Category Archives: Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant.

Solar Lighting

Spring                                                           Bee Hiving Moon

sun calendarThe days are getting longer.  The large calendar I have with the yellow egg-yolk like mass in the center and the months around it in a circle grows closer to the calendar’s inner circle day-by-day. The yellow mass represents hours of sunlight, thicker and closer to the calendar as we grow close to the summer solstice, then gently beginning to pull away until a large gap exists by December 21st, the winter solstice.  It’s a clever way to visualize a prime seasonal driver, hours of sunlight per day.

My order for nitrogen is on the way and I’m hoping the soil will at least be workable enough to plant the cool season crops before we leave for Denver.  Kate and I look forward to the gardening time, though we’re also glad for the break during the winter.

I moved further into Book I of the Metamorphoses today.  Deucalion, the son of Epithemus, the sole male survivor of the deluge, says, “Earth is the great mother (and)…the bones in the earth’s body are stones.”  He and Pyrrha, daughter of Prometheus, and the sole remaining female after the flood, will repopulate the earth by throwing stones behind themselves as they walk and the stones will become humans.

[Deucalion and Pyrrha Repeople the World by Throwing Stones Behind Them, c.1636 (oil on canvas)  by Rubens, Peter Paul (1577-1640)]

Her bones are still turning into people today.

 

A Firefly Lit Lane

Spring                                                         Bee Hiving Moon

Down the well this morning, tapping into the underground stream.  Still searching for an image.  Something to coalesce the third lifetime, the third phase of this body/mind’s adventure here on earth.

One came to me.  Suddenly.  But it feels apt.  I’ll have to let it set for awhile.  Work with it itself in the imagery extension section of the workbook, but it feels pretty good.

The image is of a lane headed back into a woods where the lane continues but with tree branches creating a leafy roof over it.  The time is late twilight, the season late summer.  The air is cool but humid.  And the lane, where it enters the woods, is lit by thousands of fireflies, blinking on and off, shifting locations, providing a weak but real luminescence so I can follow the path into the woods.  Because the fireflies are spread out along the path’s length, they also give the lane a feel of depth, as if it proceeds quite a long way into the woods.

This is not a mind birthed image, but a memory.  I saw this lane and these fireflies several years ago during a trip to New Harmony, Indiana.  I’ve written here about New Harmony before, but just as a reminder, it was founded by the Rappites who created a very successful religious community there in the mid-19th century.  Much of New Harmony’s built environment has its roots it that era.

When they moved to Old Economy Village in Pennsylvania, the Welsh industrialist Robert Owen bought the whole town for his utopian community, a quasi-socialist endeavor.  He brought with him from Britain a number of scientists and engineers committed to his scheme on a ship dubbed the Boatload of Knowledge.  The community didn’t last long, but the U.S. Geological Survey among other things grew out of the efforts of the people who came to New Harmony.

Since that time, New Harmony has continued to have a religious and intellectual bent.  In fact, as I looked down the lane into the firefly lit woods, on my left was an open air Episcopal Church designed by famed architect, Philip Johnson and on my right was a small garden marked by tiny drumlins planted with firs and dotted with boulders carved with quotes by Paul Tillich, the Protestant theologian, whose tomb lies there, too, in Paul Tillich Park.

In fact, this aerial photograph shows the spot where I stood between the open air church on the left and Paul Tillich Park on the right, looking north down the lane into what at night was a tree lined bower over an ancientrail leading into an infinite distance.  This feels like a perfect third phase image.

Increase the Flow of the Water

Spring                                                            Bee Hiving Moon

A major reason for doing the Intensive Journal Workshop was to restart my meditative practice and I’ve done that, now meditating in the morning and before bed. In its emphasis on integrating inner and outer work the journal itself  is a spiritual method fit for a humanist to practice though it is agnostic in its essence.

In the workshops I’ve attended many attendees have been Catholic and I can see why. This is a way that puts a premium on regular introspection and openness to the movement of the underground stream.  And, it insists on bringing that work into daily life.  This would feel familiar to someone who knows the monastic spiritualities.

It also has a distinctively Quaker feel with its emphasis on being led by the inner life (what Quaker’s call the inner light) and working in silence.  Though I never became a Quaker I’ve always felt close to their way.

Perhaps the point of closest connection between my own philosophical position and Progoff’s comes through Lao Tse.  A parable Progoff often uses sounds Taoist to me. When we come to an obstacle, imagine a large boulder, in the stream of our life, we have several options.  We can try to go around it.  We can climb out of the stream and attempt a You can’t control the Universe. You are the water, not the rockportage.  We can probe for a way under the obstacle.  Or, we can remain stuck behind it.

Progoff offers an unusual strategy. Increase the flow of water in the stream.  Then, we can simply ride over the rock, carried by the extra water.  How do we do this in our life? By identifying the things that are working and emphasizing them.  As we increase our activity in the things that are working, we increase the positive flow in our life and any obstacles diminish, in fact, we may be able to float right over them.

Progoff offers this approach as an alternative to the problem oriented strategy of most therapy.  I like this idea, which is essentially the goal of Jungian analysis, too.  In my troubled late twenties and early thirties, I sought therapy, including doing outpatient alcohol treatment through Hazelden.  I went through a number of therapists, all well-intentioned, kind and compassionate, but each focused on my problems.  As I focused on the problems in therapy, then tried to work out the solutions in my life, it seemed my whole life was problematic.

It wasn’t until I found John Desteian and his Jungian approach that I began to appreciate my virtues.  Though I continued to grapple with anxiety and depression, I dealt with them as a whole person experiencing debilitating symptoms, rather than as a “depressed person” or an “anxious person.”  This insight, which came over years, allowed me to increase the flow of water in my stream so I could metaphorically rise above them.  That is, I continue to experience melancholy and anxiety, but as episodes in a full life, rather than as definitive of my life.

The Progoff work underscores and reinforces this understanding.

 

What Is My Life Reaching For?

Spring                                                              Bee Hiving Moon

On the last afternoon of the Intensive Journal Workshop we had an exercise focused on what our life is reaching for.  In the first morning we had defined the current period of our life: in my case the time after Kate’s retirement.  By the last afternoon we had worked ourselves into the next period of our lives.  Since we were newly in this next period, this exercise asked us to feel, below the conscious level, where our lives wanted to go.

Here is my sense of what my life is reaching for in this next period:

1. a bountiful, sustainable nutrient dense harvest of fruit and vegetables.

2. a way to use the Great Wheel website to advance the Great Work through literature, science and political activism.

3. a third phase (third lifetime) writing portfolio with short story writing credits as a floor for selling novels.

4. a schedule for translating and commenting on at least several books of the Metamorphoses

5. still more of a stable, wonderful marriage, regular visits and communication with kids and grandkids and friends.

6. more mutual travel opportunities with Kate.

As I work in the inner movement of my life, I can feel a quieting, a confidence that who I am and what I do is enough-no matter the outcomes.  This feeling has grown stronger since Kate retired and continues to strengthen with time.

In my third lifetime I will be calm, steady, productive.

 

Three Lifetimes: What to Do?

Spring                                                               Bee Hiving Moon

The process of reintegration begins now.  These intensive journal workshops mark an end to one period of life and the beginning of another.  That’s by design.  The period I was in when I got to Tucson began when Kate retired, when I left Tucson I had begun a new period, her retirement in the past, and what’s in the present and future is life in the third phase for both of us, together.

BTW:  A big aha on the idea of the third phase which came while listening to a cd by Ira Progoff (Intensive Journal creator) speaking about the process of the journal’s development.  He noted that in society’s not all that long ago, the average lifespan was thirty to forty years.  At some point in that life a death/rebirth ritual would occur and the initiate would emerge an adult member of the society with a particular role to fill.

In contemporary civilization two realities make that clear process difficult, not impossible, but difficult.  The first is the secular nature of society.  We have stripped away the culturally specific religious practices by uprooting ourselves from the context in which those practices had unquestioned authenticity.  So the ritual elements of traditional culture simply has no weight in the modern psyche.

The second reality is the one that directly bears on the third phase.  Progoff notes that with modern life spans an individual might live two or three of the lifetimes available to a member of a traditional society.  Each full lifetime requires a death/rebirth ritual to adjust/reconfigure the image the self carries as its primary identity.  We’ve created two fundamental images for the first two phases:  student and worker/parent.  We have no fundamental image for the third phase, or, in Progoff’s analysis, our third lifetime.

One of the key tasks in the intensive journal workshop itself is to come up with an image for the next phase of your life.  I’m not sure I have it yet, though the Greenman has come to me.

The Celtic triskele (see above) can serve as symbol for this tri-fold life that each of us now is heir to.  The bottom two spirals are the beginning pair:  student and worker/parent. The third life, the third phase, sits atop the first two, growing out of them, but beyond them.

 

Land of Enchantment

Spring                                                      Hare Moon

Santa Fe.  The adobe here catches the eyes, then the scent of pinyon smoke and the art galleries.  Also, the number of thin gray-haired citizens moving around with purpose, as if channeling Georgia O’Keefe.  It’s easy to imagine a chunk of this Latin influenced culture breaking off and taking root in other places.  An emphasis on beauty, use of native products and Latin American diffusion carried by sophisticated Latinos, artists, writers and outdoor enthusiasts.  Maybe as Chaco Canyon was to the pueblo cultures of the 850-1150 period.

By this time in the trip the Garmin, once unwelcome, has made me her bitch.  I hang on her every word, follow her exactly.  I think the voice model they hired might have been a dominatrix at some point.  It does take away the anxiety of navigating, especially in cities and off the main highway systems.  I like that.

When I drove from Holbrook to Gallup at 4 am yesterday, a sickle moon hung in the sky with Venus about 4 degrees away in line with the bottom point of the sickle.  It is an image that I will work with in the journal.  The pueblo people emulate the clouds, building up communities, then dissipating and moving on.  This moon hung in a clear sky and it was not difficult at all to stand with the pueblo people and the dine of the last thousand plus years and see with them the blessing.  The clouds created by the heat of the day would extend this beauty into the blue reaches of a sunlit sky.

Our kiva sees the same moon and planet, sees clouds in the day and the procession of stars at night.  Yes, our seasons are different, but plants grow in both our kivas and so do animals.  We are different, yet we are the same.

Follow the Light

Spring                                                Hare Moon

We’re at the mid-point of the workshops, currently in the depth context focus.  This was the one that stimulated my desire to attend a journal workshop again.  My spiritual life, meditation in particular, but also working with images and dreams had gotten shoved aside as I cranked up the creative side of my life.

This was not a conscious act, just a gradual slipping away, until I had become unaware of its absence.  Odd to think of it that way, but it’s what happened.  Progoff has a method called process meditation and that’s the focus of the depth context workshop, learning how to engage dreams, imagery and other key sources of meaning in your life.

A mantra developed in my first journal workshop in 1981, I have used ever since.  That’s 33 years.  Process meditation works and more than met my needs when I engaged it regularly, but, like any discipline, it requires attention and I’ve let mine slip.

The workshop is both reinforcing and its own complete journey.  I’m working with an incredible experience I had while in college.  Some of you know about it.

I had just finished a class in metaphysics.  When I opened the door of the humanities building and began to step out into the quad, a visceral feeling gripped me and I became all interior.  My interior in turn became all light rushing out in all directions and receiving light in from all directions.  For a brief moment I had a physical experience of my relatedness to everything in the universe.

Then it was over and the sunny fall morning in Muncie, Indiana came back into focus, I stepped out onto the quad and walked away.

I can recall this event very well.  We’ll see where the workshop process takes it.  I’m interest in its connection to reimagining my faith.  This is the sense in which the workshop is its own complete journey.

But it has also reminded of the role and the way meditation and work with dreams and images can reenter my life.

Now

Spring                                             Hare Moon

The first of three workshops has finished.  This one, life context, positions you in the current period of your life.  It’s been, as always, a moving and insight producing time.  These workshops move below the surface and defy easy summary, but I have had one clear outcome from this one.  I’m in a golden moment.

I’m healthy, loved and loving.  Kate and I are in a great place and the kids are living their adult lives, not without challenges, but they’re facing those.  The dogs are love in a furry form.

The garden and the bees give Kate and me a joint work that is nourishing, enriching and sustainable. We’re doing it in a way that will make our land more healthy rather than less.

The creative projects I’ve got underway:  Ovid, Unmaking trilogy, reimagining faith, taking MOOCs, working with the Sierra Club, and my ongoing immersion in the world of art have juice.  Still.

I have the good fortune to have good friends in the Woollies and among the docent corps (former and current).  Deepening, intensifying, celebrating, enjoying.  That’s what’s called for right now.

Desert Twilight

Spring                                                           Hare Moon

Aware now that the current moment of my life, the now in intensive journal language, began with Kate’s retirement.  It’s a hinge time, a door has opened toward the future, one closed toward the past.

Two good metaphors for this time came to me in my journal work yesterday.  The first may not be obvious but bear with me. Riding through the desert.

The desert is a stark place, often flat, but occasionally interrupted by bare loaves of rock, pinnacles, towers.  It also has a nighttime life style with critters coming out when the air cools down.  This is a place in Western culture where spirituality blossoms.  A desert spirituality.

Aging, especially as it carries us into the third phase, can strip away work, goals, shave off the barnacles of culture that slowed us down as we passed through life’s most pressured phase.  That means the third phase can begin as a ride through the desert, paying special attention to the soul when the forest is gone, the meadows are gone, the fields are gone.

This ride readies us for the twilight zone, that zone where the light from above diminishes, then winks out.  I’m not talking about death here, or at least not only about death; I’m talking about our ability, strengthened by our desert spirituality, to walk into the depths of our lives, no Park Ranger by our side.

When we go down through the natural entrance to our inner depths, we can return the same way, finding the twilight zone both ways.  These kinds of journeys may well be the signal moments of the third phase.

 

Caesura

Imbolc                                                                     Hare Moon

 

25 years ago I left the workaday world for home based efforts, but the weekend still has a different, more relaxed feeling.  As if things just aren’t quite as urgent.  This is thanks to the union movements press for the 40 week combined with early Protestant and Catholic Christianity that tried to reserve Sunday for church.

In a more secular time Sunday has become, for many, a true day of rest with Saturday providing time for the domestic tasks not accomplished during the week.

The notion of a day of rest, a time to pause and consider the week behind and the one ahead, can seem like a luxury, perhaps even irresponsible.  The cell phone, e-mail, broadband, and television are available around the clock.  In hypercompetitive work settings there is the awful sense that someone might be catching up or that you’ve not done enough. Why not fill up this blank day with that extra effort, the push that might get you ahead.

In music there are rests, the caesura that lets a particular line or run of notes breathe, giving them definition.  In winter whole species of animals hibernate and thousands of individuals are doing so right now on this property where I write.  Holidays, spread throughout the year, are caesura, as are our vacations, our anniversaries and birthdays. In art, especially sculpture, we learn that negative space defines a work.  Without negative space that David would still be a block of granite.

Taoism, perhaps the clearest on this idea, points out that the usefulness of a cup is not its body, but the negative space it contains.  Windows. Doors. Rooms. Baskets. Silence.

The effort in our lives is like the cup, the window, the door, it is the body which contains the life, it is not the life itself.  Life itself is realized in the negative spaces among our focused efforts.  That’s where the laugh comes, or the gentle touch, or the smile, the encouraging word, the hug, the tear.

In my view it behooves us to grant ourselves as much negative space as we can and a day a week does not seem like too much.  It is probably too little.