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Natural Healing

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Beltane and the Living in the Mountains Moon

art@willworthington

Friday gratefuls: My journey over a lifetime. Kate. Always. That trail. With the Creek, the Mountain Stream. The fallen Trees. The tall Pines. The Wild Strawberries. The Rocks. The steep valley walls. Wild Rose. Primrose. Those yellow Flowers I can’t identify. A place of great sanctity. A holy place. A sanctuary. Friends. Near and far.

Saturday gratefuls: Stephanie. That trail again. Happy Camper. Aspen Perks breakfast. Salad. Apples. Peanut Butter. The Continental Divide. Mt. Rosalie. Mt. Evans. Black Mountain. Staunton State Park. Richard Power’s Orfeo. Learning lines. Mini-splits. Jon. Money.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: That trail.

Tarot: Seven of Stones, Healing. And, Again.

Key words: “Give our minds a break, Calmness, Meditation, Stillness, Healing, Reevaluation, Patience, Perseverance, State of stability, Attentive care, Take time to relax and unwind, Connection to the source energy.”  tarotx.net

 

Forgot to finish this yesterday. A busy day. Over to Aspen Perks for breakfast: Salmon Eggs benedict. Reading Orfeo. After a morning with what people especially beyond Richmond Hill (think Pine, Bailey) call the camper and RV races. Or, the RV assholes. Or, those bastards. Folks from down the hill invading, driving too fast. Often with trailers in tow. Passing on curves. Generally being jerks. After Richmond Hill 285 goes from a four lane divided highway to a two lane, no dividers. That’s when things get clogged.

At 9 am I was still a bit ahead of the bulk of it. But I had a guy towing a trailer behind me, a BIG RV ahead of me for much of the way. Irritated locals often try to pass early. Not waiting for the passing lanes that come after the road to Staunton State Park. It’s a recipe for accidents. And, they happen. And, they kill people.

 

I was on my way to the Happy Camper for my every two months or so cannabis run. 25% off! for the whole month. Still digesting a Stanford study that says thc can increase inflammation in the veins and arteries around the heart. Gonna consider genistein to counteract this effect. Sleep is critical and my thc use has made 8 hours every night possible. Gonna contact my docs to see about safety and dosing.

 

As my avanah (humility) practice for the month, I’m using a focus phrase: ichi-go, ichi-e. Every moment is once in a lifetime, unique, precious. Trying to use it every time I encounter a living entity: Kep, Myself, Rocks, Lodgepoles, Elk, Friends, Waitress, other Diners, Birds, the Sun, Black Mountain. All the time. Sort of like the Jesus Prayer. Trying to make it subliminal, yet also present as I move around through my day.

In this way I can learn to take up the right amount of space in my life. Not too much, not too little. Not minimizing my gifts, not over emphasizing them. Making sure I remember to bring my whole self to each precious moment. Since it will not be repeated, it’s the only chance I have.

 

I have now hiked what I’ve begun to think of as my trail, at least when I’m on it, three times since Gabe and I were on it last Saturday. I may go again this morning. Yesterday after my time with Stephanie, Dr. Gonzales’ PA and a sweet lady, I hiked it with the ichi-go, ichi-e focus phrase.

I saw that patch of Wild Strawberry blooms and thought of Ingmar Bergman’s film of the same name. A favorite. The Mountain Rose Bushes are in full Flower, too, five white Petals brightening the trail. They will give way to Rose Hips as the Wild Strawberry Blooms will to Strawberries.

The little Stream, I don’t know its name, flows a bit less vigorously as the Snow melt and Rains subside. Still it sings, dancing over Rocks, falling down the Mountainside, continuing its creation of this holy Valley.

Oddly, as I thought about this trail last night, I realized I’ve done just this, exercised outside in spots that became favorites for a very long time. I used to hike the trail along the Mississippi down by the Ford Avenue Bridge. Then I moved on to the Crosby Nature Farm, also along the Mississippi. When I worked for the Presbytery, I often exercised or walked at the Eloise Butler Garden and Wildlife Sanctuary. 

In Andover I went to the Rum River Regional Park and snowshoed a trail through Woods behind the new library in the Winter, spent other times at Boot Lake SNA. Now I’m on my trail just off Brook Forest Road. Up here though the options are much more abundant. I’ve also been on Upper Maxwell Falls, The Geneva Creek trail outside of Grant, and plan to hit the Mt. Rosalie Trail soon.

My equivalent of the Celtic Christian practice of peregrinatio. The Skunk Cabbages are probably blooming right now at Eloise Butler. I miss seeing them and the bright yellow of the Marsh Marigolds. The power of the mighty Mississippi, too. Though a Mountain Valley is equal to them in its own way. Love the one you’re with. Eh?

Commentary on the news, Denver, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health, Jefferson County, Judaism, Mountains, Mussar, Original Relation, Plants, Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant., Shadow Mountain, Tarot, Weather +Climate

In the stranger we discover humanity

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Beltane and the Living in the Mountains Moon

art@willworthington

Friday gratefuls: Yesterday’s zero on posting. Hike on the Denver Mountain Parks Trail. Mussar and sadness around gun violence. Gabe here. Jon calmer. Ruth in the hospital again. Snow all gone. 7.5 inches. Wow. Bewilderment, Richard Power’s latest. Hawai’i. Money. Travel. Cumulus Clouds white over Black Mountain. Sol. Life-Bringer.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Gabe

Tarot: Page of Vessels, Otter

“As a person, Page of Vessels represents someone with an open and youthful approach to life. They are imaginative and playful characters. Otters may be mischievous, but their hearts are not malicious. Expect a surprise when Otter shows up to say hello!”

 

The page of Vessels, the otter, reminds me to play, use my imagination for fun, enjoyment. Get some more mischief in my life. More surprise. More oneg, pleasure. More simcha, joy. Let my hair, what there is of it, down. Shake it all about.

June 1

Like most late season Snows, this one on June 1!, mostly gone yesterday. The rest will disappear today. Already 55 at 9am. All Moisture is good Moisture. Up here. Though. The Boundary Waters and Rainy Lake? Not so much. Water is not always where its needed. Watch for the Water wars to ratchet up here in the West.

 

We had a powerful conversation at mussar yesterday about Uvalde and gun violence. Even our most conservative member, a Trump gal, was agin’ it. When will we ever learn?

“When a stranger resides with you in your land, you shall not oppress the stranger. 34 The stranger who resides with you shall be to you as the native-born among you; you shall love the stranger as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt: I am the Lord your God.” Leviticus 19:33-34

The mussar text from yesterday quoted this verse and a comment on it by a German-Jewish philosopher, Herman Cohen. Loving God. Got it. Love your neighbor. Got it. A member of the tribe. Someone like you. Not stranger. Love a stranger? In this verse Cohen says we discover humanity and God’s disposition toward our species. Love is not merely tribal, but universal.

A strong rebuke to the gun worshipers who say, “Hate the stranger in your midst. And, if possible, shoot them.”

 

Gabe is up here for a couple of days. I’m recruiting him to help learn lines. Also, to find that annoying beep. He tried to find it but like me, could not. Jon? Nope. Gabe loves Kep and wants to see him, work on jigsaw puzzles, watch TV, hunt for deer antlers.

We’re going to a presentation on Israel at the synagogue this evening. I like getting the kids over to the synagogue as often as possible. Being Jewish is important to them, but that part of them is not getting fed right now.

Ruth comes home tomorrow. Jon and she will come up here for a family meal after she gets released.

 

There’s a Denver Mountain Parks Trail on the way home from Evergreen, maybe 3/4’s of a mile from 73. I talked about it last week. I’ve taken to hiking it after mussar. One of my two trail hikes during the week. After our conversation about loving neighbors and strangers we talked about saying hello to strangers and acquaintances alike when we’re out and about. Having just finished Overstory I suggested we include Trees and Flowers, Rocks and Streams.

Along I went. Hello. To the thick Ponderosa. Hello to the Bluebells peeking from the Grass. Hello to the great slab of Granite covered with Moss and Lodgepole Roots. Hello to the Stream running happily. Singing to me as I hiked. Hello to the Wild Strawberry. To the thorny wild Berry Canes. Hello to the tall Pine climbing up straight as a mast. Hello to the Rocky Stream Bed that gives the Water a crashing, foaming moment at the end of the trail. Hello to the small Pond and the Waterstrider on the Pond.

This was more than a casual exercise. It made me feel I was among friends, no longer strangers these Plants. These Rocks. This Water. It might feel silly at first. That’s ok. Silly is good. Otter already told us so. You could give it a try.

 

Feelings, Fourth Phase, Literature, Mountains, Plants, Weather +Climate

Sweet sad laughter filled his head

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Beltane and the Living in the Mountains Moon

Afternoon gratefuls for Wednesday: Cold white tea. Glass. Fire. Peat briquets. Ireland. The Celts. Dry Pine split logs. A chimney. A fireplace. Overstory, the last pages. A day of resting, wondering, wandering.

 

You know. I sat there in my Stickley chair. Overbuilt with gothic trusses, slotting joinery, arms wide for books and tea and my blood pressure cuff.

Build a Fire. Go on. Build a Fire. But I have to get up. I know, build a Fire and put the Peat briquets on it. Sometimes I listen to this slice of Self. Sometimes not.

This time. Got an edition of the Canyon Courier from last year, crumpled it up and put the wads under the andirons. A few slick pages, clay paper I think, above them, on the metal. Twigs. Fatwood. Two thinner chunks of Pine, one fatter one across them. Four of the black briquets formed from the Peat beds of old Ireland. One match. Left the doors slightly open for the draft.

Went back to the chair, sank in, almost disappearing into its bulk. As Fires do, it was nothing special at first. A pop here. A tendril of smoke. Did it go out? No, a Flame. Soon it burned with the ancient mystery of a Campfire out on the Veldt. Like our ancestors then I watched mesmerized. This is knowledge known by the heart.

As the Flames licked up in the draft of Air, the Fire began to dance, pirouetting, pointing toward the Sky. And, as my favorite line in Beowulf goes, Heaven swallowed the Smoke. The scent of Peat, pre-Coal Lignite, leaked out. Smelling like a left over glass of single malt whisky. Aqua Vita.

Only a few pages left to go in Overstory. The denouement. Characters dying, being jailed, thinking back, imagining a brand new life ahead. Dissolution then reseeding.

The wood in the fire. Trees now dead, lighting the room, heating it. Disturbing the Air. Making Smoke. The Trees in the book, many dead, many dying. Seeds being saved. Wild plans to solve the crisis of stupidity invading our species.

That time at the Peaceable Kingdom when Psilocybin sent tendrils of neural Fire through my consciousness. Lying in the Garden I watched the Potatoes grow. Amazed. One with the Soil and the vitality. This is the way.

On the Oak arm of the chair I had a glass of white Tea. A Leaf grown on a shrub in faraway China. Made cold in the refrigerator. Water. Fire. Air. Earth. Tea. Wood. Peat. Overstory. Lodgepoles and Aspen. Willows. Ponderosa. Bristlecone Pine. Aspen’s great clonal Communities.

Sadness crept up on me. Wish Kate could share this with me. No tears. Only that tweak of impossible desire. A longing to spend the last years like this. A book. Some tea. A Fire in the fireplace. Tea-saturated Water in the Water place. Shadow Mountain beneath me. The blue Colorado Sky above me. Why strive? Wu wei. Follow the Watercourse. Listen to the Mountain. See the Trees. Be with them. Warm myself from time to time in the way of burning.

The Arapaho Forest. I live amongst Trees and the Wild Neighbors they support. Amongst the Mountains the Trees change into Soil. I am a hermit, in a hermitage. A Chinese scholar fled to his Mountain retreat after the bureaucracy got too much.

 

 

 

Astrology, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Politics, Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant., Shadow Mountain, Tarot, Weather +Climate
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Beltane and the Living in the Mountains Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Life review. Sumi-e. Ruth. Snow. Yes. I mean it. June 1st, big Snow. Limbs down. Good sleeping. Astrology. Sun sign, Moon, and Ascending. Kep in the bed for the second night in a row. Hawai’i. I was there last year this time. Richard Powers. Reading. Trail hiking. TV back in its usual spot. Alan. Tom.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Snow!

Tarot: Queen of Arrows

“In Shamanic terms, Swans are about developing a sense of self, awakening your intuition, and a graceful disposition to others…Within the card lies the promise of rebirth and creativity – the tiny primrose peeping through the long grass. Willow is also more than a symbol of sorrow, it also promotes great healing and relief of pain…Queen of Arrows is completely independent, but she loves groups that bring like-minded people together.” tarotx.net

 

These heavy, wet Snows put a lot of pressure on powerlines. My lights flickery. Power on and off. Not sure if the generator is on or not since I’m up in the loft. The maintenance kit for it has not come in yet. Ordered a month ago. Still working after that brief hiccup when Diane was here. Grateful to have it.

Also grateful to have the Snow. Fire repressing Snow. And the liquid flowing into my tiny Aquifer here atop Shadow Mountain.

Snow has started up again. How bout that?

 

Astrology class yesterday. A question for the day: What gives you purpose? I said as I get older each new day gives me a sense of purpose. Yes. We live in the moment only. But that those moments, together, constitute our days, months, years. And each day with sunseen and sungone is a whole life. A rising up, a developing morning, a quiet midday, a winding down, and then, darkness, a night of sleep.

Resurrection. Death. Resurrection. A new chance. A moment in which life can begin again. Old angers put aside. New loves recognized, acted on. Beauty admired, inhaled. Actions taken for justice. Following the Tao. Letting the day flow as it will. “Within the card lies the promise of rebirth and creativity – the tiny primrose peeping through the long grass.” Queen for a day.

Simpler. Write. Workout. Lunch. Rest. Read. Go out or watch TV. Enough life for me. No pressure, no angst. Just the day. Some words. Some movement. Food. Learning. Other people some days. Some days not. Rest. My purpose; my day.

 

Guns + white supremacy + Trump/GOP validation + inflation + job slippage among working class whites + fear of other others (liberals, gays) = chaos and violence. Topping this all off with a stacked supreme court? Priceless.

My hope lies in two places: Gen Z, Ruth and Gabe, and dissolution. The acids of populist insurgency dissolving the current order, bringing chaos, forcing a new alignment of forces and beliefs. Probably not in my lifetime, but if so, yeah. I want to be there, put my foot on the accelerator.

Not much, I know. But there nonetheless.

 

 

Dogs, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health, Judaism, Mountains, Shadow Mountain, Tarot, Weather +Climate

Snow and, well, more Snow

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Beltane and the Beltane Moon

Saturday gratefuls: Snow. Fire repressing Snow! Well over a foot so far. Still Snowing. Generator kicked on. Then off. Then on. Bear was right. It was a glitch last time. Lodgepoles unloading their branches. A Snowplosion! Kep wading through the Snow. Eating it. All this on May 21st. Now the generator is off again. Electricity back full house. And off. Generator back on. Mountain living.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Snow

Tarot: Knight of Stones, Horse

 

Did not go upstairs. Writing in the house. That fall three weeks ago has made me cautious. Even though I have my magic button to summon help. Prefer not to have to. Besides, this is a freaky deaky Storm. Not many like this since I’ve lived up here. Still Snowing.

Kep jumps in the Snow, plows his way back to the far fence. Pokes around. Pees. Comes back to the door. A bit confused. Not going upstairs, Dad? Those Akita prefecture Mountain genes kick in during these big Snows.

Now we’re both on my level, I’m writing.

 

And, oops. I have to go upstairs for a minute. My meds are up there. This gets complicated. The levothyroxine has made me move my morning meds upstairs because of the one-hour delay after I take it. Gonna get Snow in my boots.

Lights flickering. Generator has gone on and off at least four times in the past thirty minutes. I have the boiler heat going since the mini-splits are not on the generator panel. This gets complicated, too.

I’ll be back in a moment. Got to carefully slog up stairs. Chemo is in those meds. Geez.

 

Upstairs. Realized the mini-split in the loft is on the garage panel. That means the generator does feed it. Warm loft. Warm loft good. Chemo taken. That feels better. Not afraid of dying. But. Not eager for it either. Liking this Herme life.

I’ll stay up here and finish this post. Then downstairs for Word and Deed. A Rabbi Jamie riff on the parsha of the week, Ben-Har. Leviticus 25:1-26:2. Interesting parsha since it introduces shemitah, a sabbath for the land every 7 years and a sabbath for ownership of the land and slaves every 49 years, the Jubilee year. And links them to the weekly sabbath. It so happens that September 7, 2021 to September 25th, 2022 is a shemitah year.

An observant Jewish farmer will let his crops go for the year. He may eat from whatever grows on its own, but he cannot sell it or trade it. Also, anyone can come and share his crop during the shemitah year. Here’s a group that advances this idea, Hazon.

 

Yesterday I read. More Connie Zweig, The Inner Work of Aging, The Hidden Order of Intimacy by Avivah Zomberg, and Overstory by Richard Powers. This last one some of you have read. I’m finding it a quick and great read. About trees and the stories they witness.

I also worked out. Treadmill. Boy, were my legs complaining. Those two days on the trails were good, but they used my legs muscles in different ways. A lot more juking and jiving to retain balance, up and down inclines. Really good workout, but hoo. Glad I have a bye on the weekend. Legs need the rest.

 

Reading more and more as Herme begins to find his sea legs in this new voyage. From here to eternity. Hah. Look for the occasional Herme update about life and aging and truth from his perspective.

Also did my first sumi-e piece in over a year. Felt good. May do more today. Getting up here wasn’t hard. Just messy. We’ll see about going down. Right now.

 

 

 

 

Jefferson County, Mountains, Shadow Mountain, Weather +Climate

Snow and Trails

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Beltane and the Beltane Moon

BTW: Beltane signals the start of the growing season. Here’s today’s forecast after record heat on Shadow Mountain yesterday. Mountain weather! I’m in the orange. And, it’s snowing like crazy at 8:30 am.

 

 

art@willwordsworth

Friday gratefuls: Snow. Fire suppressing Snow! Cool weather. Heat. Hikes in between. Maxwell Creek. Maxwell Falls. Time shifting. Bedtime. Connie Zweig. Life Review. Did I mention Snow? Kep the clean and wonderful. Mussar. Plays. Theater. The Beatles. Shabbat. Gut shabbas. Mindy’s knishes. That Belgian Malnois who saved his momma from a Mountain Lion. And got his skull crushed, but survived. The Ancient Mindful Brothers.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Snow

Tarot: Eight of Bows, Hearthfire

“We celebrate the fact that we have endured, survived, and developed under tribal support and companionship. This is a time to be grateful, express, and receive love. It is also an emotional state, which implies: “I maintain the fire that strengthens these relationships and I am grateful for the love that exists in life.” tarotx.net

Perfect. Herme loves the eight of bows.

 

OK. No. Not changing my name. I’m adopting Herme as an Elder persona. Living into my truth as a fourth phase guy. Herme may speak here from time to time. He may write, too. If you want to address the elder in me, he’ll respond. Think of him as an avatar carrying the essence of the journey from birth to 75. And now reshaping us (me) into a vessel for the final journey.

Herme reminds me I Live in the Mountains. Herme reminds me I’m Living Alone with a Crowd. Introverted, but connected to family, friends, CBE. A soul name.

 

Did my second trail day yesterday. Maxwell Falls. About a mile from here. Gonna hit a trail twice a week for exercise. Three times a week, treadmill and weights. The trails are good for balance work. Mostly they’re good for Living in the Mountains. Pine Trees, Rock. Wild things.

Here’s a few pics:

 

 

 

 

Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health, Politics, Shadow Mountain, Weather +Climate

This is not that kind of fight

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Beltane and the Beltane Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: CBD. THC. Heart. Inflammation. Life itself. In all its glory and misery. Whacked back. Still ouchy. Rain. Two falling Charlie’s. Our fragile government. Acting class. Falling out of like with Astrology. And Sefer Yetzirah. Weary of stuff that doesn’t feed more than my intellect. Melancholy. No. Melancholy lite.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Rain in the Mountain West.

 

Feeling low. Melancholy lite. Don’t like it. Mostly related to the pain lingering from my Monday fall. Not intense, but reminding me every time I get up from sitting. Dingbat. Don’t wear tennis shoes in the snow. Will pass.

More into searching for and finding joy. Letting go of some now longstanding quests that have become merely intellectual exercises for me: Sefer Yetzirah and Astrology. I’ll finish these classes then I’m focusing on Tarot, on Acting class, on writing. Other reading, thinking that has impact on my heart as well as my head. Some more jazz.

 

In a fog. No, not my mind. My house. At 8,800 feet it happens sometimes. The cloud layer the dewpoint and the temperature converge on top of Shadow Mountain. This time it’s also raining and snerting. An odd mix. Not a mood lifter, but in my instance, a mood intensifier. Still. Moisture good. Drought bad.

 

How bout that Supreme Court? Ideological decisions, rank ideological decisions like overturning established law because they can. That will weaken the Supremes, make their legitimacy as a high court doubtful at best. And legitimacy is what makes any court what it is. The final arbiter of cultural clashes. A minority will feel heard, that’s true. Not the purpose of the Supreme Court.

And. That’s not good for our democracy. We need our institutions to manifest the authority granted them by our constitution. Not tilt themselves against it.

This may, just may because Democrats are fickle creatures, upend the midterms. An organizing tool that binds women, race, and economic condition, even religious conviction together against the Republican, Trump-led, anti-democracy party. The party of autocrats. That’s what I’d use as my slogan if I were the Democratic strategists.

The old free-market, pro-business blueblood, National Review at the extreme GOP is gone now. It’s become the party of grievance, of sweeping away America as I understand it with racist tropes, vote nullifying, voter nullifying, white supremacist, evangelical “piety”, and an astonishing new way saying know nothing.

This is no longer a culture war in the metaphorical sense, but in the naked grab for power, use whatever tools work, back alley street fight way. Democrats come ill-equipped for it. We still believe, even if weakly, in the public square, of debate among reasonable people. Taking the normal tensions of public life and using elections, governing bodies to sort them out.

This. Is. Not. That. Kind. Of. Fight.

(quick weather sidebar. Not only foggy. No. It’s a foggy snow. Strange weather. But. Still. Moisture.)

A liberal democracy has an exposed belly to this kind of attack. Turning its own strengths into weaknesses. Look at Putin, Orban, Egypt, Turkey. Almost France. Democracy’s with no democracy, rather autocracy with a democratic facade. Even Hong Kong. A future Taiwan. If we join them. Melancholy will become a world state of mind.

The Roe v. Wade leak could, at least for a moment, make us find a path that unites the very disparate parts of the Democratic coalition. This would strike at the heart of poor communities, especially poor communities of color. And, women, all women. Liberal religionists, too. Yes, there are such folks though their numbers and power have faded away, become almost ghostlike.

If this uniting does happen, we need to seize the moment. Find the political super glue to hold that coalition up as the shining beacon it still can be. Damn it, we are racists who want to end racism, not further it. Sexists who want women to enjoy full equality and esteem. Greedy fucks who want money to be distributed among the have nots so children do not die. So their parents might have a chance. Internationalists, yes, but internationalists who are pro-trade and pro-immigration.

We’re not that much different from the populist, fascist right in our deeply entrenched sin, but we know what sin is and want to repent. Tangibly, concretely. In public. Not sin more.

That’s our weird strength. And we must own it.

 

 

 

Colorado, Coronavirus, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Great Wheel, Health, Our Land and Home, Plants, Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant., Shadow Mountain, Tarot, The West, US History, Weather +Climate, World History, Writing

Erev Beltane

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Spring and the Beltane Moon

Saturday gratefuls: Kate, always Kate. Pete and the chandelier. Better than I thought. More exercise. Call from Ode. Breakfast with Alan on Monday. No Mouse in the kitchen Rat zapper! Cool night. Wild dream. New Acorns. Still reading Amanda Palmer. Qin Empire: Alliance. TV. Outer Range. TV. High Country News. P-22, the Mountain Lion of Griffith Park in LA.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The predator eating the Mice

 

I throw the dead Mice over the fence. In a very short time they’re gone. Gonna watch this AM. See who this critter is. Glad to feed somebody. Makes this less onerous. A circle of life thing.

 

Presentation tomorrow for Groveland. Zoom. Quite the thing. Something I couldn’t have done otherwise. Devolution. Trying to follow David Sanders advice. Write as I talk. Still working on reimagining faith after all these years. Getting very close to what I saw originally. The key move may be asking why privilege faith in the unseen when the seen has as much power in our daily lives? Our whole lives. I will post Devolution after I’ve presented it. Happy for critiques, thoughts.

 

Ode called from the road yesterday. On his way to Taos. Blown away by the West. His sketchbooks, my blog. A daily discipline. Influenced by life in the moment. A confidant. To whom we tell our story. While other people listen in. Or see. Native to each of us. Over many years. A friend. He saw this similarity.

A legacy of a sort. Maybe a legacy in reality. I’ve ensured Ancientrails’ longevity past my death in my trust. Not really a bid for immortality or legacy, but a way for grandkids and kids to remember Dad or grandpop. What was he like? Oh, yeah. Kate’s quilts, mug rugs, shirts, dresses, wall hangings. A bit of us hanging over in the visible world: stitches, color and ink, words.

 

Healthspan. Asked Kristie about it. She said I could live 10 plus years with the treatments available for prostate cancer. Kristen, my PCP, said 90 was reachable with my current health conditions. Both positive and sobering. I mean, geez, even fifteen years. That would get me back to only 60. Not that long ago.

Still. Able to live, love, write, travel. Tomorrow is not promised. Only this moment is sure. Gonna keep at it until I can’t. Unafraid. Except about getting Covid. Damn that disease got under my skin. Stephanie, the PA I see at Conifer Medical said, “Covid’s weird.” She had a tone of respect in her voice. Wu wei.

 

The world. Odd things. Why my gratefuls include items like prostate cancer, death, grieving, illness, war, climate change. We see only dimly, though that darkly glass. Putin invades Ukraine. Awful. Ukraine stands up to Putin. Amazing. The fractured EU and Nato begins to heal, the West remembers itself. Wonderful. Ukraine pushes Russia out of Kyiv and begins to carry the fight to them. Wow. Biden’s handling of our response elevates him in world leadership.

As does his handling of Covid. Which we may now find ourselves sort of out of. As a pandemic anyhow. Not gone. Probably never gone. Like the flu. Will we need Covid shots, boosters now? Like flu shots. Annually? Maybe. Fine.

Covid has changed the nature of work. Created an economic recovery which has raised wages for the working class. Has cost us so many lives. So much time together. Made us realize how precious community is, even for solitaries like me.

We often see well only in what Kate used to call the retrospectoscope. Why we need history. So much. I love history. And art. And religion. And writing. And people. And Shadow Mountain. And Arapaho National Forest. And Maxwell Creek. And whatever eats my dead Mice. Even the Mice. And life itself. Death, too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Coronavirus, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health, Shadow Mountain, Travel, Weather +Climate

Cold leaving. Slowly. My thoughts on teen mental illness

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Spring and Kate’s Yahrzeit Moon

One of my favorites of her

Monday gratefuls: Snow. Three inches or so. Cooler after heat. Cold on the wane. Stuffy still. A do nothing Sunday. Talk with the Ancient Bros about sex. Nap. Watch TV. Eat See’s candy. Shadow Mountain cold cure. Love the Snow’s fire suppression. I also liked the heat last week. Not the 75 down the hill, but the mid to high 60’s up here. Acting class starting next week. Evergreen Players. Barry on HBO.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Recovering from a cold

 

From the new dining room, The Sewing Room. Today

 

Oh. I’ve become so cautious. Covid. Suppressed immune system. Introversion. Downright timid. Not in love with this side of myself right now. I think. Travel! Then, I think t.r.a.v.e.l. with a pause and a wonder at each period. Money. Time away from my own bed. Meds. Kep with somebody else. What if I get sick? Oh. I don’t like this.

Might be feeling it more while still in the grips of this damned cold. Not back yet. A longer recovery period than I recall. Certainly longer than I want.

It’s been so long since I’ve been sick. I remember the last time. February 2019. Here’s my summary of it from back then: “…had an influenza strength virus for ten days, then I really got sick.” This cold. Mild. That one. Whatever it was. I got down 138 pounds. Kate was in the hospital part of the time. A miserable, miserable month. Immune system, even if not being all it can be, still has oomph.

Loved seeing Ode’s bright blue SUV heading off toward Santa Fe on 285. I could feel his excitement at being on the road again. My friend. Stirred those same yearnings for me. Right now. Not sure I want to go out to lunch with Luke today.

A rebound, yes? There’s a rebound after recovering from a cold if I recall? Hope so. I could use a rebound.

 

Aside from illness and timidity. Snow. Rat Zappers arrived. Haven’t assembled them yet. They had that odd phrase on their boxes: humanely kill. That’s an oxymoron, right? Sure, it means without cruelty. That’s good. No vice grips on the testicles. Or gouged out eyes. However. Still dead.

Gonna use them. That part about stripped electrical wiring. Diane’s a sensible woman. Besides burning down my house could burn down the neighborhood. The town. So there’s that. Seoah and Diane were shoulder-to-shoulder on the mice.

 

Ruth and Cord at Sushi Den

Been reading about the epidemic of teenage mental illness. There’s an NYT series. Here’s a link to part of it. Have been reading it with interest. Ruth’s recent voluntary stint in the psych hospital underlining it for me. Close to home.

Of course there are various causes proposed, but no one seems to know for sure. Social media. Less sleep. Less exercise. Less time with friends. The article features teens from Minnesota, one of whom did commit suicide.

I have a thought here. I haven’t checked it out with Ruth, but I intend to.

We had a birthday party for Gabe last Thursday. He got presents. We sang him a silly Happy Birthday. He was happy. We had a birthday party for Ruth three weeks ago. She and Cord were a teenage couple. Learning the ropes of boygirl land. It was a sweet evening, we all had a good time.

This all seems normal. But these kids are not hitting their teen years in normal time. Covid might be the least abnormal part of it. It disrupted their schooling, keeping them at home and on screen for months at a time. It interfered with their social life. A lot. And don’t forget they waited longer than anyone for the vaccinations. This would raise, as Kate might say, their anxiety titer. Quite a bit. So it might be the least of the abnormalities, but it’s far from trivial.

Trump and the rise of populist politics around the world creates a serious frisson for teens entering the years of identity formation, sexual exploration. Especially with gender fluidity yet another turn of the screw during an already perplexing time. Might the far right win more elections and trample all over teens? It’s happening already. Don’t say gay. Many legislatures passing anti-trans legislation.

School shootings. School shooting drills. Everywhere, not just Colorado. Gun violence common. Even at malls where teens used to congregate. How would you like to have to go to a place every day where you fear being shot?

Looming over all these though is the Big One. Climate change. For those of us in our seventies climate change will not push the needle over into the red zone. Yes. The Miami condos. Yes, more wildfires. Highest temps. Day and night. The beginning of climate refugees. We’ll not live to see the red zone.

But these teenagers will. Think they don’t know that? Think they don’t know that all the time we’re giving the usual counsel about college, and majors, and careers, and driving, and dating? We’re giving them the counsel of our past. Which will not be their future. They’re going to live into a world of difference, unpleasant difference. Not all the unpleasantness identified either.

I remember R.D. Laing who said adjusting to an insane world is the true insanity. I hope their dis-ease says they are not ready to go down without a fight.

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

Kavanah

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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.