Category Archives: Shadow Mountain

Domesticity

Samain                                                              Thanksgiving Moon

20181111_171929Warmer, 31, and cloudy. The waning Thanksgiving Moon lit my morning walk to the loft through a veil of patchy cumulus. The neighbor in the rental put up an inflatable turkey with a pilgrim hat a week or so ago. Now there’s a Northpole sign on their mailbox, a Santa Claus and Christmas lights. They did wait until Thanksgiving was over. Most of us on our stretch of Black Mountain Drive have less glam. We have lights on at night all year, but just a strand in the front and along the walkway up to the loft. Holiseason brings out the inner kid. That’s Eduardo and Holly’s lights in the distance.

Kate’s still struggling. Her weight seems to have stabilized in the 80 to 81 pound range. She can’t get weight on in spite of eating and snacking. The nausea and the abdominal pain have returned. Her spirit seems good most of the time, but the lack of progress has begun to wear on her. I can see that. What happens next is a couple of more imaging studies this Thursday. Not really expecting that they’ll show anything. If they don’t, Dr. Rhee has agreed to consider tube feeding. She needs to get calories somehow and the traditional way isn’t working.

domesticI’m finding a peculiar satisfaction in domestic work. Dishes in the dishwasher right after use. Throw a load in the washer when I get up in the morning. Cooking what we have. There’s a thread through the day, things to do that are active and loving. I’ve come to like it. One of the things I noted a long time ago was that women’s work (in a stereotypical sense) dealt with life’s basics. Eat. Clean. Support. Repetitive. The clothes always get dirty. The dishes come after cooking. No matter what groceries and other supplies have to be purchased. Rinse and repeat. It makes sense to me now how homemaking is a noble art, a task unfairly distributed by past gender roles, yes, but so important to the well-being of a family.

Maybe if I’d ever paid attention to fixing things, I’d get traditional male role satisfaction there, too. But, I haven’t. Oh, I have my moments. The jerry-rigged deck with wooden palettes and horse stall mat walking surface. The cabinet doors finally fixed with longer screws. But really it just frustrates me to try make the physical world conform to what I want.

Waiting for a court hearing, Denver Court House
Waiting for a court hearing, Denver Court House, Nov. 13, 2018

One thing that is different now from when Kate had shoulder surgery back in April is that we have a functioning dish washer. Boy, does that make a huge difference. When I cooked then, the dishes went into the sink, glaring at me until I did them. The added step after cooking and clean up wore me out. Now I get the dishes and pans in there right away and they’re off my mind. A mind saving as well as a labor saving device.

Annie goes home today. She’s had her hands full the last couple of days making funeral arrangements for a sort of ward of the Fatland family, Kate’s mom’s family. Barb was 98. Annie’s also doing a counted cross stitch of the Devil’s Tower. Fine work. She’s out of the jail now after 30 years inside, as a guard. A lot of adjustment as any major life shift like that requires.

Around 8:30 this morning I’m into Denver to the Denver City/County criminal court. Jon’s court date for the restraining order violation. Not sure what to expect. Jon seems to think it will not be too harsh. I hope he’s right. He has enough going on with his house and his car, being a single parent.

 

Not Your Norman Rockwell Thanksgiving. But, a good one anyhow.

Samain                                                                                  (full) Thanksgiving Moon

(N.B. I love vintage images on the web. I’m including here some of the weird ones I found while checking out Thanksgiving.)

Thanksgiving weirdWe put out our best aluminum tins from Tony’s. Mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, sage stuffing, green beans almondine. I plunged the plastic bag of turkey gravy in boiling water. The turkey breast went in a shallow pan with a 1/2 cup of water. We have two ovens and the top one, the smaller of the two, did its job well for the potatoes and the stuffing.

The larger, lower oven not so much. After almost an hour in an oven reputed to be at 350 degrees the turkey hardly moved the dial on the meat thermometer. Well. Perfect. No Thanksgiving is complete without some culinary malfunction. Kate suggested I slice the breast and warm the pieces in the microwave. How did we ever survive without microwaves? Many of you remember the primitive past. Today’s kids don’t know how lucky they are.

Thanksgiving camelsOn the table sat our finest paper plates, a big turkey printed on them saying gobble, gobble, gobble. The napkins had pumpkins and vines and stuff. The meal was very good and aside from the now suspect ovens (I won’t mention that the other one went wonky, too.) exceeded my hopes.

We talked about the usual Thanksgiving topics.That dumb#$! in the Whitehouse. The ruination of American culture by technology. No, wait a minute. That was somebody else’s house.

We talked about Annie’s retirement from the Scott County jail after 30 years of public service. Learning how to be retired is not something we anticipate, but it can be a real challenge. She’s working on it. And getting there, I think.

Jon’s car came up. Always a fruitful topic. He’s putting on a new axle today, getting ready to refit several bushings. His hearing next Tuesday for the misdemeanor. Ruth and Gabe. “They eat whole baguettes. I have to hide them.”

Thanskgiving pabstKate’s two months from hell. A modest amount of this excellent meal sent her straight to bed. Not sure where we go from here. Smoothies and Korean food, maybe.

Jon and I talked for awhile after Kate went to bed and Annie went up for a nap. He took home a large chunk of turkey breast, sweet potatoes, sage stuffing and green beans. “Next year my kitchen should be done. We can have Thanksgiving there.” Sounds good to me.

In between all this I’m still learning about planets and glyphs, natal charts, signs, houses. The big task though is not directly astrology related. I’m going to figure out the notion of the archetype once and for all. After reading Tarnas, I’m convinced archetypes are a big clue to the efficacy of astrology, but how does that work? And, just what is an archetype anyhow?

Thanksgiving 2Woke up this morning and did my gratitude practice. At night I consider all the gifts I got during that day, all the gifts I gave, and any trouble I caused. In the morning I start out with what I’m grateful for right now. Both practices seem to soothe me, put me in a place to receive and accept blessings. Life’s a hell of a lot better when I’m in that sorta space.

So. If you’re reading this, I’m grateful you took the time. Thanks.

a prepper at work

Samain                                                                       Thanksgiving Moon

astrology natalOne more turn to Tarnas before my consultation with Elisa tomorrow. He made his move toward a synthesis of   the modern mind and the Romantic–equivalent to the distinction between the self shaped by the Copernican disenchanted cosmos and the primal, ensouled (enchanted) universe that went before. His initial step came through depth psychology, tapping the collective unconscious and the idea of synchronicity to suggest a permeable self influenced by the cosmos and influencing it. Having opened the door between Self and cosmos with depth psychology, he turned toward astrology.

Over three decades ago he began to make natal charts, do the calculations, first for himself and several (40 or so) people he knew well. He began finding uncanny correlations between charts and people’s lives, people with whom he was familiar. He went further, expanding his investigations through students and colleagues to include many more individuals. Tarnas admits the difficult, often subjective nature of determining correlations and seems genuinely interested in an unbiased look at the claims of astrology.

I’ve only read Cosmos and Psyche, but he seems honest in his approach to scholarship, careful, not prone to easy enthusiasm. That counts a good deal for me in assessing his work. He’s an intellectual historian and a depth psychologist, a working intellectual with a Ph.D. Of course, none of that says he’s correct; but, it does mean he’s been vetted by other scholars.  He offers the usual and some not usual objections to the direction of his research.

archetypesHis argument about skepticism as a tool, not an end, was a wakin’ up moment for me. Oh, duh! Of course. Only I hadn’t seen it that way. Skepticism was a way of life for me and I treated the world of ideas as you might expect. I embraced almost nothing, held every philosophical and religious claim at a skeptical arms length. Yes. And no. I had let the tool use me, rather me using the tool.

Opening to the possibility of some value in astrology has not come easily for me and I’m still not sure about it, though I hope Elisa will help me when I see her tomorrow. I’m having an X-File’s moment: I want to believe. Tarnas, recommended by Tom Crane, has helped push me a bit further along the way, opening me. Even if I become convinced of its utility though, I believe there are more ways to heal the disenchantment. Tarnas has leaned into astrology, but why not the tarot, the i ching, using the same arguments.?

There are other, less esoteric methods to open the Self, to mutuality between Self and enchanted cosmos. I mentioned a few of those a post or two ago. Here are a couple more.

Soil Organisms There are millions of microorganisms in 1 tsp of fertile agricultural soil
There are millions of microorganisms in 1 tsp of fertile agricultural soil

Most of you who read this are familiar with my story of mystical atonement after a class on metaphysics in college. It was a moment, maybe a minute, maybe two, in which I stopped and the world beyond became clear to me. I was connected to it and it to me. It was a vital, all engaging other, the other in this case being the whole beyond me, beyond my Self. Yet. It was not beyond me, but within me while I was within it. This was a visceral, embodied experience. It needed no mediation from sacred scripture, natal charts, or card reading. It just was.

Dig. I mean it. Go outside (wait til it’s warmer if you want). Take a trowel or a shovel or use your hand. Scrape away the surface matter, push your hand wrist deep into the soil.* By going down into the earth you can know the thin substrata that literally keeps us alive. Without this living soil we could grow little food. It is outside of us and yet, in what I’ve often called the true transubstantiation, will become not only one with us, it will become us.

mysticismMy only point here is that astrology, especially one linked as Tarnas does to the concept of archetypes, may provide us with aids to self-knowledge, aids that light up an enchanted universe, help it become visible. And if it does, I want to use it, include it in my tool kit. Right there alongside skepticism. But I don’t see it as the only, or even the most important, clue to an ensouled universe.

Mysticism is more important to me. So is the tactile spirituality that requires no charts, no trines or alignments, to show me the way outside of my self and into an enchanted universe. This synthesis between the primal worldview and the modern one is a critical for our time. It’s what reimagining faith wants to build. It’s what reconstructing faith will look like. There is more. Far more.

 

*According to S.A. Waksman, a microbiologist, in just ¼ teaspoon of fertile soil you could find:

  • 50 nematodes;

  • 62,000 algae;

  • 72,000 amoebae;

  • 2,920,000 actinomycetes;
    and

  • 25,280,000 bacteria!        Youth Guide to Soil

 

A Permeable Self

Samain                                                                  Thanksgiving Moon

Our house in the early morning, light on Shadow Mountain
Our house in the early morning, light on Shadow Mountain

Tarnas uses Jung to make a bridge to astrology. First, he credits depth psychology, especially Freud and Jung, with moving Enlightenment rationality into the realm of a neo-primal worldview. The collective unconscious is a vast sea in which we all swim, our inner life effected by and effecting this outer context. That makes the modern self at least a semi-permeable membrane. Synchronicity, a Jungian notion, encourages us to look to how the outside may be speaking to our inside and vice versa.

I was with him on this line of thinking. It was synchronicity that brought the three mountain spirits, mule deer bucks, to our backyard here on Shadow Mountain the afternoon I closed on the purchase. We spent time together, present to each other, maybe thirty feet apart, seeing each other and being seen. It was clear to me that the mountains welcomed us, had given us their blessing for moving here.

Kate and I saw a stand of aspen that leafed out before all the others. Yes, I wondered about it from an arbor culture perspective, what made them favored over the many other groves? But, I also saw it as an affirmation of growth at different rates, even among members of the same species.

253_Body_Mind_SpiritWhen Orion rises, as he does each year, and I see him for the first time, it is the same feeling as seeing an old friend again. The same feeling. Orion has been with me and I with him since the guard shack in Muncie, Indiana where he graced my night shift attention. Orion is not merely starry objects far away, arranged in a distinctive pattern, though he is that. He is a part of the universe with which I have a personal relation. Is that relationship reciprocated? I don’t know. But, it feels like it.

There is more. Long ago, after reading the Creation of Patriarchy by Gerda Lerner, I saw the perniciousness of transcendence, a move that diminishes the human by placing our ultimate validation outside the Self. Tarnas critiques this, too, as a transcendent god emptied out the cosmos, disenchanting the universe by creating a special creature, humans. Thus, the locii of significance, of vitality, of meaning was either in the godhead, up and away from creaturely existence, or in his creation, humankind. All else was an object created for the pleasure or sustenance of one or the other.

By choosing to locate my spirituality in the garden, its plants, in the animals who were our neighbors, in the community of other humans that I experience and deep within my own self, going in and down into the collective pool of archetypes and symbols Jung called the collective unconscious, I pushed at the boundaries of my Self as an isolate, beginning to break down the formidable, even hermetic, seal around it banged into place by Enlightenment reason.

Bee-guyThe current signature line on my e-mails is from John Muir, “You are not in the mountains, the mountains are in you.” Yes. In this discussion that includes depth psychology it’s appropriate to notice the synchronicity of living on Shadow Mountain, that massif within the psyche that contains all that we fear, that we reject, that we push away. How bout that? And beyond my study window is Black Mountain.

When I got a cancer diagnosis back in 2015, I wrote about the Consolation of Deer Creek Canyon and during Kate’s recent crisis, about the Laramide Consolation. In both cases the mountains spoke to me. I imagined their rootedness, their difficult and wrenching time as they were pushed up, up, up by the tectonic motion of our planet’s crust, the deep geological time that they represent, lives millions of years long already, with millions more before they become low ranges like the much older Appalachians. Our mayfly life compared to these stolid eminences. The particulars of our mortality vanish in the mountains. We are water running down from the peak, coursing through Maxwell Creek, emptying into Bear Creek, then the Platte, onto the Mississippi and the Gulf of Mexico. We join the vast ocean of the dead.

images (6)As we try, some of us intuitively like me, some of us more systematically like Tarnas, to heal the rupture between the human and the living universe, we find a drag chute attached to our thought: 500 or so years of human autonomy, freedom, even liberation, 500 years of human probing, learning, knowing about the world seemingly disconnected from our Selves. The more classically educated you are, the more broad your learning, the more likely you are to feel something wrong with this line of thinking. It doesn’t add up. How can the universe have intention, consciousness? It’s the objective reality we probe with minds like Einstein, Bohr, Sagan, Darwin, Pasteur, Curie. We’ve found its regularities, its laws, its patterns, and we can use them to predict natural behavior and therefore exploit it.

How’s that going? Our hubris is killing us. We can find oil, so we do. We can refine oil for many different uses, so we do. We burn oil and let its byproducts drift off into our atmosphere. You know the end of this tale. An earth too hot for most human life. Would a sensibility that places us in the cosmos AND of it, do something so stupid? Or, perhaps better, once we discovered the implications of what we were doing, would we continue? No.

Tarnas, in the last pages of the second section of his book, suggests astrology as a means of expressing the intricate dance between our selves and the cosmos into which we were thrown at birth. Just how this works in his understanding I don’t know yet; but, I do know that his analysis of the crippling anomie occasioned by our Selves walled off from the rest of the place we inhabit has compelled me to give this idea a fair hearing.

 

Come Home

Samain                                                                    Thanksgiving Moon

restaurantsI’m at Dino’s on far west Colfax, near Kipling. This is an Italian place that my friend Alan Rubin used to visit when he grew up on west Colfax, further east, into Denver. The old orthodox neighborhood. Much like, I guess, the northside of Minneapolis at about the same time. His dad was a brilliant immigrant who ended up running a string of dry cleaners, doing very well. Dino’s, founded in 1963, hasn’t changed its decor since then, we both guessed. Great pizza.

Kate calls. “SeoAh and I are sick.” OMG. Both had a stomach bug. Something neither one needed, Kate least of all. “Can you come home and take care of the dogs?” Sure. “Alan, this seems to be my life right now.” “That’s because it is your life right now.” I missed packing Thanksgiving dinner boxes at the Jefferson County Action Center, something Kate and I did last year. This time though Alan and mines religious school class was there.

November, 2017, Action Center
November, 2017, Action Center

Alan and I went at Dino’s, close to the Action Center, to plan for next week’s class. We’ll be using a wonderful graphic rendition of the Pirkei Avot, the Ethics of the Fathers*. Each student will pair up with another and we’ll give them a copied page. They’ll help each other learn about the text, then color them. This paired learning is called havruta.** After they’ve studied and argued over their page, they’ll teach the class. At least that’s the plan.

After we finished our sausage and mushroom pizza, I got in the Rav4 and headed back to Shadow Mountain. 6 pm. The heart of rush hour. Fortunately I only had to travel a small chunk of 470 with all the folks going back to the southern burbs from downtown Denver. At this hour it can be stop and go past 285. Which is where I turn west into the mountains.

 

*”Pirkei Avot (literally, “Chapters of the Fathers,” but generally translated as “Ethics of Our Fathers”) is one of the best-known and most-cited of Jewish texts. Even those who claim to know little about Jewish literature are familiar with maxims such as “If I am only for myself, who am I? (1:14)” and “Say little and do much (1:15).” Popular Hebrew songs take as their lyrics lines such as “The world stands on three things: Torah, service, and acts of loving kindness (1:2)”  and “You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to desist from it (2:21).”” My Jewish Learning

**”Jews seldom study alone; the study of Torah is, more often than not, a social and even communal activity. Most commonly, Jews study Jewish texts in pairs, a method known as (“fellowship”). In havruta, the pair struggles to understand the meaning of each passage and discusses how to apply it to the larger issues addressed and even to their own lives.” My Jewish Learning

Grrrr

Samain                                                                     Healing Moon

Gabe and Jon
Gabe and Jon

When it snows, it blizzards. Gabe’s in the hospital, surgery this morning. Appendix out. (late breaking news. Surgery stalled to be sure appendix is the issue.) Come on stars, planets, fate, random chance, whatever the f&*! has descended on this family. I mean, aaarrrgghhh.

I’ll see Gabe later today at University Children’s Hospital, then head over to Dazzle Jazz for an evening with Franny and the Jets. Franny Rubin is the 21 year old daughter of my friends Alan and Cherie Rubin. She has an amazing voice. This is, I think, her debut at Dazzle. Jon may join me.

20181031_105859
Kate and Jackie, (Jackie is Groot. Mask off.)

Meanwhile Kate got her hair done, which always gives her a boost. She’s determined to gain weight and eats as much as she can, as often as she can. Her gut may still be upset from all the bad experiences it had over the last month plus. Whatever it is, it’s still tough, even without the nausea, for her to eat easily. Heartburn, roiling tummy. That sort of thing. My sense is that things are slowly, very slowly, improving.

Her stamina is still modest, her weight still way too low. We’ve got the time though and the will. I’m going to concentrate on becoming as good a cook as I can, both to help her find foods she can eat and for the other obvious benefits. Bought a new cookbook, Salt Acid Fat Heat, highly recommended by Michael Pollan. The author, Samin Nosrat, has a short special, four episodes, airing now on Netflix. Worth watching.

The snow yesterday, in the way of the Colorado solar snow shovel, has melted off the driveway, no clearing required. It’s still hanging around on the lodgepoles, mountain sides, yards. Beautiful up here.

Blue

Fall                                                                                Healing Moon

ballot-e1476388826824Kate and I got coffee, sat down at our beetle-kill pine dining table, cracked open the mailers from the state of Colorado, and voted. Not a complicated ballot in terms of candidates, though the retention questions for judges left us both scratching our heads. Guess which way we voted? Blue wave, blue wave, blue wave. At least two water particles added.

On the other hand there were several referendums on the ballot. Some obscure, like changing the way judicial candidates are presented on future ballots to a measure eliminating slavery and involuntary servitude. Some not so obscure but frustratingly necessary because of Colorado’s TABOR, a long ago referendum which passed requiring all tax increases to be voted on by the general public. These referendums are attempts to squeeze out more funding for education and transportation, both victims of TABOR’s constrictive grip on Colorado’s public economy.

taborThen there were two that make creating both federal and state legislative districts non-partisan. Like campaign funding gerrymandering is currently a cancer in our democracy, both in their own way as serious as the orange tumor in our body politic. Voting yes.

A controversial measure this year involves setbacks for drilling pads as frackers go after natural gas and oil often inconveniently located. One of the biggest oil and natural gas deposits lies in Weld County, part of the Denver-Aurora Metro. Prop. 112 would increase the setback from dwellings and businesses to “a 2,500 foot buffer zone between new oil and gas development and occupied buildings like homes and schools, as well as water sources, playgrounds and other vulnerable areas.” prop 112 website We voted for the setback.

libertarianColorado continues to be a strange political environment to this native Midwesterner. The libertarian streak in all American politics colors issues with a let me alone and don’t make me pay swoosh, here it’s a swoosh often as big as the entire running shoe. That can drive electoral decisions. There’s also the even more dramatic than in most states divide between the liberal Front Range and the remainder of Colorado. Rural and mountain Coloradans often complain that their views are ignored. True, too, to some extent. The rural vote is often reflexively against candidates and ballot measures that seem to reflect Front Range values.

We’ll see how much in-migration has altered the politics here on November 6th.

 

Dead pump lying in the ground

Fall                                                                        Healing Moon

wellWell pump dead a couple of hundred feet under the surface. It will cost about the same as I’m projecting Kate’s hospital co-payments. Oh, joy. Right now I’m feeling beat down, labile.

I know this is just today’s trouble. And, I know that I’ve solved it. Living Water will have the pump replaced by supper time. But having to spend the day on this, plumber, then well pump guy, has pushed me up to an unhappy edge. Temporary, I know, but right now? Yecchh.

Looked down our well casing. Not much to see. Dark and deep, just like Frost’s snowy woods. The pump truck is in our front yard, boom up about 25 feet or so, lowering down a piece of tackle that links on to 21 foot lengths pvc. They have to be unthreaded and set aside. However deep the well is we’ll have an equivalent amount of pvc. Between 9 and 15 of them.

Well+Pump+FailureThen the pump. It labors on our behalf, in the dark, responding when the pressure tank calls for water to keep the house supplied toilets, showers, faucets, hoses, dish and clothes washers. The pump is most of the expense, this one coming in at $1,500. Other matters are metal sleeves for the new pump, new wiring, since the 1991 code requires all wells to have a ground and ours went down in 1982, and, of course, the men and the truck.

Home ownership. The American dream. And water such a big part of it.

 

Incognitum

Fall                                                                     Healing Moon

Exhumation of the Mastodon: Peale, Charles Willson, 1741-1827.
Exhumation of the Mastodon: Peale, Charles Willson, 1741-1827.

Another of life’s inflection points. I want to consider it, honor it, respond to it, but I’m having a hard time. Just too tired. And, I feel guilty about that. Like somehow I should be able to just power my way through and get back to the usual. Which is unrealistic. Certainly for the next few weeks, maybe on an ongoing basis. Need to know what the new normal might be like. Too soon. I know it. So I’m trying to hold back, not speculate, not project. The fact of trying though suggests I’m not always successful.

Here’s an analogy I discovered in the High Country News, my favorite source of information about the West. In reviewing a novel called West there’s a quote from a widowed farmer on his way to the land beyond the Mississippi. He says, to a Dutch land agent he encounters on a river boat, “I am seeking a creature entirely unknown, an animal incognitum.” Apparently Thomas Jefferson also sought the animal incognitum, probably a Mastodon.

Humanity has always wondered what's on the far shore -- even if our guesses sometimes miss the mark.
Humanity has always wondered what’s on the far shore

Right now, I’m on the riverboat, looking at the western shore of the Great River, wondering what lies on the land which spreads out from there to the Pacific Ocean. It contains, I know, a life incognitum, a life so far unknown. Not entirely unknown, certainly. There will be familiar elements in familiar places, but the rhythm, the demands, the joys? Will change. That farmer and I share a desire to explore the land, to find the incognitums, to embrace them, and find our way anew.

It’s a source of energy. I love the unknown, the strange. Vive la difference! More news as this pilgrim sets foot on the shore, buys an oxen or two and loads up the Conestoga with supplies.