Category Archives: Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant.

Keeping it real

Mabon and the Harvest Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Synthroid. TSH. Thyroid gland. Shadow, coming in more often, more easily. Who knows? Good workouts. Cook unity. Chewy. Natural Balance. Rabbit Bites. Dog treats and toys. Lidocaine. Mitzvah committee. Luke. Susan. Steve. Dr. Vu. Mountain View Pain Center. Increasing darkness. Artemis.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Magic of the Ordinary

Year Kavannah: Wu Wei

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

Tarot: Gonna take a rest here. Has become too routine.

One brief shining:

 

A life in full: Still struggling, beating my soft moth wings against the window of my soul, trying to see if it’s enough, this time, these days. But from the outside looking in. How to sense, how to live from my nefesh rather than looking in, wondering if its purpose has become real. Velveteen Rabbit real.

Have I loved my nefesh enough, carried it in my five-year old arms from bedroom to living room, into the car, often onto the playground. Have I told it the stories of my five-year old heart which wondered about dogs and spiders and Mom and that new baby. Do I listen to it now, a grown and old man, for the wisdom of its unique path?

Only to live my tao. My way. That is it. To follow the watery course of my buddha nature as it flows downward from the peak altitude of my birth, through the canyons and valleys of my life, to the wide ocean of our collective unconscious, where it becomes one again with the tao.

You know, I have. My velveteen soul has expressed itself often, guided my neshama as the world of experience shaped me against the anvil of my true self. However I feel about myself in one joy filled or angst filled moment, however you may feel about me, peering in from the abyss between us, I have remained true (of course not always which is nonetheless also part of my tao) to that five-year old’s tender, wonder-filled embrace of an often puzzling and frightening world.

Which means, I feel, that this time filled with the dog, the greenhouse, books and movies, study and esoterica, friends and faraway family, ancientrails, medical this and medical that, is  on that path. Is not a deviation but a continuation in the idiom of today’s possibilities.

So. Why not let it be. Mother Mary, come to me. Whisper words of wisdom. Let it be.

 

Just a moment: I’ve let the activist go dormant while l dealt with cancer and sick, dying Kate, then mourning followed by Jon’s death and a close group hug with Ruth and Gabe.

The rhythm of a life lived in love and in awareness. The activist cannot return, not as he was. Again, a rhythm.

And yet. I see this: He got an entire country running on clean energy. Can he do it again?. My commitment to the Great Work, creating a sustainable presence for humans on Mother Earth cheers. Wants to duplicate, triplicate, over and over and over until we walk again with the sun, the wind, the tides, the heat of Mother’s inner core.

 

 

 

Paganism lies just beneath the surface

Lughnasa and the Cheshbon Nefesh Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Shadow, her sweet self. Dr. Bupathi. Another blood draw. Soon another P.E.T. scan. Oh, joy. Cancer. Driving down the hill. Rides for my nerve ablation procedures. All our organ recitals. Mark’s journey of return to Hafar. Darkness. Welcome it. Vikings. JJ McCarthy.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Dr. Bupathi

Year Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah: Ometz Lev   Strength of the heart

Tarot: Nine of Wands. (Druid Craft)

  • Inner fortitude: Past struggles have made you wiser and tougher. The card encourages you to trust the wisdom of your experiences and to have faith in your ability to handle whatever comes next.

One brief shining: I dropped into Noodles and Company, bought a large bowl of mac and cheese, a side salad, rewarding myself with comfort food for driving down the hill, hearing the news I expected to hear, taking care of bidness, thinking I might have to start being even more kind to myself if I’m in new territory.

 

Health: Saw Bupathi. As expected, he ordered a new blood draw. And, another PET scan. I’ll see him again when that’s been done. Short version. This rise in my PSA, by itself, is not concerning. If it jumps again? New drug protocols.

Here’s an oddity. The Rocky Mountain Cancer Care Offices had Halloween decorations up. Not just a few. Witch’s conical hats. Bats. Black Cat. Plastic Pumpkins. Strands of purple and black crepe paper. More. In every hall and hung with a decorator’s eye.

This celebration seems both early to me and yet so apt. If there is any place where the veil between the worlds thins out everyday, all year it’s at an oncology practice. Many, perhaps most of us who visit here, have seen the possibility of death move closer, some so close her breath is hot on the back of their neck.

Sure Halloween doesn’t hold the same punch that it did during early Celtic times, but it retains the spirit of it actually pretty well. Trick or treaters costumed in the night do represent, though most don’t realize it, the back and forth between this world and the Other World so pronounced during this holiday of Summer’s End, Samain.

I mentioned all the decorations to the phlebotomist who had just slid a needle painlessly into a vein on my left arm. “Like Christmas,” she said. “Yes,” I replied, “Only scary.” She laughed.

Do you ever wonder about Halloween? How much effort some folks put into it? Their yards decorated with ten-foot skeletons, witches standing around a boiling cauldron, maybe a devil, or a vampire? Pumpkin lights. Elaborately carved real pumpkins.

Paganism always lies just below the surface. In the holidays of most world religions. In the resurgence here and in Europe of diverse pagan “traditions.” It’s there to receive those whose faces turn toward the greensward, to the soil, to seasonal change. When the miracle of photosynthesis goes from science to awe.

Halloween speaks to our need to recognize death, to know the fallow time will come for us all.

Yirah

Summer and the Korea Moon

Monday gratefuls: Morning Darkness, that chill. Dull aches. Better than sharp pain. Exercise. Tramadol. Shadow and her 4:30 wake up call. Artemis glowing from the heater. 68 degrees. 57 outside. Prolia. Ultrasound. Lakewood at 1 p.m., 95 degrees. Great Sol. Luna. Perseids. Andromeda. Polaris. Ursa Major. Orion. Rigel. Vega. Fitbit. Mandarin Oranges. Water. Our shattered Rock Aquifer. Drip irrigation.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Fixing stuff

Year Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Yirah. Awe.

Tarot:   The Moon on Water. #18*      How can I live in radical amazement today?

One brief shining: Stop a moment, listen, see, watch for the inner world manifesting itself, wrestling your senses into observing the sacred in the Rock ledge, the Bird of dawn, the beat of your heart, the gentle always of breathing, the toilet bowl, the sink, everything.

 

Heschel: Radical amazement requires a willingness to see the outer with the inner most eye. That eye sees through the Nefesh from its forever home in the Neshama, goes beyond ego and persona to what Heidegger calls the dasein, our thereness in the world, always changing always intimate, never repeating. We penetrate and get penetrated by the World. Yin and yang.

How can we not be amazed? We are in the World and the World is in us. We find no space between ourselves and what our senses report as the out there.

This is the One in its oneness. Sacred World. Sacred You.

For example. I went outside in the dark of morning to check on the drip irrigation. It’s not watering as fully as I need. Once I saw this, I glanced at the eastern Sky, just above the Lodgepoles.

Venus in her planetary splendor. Bright. Alone for the moment. Great Sol washed out more distant Stars as morning grew brighter.

You might say Venus lies faraway in the vasty deepness of our Solar System. Yes, it does. But she pressed into me, lighting up my retinal nerve, as close as close can be. I am Venus and Venus is me. Not separate, one.

Consider the Puffballs in my back yard. We’ve had plenty of Rain in the afternoons so the Fungi make their way into view. As our body relies on networks of neurons, the Fungi rely on an unseen network of mycelium. Neither are visible. When we encounter the Puffball or our friend, their uniqueness requires millions upon millions of tiny electrical pulses, the movement of information and food through intricate networks of connecting cells.

How can I keep from singing?

 

*This card is a strong indicator to dive deep into your intuition and/or yourself. The Moon illuminates our world, but it is an illumination void of color – it makes our familiar world unfamiliar and leaves us to color things with our own intuition and creativity. The Sun takes away the questions, which is why I feel the Moon is so closely drawn to intuition and looking deeper at what is around us and within us.

However, this is much more than a Moon card. The path of moonlight across the marsh waters speaks volumes to those with an Avalonian inclination. It is a time for reflection and inner journeying to the Isle. Also depicted is an auroch, an extinct kind of wild cattle and ancestor of modern cattle, which were known to stand as tall as elephants. This would have been a beast to be wary of, even for skilled hunters. Indeed, cave walls depict the auroch in a way that suggests respect.

Learned Enough?

Summer and the Greenhouse Moon II

Thursday gratefuls: Shadow. The leash. The last big hurdle. Tomato plants wilting in the heat, then restored by water. Rich. Susan. Tara. Marilyn. Joanne. MVP last night. The quarter Moon. The Elk Cow and her Calf crossing the road. Wild Neighbors. The second law of thermodynamics. Science. The Humanities. Colleges and universities. Learning is life. Loving is life.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Hearing on the side of merit

Week Kavannah: Wu Wei. Flow.

One brief shining: Shadow lies behind my chair, the yellow leash still attached, now in the third day of desensitization; when I take her outside for a walk, part of the process, she jumps up, paws on my chest, then her left one slipping around my waist in a clingy hug.

 

Dog journal: My empathy has often been close to exhaustion, not with Shadow, but because of her struggles. And mine. This relationship has not been easy. Climb one Mountain only to realize the next peak is higher and right next to the one just summited.

Natalie says the leash is the last big hurdle. God, I hope so. I’d like to settle in to a doggy rhythm with Shadow by my side. I know it’s going to happen. Not when.

 

Mental health: No doubt, dear reader, you caught the melancholy tones in my posts over the last six months. As so often happens for me, I only notice them much later than others.

The pain. Also exhausts my empathy, especially my empathy for myself. Avoidance comes to dominate movement. Move less. Hurt less. Though because, as Halle said, we’re meant to move, this tactic has self-defeat built in. Move less, hurt longer eventually more.

With those two drains on my empathy, Shadow’s struggles and the pain, I’ve had little left over to do what needs to be done. That is, manage all this in a healthy way.

Not to say life has been awful. No. But it has been stretched taut, leaving little room for dreams. Though.

The Greenhouse: Was a dream that is now a reality. I forgot, though Shadow should have more than alerted me to this, realizing dreams has its own cost.

This works. That doesn’t. The heat in the greenhouse, the point after all, reached 104 yesterday. I put a remote thermo sensor in it with a readout station in the house.

When I went out to check all of my Tomato Plants had shriveled, looked dead. I hit the manual button for the irrigation. It ran for twelve minutes and the Leaves filled back up. This means I will need a fan to help modulate the heat.

On the other end the temperature went into the low forties two nights ago. Tomatoes prefer night time temperatures in the sixties. Need that heater which I agreed Nathan could install later.

Learning and growth come when we move outside our comfort zones. Yeah. So I’ve heard. Well, I’ve spent plenty of time over the last six months way outside of my comfort zone. I must be learned enough by now.

radical roots II

Beltane and the Greenhouse Moon

Rough Draft for my Radical Roots of Religion class project.

 

Inflection points. Distrust of previously treasured institutions. Colleges and Universities. Religion. The U.S. Government. Labor unions. Science and scientists. A sense that the game of life has a cheat code known only to certain races and genders. An at the most basic level knowing that the game no longer needs new players.

Too. That moment in history, ours, when extravagant corporate and consumer spending pushed onto, then well beyond, the boundary between sustainability and self-destruction. Sea levels. Hurricanes. Shifting garden zones. Coral bleaching. The sixth great extinction. And, in spite of clear evidence, no effective measures taken.

Also, paradoxically, a time when individuals report feeling alone. Lonely. More people, less relating. A time when any moral or ethical sense gets shredded by those in positions of power meant to ensure them. A time when the future is not all it used to be.

Yes. Our time. And a propitious time it is. There’s a saying in politics, never waste a good catastrophe. Why? Because when the zeitgeist sinks lower and lower, people will be open to a change. Sometimes any change.

Look at all the MAGA voters who support the peaceful transfer of wealth from the poorest to the wealthiest. Who applaud the pulling back of American support from a world riven by factionalism and despair.

We are at an inflection point. A political, climatological, religious inflection point. This is not the time for incremental change, tweaking old menus for social change. No. This is a time for dreamers and schemers. For people willing to reconstruct, reimagine, re-form their own most basic assumptions about life and its purpose.

The four figures we studied in this class: Kaplan, Heschel, Reb Zalman, Art Green each had radical rethinking to do. And they accepted the task.

As Jews in that tradition and yet liberated from it as a constriction, we find ourselves the ones alive now. Thrown, as Heidegger put it, into this inflection point, with sages as guides, but as guides only. They cannot walk this path for us.

It is up to us to find a new way, one that encompasses Gaia consciousness, a non-supernatural God, action against injustice, and Art Green’s embrace of old forms with new meaning.

A new way that shakes the foundations of metaphysics-as Kaplan did. One that sees the points of cleavage in the religious world and embraces them, challenges them. As Kaplan and Reb Zalman did. One that lives into Judaism as a reservoir of knowledge and ritual, yet a Judaism always adding new knowledge and reconstructing old rituals. As Art Green and Rabbi Rami Shapiro are doing.

And, we must do it together. How? If I have time left, let’s discuss.

 

Here’s an example of a place to start metaphysically:

Addenda: “A new proposal by an interdisciplinary team of researchers challenges that bleak conclusion. They have proposed nothing less than a new law of nature, according to which the complexity of entities in the universe increases over time with an inexorability comparable to the second law of thermodynamics—the law that dictates an inevitable rise in entropy, a measure of disorder. If they’re right, complex and intelligent life should be widespread.

In this new view, biological evolution appears not as a unique process that gave rise to a qualitatively distinct form of matter—living organisms. Instead, evolution is a special (and perhaps inevitable) case of a more general principle that governs the universe. According to this principle, entities are selected because they are richer in a kind of information that enables them to perform some kind of function.”

They argue that the basic laws of physics are not “complete” in the sense of supplying all we need to comprehend natural phenomena; rather, evolution—biological or otherwise—introduces functions and novelties that could not even in principle be predicted from physics alone.

Hazen came across Szostak’s idea while thinking about the origin of life—an issue that drew him in as a mineralogist, because chemical reactions taking place on minerals have long been suspected to have played a key role in getting life started. “I concluded that talking about life versus nonlife is a false dichotomy,” Hazen said. “I felt there had to be some kind of continuum—there has to be something that’s driving this process from simpler to more complex systems.” Functional information, he thought, promised a way to get at the “increasing complexity of all kinds of evolving systems.””

Wired

This Is Not the Way

Beltane and the Greenhouse Moon

Sunday gratefuls: A day of no-things. Shadow and I outside, drop, walk, stop, drop, turn, walk, drop. Her eagerness. Her five o’clock licking. Sciatica. Morning darkness. The morning service. The Shema. Tara. Ruth, home two days ago, leaving for Alaska today. Gabe, now a senior. Whoa. Mary in Seoul. Seoah, Murdoch. My son. Mark walks to downtown Al Kharj. Shadow Mountain.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: MRI

Week Kavannah: Wholeness and Peacefulness. Shleimut. Integrating pain into my daily life.

One brief shining: Sorry, Marines, pain is not weakness leaving the body, no; but, it is a constant reminder of being alive, of still having a body that can identify itself through the jolt that starts in the hip, gathers intensity around the knee, and on occasion flashes to the foot.

 

Back and cancer: Get MRI results tomorrow. Buphati at 3 pm. On Friday I see Kylie my Army officer retired P.A. for preparation. I have a SPRINT device in my future. The bogo MRI. Checking for cancer and readying me for a pain reduction, elimination procedure. Rare confluence of medical care.

Ouch, ouch, ouch. ouch. Sciatica is a son of a bitch. Above 10. A crescendo, then a falling away. I. Do. Not. Like. It.

If the SPRINT device works, I will send up hallelujahs in the name of its inventor, Kylie, and the doctor who installs it. If it doesn’t? I’m no worse off than before. Probably nerve ablation.

If there’s cancer in my hip? Don’t know. But Buphati will have things to recommend, I know.

 

Reading: I’m on a run of science fiction and magic. John Scalzi’s Starter Villain and Kaiju Preservation Society. Jim Butcher’s Dresden Files. The Gray Man and Daniel Silva set aside for the moment.

My serious reading of late has been for my two Kabbalah Experience classes. A New Story for Human Consciousness and the Radical Roots of Religion. The first, learning to retell, reimagine the story of Adam and Eve. And, in so doing, realizing we can reframe, reconstruct any story, including the one we tell ourselves about who we are in this world.

The second investigating moments when Judaism received a radical refit. Focused on Mordecai Kaplan, Abraham Joshua Heschel, Reb Zalman, and Art Green, but looking backward to Maimonides, the Bal Shem Tov, the destruction of the second Temple and the rise of Rabbinic Judaism.

I’m excited about these classes. I want to retell the story of Adam and Eve. Maybe my own story, too. Most of all I’m excited about considering what the next revolution might be in Judaism, imagining it, perhaps helping to build it.

 

Just a moment: Whoo, boy. We’ve crossed over and I didn’t really get it until I read this paragraph in an article titled: “Why Trump’s push for ‘gold-standard science’ has researchers alarmed.”*

Crossed over to what? An age of ideology, a time when political thought, doled out by political commissars, trumps (see what I did there?) decision making for any other reason.

This is a direct route to a Stalinesque, Mao Tse Tungesque form of governance. It is, as George Will observed in his strange opinion piece about Trump as a progressive, a form of Statism.

I admit I’m an Enlightenment, scientific method guy. But. I know that science does not occur in a political vacuum. Its funding, its direction, even its focus often has political influence. Look, for example, to the Agricultural and Mechanical universities dotted around the U.S. and delivering junk methods to farmers that kill the soil and enrich Big Ag.

Even so. I support science and the scientific endeavor to understand, to grasp the world around us as it is, not as we either imagine or wish it to be. No political commissar will know scientific facts better than scientists themselves.

I do agree with one facet of this critique of science, however. Many Americans have lost faith in science and we need, as a country, to help restore it. This is not the way.

 

 

 

” “And in a “Gold Standard Science” executive order last week, President Donald Trump outlined a new level of oversight over what counts as quality evidence and what does not, (emphasis mine) putting “a senior appointee designated by the agency head” in charge of overseeing “alleged violations.” Michael Kratsios, director of the White House Office of Science and Technology Policy, said in a briefing that the goal of the executive order is to “rebuild the American people’s confidence in the national science enterprise … the status quo of our research enterprise has brought diminishing returns, wasted resources and public distrust.”” Washington Post, June 1, 2025.

Another riff on tactile spirituality

Beltane and the Greenhouse Moon

Nathan has come with his shovel and tape measure. Digging out the foundation area for the greenhouse and its companion raised beds on either side. It’s been a late Spring for Mountain gardeners, so I may end up planting along with others. He says 5-7 days, weather permitting.

Love. Sex. Gardening. Cooking. Dancing. Hugs. To separate these from the realm of spirituality without a backward glance? Just silly. When Shadow jumps up to be hugged and petted, the universe and I display our intimate bond. The love between us made bodily.

Having a fresh salad of Lettuce, Radishes, Beets, and Onions harvested only moments ago. Transubstantiation. Spirit of Great Sol literally made flesh. Light into food. Need another definition of miracle? Spirituality expresses the felt connection between and among us. With each other. With the One.

The wild ecstasy of dancing in the Rain. Water. Water. Made clean and potable by Sister Cloud and Brother Wind. Dripping off hair and hats, clothes clinging to bodies. Maybe a bonfire nearby for drying off. How else to celebrate the gods at Beltane?

Cutting Tomatoes, peeling Garlic, chopping Onions and Cucumbers, Red Peppers, Yellow Peppers, Green Peppers. Vinegar. Olive Oil. Salt. Stir. Into a tureen. Ladling the gazpacho into bowls. Handing out day old baguettes for dipping. A cold beer or iced tea nearby. Conversation. Smiles. Laughter. Bonds over food.

Is there a heart, a lev (remember: heart-mind), that fails to recognize the prayer in feeding a friend. In embracing a Dog. In caring for the Land.

The Dog. Shadow. The Greenhouse. Artemis. The Home. Shadow Mountain. The Mountains: The Rockies. Our cathedral ceiling a blue sunny Colorado Sky.

Let me give you a clear example. Since mid-April Shadow has been skittish, running when I get up, her ears pinned back in an attitude of uncertainty. Can I trust him? All because I rushed trying to get her on a leash.

Natalie came, replacing Amy. She suggested two things: Feed her her meals by hand. Do this walk, stop, drop a treat behind game. I’ve done both of those things. Twice a day I feed her from my outstretched hand. At least twice a day, five minutes at a time, I walk in the backyard with her trailing. When I stop, she comes around me. I drop a treat behind and turn in a different direction. She chooses to follow me.

In only a few days she’s begun jumping up for a cuddle, staying close. Hey. That’s the bond of Earth and Sea, Moon and Sun, Mother and Child, Dog companion and Dog. Felt. Held. Touched. Tactile. Spiritual.

Keep this truth close to your heart. The universe, the One, knows the leaf of the Aspen, the bark of the Lodgepole, the fur of a Dog, the laugh of a child, the safety of love, the profound connection in holding hands, in making love all as One.

Chi winds us together, threading one neshama into the neshama of another, apparently different, yet all One. Celebrate. Dance to the music.

Shou Sugi Ban Treated Wood for Artemis Greenhouse

Beltane and the Wu Wei Moon II (3% crescent)

Sunday gratefuls: Shadow jumping onto my legs this morning for a hug. So sweet. Fun with old socks. Our new, changing relationship. Back pain. Zerizut for p.t. and resistance work. Tara. Alan. Rich. Luke. Mussar. Shabbat. Morning prayers. Enveloped by Rain and Fog. Mom and Dad, both veterans. My son, a future veteran. All those who defend us with their lives.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Rain

Week Kavannah: Zerizut. Enthusiasm. for p.t. and resistance.

One brief shining: As Great Sol began to disappear behind Black Mountain yesterday, a rainy Fog rolled in and gave my backyard a ghostly appearance, Lodgepoles coming in and out of sight, Shadow rushing inside all wet from running through a Cloud.

 

On Ancientrails: You may notice some extra posts here and there. I’ll signal them with something in the future, probably an image. You will find my regular as usual posts with the format of long standing.

These new posts are me trying to write out, work out my sense of where I am in my thought process about certain matters like spirituality, theology, politics. I’ve had this urge to write down things I’ve thought about for a long time. They’re incomplete sentences, non-systematic because I’ve admitted to myself that I’m not a system builder or even an always logical thinker. There is this strain of mysticism, a poetry of the inner world that means more to me than a syllogism. Though I love syllogisms, too.

You will know these entries by their lack of gratefuls, sparks, kavannah, one brief shining. Please feel free to ignore them. They’re me scratching my name in the wet Sand. I want a record of those ideas before the King Tide rolls in.

 

Dog journal: Shadow bounded into my arms this morning before I got out of bed, her paws on my outstretched legs. As if overnight, she’d forgotten to be shy, to be scared. I hugged her and she wriggled happy, licking my face. Yes, I said to her, this is what I want. What I need. An oh so special moment.

 

Back pain/cancer: Tara will take me to my open-sided MRI. I’ll have taken an Ativan for my claustrophobia so I’ll be talkative with little executive function for a filter. Glad I trust her.

Here’s an oddity with this MRI. Both my oncologist and my pain doc want images of my hips. Both have sent orders. I hope that doesn’t screw things up.

Oncologist checking for metastatic growth in my hips. Pain doc getting information for a possible insertion of a SPRINT device later. Two diagnoses for the price of one! BOGO.

 

Just a moment: We will move into the Artemis Greenhouse Moon tomorrow. Nathan comes tomorrow to begin building. He thinks it will take about a week. I’m excited. I want/need to grow things again.

It will be done in shou sogi ban treated wood. This is an ancient Japanese wood treatment that involves charring the surface of a board, then sealing it. Nathan has taught himself how to do this.

Since I’m starting a little late in the gardening year, I’ll have to be careful with what I plant, but I’ll get crops this year. Plus there will be flowers.

 

 

 

 

Artemis: A Riff on Tactile Spirituality

Beltane and the Wu Wei Moon II

A Tactile Spirituality

“I live at 8,800 feet in zip code 80433. I’m having a greenhouse built in my backyard. What vegetables will grow well in it. Look for heirloom varieties. Include recommended planting dates. Mostly I want salad ingredients and greens. Tomatoes.”

This is the prompt I gave chatgpt for a quick assist in knowing what to plant. I got back 21 pages of detailed recommendations, including specific heirloom varieties of Tomatoes, Lettuce, Radishes, Carrots, Beets, Onions, and Herbs.

Spirituality has the curse of the three-story universe, René Descartes, and destructive deconstruction. That is, Abrahamic prayer and devotional practice has historically “aimed” its prayers up toward the heavens and away from the corruptions of the flesh. Descartes’s dramatic division of the mind from the body reinforced a religious path focused on the immaterial mind, released from the body. And, in turn, Mother Earth. While deconstruction did unveil the power dynamics involved in how our agriculture works, how choice of books for a syllabus reflected white privilege, and the patriarchal symbolism of the three-story universe, it also made demythologizing a knee jerk way of removing mystery and grace.

As a result a tactile spirituality seems, at first look, an oxymoron. The mind. The heavens. Transcendence. Those are the domain of spirit. Not the soil. Not the forests. Not the feet or the hands. Not the world of this reality, this busy, noisy, fussy, often bloody and violent reality. How can we gain the peace, the calm, the centeredness where spiders crawl, illness ravages, and death dominates?

That’s where Artemis Greenhouses comes in. About as down and dirty a human activity, or I should say, human aided activity as I can imagine. Soil (no, not dirt) under the fingernails. Nurturing small plants. Beets. Spinach. Lettuce. Radishes. Plucking off predating insects. Blocking out Deer and Elk. Harvesting the red and white Radish. The red Beet. Rainbow colored Chard. Green Kale and Spinach. Eating them.

Fuel for the body. That most inelegant of spiritual residences, the body. Full of blood and waste, nutrients and foreign matter. Under some understandings only a vessel for the soul, a way to keep the mind alive.

No. Souls are us. Our living flesh ensouled. Sacred. Hardly ordinary unless you call, as I do, the ordinary sacred. What we touch feels the hand of a god, the god. What we embrace knows the warmth of a god, the god. The soil in which we plant seeds quickens when we work it.

The Mule Deer Doe who feeds her newborn fawn feeds a divine presence, a unique and precious never to be repeated instance of god made flesh. Maxwell Creek filled with Spring Rain pulls bits of Rock and Earth from its bank as the god-in-water, returning the Rocky Mountains to the World Ocean.

Sure. The Torah. Yes. Talmud Torah. The hands of living gods have written it and the minds of living Jews finds god within, upon its pages, in its stories. It teaches us. Yet, it teaches the same message as Maxwell Creek. That god rushes to the Sea. That god fills every molecule of Water.

I read the scripture written in the bark of my Lodgepole companion. I see the yellow Flame of the Aspen Catkin against the blue Flame of a Colorado Sky and read of life’s elegant and graceful re-emergence in this, the wet season.

In my world all spirituality is tactile. In Shadow jumping on my legs. In turning the pages of a Torah commentary. In hearing the voice of Luke or Ginny or Janice. In tasting a bit of Lettuce, an Onion, a fresh heirloom Tomato. All of the tactile is spiritual.

Walk Toward the Light

Beltane and the Wu Wei Moon II

Sunday gratefuls: Shadow. Her behavior. Spring springing. 50 degrees at 7 am. Greens. Lodgepole Needles. Grass. Yellow-green Aspen Catkins. The side of Black Mountain. Clump Grass. Bearberry. Along Maxwell Creek, Willow Leaflets on bright yellow new growth. Red Osier Dogwood. My Greenhouse. Soon. Planting again. Yet new pain. Great Sol, supporter of photosynthesis since 3.8 billion years ago. Mother Earth, supporting life since around the same time. Homo sapiens, trying to understand it all for over 300,000 years.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Warm Days

Week Kavannah: Zerizut. Enthusiasm. II

One brief shining: Shadow’s night out began in an ordinary way with her going outside around 4 p.m. and ended with her finally coming inside at 7:30 a.m. for her breakfast while in between those hours she rejected coming inside in spite of the door being opened every fifteen minutes until 9 pm and three times later in the night.

 

Dog journal: Officially and with chagrin I’m beyond confused about Shadow. She no longer sits beside me, runs from me when I approach her, and last night, as I wrote above, she refused to come inside. In another location this last may not seem a safety problem, but up here in the Mountains we have Mountain Lions. Dogs are a good meal.

I can’t see inside her doggy brain and oh I wish I could. What of my behavior has she interpreted so negatively? I use all positive training. I don’t yell at her. Though the occasional sigh of frustration or damn it does slip through.

With all my years of experience with Dogs I’ve never encountered anything even close. I love her and I know she loves me. Even though something has come between us right now. I feel sad and frustrated, having already spent a lot on personal training sessions.

I’m considering putting her in a holistic, two-week, all positive training program. It would be a boarding situation, but with the promise that “In this 2-week (14 days) program your pet will learn all of our “Foundation Skills” ( Sit, Down, Place/Stay, Come when called, Walk on a loose leash, Leave it, Drop it, Off )”

The location is not far from here, in Pine. And they only accept one Dog at a time for this program. Shadow would live in their house. I’m considering this because I’m not sure I can keep her without those commands. It hurts like hell to get out of bed, even to get up from a chair and having her refuse to come in could be a deal breaker.

 

Just a moment: Talking with my Ancient Brothers about how we sustain our spirit in these times. Yes, darkness seeps from the news. Yes, the country feels sick, even in despair. Yet. My life has so much light. So many friends. So many Wild Neighbors. So many Dogs. Great Sol. Books and art. Movies and television shows. Family. Jewish civilization.

Look for the light in your life. It can, no, it will dispel the darkness. Let it be so.