Category Archives: Science

Will (Should) The Liberal Arts Survive the 21st Century?

Fall and the High Holidays Moon

Saturday gratefuls: Tal. Georgeta. Nitya. The Importance of Being Earnest. Stagedoor Theater. A late Night. Gabe. This afternoon. Blue. Green. Gold. On Black Mountain. Solar panels soaking in the Sun. Boiler Medic. Geowater. Vince. Snowplowing set. Hawai’i. Minnesota. Adventure. Home. The housing market.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Nitya’s performance

 

On the subject of liberal arts. If you pay any attention at all to the world of higher education, you know that the liberal arts have been and are under heavy fire from pragmatists of all sorts. Lists of majors that “pay off” are common with Philosophy degrees and Anthropology degrees easily targeted as low earning degrees and not worth the investment. Usually here investment means amount of money for the degree. Guess who has a Philosophy and an Anthropology degree? Yep.

Or, the fabled English major. God help the education major, the arts major. Doomed to a lifetime of depressed financial potential. God better help them because no one in the STEM or Health fields will.

My own conjecture about the roots of this issue lies in the long ago days of decent vocational education, days when blue collar workers could learn welding, carpentry, plumbing, electrical work, auto body and mechanics, cosmetology, secretarial skills and expect to earn a decent living from those skills. By decent living I mean the ability to do three things: buy a house and a car, afford good medical care and food, and a good education for your children.

Three things happened to first confuse then demolish this route to the American dream. First, American manufacturers lost the will to compete with the cheaper labor and goods available in countries like Japan and China. Jobs, blue collar jobs, left the country. Second, foreign goods began to appear in the United States that were not only comparable to US made goods, but cheaper in price, and sometimes, especially in the unfortunate instance of vehicles, better. Third, the combination of one and two lead to the Rust Belt effect where factories closed and well-paying jobs available to persons with a high school degree or even less vanished. Almost overnight.

This is the story, writ large, of my hometown, Alexandria, Indiana. In postwar times, say 1950 to 1970 or so, Alexandria had a thriving main street, Harrison Avenue. On it were two movie theaters: The Town and The Alex. Two grocery stores, Kroger’s and Coxes. Two dime stores, Murphy’s and Danner’s. Broyles’  Furniture. Fermen’s Womens Wear and Baumgartner’s Mens Wear. Mahony’s Shoes. Guilkey’s shoe shop and newsstand. Rexall’s Drugs and Bailey Drugs. The Bakery. The Yankee Bar. Conway’s barbershop.

On Friday and Saturday nights kids from neighboring smaller towns would come to Alexandria to drag main, go to the Kid Canteen, bowl. Parades, big parades, happened on Decoration Day and at Homecoming. Sidewalk Sale days drew customers downtown like weekend food stalls in Bangkok’s Chinatown.

When the crash came, it came fast. By 1974 most of those businesses had altered or closed. In later years plywood fronts would replace plate glass windows. Whole families would leave town in the dead of night, closing the curtains before they left because they could no longer pay their mortgages. Detroit had lost the battle with Volkswagen and Toyota.

I know. You’re thinking, he’s lost the plot. What does this have to do with the liberal arts? Vocational education lead nowhere. Who needed welders? Electricians. Unions began to decline in influence, too, and as they did so did blue collar wages across the board.

It was in this time that the lie of college for everyone began its insidious infiltration into the American zeitgeist. Get a BA and you’ll be safe. College graduates out earn high school graduates. And, this is true. Read this: Do college grads really earn more than high school grads.

And this is the where the story takes its twist. With vocational education or factory union jobs no longer a safe bet for that house and car, good medical care and food, what was left for the blue collar worker? College for all. We’re a small d democratic country. We’re all equal. So it seemed to make sense.

Except it doesn’t. College education takes a certain set of skills and gifts not widely distributed in any population. First, a basic level of intellect. Then, reading and writing skills. A taste for the sort of work required to sit through lectures, study, and write papers or lab reports. This is not about the idea of equality before the law which Americans often confuse with a leveling equality of skills and talents.

Such a leveling does not exist in the US population or any other. I could post links to several articles about the benefits of a college education. You could search them for an admission of the basic requirements to thrive in college. And find nothing.

With the dollar value of blue collar work on the decline along with it went the pride that came with hard work and a decent income. Many blue collar workers used to earn as much liberal arts majors do now. Not anymore. Now the blue collar worker scans and palletizes objects in Amazon or UPS warehouses, sweeps the floors of elementary schools, works in the volatile construction industry. Barely earning a long ago out of date minimum wage.

It was in this transition to an economy with few well-paying lifetime jobs for high school grads that saw white supremacy once again more obvious in US culture. It never left, of course, but it now purported to explain the poor white males declining, even vanishing, prospects. See this recent article by Thomas Edsall, Two Americas.

When the notion of a college education for all began to gain traction in the US mindset, it triggered a concomitant expectation that a college education would deliver a financial reward for those who stuck it out. College education began to replace the old vocational education model where a specific career with specific financial expectations were the norm for students.

And finally we come to the point: In this climate focused on the dollar value of a college education, college education as vocational education, the liberal arts begin to look like a bad bet. Cue the lists of majors and their earning power.

See these four points from a Georgetown University article on the Economic Value of College:

1. The top-paying college majors earn $3.4 million more than the lowest-paying majors over a lifetime.
2. Two of the top highest paying majors, STEM and business are also the most popular majors, accounting for 46 percent of college graduates.
3. STEM (science, technology, engineering, and mathematics), health, and business majors are the highest paying, leading to average annual wages of $37,000 or more at the entry level and an average of $65,000 or more annually over the course of a recipient’s career.
4. The 10 majors with the lowest median earnings are: early childhood education ($39,000); human services and community organization ($41,000); studio arts, social work, teacher education, and visual and performing arts ($42,000); theology and religious vocations, and elementary education ($43,000); drama and theater arts and family and community service ($45,000).

Now we have this remarkable reality in our country. Blue collar workers have trouble, big trouble earning a decent income. Ironically, the communities of color who suffer along with the poor, white male high school grad, have developed ways of coping with economic hardships. See the Edsall article.

And, colleges and universities, stuffed into a false equivalency with vocational education, have cheapened the word value by taking up the talking point of the dollar value of a college education as a primary rationale for attendance.

The problem in other words is not with the liberal arts, but with the mindset that places money as the determiner of a good result in a post-high school education.

This is not only a travesty, it’s a tragedy. And how would you know this unless you had a liberal arts education?

Here’s a good example of what a liberal arts education can do and why it’s not only valuable (good value), but essential:

I don’t know whether the liberal arts in the college and university setting will survive the 21st century. But philosophy, theater, music, painting, sculpture, literature and the other liberal arts will survive. Why? Because we need critical thinking, effective communication, rational analysis, and ethical reasoning to understand and weigh the life or death choices facing humanity. We need them.

Wait

Spring and Kate’s Yahrzeit Moon

Friday gratefuls: Luke. CBE. The Thursday mussar group. Gracie and Leo, two dogs also learning mussar. Kep, the sweet boy. David Sanders. Being where I need to be. Taking a breath. Or, two. To Speak for the Trees. Ancient Celtic wisdom. Relevant today. Thanks, Tom. The Lodgepoles and the Aspens on this property. The Willows along Maxwell Creek. The Bristlecone Pine on Mt. Evans.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Authenticity

 

 

Not quite done with David Sanders. Close, though. The result may be, probably will be, I’m doing fine. Things will be good with my heart and my life. This meshes well with my levothyroxine boosted energy level, the coming of spring.

Punta Arenas, Argentina 2011

Even Kate’s yahrzeit though a sad memory does signal a year’s worth of time to integrate her loss. Time I’ve used as best I can. The grief has not passed, nor do I expect it to. Or, want it to. That sudden welling of tears has a direct heart link with her, with our marriage, with our love. I imagine the intensity of those moments will continue to diminish, but I don’t expect them to disappear.

As I explained earlier, due to the Jewish leap year her Jewish yahrzeit will not happen until May 1st. This April 12th though I’m lighting two 24 hour yahrzeit candles, one for her and one for our marriage. There is that third aspect of our life together, our usness, our mutual decision making, the frisson of our days and nights, the interactivity and mutuality, that also perishes.

No longer do we have a money meeting that parses our financial life. No longer do we consider how to celebrate our anniversary. Whether to go on another cruise. Hold hands in the car. Sleep together. Agonize over illness, celebrate joyfully for our grandchildren, children, dogs. Dead, too. And, grieved. I lost my partner. My best buddy.

Ushuaia, Southern most town in the Americas. 2011

My soulmate. Yes, corny as that phrase is. Yes. We helped each other grow. Consoled each other in tough times. Had the best interests of the other at heart. When I made a bad turn right in front of an oncoming car, I dithered about whether I should be driving. “Any one could have done that.” Oh.

Death has such finality. No do overs. No matter how much desired. I thought I already knew that, but no. I had to learn it again.

 

Sorta strayed from the main point there. Though not without good reason. Part of my question about what comes next lies entangled with the process of grieving. But not all. Not even most. It is my life, no matter the thread of sorrow now woven into it.

Feeling more confident about emergence. That as I live into the redone house, a less restricted post-Covid life (will it ever be really over?), when I feel my way into new possibilities as they become apparent, that the new, an extension of the old, of course, how can it not be, will declare itself. Might be a quiet embrace. Could be a noisy clamoring. Look what I’m up to now! Don’t know. Will, as Seoah would say, wait and see. Wu wei.

 

A word about To Speak for The Trees. This book, which I discovered after reading an article forwarded by Tom Crane, feels like a hook, a wu wei moment. Oh, yes. Celtic thought. I’d forgotten. Laid it aside. Yet here is this woman, about my age, Diana Beresford-Kroger, recounting her immersion in the Celtic life in Lisheen, Ireland. And how that immersion fed her life as a scientist, as a keeper of rare trees. How it might still feed us all.

Stirrings. Threads. Links. Weaving themselves again, still, into my days. I await guidance. With no expectations. Giving it over to the days as they come and go. Waiting.

No Wonder

Spring and Seoah’s Citizenship Moon

Saturday gratefuls: Alan. Boredom. Sadness. Missing Kate. Clean Kep, so playful in the morning. The up and the down of grief. Warm weather. More Snow coming. Ruby. Her need for the bad fuel. Habituation, the helpful and the unhelpful. Getting to the inflection point. The delicacy of an early Morning blue Sky over Black Mountain.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Boredom

 

Feeling my way into boredom, sadness, and grief. Sounds like a devil’s potion moving toward despair, but I don’t think so. Instead it feels like my psyche trying to break free.

Yes, I sat and cried yesterday afternoon. In that time after my nap and before evening when I feel. Pointless. Bored. Don’t want to read. Don’t want to watch TV. (a good feeling at that hour.) Don’t want to study. Don’t want to write.

Pointless. I have no purpose, no way forward. Just traveling. Walking. Slow. Along the ancientrail of longing for. Something. I know not what.

That delicate blue Sky has a few puffs of Cumulus now, lit up by a turning Earth revealing the Sun’s presence to start a new day. Whirling through the vacuum of space around and around and around. Following the Light Giver like a trapped Angel. As all the Angels and their Light Giver twirl outward from their home. A journey of ancient celestial mechanics. Glory. Glory. Glory. Hallelujah.

This journey older by far than the Laramide Orogeny, one that places the whole of Earthly Creation in its proper perspective. Deer Creek Canyon and its consolation nods to its Progenitor.

Purpose and purposelessness burn away. Sadness and grief burn away. Life itself burns away. We travel because we are in the journey and of its Way. The path is our meaning and our destruction. Like sadness and grief.

See the Self here. On a high velocity spaceship created not by rocket science. No. But by the forces that made possible the rocket scientist herself. Made possible that Fish clambering across the liminal zone between Water and Land. Made possible that one-celled Creature. Swimming. And even then the journey had long been underway.

Ah. No wonder the Taoist says follow the Water.

 

Mind Blown

Imbolc and the 3/4 Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Past lives. Near death experiences. Mystical experience. Reincarnation. Ode. Cooking. The meister chef, Tom. Cabbage and beef soup. Catfish. Chicken potpies. Rigel. Drinking. Ruth, so much better. Jon, too. Gabe, puzzling. My mind twisting round. The lamp, Ruth assembled. Swapping out coffee tables, the new one down here. The old one upstairs.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Reincarnation

 

Mind. Blown. Where to? Don’t know. That ship haha has sailed. Into the area of the map famously identified by: Here there be monsters. Or, angels. Or, Grandma. Or, the Otherworld.

My buddy, Ode, who has long insisted that reincarnation is a fact, long proven, as might a friend of both Terence and Dennis McKenna, has finally pushed me aboard the good ship Beyond. As most of the scientists in the video below claim, I don’t know where the ship has set sail for, nor how to interpret the evidence in a definitive way. But I’m aboard, maybe as a reluctant stowaway, but I want in on this journey.

No accidents. Not sure this idea and the idea of post mortem consciousness belong together; however, it is the case that for the last four years plus I’ve studied kabbalah, an ancient Jewish mystical philosophy that includes reincarnation as a reasonable and accepted part of its world (otherworld) view.

Astrology, too, as well. A brand of this even more ancient discipline called Evolutionary Astrology which presupposes reincarnation and strong hints about yours revealed by the nodes of the moon in your natal chart.

You might say, well, Kate’s dead so these ideas have more traction? Or, this is the day before your 75th birthday. What better time to throw on a sash that reads, Reincarnated! An escape hatch at last.

Those could influence me, I suppose, but all my life I’ve thought on my own, accepting ideas and rejecting ideas because they listen well in my inner chambers of judgment. Or, because they seem like nonsense. The video below listens well there.

An old and strong aspect of my thought could be called flat earth humanism, or as Ed in the video rightly calls it, physicalism. Materialism in its fancy philosophical dress clothes. Existentialist me, a Camus influenced college part of me, faced the darkness unafraid. Willing to make my own meaning. Living because I wanted to live, not because I had to and not because anyone told me how.

That Alexandria First Methodist guy, a young one, had some notion of the afterlife. My mother’s death at 47 took it to the grave along with her. Not fair. Not fair at all. Therefore neither just nor loving, both attributes of the one, the true, the mighty.

A while later I picked up the Christian mantle again and threw it over my shoulders, but this time I was not interested in the next world, but this one. How might we live here? Right here amidst war, the Vietnam War, economic injustice, racial and gender discrimination? I found answers in old Jewish notions of just kingship and a New Testament that demanded extension of love and compassion to the poorest and most despised among us.

Nowadays the Great Wheel, that pagan metaphor of life’s seasons, including the long fallow one in which we temperate folks find ourselves right now, guides my thinking. I can fold this post mortem idea into it.

This is a willed rejection of Wittgenstein in the Tractatus when he says: Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent. I shared this chivalric reticence, its honesty, for a long, long time. Now I feel it reveals fear rather than expressing a stoic truth.

Over the course of the next few years I plan to continue my study of kabbalah, astrology, and tarot. I ordered the three books of Edward Kelly. Gonna read them. I’m also reading two new anthropological books reassessing human development from physical, historical, and genetic perspectives. Taoism is in there, too.

The Rockies and the complicated textbook about life and change that they are teach me everyday. Pursuing these investigations because they interest me. I may have a book in there, some way of showing others how the natural world can teach us what we need to know about life, and now perhaps, death.

Gotta do something with this extra time the oncologists have given me. May as well be of some use.

And, happy birthday to me!

Blessings and Curses

Yule and the Moon of the New Year

Where’s the Webb?: Fully deployed the Webb has come 684000 miles from home and has 214000 to go to reach L2. This is 76% of the journey in distance. However this is Mission day 15 and it won’t reach L2 for another 14 Earth days. Slowing still at .2358 mps. Sun shield temp: 131F. Primary mirror: -289.

Sunday gratefuls: Modern Bungalow. Cheap sunglasses at Target. Down the hill and back. Ruby, still less than 32000 miles on her. Iris kitchen. The Turtle clock. A new living room waiting. Early February, after the kitchen reentry. Feeling energized and excited. The Webb fully deployed, now cruising to its spot on L2. Quantum mechanics. Natal  charts. Kabbalah. A new way.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: New furniture

Tarot  me, current path, potential: eight of stones, skill; three of bows, fulfillment; six of vessels, reunion

 

On the drive down to the Modern Bungalow in Denver I took the time to consider my schedule. My bête noire of the moment. Wipe the slate clean. What’s my schedule like at its barest? My day has four anchor points: 6 am, get up and feed the dogs. 6:30 or so, up to the loft and write Ancientrails. 3 pm, feed and water the dogs. 8:45 pm, go to bed. I have to get up and go to bed. I have to feed and water the dogs. I do not, however, have to write Ancientrails in the morning.

Of course, I’ve done that for almost 17 years, since March of 2005 while recovering from my Achilles tendon repair. That’s a pretty long streak. Still, I could do it another way. I can write it later in the day. Which I’m doing right now, at 5:30 pm. I’ll still post it in the morning, but my experiment with my time will be this: 6:30 or so, up to the loft and write 1,000 to 1,500 words. Fiction. Jennie’s Dead or my new work which will feature Lycaon again.

Exercise will still be important, but a shade less important than all the writing. That is, I will finish my word count for fiction before exercising. And, I will tailor my exercise to the time I have. Gonna consult with somebody to work out the minimum necessary to maintain my health. Two to three HIIT sessions. At least one, preferably two longer, slower cardio days. At least two days of resistance. That will be the goal, but it will be subordinate to writing.

Appointments in the early afternoon if possible. Weekends and Wednesdays exercise free zones. Wednesday still D3 day.

For many years I wrote 1,000 to 1,500 words a day, day in and day out. That’s how I have 9 novels finished at least through the first draft. I lost that rhythm and I’ve felt the loss every day since. Want it back.

 

At the Modern Bungalow I picked out a rocker, a coffee table, a chandelier, and a standing lamp. Found an Arts and Crafts clock with a Turtle in ceramic tile and bought that, too. Kate’s totem animal was the Turtle, slow and steady. The clock will give the new living room a definite Kate accent. I scheduled delivery for early February, a birthday present to myself and well after I’ve reestablished myself in the new kitchen.

I plan to ask Jon if he will stencil yellow Irises above my new cabinets in the kitchen. I want it to be the Iris kitchen. Another Kate acknowledgment. Irises were her favorite flower. The kitchen will need a splash of color since the brown of the cabinets will give it a darker feel. Why I splurged on the counter top, to have a large light surface against the dark cabinets.

 

The Webb. With all of the turmoil and division roiling the political landscape it sure felt good to see a BIG project like the Webb get through launch and deployment. So many of my friends also seem enthralled with this new tool for deep space observation. A lot of its work will be in spectra of light that human eyes cannot see.

I noticed from a NYT space notice on my google calendar that this week is the earth’s closest approach to the sun in its orbit. I don’t know if that had anything to with the timing of the Webb launch, but it seemed apropos anyhow.

We not only live the curse of the Chinese, May you live in interesting times, but we also live with the blessing of a visionary, pioneering space program.

 

Gotta admit I’m excited to be alive right now.

 

That Small Town Feeling

Yule and the New Year Moon

Where is the Webb? 2/3rds of the way to L2! 597000 miles from Home. 302,000 to orbital insertion. Still slowing at .2964 mps.  Secondary mirror deployment begins. Mission day 11. Full mirror deployment scheduled for mission day 15!

@willworthingtonart

Wednesday gratefuls: Small towns. Stephanie. My urology referral. Evergreen. The breakfast burrito. Kep and Rigel. Bowe. The cabinets. Getting there. Grief. Mourning. Kate, always Kate. Yellow Irises in the new kitchen. Cold coming today. Snow. Snow rake here. Gonna use it today. Ruby, riding down the mountain and back up. A sweet ride.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Small town feeling.

Tarot-January spread, Health: Page of Arrows, the Wren.

“Wren urges us to be the sort of person who keeps the curiosity of youth, to be attentive to our surroundings, and  ready to learn when the opportunity appears.

The Druids considered that the wren, the smallest bird, was the wisest. So, wrens remind us to listen.”  wildwood book

 

Simple things that make me happy. Moved my doc to Conifer Medical Practice’s Evergreen location. So, so happy. I drive a familiar road, down Black Mountain Drive and then Brook Forest Drive to 73. Into Evergreen to Stagecoach Boulevard. Stephanie, the PA I saw today, was chatty, friendly, unguarded, knowledgeable.

Didn’t have go down the hill, into suburban Littleton to a bigger physician’s group. When I got done, I found a breakfast burrito and coffee at the same place I buy the occasional chili cheese dog on my way home from mussar.

I’ll still have to down the hill for my ophthalmologist and urologist, gastroenterologist. But those are occasional appointments.

When I see Jackie in Aspen Park, my hairstylist, I get the same feeling. She knows me. I know her. We both live up here.

Sukkot, 2016, Beth Evergreen

Going to Congregation Beth Evergreen expands the number of folks I know who live up here, too:  Alan. Marilyn and Irv. Michele and David. Rebecca. Rabbi Jamie. Luke. Ellen. Elizabeth. Rich. Tara.

When I worked on the West Bank in Minneapolis. Same. I got to know residents, business owners, street people. We said hi. Sometimes stopped to talk. Seeing and being seen.

When I create Shadow Mountain Hermitage, it’s a hermitage embedded in a nest of familiar places and people. Alone, but not lonely. Grieving, not mourning. Life without ennui or angst. Small town, rural life.

Class of 1965 float, 2015

Some folks might feel suffocated in such a small circle of people. Not me. Feels just right. Family comes from time to time. Friends, too. It has the emotional quality for me as walking downtown in Alexandria, Indiana. Indiana as a state appalls me. Yes. But growing up in a small community where seeing and being seen was a gift freely and often unknowingly granted to everyone imprinted me.

I’m speaking for myself. You might be an urban guy or suburban gal. I’ve lived in both and know they both have terrific aspects. When it comes to where my heart feels best though. I’m living in it.

 

A real afterlife exists in the mailing lists and databases of companies and institutions. Kate continues to get mail. Now 9 months after her death. The most peculiar one was this one and it made me think Kate may have been paying attention to Moira:

 

 

The kitchen remodel grows closer and closer to the finish. Bowe put up cabinets, got water to my dishwasher. Brian still owes us two cabinets, a few doors, and shelving for installed cabinets. He did the take the China display cabinet I’ve been trying to get out of our downstairs since we moved in here. Fist pump!

When I stood in the kitchen after Bowe left, I did another fist pump. Even unfinished it made me feel energy, desire to cook there. I’m excited. The new, hybrid space has begun to emerge from plans, boxes, waits.

Tarot, Astrology, Quantum Mechanics

Yule and the Winter Solstice Moon

Webb gimbaled antenna deployment

Where is Webb? Now at a sedate .7860 miles per second, the Webb is 2 days into its journey to L2. 232000 miles from Earth and 667000 miles from orbital insertion.

Monday gratefuls: The Webb’s long journey. Boyish wonder. Our own long journeys. Adult enthusiasm. Jodi coming today to settle on backsplash. Ode and his positive covid rapid test. May he be well. Elizabeth, too. Snow. Sort of. The end of this wretched year approaching. Kep nudging me this morning. Money in the bank. Cooking. A bit.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Tarot

Tarot: 2022 spread. More later.

 

Herme and me

The Mayans had five useless days at the end of each calendar year. Unlucky, too. Don’t start new projects. Be careful. When I worked as a Presbyterian church executive, I took these days off. Had a research theme. Did that. Nobody wants somebody from the Presbytery (think Roman Catholic diocese) around the week after Christmas. My theme for this week: Tarot and Astrology and Quantum Mechanics. No, really.

The Tarot has already begun. My year of digging deeper into Tarot. Using the Wildwood Deck. Its associations with the Great Wheel. Reading. Doing spreads. Reading for others. Email or text me if you want a Tarot card reading. I’m learning and would appreciate the chance to practice.

I created a Barrow spread for the Winter Solstice. It said I needed to remain rooted in my solitude, my hermitage, until the fire returns. I accept that as wisdom from my inner guide. Probably means I’ll stay here through the winter, getting the house finished, getting back to work on Jennie’s Dead or a new writing project. Maybe another take on Lycaon.

A new Tarot year calendar has suggested a 12 card spread for the year 2022. Going to do that one today. When I’m finished writing this.

Astrology. Though I’ve read more and done more with astrology, I fell much further behind on the learning curve than I do with Tarot. Signed up for the next Torah and the Stars class. We’ll focus more on our birth charts. I’m working on a friend’s chart, too, though I don’t feel comfortable doing much with it yet.

In the same spirit of Tarot, if you’d like me to look at your birth chart and give you some feedback, let me know your time of day, location, and date of your birth. I’ll run a chart for you.

The quantum mechanics is for the Sefer Yetzirah class I’m also taking next term. Quantum mechanics and so much of what has been called occult may have connections. I say may have because I’m too ignorant of either quantum theory or the occult to have an opinion. Talk to me in three months and I might have something to say.

My buddy Ode has Covid. He’s boosted and I hope its Omicron. Still, he’s 77. In good health, yes, but… This whole damned thing has gone on way too long. Way too long.

I’ve got a year spread to do, then I’m going downstairs to straighten up a bit before Jodi and the housecleaners come. Jodi and I still have to decide on the backsplash but wanted to wait until the counter top was in place.

A Good Oncology Visit

Fall and the Michaelmas Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Mark Horn. The sephirot. The Tree of Life. Zoom. Kabbalah. Astrology. Alan. The Parkside. Breakfast out. Jackie. Oyama. Kristie. Quest labs. Golden Trees. Tall Mountains. Water falling down the Mountainside. The new trail. Evergreen.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Tarot

Tarot:  The Moon, #XVIII of the Major Arcana

 

Guess this is good news. I didn’t remember my visit to my oncologist when I wrote yesterday’s post. Anyhow, I’m remembering it now.

The route I took so often with Kate. To Swedish Hospital. Down the Hill to 285 and go on until morning. Well, at least to the Safeway just past Broadway. Urology Associates has an office at the Swedish campus, one of three.

Saw Kristie. Whom I like. She shows me my reports, prints them out. Explains things. She’s an advocate for her patients. Will listen to whatever question I have and answer it as well as she can. She’s never in a hurry. “I want to be your cheerleader.” From a lot of folks that would make me bristle, but with Kristie, I hand her a pompom.

In less than a month Orgovyx has taken my PSA down from 7.4 to 1.0. “That’s a great result.” Two bits, four bits… The side effects have begun to diminish. The debilitating fatigue is gone. The hotflashes are intense but shorter and less frequent than the Lupron induced ones. It did not raise my blood sugar. Somehow the lipid panel got missed, but I’ll find out next time if it’s pumping up my triglycerides.

I’ve achieved castration level testosterone reduction. Gosh. Isn’t that good! …a dollar. All for vanished testosterone stand up and holler!

My location in the prostate cancer trajectory has changed. I now have advanced prostate cancer. In essence this means it can no longer be cured. But, it can be managed as a chronic disease. Androgen deprivation therapy, ADT, can work, does seem to be working for me right now. However, ADT often finds its utility waning after it has been used for a while. Some kind of resistance builds up.

And so. I had a blood draw at Kristie’s request. Well, Aster tried twice to draw my blood, said “I failed! I’m gonna get Paula.” Aster told me the story of her first for real blood draw. “The guy forgot to tell me he was terrified of needles. He jerked when I poked him and the needle went in, under the skin, and came out further on. I think I was more upset than he was.” I bet that’s a memory that will last. Paula succeeded.

The blood draw is for a genetic test that identifies 32 genetic mutations known to cause prostate cancer. Kristie, “This is not only for research. We now have targeted drugs for some of these mutations. If you have one of them, we may able to give you a specific therapy for your cancer.”

Thinking to that day when ADT no longer works.

A good visit. As good as you can have at your oncologist’s. Cancer losing. More losing expected. Other treatments available.

Told Kristie I realized the other day that I’ve now had prostate cancer for six and a half years. Glass half full Kristie said that means mine is less aggressive because I went for some time with lower PSA’s. True. But. Aggressive enough to keep coming back after the two gold standard treatments: prostate removal and radiation.

Even so. It was good.

Not going into it today, but I started my Tarot and the Tree of Life Spread class. Mark Horn is a good teacher. Organized. Thoughtful. Kind. Responsive.

The Moon. #18 in the major arcana. Again. I keep drawing major arcana. The Lady. The Moon. The Hermit. The Devil. The Chariot. A lot of energy swirling around me, in me. Feels right.

Will just note here that I’m having a push/pull experience with my Kabbalah, Tarot, Astrology learning. The skeptic, a key part of my mental habitus, keeps screwing up his face. C’mon, Charles. Whatcha doin?

Another part says, yeah, I know. But the way these cards have spoken to me, I can feel an inner world value, an introspective assist that helps me. Same with the Kabbalah. Astrology still kicks in the skeptic, but I’m trying to figure out how it fits with the archetypal insights from Kabbalah and Tarot. I’m holding all this in my alembic, believing that the fire of continuous practice will decide how I really feel.

 

 

 

 

Dead Would Feel Better

Imbolc and the waning Megillah Moon

Monday gratefuls: Rigel and Kep, here with me. Kate and her struggle. Swedish E.R. Lea, Kate’s nurse yesterday. Ruby, dutifully moving me up and down the mountains. Roads. Vaccines. The stimulus bill passing the Senate. My ancient friends and a soulful Sunday morning yesterday. Kate’s sisters.

Sparks of Joy: Thor, Jude’s (next door neighbor) Australian shepherd puppy. In fact, I’ll give Thor two sparks. A Dalmatian puppy I saw sticking its head out of a pickup on the way home. My own sanity.

When I saw Kate yesterday, she was still in pain, a headache adding to the mix. Unusual for her. At one point she thought she might be in Andover or Conifer. I was to sleep on Rigel’s couch, which was right there, she said. That got me concerned so I called the nurse.

A CT scan of Kate’s brain showed no clots, bleeds. No stroke. Conclusion was that an anti-nausea med, stronger than her usual one, caused temporary confusion. Good to know. She is, the nurse said later in the evening, oriented, normal now.

When I last communicated with the hospital, the scan for a possible clot in her lungs had not been done, though scheduled later in the night. Sometime around 11 am MST, there should be word on what the plan is. I’ll let you know

I’ve gotten good sleep the last two nights, feeling better rested. Though tired anyhow.

This hospital visit has me concerned. Not that the others didn’t, but this feels different. The ambulance and the paramedics. The confusion in the hospital. The inability of the docs to find a cause for her distress on Saturday. She said while in the E.R., “Dead would feel better.”

I intend to keep putting one foot down, then the other. Not to get lost in maybes and what ifs, stay in the present as much as possible. Do what needs doing. Come up with some more cliches to describe keeping on with keeping on.

 

Stimulus plan passed the Senate. That’s a win for Biden, for Dems, for the U.S. I wish Democrats could wield the sort of party discipline McConnell achieves for the GOP. In a 50-50 Senate the whip is the most important figure. Dick Durbin is important.

The Chauvin trial is imminent. That should give a boost to the voting bill, the police reform legislation. What will it be like in Minneapolis? Don’t know. My old home metro. 40 years. Feels weird to be gone during such an important moment in its history.

Meanwhile, SpaceX landed a Starship. It exploded afterward, but the landing was enough to declare a success. Perseverance has begun to roll across Mars, sending back spectacular photographs.

Life continues, no matter personal circumstances. Though jarring, this fact is also reassuring.