Samain Moon of the Winter Solstice
Yes, self-absorbed. It’s one of the moral hazards of serious illness or significant medical procedures. The world is about my temperature, my pain, drugs, sleep, diet, chair. Other’s agree. For a while. But there comes a point where too much attention can become a path to a different, darker place. In that place the original cause for self-absorption passes, but the demands for preference do not. I’m raising the red caution flag for myself. (ok. yes, it’s ironic I do this on a blog devoted to my thoughts and life)
It’s time I began to take on tasks again. That gentle veil of opiates is still there, so is the pain, but my understanding of what this will take is also much greater now. Time and persistence. That’s what it will take. So, I’m on that and on integrating myself back into my life.
Kate’s taking a rest day, maybe two or three. The divorce. The grandkids on weekends. My surgery. Her own arthritis. She’s a dynamo that’s slowly wound down. Needs a recharge.
The main lineaments of the divorce, the rules of disengagement you might call them, are recorded. (I think.) Given the drama and pitched battles of the past few months you could be forgiven for thinking this is the end. Really, though, it’s the beginning. Being divorced is a verb, an ongoing action and it relates to the after marriage. Ask anyone who’s negotiated what to do with a sick kid. Or, had to choose a new school for children in a shared custody arrangement. Ask anyone whose heart thumps on that first date. Ask anyone who’s self-doubt still drags a locked trunk marked: the ex.
Let the after marriage life begin! And, as my buddy Bill Schmidt suggests, let the post-surgery life begin, too.
During holiseason many cultures celebrate holidays of light: hanukkah, diwali, christmas, for example. They are rituals that stand against the primal fear occasioned by the winter solstice; that the sun will never return, that the world will continue to grow dark. Even last night at mussar we spoke of the light of the candle, finding the light reflected in unusual places, the light that can get us through this period.
Here’s an odd outcome of the election. I’m planning on joining Congregation Beth Evergreen. Strange, huh? Turns out you don’t have to be Jewish. Weird, to me, but true.
Then, there’s Rabbi Jamie Arnold. He’s an unusual guy: an athlete, a good musician, a composer and arranger, too, an intellectual, and an embodiment of compassion leavened with toughness. This combination of skills and character make him a compelling leader.
But mostly there’s the potential for action against the impending Trump regime. Politics is not a solo sport; it requires allies. Congregation Beth Evergreen seems to have a core of folks who’ve done actual work in political situations. It clearly has a number of folks who want to do work on the Trump watch. That includes me. My politics and my spiritual journey have always been tightly wound together so working with folks at Congregation Beth Evergreen seems like a continuation.
Pre-op physical yesterday. EKG within normal parameters. Dr. Gidday walked me through the pre-op questions including one which wondered if I had dementia. When I asked her how I would know, she laughed, slapped my hand, “Everybody says something like that.”
I’ve seen two movies in the past couple of weeks, Dr. Strange and Arrival. I saw Dr. Strange in 3-D. Fantasy and science fiction still have my attention after all these years. Dr. Strange was fun, great CGI, a cast that includes Tilda Swinton and Benedict Cumberbatch, and the Dr. Strange origin story.
neither is the heptapod language. Time is more flexible than we think, malleable. No Randy Quaid flying his jet into the mothership, no Luke flying his fighter into the weak spot of the death star. In fact, no onscreen violence at all with the exception of an explosion, a brief one. Though you won’t understand unless you see it, Arrival is about the power of language.
And, improbably, it will be Thanksgiving next week. There is no hint of over the river and through the woods weather to stimulate that Thanksgiving feeling. We may get a storm on Thursday. That would help.
At 12:30 we drove over to Evergreen for mussar at Beth Evergreen. It was Rabbi Jamie’s birthday and each woman brought a cooked or purchased offering of some kind. We had cranberry juice with tea and mint, apple juice, brie and a wonderful soft cheese, warm carrots, pistachios, cashews, strawberries, grapes, melon, crackers, chips, guacamole, a birthday cake, sea-salt caramel and chocolate brownies (Kate, see pic), with Halloween plates and napkins.
If the Donald wins, I’m not leaving for Canada. That would just leave the country to him and his kind. Not acceptable. But I will build a transparent dome around our house. The dome will have a semi-permeable membrane for its skin. Only healthy, clean, non-stupid ideas will be able to come onto our property whether delivered by newspaper, internet, or television. I haven’t figured out what to do when we leave our dome home, a work in progress.
Since 9/11 our politics have become polarized, mean, unbending. The Donald has only ridden that cresting wave; he did not create it. Like any demagogue he has an instinctive feel for the anguish of ordinary citizens and an ability to say things that seem to give it voice. As a representative democracy, we rely on politicians for taking the pulse of their constituents. Yes, that’s true.