Category Archives: Third Phase

Journey Before Destination

Beltane                                                                        Emergence Moon

A book I’m reading has these phrases: life before death, journey before destination. An adequate life philosophy and not far from the one I try to represent here at ancientrails. Which, in fact, emphasizes the journey. As does the Malay saying which I got from my sister, “Welcome to the journey.”

Kate and I now have a destination that reaches out from the future and pulls us toward it, yet we must go on the journey first. That journey involves preparation, execution, leave-taking and much more before the destination. I like the emphasis on the journey. Slow travel makes so much sense to me: car, train, ship. Slow by twenty-first century standards.

When the journey is as important as the destination, then a trip becomes whole. It is not a disjointed transportation from one locale to another with no appreciation of the changes along the way. Of course, slow travel is just that, slow, and often times cannot accomplish what our life demands. But, more often than not we can go slower than we think.

I want getting ready to move to Colorado to be as pleasurable as we imagine our life there will be. Journey before destination.  And always, life before death.

A Gentle Tsunami

Beltane                                                                      Emergence

I’ve put myself into a shocked, off center state by our decision to move. Assimilating the idea and its consequences have left me lackadaisical about Latin, less interested in the garden, a schlump relative to writing except for this blog. This won’t last long. It’s a response to the gentle but powerful emotional tsunami washing up on my Minnesota shore, a flood that I realize will wash most of what has been my life here back out to sea. And, it’s premonitory, a reality in the distance, yet it has enough force to rock me.

I’m letting it, right now, take me out of the now and buffet me with imagined sequelae, some wonderful, some sad, some exhilarating, some anxiety producing.

Wonderful. Living near the grandkids, the Rockies, the West. More faces at holidays and birthdays. A new place to absorb, to see, to learn, to become part of.

Sad. Saying good-bye to the Woollies, this house and its gardens, the Walker, the MIA, the Guthrie, the memories of 40 years.

Exhilarating. Writing in a new natural environment, one that will give me years of stimulation as will the lived history of the region. Staghounds in our future, dogs of the West.  A new home and land.

Anxiety producing. You know. Packing, unpacking. Money. Adapting to a new place. Finding medical care, insurance.

All this swirls around, causing emotional collisions that spark off each other, create radiants of feeling. It’s the early days of a love affair, one that will go the distance. God, how great, how frightening, is that?

The Circus Is Leaving Town

Beltane                                                            Emergence Moon

A slow moving mountain. Or, a slow move to the mountains. Sitting here contemplating my study, its hundreds of books and file folders, computer equipment, desks, chairs. I feel overwhelmed at the thought of pruning, organizing, decluttering for selling the house and actually moving. That’s one reason we’re giving ourselves two years or so to move.

Two years might encompass the remaining lifespan of Vega and Rigel. We really don’t know since they’re hybrids, but we suspect 7-8 years and 2016 is 7 years plus. That’s a factor though not a determining one. Hell, who knows, it could encompass our lifespan, too, though I don’t imagine it will.

Talk about liminal space. Between now and then we are no longer fully here and definitely not fully there. I imagine a huge circus tent with many ropes and stakes and poles. Each stake must be pulled.  Each rope removed. The poles must be taken down and the canvas rolled up. The canvas is our life in Minnesota and its attendant material possessions.

The stakes are friends, the MIA and the Walker, the Sierra Club Northstar Chapter, the background relationships developed over years of work in the church and in politics and in neighborhoods. The ropes are the emotional ties that bind us to places, to our years lived here, to our sense of ourselves as Minnesotans. The poles are those key relationships like the Woolly Mammoths, Anne, the docents, the folks Kate and I have worked with in multiple capacities: our vet, our doctors, our financial consultants.

All this must, in some way, be stored and the canvas packed. All these things will change once we reach our new destination. Our life will no longer be a Minnesota based life, but a Colorado based one. The friends will remain, of course, as will all the institutions and professionals, the places and their attached memories, but we will have stretched the ease and physical distance with many beyond the breaking point. It will not, of course, be possible to know which ones will suffer the most until time has passed. But all will suffer some, most will suffer a lot.

Feeling overwhelmed, of course, comes from imagining that the tent and its supports must be packed and moved for a train leaving tomorrow. That’s not the case. We have time and will use it well. It’s just that, well, right now, it’s a lot.

 

Driving

Spring                                                                 New (Emergent) Moon

Leaving for home in an hour or so, traveling north on Hwy. 25 into Wyoming, beyond Cheyenne to Wheatland. Hopefully we’ll be able to see staghounds at the Wavin’K Ranch there. Wyoming is the 10th largest state and the U.S. and the least populated. Least dense in the lower 48, only Alaska has fewer people per square mile. Then across South Dakota toward Minnesota.

Last night Jon and Jen and I went to Foga de Chao while grandma got her last kiddie fix of the trip. It sounded like a good idea, but by the end of the evening all three of us felt this was an experience to have once every few years. Even so, I like to have adult time with them on each visit. It gives us a chance to stay connected as individuals, not as parents and grandparents. That’s important to me and to them as well.

The lure and logic of Colorado came up again this trip. Ruth and Gabe are growing fast, 8 and 6 now. Jon and Jen have expressed their desire to have us live out here and have committed, with touching kindness, to see to our care as we age. Minnesota is home for now, but that may change. It’s a topic I want to discuss with my friends.

This is a very difficult quandary for me with 25 years of Woolliness in place and so many memories and ties in the Twin Cities. The homeplace, too. The question, however, only seems to get more persistent. A third phase event, no doubt.

Mountaintop

Spring                                                              Bee Hiving Moon

 

Back from the Guthrie and the Penumbra presentation of Mountaintop, a play focused on Martin Luther King’s last night alive in the Lorraine Motel in Memphis, Tennessee.  As it neared the end, it picked up emotional punch using a clever device that I won’t reveal. The pathos of a man about to die because he stood up for love, for justice, can sound wooden on the page, but to see a real man struggling with acceptance, to hear a real woman empathize with him, that’s different.  That’s the power of theatre.

There’s a good metaphor used in it, one you may have heard before, but which was new to me.  The civil rights movement, the movement for the poor is not a sprint, but a relay race, with one generation handing on the baton to the next.

When we discussed this play briefly at Christos on Monday, I made the observation that when our generation dies out, the generation who experienced King, Malcom and that whole era will die out, too.  That means these characters will pass into history, become captive to interpretation and canonization.  A certain amount of that has happened already.

That will be a shame because those years, the 60’s and early 70’s, were so alive and vital. The air crackled with change, with big questions, with thoughts of matters far beyond the vocational worth of a college diploma.  And we lived it.  It is our direct heritage and I like very much the notion of the baton.

I’m in that part of the race now where the baton is stretched out ahead of me, ready to lay in the hands of another, but my race is not yet run.  I’m accelerating, to keep the team ahead.

 

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.

20-20-20

Spring                                                        Bee Hiving Moon

Continuing the city theme from the post below.  I live in the exurbs now, just two or three miles or so north of us corn fields begin and our development is a small cul de sac of homes that jut out into a working truck garden.  The MUSA line, the intended sprawl container of the Met Council, runs a mile south of us.  Beyond it a city cannot extend sewer connections.  That’s why we have a septic system and our own well.

But before I lived in the city.  First Minneapolis, then St. Paul.  In fact, over dinner with Kate, I realized I spent roughly 20 years in a small town, 20 years in the city and now have spent 20 years in the exurbs.  Those 20 years in the city were where I found my milieux.  The mix it up, bare knuckle politics of neighborhood economic development, labor organizing and straight political work appealed to my middle adult need for agency.Irvine Park

The varieties of problems, the mix of people, the different communities, the history  rushing into the present all exhilarated me.  In the city years I wanted, needed to make change, get things done, improve life.  And through fortunate relationships with many active folks I had a chance to participate in some interesting and worthwhile projects.

In the exurban years I’ve retreated, pulled back into my own work, writing, learning, gardening, sharing life with Kate and the dogs.  It was time to do that, to pull back.  That’s even more clear these days.

Here’s an example.  A number of young activists, the age of my city years, especially environmentally focused activists lobby for urban density.  They want to tear down parts of old neighborhoods and build apartment buildings.  These are the same folks who advocate for bicyclists, mass transit and against urban sprawl.  They look at the city and say the way to stop sprawl is to keep people in the center city.  How do you do that?  Build up.

In my years in the city we stopped apartment buildings, advocated neighborhood level 400_late summer 2010_0182decision making and tried to make communities stronger through increasing economic development.  These are different times and I understand the arguments of those who want denser urban areas.  Not only do I understand them, but I agree with them.  But fulfilling those policies often means riding over the protests of folks in the neighborhood.

This is one of those instances where momentum and the needs of the time have shifted thinking.  I can approve from afar, but I wouldn’t be able to wade into the politics.  I’d be too conflicted.  In that situation it’s best I’m removed from the scene.  Out here tending our garden.

back in the groove

Spring                                                                 Bee Hiving Moon

New initiatives since the Workshop.  Meditation twice a day.  Using the journal regularly. Watching and taking notes on the art history courses I’ve purchased from the Teaching Company.  Revising short stories.  Currently working on Artemis in Minnesota.  Already back into the Latin, aiming for a translation schedule before Beltane. Regular visits to the Walker, MIA, Russian Museum, galleries.  Starting this coming Thursday.

The image for my third life, or third phase.  Certainly the triskelion as symbol of life’s three phases, but the specific one for the new era.  Not sure. Journal work ahead on this one.  An image will help define this time, help me focus and vet activities.

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.