Category Archives: Feelings

Cancer, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health

Pause. Say Good-bye

1 Comment

Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Artemis:  On the way home

Tuesday gratefuls: Miralax. Senna. Michigan. Basketball. Baseball. Another tough night. Artemis II. Space. Hubble. Webb.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Master Travelers

 

Kavannah: Hakarat Hatov.  Gratitude.  “Who is rich? Those who rejoice in their own portion.” Pirkei Avot (4:1)

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: I have been retreating from the world. Lunches and breakfasts are painful due to the head drop. Driving still wears me out though the brace helps. I have new aches and pains. From the cancer? I don’t think so…but.

 

Since last week I have been constipated. Could be a side effect of the Tramadol. Painful. Unresolved. Some progress. Miralax to 2x a day. Add senna.

Went to bed. Early. 6 pm. Exhausted by the demands of the day. Slept well until 1 am. After that. Left side. Right side. Stomach. Back. Repeated and repeated and repeated. Could not find the sleep switch. Up at 3:30 am. Rested. Sorta. Residual aches. Sore back.

A learning about death. You stop. Everything else goes on.  Cars queue up behind a red turn signal. A group of preschoolers, all holding on to the same rope. Going to the park. Shadow circles her food bowl, waiting on you to come home. As you always have. Not this time.

The damnable ordinariness. Years of loving, talking, reading, all made moot. When Kate died her brilliant mind went silent. All her experience as a doctor. A lover. A quilter. Gone.

Yet. Artemis II took three Americans and one Canadian further from Earth than any human has gone before. Michigan beat UConn to reclaim the Men’s NCAA tournament.

I had my aspirations as a young man. Stop the war.  Raise a son. As I worked, people died every day. Good people. Kind people. Their ends did not register in my life. Their momentous parting, everything for them, was nothing to me.

In life I can fight, love. In death I cannot.

Yet I no longer privilege one over the other. When the reaper comes, the fruits of a long and interesting life will gather into my body, then disperse. To create new molecules, new lung tissue, new fingernails.

On these bad days–pain, constipation–I wonder: Is this how the final exit goes. Pain and discomfort. Then, surcease. I hope not. I would prefer to die quietly, surrounded by friends and family, Shadow by my side.

I do not mind dying. Not sooner than necessary. But when it is time. Yes. I take that long last ride.

When it happens, a fisherman catches a bass. A couple will make love and create a new human. I will have gone on ahead.

Stop a moment.
Pause.
Say good-bye.

Cancer, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health

Casual Cruelties

1 Comment

Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Artemis:  Miles from 244,850 earth. Miles from moon 26,740. As of 5:06 am, April 6th, 2026.

Monday gratefuls: Eggs. Oatmeal. Kitchen. House cleaner. Medical Guardian. Artemis II nearing moon. Michigan v. Uconn.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Integrity.

 

Kavannah: Hakarat Hatov.  Gratitude.  “Who is rich? Those who rejoice in their own portion.” Pirkei Avot (4:1)

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: I blocked myself yesterday. I didn’t want another entry in the distress cycle, a straight run from April 1st. Couldn’t think of anything else. Also, I had stomach and intestinal issues. Thinking straight was not in the cards.

 

This morning. Still the gut issues. Not as intense. Dispiriting.

When my body aches. My mind responds.

Yesterday I had to sit myself down and have a talk. About casual cruelties against myself. I know, I said, the distraction and pain don’t give us much of a buffer to work with.

The rest of us hears it. Over and over. Does that apply to the sick part of us?  The part that missed our phone call with our boy.

Bad hand grip. I’m going to die. Low stamina. Why are you not on the treadmill. You’re impossible!

What I’m proposing is a gentler version of self-talk. Ah, I see we’re having trouble opening that jar. You stumbled on the way to the  kitchen. This is a surprise? No. It’s who I am right now.

This stumbling guy. This cancer trial guy. A father, a brother, a grandpa. A reader, a writer, a friend to the other. A man.

A man who deserves your compassion and concern, not your judgment or contempt.

Hangs head. Yes, I know. I want to do that, I do. But in the moment of pain. You can no longer do what you used to. I worry. Is this the slope? Work harder. Please.

Not very dignified, eh? No. At some point I catch on to the negative self-take. Big sigh. Charlie, not again. Then I sit myself down with myself. Self-compassion is on the agenda. Even if I am weak, I remain Charlie. With limits–as always. Just different ones.

Got my notice for a pre-trial start up appointment. I imagine I’ll get my first treatment date. I need to get started. Yes. I’ve chosen to surrender myself to the trial, to the new drugs. I chose this.

All of the treatments will be in Rocky Mountain Cancer Care’s midtown office near Presbyterian.

Kate, on her death bed, told me: Trust your doctors.  Zip up. Abandon the rabbit holes. The critiquing. Lean in.

With all the upset and uncertainty of the last year plus I hope these trials can calm the worried me.

 

Watch.

Storms come and go.

Shelter.

Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends

Who do you love?

Leave a comment

Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Monday gratefuls: Luke, assistant professor of Chemistry. Jamie. Spring. Walking. Moving. Samantha. RMCC.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe:  Leo

 

Kavannah: Wonder. Malchut. The eyes of Shadow. The rough bark of the lodgepole.

Tarot: Five of Vessels, Ecstasy. “…seek and surrender to the cosmic life force.” Accepting, embracing the power of life, even in hard circumstances.

One brief shining: Eating out with Luke. Our long relationship adds another memory over tandoori chicken and mango lassi.

 

Once every month or so Luke comes up to do his laundry. The machines in his apartment complex are cranky, expensive. I love that he comes. A chance to catch up. Eat a meal together.

When Leo comes in the house, Shadow sniffs under the door, tail wagging at propeller speed. Then she twirls around for a couple of turns. When Leo comes through the door, she races over to him, smiling, play bowing.

They go outside for a turn in the big yard, Shadow bouncy and running, Leo walking stiffly. At 13, he’s slower. His joints ache as he tries a couple of runs with the youngster.

Luke had let his hair grow for two years. It came over his shoulder. Before he came up here, he had it all braided, then cut off. He grew it out for a charity that makes wigs for children with hair loss. He showed me a picture of the braids in his hand.

Teaching becomes him. Nobody tells him how to teach. He’s teaching a field he knows well.

He stands straighter, speaks more confidently. He’s created chai-chi–tai-chi taught from within a kabbalist framework.

He also told me yesterday he loves when I tell him I love him. “Not many men do that,” he said. When did we become so closed?

Luke turns 35 this year. Veronica, my mikveh buddy, is late twenties. Ruth turns 20 this year, Gabe 18. At 79 I cherish these relationships.

I turned 34 (Luke’s current age) in 1981. The year Joseph was born and our adoption of him finalized. When I turned 20, I was, like Ruth, still in college. 1967.

The great chain of becoming.  Charlie to Joseph, to Luke, to Ruth. No blood. Still, we love.

When Kate died, I lost my best friend, my lover, my wife. What to do with that love? The love that flourished with Wolfhounds and Whippets, with working in the garden together, cruising around Latin America. Where does that love go? It doesn’t die with her.

Love as many as you can.
As often as you can.
Anywhere you can.

Feeding the dogs. Eating Indian food.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Feelings, Fourth Phase, Paganism, Writing

Doing is Overrated

1 Comment

Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Shabbat gratefuls: Rain in the forecast. Cancer. Clinical trials. Samantha. Dr. Josy. Ruth and Gabe. Ruth, 20 in a week.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe:  Shabbat

 

Kavannah: Wonder. Malchut. Knowing myself, my world, my now. Shekinah.

Tarot: #17 The Pole Star. Embrace myself, follow my soul’s purpose.

One brief shining: Having that struggle. Again. Still. What am I, who am I? What is my soul’s purpose? Is it about what I can do? Or, is it about who I can become? Am I stuck in these questions, using them to distract myself from living?

 

College. The moratorium years. I spent them in a fluid, fluxing milieu of protests, carrying my green book bag, The hours in the library, in my favorite carrel. All-night shifts in the guard’s hut at Magnalite.

I came out of college with two majors: philosophy and anthropology. Two disciplines I still love.

Married Judy. A mistake. Unsure of myself. Wandering from silly job to silly job. My mind the same, always escaping from the work I was doing.

While working as a rag-cutter at Fox River Paper, I would spend hours unclogging the cutter, moving bales. Needing stimulation beyond the physical labor.

No direction. No purpose. Frustrated with myself. This went on into seminary, into my stint in the ministry. Oh, I found things to do. Managing the independent living program. Organizing. Consulting. None of them seemed my soul’s purpose. Organizing came the closest.

Yet even organizing fed the wrong wolf. The angry guy was not who I wanted to be. I had fed the same wolf in the polarized protests of the late sixties. I found myself in a constant scanning for injustice, for leverage, for communities willing to fight. Not a peaceful existence.

I had become a clergyperson because I did not want to cut rags anymore. Not because I’d had a sudden reconversion to the faith of my youth. It was a job with a paycheck.

Flailing. Celtic myth and legend. In writing my doctor of ministry thesis I found myself writing a novel, not the thesis. Something in me had stirred, moved me far away from the ministry. Made sense since my Dad was a writer. But. I didn’t like my Dad. Dissonance.

The novel and a turn toward an earth-centered faith led me out of the ministry. Looking back now, twenty-one years of Ancientrails, nine novels later, I’d say a primary purpose of mine is writing. Ancientrails has a body of daily work that not many can duplicate. That’s writing. Every day.

I have another purpose, less defined perhaps. Deep, honest conversation with others. Tara and I, her kids, mine. Gardening. Judaism. Dr. Josy, the joy of animals, her mission to deliver affordable care in-home.

There’s also the gardener, nature mystic. Fed by the green world. Planting. Communing with individual trees, plants. Loving the mule deer, the elk, black bears, mountain lions. A mountain man.

So here I am at 79. A man who writes about paying attention: to self, to others, to mountain life.

I guess those questions, about purpose, about who I can become occur when I feel I’m not doing. Not doing enough. A pox on those thoughts.

Doing is overrated.
Becoming.

Enough.

Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health

Not clear. Not now.

Leave a comment

Imbolc and the Moon of Tides

Monday gratefuls: Health. Diet. Exercise. Weariness. Ruth and David. St. Patrick. Irish Wolfhounds. Shadow of the morning.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Taxes

 

Kavannah: Histapkot. Contentment.   Seek what you need, give up what you don’t need.

Tarot: #12, The Mirror.  My neshama lies in the boat, ready for another return (teshuvah) to the homeland of my soul

One brief shining: I missed the mark (hamartia) on Sunday’s Ancient Brothers discussion of health. I found myself confused and ashamed. What is health for me? Have I let myself down?

 

Protein targets. Eat real food.  Low sugar, low salt. Exercise: 150 minutes.

Friendships. Learn something new.

A handbook for living perfectly.

I listen. Have listened. Too many marks to hit. I accused the “culture” of blaming and shaming. Making me feel like a self-abuser unwilling to do what’s good for me.

Not true.

Look at the exercise I have done. Intense cardio. Diverse resistance. The labors of gardening. Wildfire mitigation. Caring for Kate.

Don’t I deserve a break, a time when I can focus what energy remains on what sustains me–reading, writing, time with friends and family?

So what if I’m not the poster boy for diet and exercise? So what if I lose six months, a year of life if I can increase the quality of my life now?

Yeah. OK. But.

What if I’m rationalizing?  What if the simple truth is that the alternative is hard work?

Am I blaming and shaming myself by internalizing our obsession with fitness and perfect diets?

Am I the one guy who can’t lash himself to the mast of the good ship health, wax in his ears when the sirens of red meat and downtime sing?

Over the last year and a half, I’ve found this dance between health and quality of life more and more difficult to navigate. Reminds me of our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow. I seem stuck between what I can do and what I should do.

Health matters. Ask any of us in our late seventies, early eighties.

My calendar fills with visits to specialists and imaging centers. Back pain. Head drop. A labrum tear. Managing the cancer part of me so it doesn’t destroy its host.

Perhaps that’s it.

So much of my time, energy, and money already goes into health. A lot. I work hard to maintain resilience, not let the little craft in which I live get swamped.

When I get home, I need to place cancer back in its place. Sit down to ease my back.

Exercise then? Nah.

Make something to eat? Yes, if it’s not too hard.

I’ve not yet learned how to square this circle.

I want to live. Live well.

How do I balance these competing, valid demands?

Not clear.

Not now.

 

Ancient Brothers, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Shadow Mountain

Not Yet

1 Comment

Imbolc and the Moon of Deep Friendship

Monday gratefuls: Chocolate. Birthday presents. Canceling the Washington Post. Again. Five days of friends and family. Cold weather and Snow ahead

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

 

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Tsundoku

Week Kavannah:   Bitachon. Confidence.     I need to focus on confidence this week. Important decisions for cancer treatment, how to stay confident when physical weakness challenges me.

 

Tarot: Page of Arrows, the Wren

ChatGPT writing coach has begun to tune my late stage craft. Like the Wren it relies on subtlety, less rather than more.

One brief shining: Shadow and I, alone again; Tom and Paul flew off in a jet plane, Ruth busy at work and school, a time now to focus on writing, Ancientrails and Superior Wolf, to gather myself for the start of my clinical trial, a few fancy chocolates left.

 

Bathing in the after glow of a long visit by old friends. Feeling their concern, Tom loading cardboard in my recycling bin. Their love, Paul recalling his daughter Kate’s first months. NICU. Angel nurses. A three way group hug before they left.

39 years. Half my life. Friendships built on dogsled trips in the Boundary Waters, clambering up wooden ladders, so many meals together. Deaths and divorce.

New memories. Three elder men squeezed into the booth that Ruth found for us to protect our hearing. Her sweetness. Drawing Paul out on his life. Remembering Tom was the electron microscope guy.

New memories. A Sunday dinner around my breakfast table. Dad’s fettucine, beloved by his daughter, Kate. Tom’s question, what do you expect in the next ten years? Birthday chocolates for dessert.

The Bistro. Where I found Kate’s pearl. Where we ate with Jon the day he moved out after his divorce. Where Kate and I would dine. Now where old friends from away and I dine. Log framing and a blazing fire, piano music.

Bread and roses. Feeling their hands on my shoulder

Robert Duvall. Jesse Jackson. dead

Bob Weir. Loved listening to Weir’s riffs. Ripple. Sugar Magnolia.

Another mark of aging. Lights going out one by one.

Kate and Jon’s deaths.

Why Tom and Paul’s visit meant so much.

While I’m alive.

Not yet a light gone out.

Cinema and Television, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Shadow Mountain

Habituated?

Leave a comment

Imbolc and the Moon of Deep Friendship

Monday gratefuls: Tara. Sally Jobe/Invision Imaging. The Dexa scan. Bone health. Shadow, her quiet strength. Irv and the CBE Men’s group. Luke and Leo. Rosemary and Thyme. Cozies. Tea. Chinese. Green. White. Yellow. Oolong. Red. (black). Pu-er (dark) Altitude and its effect on boiling Water temperature. Seahawks. Diversions and distractions.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Our skeleton

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei    Shadow, my Wu Wei mistress

Year Kavannah: Creativity.   Yetziratiut.   “Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working.” ― Pablo Picasso

Week Kavannah: Hakarat Hatov. Gratitude.

Practice acknowledging the positive, often overlooked aspects of life.

 

Tarot: Knight of Arrows, Hawk

  • Visionary Power: Symbolizes the ability to see the “bigger picture” from a high vantage point, helping to cut through doubt and uncertainty.
  • Intellectual Focus: Reflects a sharp, analytical mind that uses common sense and logic to solve complex problems at their core.

 

One brief shining: Once again Minnesota on my mind as I read about how non-violent protests have toppled autocracies, as I see Snow sculpture and, ironically, Ice sculptures celebrating the resistance there in images of Rene Good and Alex Pretti, people cross-country skiing to candlelight, wondering what’s next, maybe an ICE fishing village.

Confession: I spend a lot of time watching TV. At least lately. Yesterday I binged the Lincoln Lawyer and watched two episodes of Rosemary and Thyme. Sitting in my comfortable chair that supports my neck. It’s ok if you judge me; I judge myself.

Wanting to get to the root of this. I’m going to write about it. Which often unlocks my psyche to my own Self. Helps me with teshuva, returning to the homeland of my soul.

Yes, distraction. No doubt. While immersed in others’ stories, I can set mine aside. Some distraction is ok with me. It’s the quantity that bothers me.

Which is not to say it’s only distraction. I do love stories whether told on the screen or on the page. I imagine you could peg my lean toward religion as a love of story, too.

Here’s my hunch right now. I find Shadow’s injury has sapped some of my psychic energy. Concern and care for her. Then, the recent and incessant drum beat of this medical thing, that medical thing climaxing in a shift to hormone resistant prostate cancer. Finally, physical limitations imposed by my right lower back and my head drop. All of this psychic overburden leaves me with little “doing” energy.

Frustrating because before Shadow’s injury and my Petscan results, I’d found a good rhythm: up at 4:30, let Shadow out, write Ancientrails, feed Shadow, a snack followed by resistance workout, then reading for my planned substack on Knowing the Far Right. A nap. An hour or so of work on Superior Wolf. That’s a full day for me. After that watching TV or reading fiction, unrelated non-fiction.

Frustrating too because I know which is easier and which feeds my soul. I can’t tell whether I’ve habituated myself (what I fear) or whether this is a response to a life with too many intersecting causes of stress. If the latter, when Shadow heals, when I begin my clinical trial, perhaps I’ll be able to get back to that other rhythm.

 

 

 

 

Aging, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health

All Joyful

Leave a comment

Imbolc and the Moon of Deep Friendship

Wednesday gratefuls: Art Linkletter, Kids Say the Darndest Things. Rimadyl for Shadow and her Halloween themed booties. Tara and her life. Costa Rica maybe. Shirley Waste. Tom, Roxann. Paul and Washington County, Maine. Cool night. Prostate cancer treatments. Joe and Seoah. Thugees. Melting ICE. Minneapolis. Minnesota.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Deep Friendships

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei    Shadow, my Wu Wei mistress

Year Kavannah: Creativity.   Yetziratiut.   “Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working.” ― Pablo Picasso

Week Kavannah: Tikkun  Olam. Repairing the world.

  • Lurianic Kabbalah: A 16th-century mystical belief that the world was created by divine vessels that shattered, scattering “sparks” of divine light. Humans perform tikkun by gathering these sparks through prayer and mitzvot.
  • Modern Social Justice: Since the 1950s, the term has become a shorthand for social action and progressive activism, such as environmentalism and human rights.

Tarot: Ace of Vessels, The Waters of Life

“When nearing the heart of a sacred quest, motivation and integrity of human desires are challenged. Ancient wisdom demands the seeker be humble and forgiving. Respect for others and for the environment is required to proceed along the path to enlightenment. There is no completion without overcoming the challenge.” Parting the Mists

One brief shining: This last Petscan may have revealed the heart of my prostate cancer journey, a final goodbye to the treatment that has worked for me for years following the failures of surgery and radiation, ushering in a moment poised between androgen deprivation therapy and a time of greater uncertainty, more exotic treatments.

 

I’m aware my posts of late have veered from the dread fallen on my once and forever home state of Minnesota to difficult medical news-Shadow and me-with only a sprinkling of other, less dire topics. The realities of my life right now. For some close friends as well. Life in the old age zone.

Yet. It is still just that. Life. One filled with joys like a Dog sleeping next to me. A good friend visiting. A poetic movie, Train Dreams. Sausage and sauerkraut and sweet peppers. Yogurt, eggs, and a protein bar. Sleeping in a cold room. Making my own decisions. Finding new friends like Dr. Josy, Natalie. Reading. Dreaming.

And, some humor. I used to love watching Art Linkletter’s show, Kids Say the Darndest Things. An example: “ear wax is hands that slab your brain and you won’t be able to talk anymore.”

Thinking about it reminded me of a “60 Minutes” segment from the same period on childproof pill bottles. In the segment the host handed some kids pill bottles with “childproof” caps. At first they tried to open them the usual way. The caps worked. Then, one kid threw the pill bottle on the ground and stepped on it. Voila!

Never thought I’d use that bit of knowledge myself. Shadow has begun holding her right leg up, the bandaged one. Dr. Josy called in a prescription to King Sooper and I went to the pharmacy. Sure enough, an old guy proof cap. Guess what I did. Yep. Learned it from TV.

A friend yesterday asked me if I had a bucket list. Not really. Well, what brings you joy? I get up at 4:30 with Shadow. Let her out and back in. Write Ancientrails. A light snack and a workout. Breakfast. Reading for my project on explaining the new (and old) far right. Some work on Superior Wolf. A nap with Shadow. Lunch. Watching some TV or reading fiction. A light supper, feeding Shadow again. Throw in some zoom sessions with friends, family. Perhaps a mussar session, a torah study, breakfast or lunch with friends. All joyful.

Cancer, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health, Memories, Minnesota

The Land of Lake Woebegone

1 Comment

Imbolc and the Moon of Deep Friendship

Monday gratefuls: Dr. Bupathi. Prostate cancer. New mets. Joe and his work. Shadow of cone and bandage. Dr. Josy. Her journey. Youtube. Kate, always Kate. Artemis in Winter. Her Garlic. The Dog run. Epstein files. Kennedy center closing. Minneapolis. Cool weather. Hard Rock Medical. Tu BiShvat.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Living

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei    Shadow, my Wu Wei mistress

Year Kavannah: Creativity.   Yetziratiut.   “Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working.” ― Pablo Picasso

Week Kavannah: Tikkun  Olam. Repairing the world.

  • Lurianic Kabbalah: A 16th-century mystical belief that the world was created by divine vessels that shattered, scattering “sparks” of divine light. Humans perform tikkun by gathering these sparks through prayer and mitzvot.
  • Modern Social Justice: Since the 1950s, the term has become a shorthand for social action and progressive activism, such as environmentalism and human rights. 

Tarot: Seven of Arrows, insecurity.

“…this card focuses on the psychological state of vulnerability…”

One brief shining: In the winter of my life I live beside a hearthfire built over the years from the warmth of deep friendship, the stable power of family, a lev calmed by meditation and acceptance, a soul anchoring me in the interconnected web of Lodgepoles and Grasses, Dogs and Elk, Mountains and Rivers, and in a loving, sacred community.

Health: Petscan results have come back. They show new metastases. Not what we’d hoped. Not what I want. But the case anyhow. Puts me over into the hormone resistant phase of stage four prostate cancer. I see my oncologist today and expect that he’ll start me on some new protocol.

Thanks to dramatic advances in dealing with just this situation there are still many effective treatments left. Not sure which direction we’ll go, but I’ll let you know when we decide.

The seven of arrows speaks to the feeling of vulnerability I experience each time new test results come in and especially when, like these results, they have unwelcome news. Yet, well into my eleventh year of prostate cancer, I have this reaction. OK. This is where I am. What do we do next? Not resignation, not OMG, but a desire to stay in it, be present.

I’m grateful for each of you who care about me, love me. This journey would be bleak without you. With you it’s just that, a journey that is part of my life, hardly all of it.

The Wild: When writing last week about my White Pine guide in Boot Lake SNA, the natural world of northern Anoka County came flooding back. The early mornings I would spend doing cardio by the Rum River, following a county park trail beside it. The bitter cold mornings on Snowshoes in the woods behind the new library.

Time spent in the Helen Allison Oak Savannah among its Bur Oaks, tall Grasses, and Wild Flowers. Hawks, Songbird, Frogs. Afternoons at the Cedar Creek Ecosystem Science Reserve.

Winter days taking Sorsha, our 150 pound Irish Wolfhound bitch, for a walk in the Ice fishing village on a frozen Lake George.

Beautiful and precious moments in the land of Lake Woebegone.

Feelings, Writing

En-Theos

Leave a comment

Yule and the 1% Crescent of the Moon of New Beginnings

Shabbat gratefuls: Joe’s visit. Ruth, too. Shadow. Tom and his week. Cold. 11. Prostate cancer. Its many treatments. The Dog run. Nathan. Natalie. Dr. Josy. Broncos v. Bills. Oh, my. Minnesota proud. Melt ICE. Politics. Poetry. Mary Oliver. Billy Collins. Rilke. Longfellow. Yeats. Eliot. Coleridge. Whitman. Dickens.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Ruth

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei    Shadow, my Wu Wei mistress

Year Kavannah: Creativity.   Yetziratiut.   “Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working.” ― Pablo Picasso

Week Kavannah: Daat.    The Bridge Between Mind and Heart

“If Chokhmah (Wisdom/Inspiration) is a seed and Binah (Understanding/Analysis)  is the soil that develops that seed into a plant, Da’at is the nervous system that carries the vital life force from the brain to the rest of the body. It is the point of transition from “thinking” to “being.””

Tarot: Four of Vessels, Boredom

I take this as a caution, a yellow light. As I’ve been doing research for both Superior Wolf 2.0 and trying to figure out a cadence and a method for political research, it’s easy for me to get caught in the paralysis of analysis. Or, stasis. i.e., boredom.

One brief shining: Interesting, the dynamic tension between da’at and the four of vessels; if anything can connect inspiration to understanding, it’s da’at, linking the mind to the heart, ensuring the electricity of inspiration does not dissipate, become blocked, a blockage we could call boredom, “He’s lost in thought.”

I may have mentioned before that I get enthusiasms. Can be an idea, a person, a political movement, a poem, a book, a line of thought.

In using notebooklm, for example, I started out with two notebooks: political commentary and Superior Wolf. I meant to focus my thinking, my inspiration in those two areas, creating two channels which both limit my reach and give me space to expand within those boundaries.

Worked for a week or so. Then, I thought, hey, I could use a notebook for Talmud Torah, so I made one. Then, why not one for managing Shadow Home. OK. Opened that. Well, there’s always the Great Work. Yep. One more. And, hey, mussar, too. While I’m at it, let’s throw in one for Ancientrails. See what I mean?

En-theos. Enthuse. To find a feeling of godly grace, curiosity. Chinese culture and other tradition oriented cultures, too, I imagine, see curiosity as a danger, drawing us away from daily life, from the proven path and into the unknown. Uncertainty. Resulting, in this cautious view, either in stasis, boredom, or more seriously, rebellion.

My library contains a literary record of my enthusiasms. Latin. Ovid. The Classics. Poetry. Minnesota. The Civil War. The Arts. Travel. Fiction. Celtic history and myth. Horticulture. Military history. Philosophy. Christianity. Judaism. Dogs. Depth Psychology. And, more.

I have often gotten stuck at the en-theosing stage. Too much learning, analysis. Too little action. The result is a time of stasis, of stuckness. Or, boredom. In these moments da’at could have helped me, yet I never consciously focused on this character trait, how to bridge enthusiasm and planning, understanding.

I’m glad the four of vessels showed up on the day I switched my week kavannah to da’at. It encourages me to not get stuck in the ideas, the inspiration. And, it gives me a character trait I can practice for doing just that.