, the flow of the chi, may entail letting her stay outside at night.

I need to get an assessment of how much danger Natalie believes Shadow is in at night. From Mountain Lions. I believe the threat is low, but the consequence of being wrong is catastrophic.

We are yin and yang. I need her feminine energy in my life and she needs my masculine energy. Together we can bring out parts of ourselves that would lay dormant otherwise. The most confounding experience I’ve ever had with a Dog.

 

Life insights: A family of teachers. Mom. Mary. Mark. Several cousins. I’ve often wondered why I didn’t become a teacher, too. When graduate school slipped out of the picture, I never pursued teaching again.

Except. As an organizer, it was my job to teach people how to live into their power. When unemployment had reached crisis levels in 1988 Minnesota, I along with others recruited church leaders, union activists, and unemployed people across the work spectrum.

Once in a room together, with an 18 month old Joseph on my hip, I drew from them their anguish, their anger and frustration. This was the fuel for them to come together against a common foe: an unfair labor market.

Once we identified those emotions, we moved to  using our various strengths. The moral power of the church. The organizing power of the unions. And the willingness to put it all on the line of the unemployed.

The Jobs Now Coalition came into existence. Together we convinced the Minnesota Legislature to pass M.E.E.D. The Minnesota Emergency Employment act which funded half of a new hires pay for their first six months.

It still exists:  Jobs Now Coalition.

 

Garden, Greenhouse, Memories, Minnesota

The Great Work

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Summer and the Greenhouse Moon II

Tuesday gratefuls: Paul. Findlay. Sarah. Max. Claire. Kate. Michael. SPRINT referral. P.T. Halle. Shadow, outside again last night. World Allergy Day today. Morning darkness. Ukraine. Iran. Israel. Palestinians. Artemis. Planting. The fan. The heater. A full Moon in two days.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Clouds

Year Kavannah: Wu Wei. the watercourse way

Week Kavannah: Hearing on the side of merit

One brief shining: That first bitter taste as coffee hits the tongue, the body remembering, starting to unveil itself from the gauze of sleep, knowing from experience though not yet this day, the effect of caffeine on the eyes and ears, the mind as it changes attention from the realm of dreams to the realm of ever becoming apparent reality.

 

Artemis: Awaiting a couple of garden tools before I plant my midsummer seeds. Probably fussing too much but I want to do it my way.

Planting seeds during the hottest month of the year is new to me. I’ve discovered a guide to planting a fall garden which might involve cold frames over my outside raised beds. Perhaps new seeds.

I did order two bulbs of Music Garlic. I have to reserve space for them when I plant because they go in the ground in late September/early October. Love Garlic’s against the grain ways.

Artemis must live, mostly, according to the rhythms of seasonal change. And I love that. I say mostly though because the greenhouse part of Artemis allows me to push the outer limits of first and last frost.

Starting seeds early in Spring inside the Greenhouse will allow for transplanting as soon as a particular plant can tolerate Spring temperatures outside. Keeping the greenhouse warm and within a fairly tight temperature regime will give my Tomatoes the full growing season that they need to produce fruit. That means extending the growing season beyond the likely date of the first frost.

When living in short growing season climates, certain vegetables are unobtainable without a greenhouse. Now I have one and will able, in a very limited manner, to grow things year round.

This is as far as I want to go with juking soil and seeds. The only unnatural aspect lies in controlling, to the extent possible, temperature. Hence, the heater and the exhaust fan. I could work with humidity, too, but I choose not to. At least right now.

 

Great Work: Thomas Berry’s little book, The Great Work, identifies our era’s Great Work as developing a sustainable presence for human beings on Mother Earth.

On a trip to Denver from Minneapolis several years ago, I went north to Cody, Wyoming to visit the Buffalo Bill Center of the West. I finished the Great Work at night in the Holiday Lodge. Berry convinced me that rather than focusing on economic justice work as I had done most of my life that I needed to shift my energy, right then, to the Great Work.

A climate change conference put on by PSR, Physicians for Social Responsibility, at the University of Iowa, gave me even more reason. That conference inspired Kate and me in our Andover years, growing vegetables, fruit, nuts, and flowers. Taking care of bees.

Now the clown car that is MAGA and Trumpeting not only ignores climate change, but actively denies it. Right in the time period when drastic and difficult action must happen. Very. Bad. Timing.

Colorado, Memories, Minnesota, Mountains

249 Years

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Summer and the Greenhouse Moon II

4th of July gratefuls: Cousin Donald. Hyper Masculinity. The Commander’s Cup. Seoah. Murdoch. Songtan. The United (?) States of America. Oklahoma. Indiana. Wisconsin. Minnesota. Colorado. Judy. Raeone. Kate, always. Shadow. Her chewed leash. Work yet to do. Planting. Seat cushion for Ruby. CBE Men’s group. Suffering. Luke. Rebecca. Leo. Tara. Eleanor.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Long time friends

Year Kavannah: Wu Wei. Find the flow of life’s force, follow it

Week Kavannah: Savlanut. Patience.

One brief shining: Walked up the slight rise past the wonderful Ponderosa and the jagged Granite Boulder, pre-schooler rendered chalk drawings on the sidewalk, and pressed the doorbell necessitated by the oldest hatred to join my friends discussing the mussar virtue of self-confidence.

The 4th of July. On the 249th birthday of this country I sit on Shadow Mountain, in purple Mountain majesty above the fruited plains. Somewhere below amber waves of Grain ripple in a morning Breeze.

Meanwhile, faraway in the land of broken toys a mean-spirited tyrant and his too loyal minions prepare concentration camps for immigrants who came here seeking a better life: ICE prepares detention blitz with historic $45 billion in funding.

The Elk Cow and her Calf that crossed the road in front of me Wednesday night do not know this. Their world continues, following a thread of ongoing life rooted millions of years in the past, honed to the ways of Mountain life, to seasonal change, to knowing the ways of predators.

Nor does Shadow know. As we work out our life together, a struggle and a joy for both of us, she too follows a path begun thousands of years ago when friendly Wolves joined human encampments for shelter, food, and joint protection.

How I wish I could be a non-human animal, wild or domesticated. I could live according to the ancient rules of nature. Eat. Reproduce. Play. Rest. Die. Not live according to the cruel rules of human society, the unnatural ways of my often thoughtful, loving, compassionate species.

The Elk do not shun their own, round them up and move them out. Sure, animals may contend over territory for survival, but we humans contend over territory for power and for purposes driven by fear and hatred.

This fourth of July I join many Americans who no longer find great pride in their country. National Pride in the U.S. Sees Dramatic Decline. Or maybe not quite.

The Mountains and the Plains. The fertile fields of the Midwest. The great Boreal Forests. The Atlantic Coast and the Pacific Coast. Redwoods. Sequoias. Bristle Cone Pine. Wolves and Grizzlies. Wolverines and Lynx. Squirrels and Marmots. Fishers and Pine Martens. Rabbits and Chipmunks. All the Wild Neighbors. I take great joy and, yes, pride in living among and with all of these. America the Beautiful.

I also stand with all the humans, all of them, who live here with love, justice, and compassion in their hearts. Who know that the word neighbor has no color, no gender, no religion, no national origin. Who know that the warm and beating heart of this historic experiment in self-governance cannot be stilled by the cold dead hands of those without mercy.

Dogs, Health, Minnesota, Politics, US History

Gilbert lies in state

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Summer and the Greenhouse Moon II

Shabbat gratefuls: Nathan. His Husky, Dakota. Pollen. Plant sex. Lodgepole yellow. Shadow, loves to see me outside. Back and leg pain. Labrum tear treatment. SPRINT. The Greenhouse, very close. Tara and Eleanor. Luke and Leo. Tom and Max. People and their familiars.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Animal Companions

Week Kavannah: Wu-Wei. work the with flow of chi

One brief shining: Taking part in the Sloan-Kettering trial for a better way to help folks over 70 with cancer cope with life, finding most of the material not exactly trite, but obvious at least to me. Disappointed.

 

Dog journal: Shadow and I have a dance. We make progress. Our relationship is happy and loving. She joyfully runs across the whole back yard to throw herself at me. She rests now beside my chair. When she sleeps inside, she spends most of the night on the bed.

However. She dodges the leash. And, she has not come in at night for three nights now. Challenges. How to work with her since we are in a good place with each other. Natalie returns next week. Those will be the main two issues to resolve.

Nathan’s dog Dakota has an intestinal blockage. Multiple thousands of dollars. His old Jack Russel who lived with his Dad died two weeks ago. And, his partner, who runs a Dog sitting business, got bit twice this week after eight years with none.

Our Animal companions burrow their way into our lives, sneaking into soul connections, heart bonds tight. When they’re in trouble, so are we.

Thinking of Dakota who had surgery yesterday evening and has an extended recovery ahead of her.

 

Back and leg pain: Well. Gosh. Now even a short drive puts me in enough pain that on returning home I have to lie down. This in spite of improving strength through p.t. and three times a day dosings with tramadol.

Around the house my pain has ameliorated. Much better. Not sure what it is about driving. But I don’t like it. Come on, SPRINT.

 

Just a moment: In other Dog news, Gilbert, state senator Melissa Hortman’s Golden Retriever, lies in state with Melissa and her husband, Mark, at the Minnesota Capitol. I knew Melissa a little bit from Sierra Club work at the Capitol.

All three were shot by Vance Boelter, a man with strong connections to the New Apostolic Reformation (NAR). I’m two thirds of the way through Matthew Taylor’s “The Violent Take It By Force” which investigates the NAR’s role in the January 6th insurrection.

I plan a series of posts about this book when I finish it, but one noteworthy piece of information from it may help us understand Boelter’s actions.

Cindy Jacobs, a prophet in the New Apostolic Reformation, added a layer of interpretation to the familiar verse from the Gospel of Matthew cited often by missionary focused Christians: “Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations…”

Missionaries inspired by this command have long traveled the Earth seeking converts and building churches. Jacob’s saw another level of interpretation.

She wants the NAR to make disciples of nations. Not just individuals. This raises the stakes of what the NAR calls spiritual warfare. The metaphors are violent and now, with Jacob’s new approach, apply to whole nations.

The title of Taylor’s book, in fact, comes from Matthew 11:12: “From the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven suffers violence, and the violent take it by force.”

 

Ancient Brothers, Dogs, Family, Fourth Phase, Greenhouse, Memories, Men, Minnesota

Living, not dying

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Beltane and the Greenhouse Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Israel. Iran. The Middle East. War and peace. My son. Father’s Day. Korea. Commander. Seoah. Murdoch. The Jangs. Shadow. Our relationship. Dogs. Kate, always Kate. Evergreen Rodeo. Tourists. Maxwell Creek.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: CBE Men’s Group

Week Kavannah: Week Kavannah: Bitachon. Confidence.  “A feeling of self-assurance arising from one’s appreciation of one’s abilities or qualities.”

One brief shining: Touched the framing of the greenhouse, sturdy, and began to imagine the Garden beds filled with Lettuce, Radishes, Beets, Peppers, Tomatoes, Marigolds, a favorite salad ingredient, Nasturtiums, and standing inside a heated greenhouse in the Winter, Snow piled up outside and tending to the raised bed with Lettuce, Peppers, Radishes, Beets, Flowers growing in pots.

 

Life, tactile and warm, Shadow and the greenhouse, living, not dying. Nurturing life other than my own, right here at home. As I’ve been used to doing for the last 40 plus years.

This is walking upright in the world. For me.

Yesterday I attended the CBE men’s group. Rabbi Jamie said, “I’m seeing you in person.” I finished a ten session zoom class with him on Wednesday, and I haven’t been to the synagogue in several weeks though I’ve attended Thursday mussar on zoom many of them.

Driving has become such a literal pain that even a trip to Evergreen makes me uncomfortable. Working on it. SPRINT device in July sometime. A visit to an orthopedist on Wednesday for the tear in my right hip’s labrum.

Glad I have Halle and her spirited work, her sage advice. One hour then up. A walking meditation. Dog training. Making breakfast, lunch. Getting the trash ready. Yes. Agency.

 

Father’s Day: Talked to my son yesterday. His Sunday morning. Father’s Day. Being a father in my particular way began with my commitment to feminism. Doing my part for birth control. I had a vasectomy at age twenty-six. The Rice Street Clinic in St. Paul.

As a result, when the need, and that’s what it was, the need to become a father hit me, quite unexpectedly, at age thirty, I had to have a reversal. Which never woke my little guys back up. Low motility.

Which left adoption. Raeone and I worked with an adoption agency in Minnesota to find a baby who would die if they were not adopted. At the time, the late seventies, that meant India.

Women in rural Bengal would find themselves pregnant in their eighth month due to malnutrition. The would go into Kolkata to give birth, then the babies were discarded.

Unless. International Mission of Hope had arrangements with several of the “hospitals” that took in these women. In those instances the babies were taken to an IMH orphanage and made available for adoption.

Our first referral, a girl, died due to a salmonella infection that rampaged through the orphanage. It took another year for a new referral, little Jang Deep, four pounds and four ounces, delivered in a wicker basket by blue and white garbed nuns at the International Arrivals section of the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport.