Category Archives: Judaism

Judaism

Conversion

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Summer and the Summer Moon Above

Friday gratefuls: Rabbi Jamie. Ann. Judaism. A ritual in Jerusalem. Mussar. God is Here. Metaphor. Constructing a life. Diane. Zoom. Sanctuary. The Ancient Brothers. Calming down. Learning. Reading. The lev. The tao. Chi. Chuang-tzu. Lao-tzu. Korea. Asia. My son and his wife. Taipei. The National Gallery. Art. A missing part of my life. Ruby. Her ongoingness. Kate, her memory a sweet blessing. Kep and Rigel, too.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Burning through everything but love

One brief shining: The morning here on Shadow Mountain the bright blue Sky, Great Sol warming Lodgepoles and Aspens, a Dog barks a few houses away, a can of Mineral Water nearby, my mind slows down, focuses, tells my fingers what to write.

 

Pushed the conversion boat away from the pier yesterday. Rabbi Jamie and I met. I’m going to do a ten session course of study with him and probably a 30 session course later in the year from the Rocky Mountain Rabbinical Association. I want a broader grounding in matters Jewish. I will however become a member of the tribe in Jerusalem.

Having already arranged a ritual of conversion for two others in Jerusalem Rabbi Jamie offered me a chance to participate in it. It has three parts. A rabbinic court consisting of three Reconstructionist Rabbi’s will interview me for a half an hour or so. If they approve, then a drop of blood is taken from the head of my penis! After that, immersion in a mikvah,  a ritual bath. After. I’m a Jew.

I will wear the kippah at services. When I go. Which is rarely because they’re at night. What I’m doing here is aligning my lev, my heart-mind, with my daily life. In my lev I converted a while ago. By that I mean I find the sacred manifest in the people among whom I live, and move, and have my becoming. Here in Colorado those people are Jews. I have a rabbi. And, a synagogue.

Not giving up my animism, my Great Wheel sensibilities, no. Adding to them a community, a people. And an ear to a 5,000 year old tradition focused on how to live a human, humane, and just life.

The tradition is that the Rabbi has to turn you away three times. Instead Rabbi Jamie has three reasons for not becoming a Jew and asks for a response to each of them. The first: other religions offer a reward after death. Judaism does not. So. Why go with Judaism? My response: Not sure about what happens after death, but I am sure it’s not a reward based moment. If there is a moment. The second: Anti-semitism. If you become a Jew, you step into the world of Jew hatred and become subject to it. My answer: I fight for those I love. Bring it on. The third: Anti-semitism from other Jews. Yes, converts will be treated differently by some. My response: That’s on them.

A final step for me before death. Anchoring myself to a people. Not an isolate, a member of a tribe. Though living alone in relative seclusion. As I want.

Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Judaism, Woolly Mammoths

A bit more on conversion

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Summer and the Summer Moon Above

Monday gratefuls: Out of thin Air. The Ancient Brothers on the elemental. A good nap. Nights growing longer. Living in the temperate zone. Allergens. Itchy eyes, runny nose.  Peripheral vision. Vision. Taste. Hearing. Touch. Smell. Building our own personal reality. Rabbi Jamie. Dick. Tara and Arjan. The many folds and valleys, neurons and synapses of our brains. The wonder of the whole nervous system. Cancer. Prostate Cancer.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The mind-heart. The lev

One brief shining: This morning the Lodgepoles exude health needles green bearing new green cones alongside older light brown ones shooting into the blue Sky with puffy white Cumulus drifting through and Black Mountain’s gentle presence not far away my home world.

 

The Ancient Brothers talked through the four elements: air, earth, fire, and water. A week for each. Five different perspectives on each element. Paul, the careful researcher. Mark, the personal with a creative twist. Bill, often the religious or poetic. Tom, literary and scientific, poetic. Myself, the personal with a religious twist. Our differences are what make these Sunday mornings. Same topic through different lenses. All valid. All interesting. All enriching. A lesson here about the nature of the human community. We need you to show up as you. You’re the only one who can.

 

Also a clue here about my reason for converting. In the Word to Deed class Jamie gave this past Saturday we discussed the Ma Tovu, a prayer said upon entering a synagogue or other house of worship:

How lovely are your tents, O Jacob; your encampments, O Israel!
As for me, through Your abundant grace,
I enter your house to worship with awe in Your sacred place.
O Lord, I love the House where you dwell, and the place where your glory tabernacles.
I shall prostrate myself and bow; I shall kneel before the Lord my Maker.
To You, Eternal One, goes my prayer: may this be a time of your favor.
In Your abundant love, O God, answer me with the Truth of Your salvation.    Wikipedia

While discussing the first three verses, I offered a slightly different reading than the others. Jacob represents the individual, Israel the collective. Or, said another way, the personal and the communal. As for me I take as the individual who, through the abundant grace of a collective or community (Your in this case referring back to the first line) enters with awe into a place made sacred by the community itself. This made me think of why I love CBE, the sacred nature of the connections I’ve made there. I now had a horizontal rather than a vertical view of sacred community. Not infused with holiness from above or without, but created from within the magic and mystery of human connection, human relationship.

To go on. O Lord I read as a Self, a Soul. The rest is an inner prayer. I love this body and this community in which I dwell. The place where glory tabernacles. I am a humble member of this community which makes me who I am. To you, the Eternal soul/Self, I pray, hoping this is a time of your favor. In the abundant love I feel in this community I find the truth of your salvation. [salvation=healing, wholeness]

As Bill said yesterday morning when I recounted some of this, he said, that’s what makes the Woolly’s special. And, it is. We find the sacred, the mysterious, and the grace filled not in some dogmatic prison but in the everydayness of our lives. With the people we come to love, with the people we come to trust with our most intimate selves. And with the places that give us the same feelings.

So converting is not really about a religion per se, it’s making a claim about who my people are. I have at least three religions by this count: Judaism, The Woolly’s/Ancient Brothers, and my family.

 

 

 

Art and Culture, Asia, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health, Judaism, Kabbalah

Calligraphy and OMG channel

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Summer and the Summer Moon Above

Sunday gratefuls: The Ancient Brothers. Air. Thin air. Earth. Wind. And Fire. Elemental, my dear Watson. Sherlock Holmes. Perry Mason. Hercule Poirot. Daiglish. Mystery. Mysteries. Books. The written word. The spoken word. Acting. Herme. Han Shan. Whitman. Rilke. Rumi. Oliver. Harrison. Lee Child. CJ Box. Richard Powers. Idris Elba. Ethan Hawke. K-dramas. The lev, the mind-heart. The Moon. The  Sun. Our Home.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Writers

One brief shining: A Mountain morning blue Sky above Black Mountain curving behind the Lodgepoles in my Yard a cup of coffee and water on the desk my fingers dancing on the keyboard not only an extension of the curves and folds of my brain but of my lev saying things before I think them reading what I have written to know what I’m saying the joy of writing.

 

 

Calligraphy. An art almost unknown to Americans, even more so to millenials who have famously not been taught cursive writing. When Kate, my son, and I went to China, I remember we went to a national museum in Beijing. I was excited because I had always found Chinese art compelling. Disappointed. The exhibits were all calligraphy. Mostly long sheets of rice paper [made from mulberry leaves] with the squiggles and wiggles of Chinese cursive ideograms. Unintelligible. It took a while for me to realize the power of what I’d seen. How I wish now I could return to that exhibit.

Oddly, many at CBE remember me for a project during one Kabbalah class focused on the Hebrew alphabet. Using sumi-e brushes and black ink from Japan I drew many of the Hebrew characters in a flowing cursive, put a small verse beside them, then signed with my chop I purchased when in Beijing. The small red mark of my name contrasted with the black of the aleph and bet and vav and nuns. I set up tables and had everyone try the experience of using sumi-e brushes.

Mark Odegard sent me an image of a Han Shan, Cold Mountain, poem he had done by a Chinese calligrapher. What a beauty. Made me want to own a nice piece of calligraphy for my home. Searching for one.

 

Had a bad time Friday evening and Saturday morning. I let the worm of anemia enter my omg channel. Usually I get diagnostics back from my blood work the next day on Quest Diagnostics. The result of the latest round of blood draws, taken Thursday, has not been posted. I think some maintenance issue on the Quest website. However, it left me wondering about anemia with no helpful information to counteract speculation. Internal bleeding? Probably not, although not to be ruled out. Low iron or vitamin B? The blood tests will show. So I went to the logical place next: leukemia. I have cancer already, why not two kinds rather than one? With no data my mind went down that road pretty easily.

Here’s the thing. I’m not afraid to die, but I’d prefer later thank you very much. Still. Could be now? Right? I’m ok with that, yes, but again, not my preference. I went over the legacy such as it is. My writing. Friendships and family. This stand and that for justice. Perhaps a few original ideas not well developed. Got sadder as I thought. The evening was chilly, rainy. Gloomy. Outside mirroring inside.

Took me a bit of time to right the ship. Not long but not before I’d had a persistent gnawing angst for a few hours. Didn’t disturb my sleep however.

Faith and Spirituality, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Judaism

How bout that

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Summer and the Summer Moon Above

Saturday gratefuls: Pavilion L at Denver Health. Travel Clinic. Those two nurses. Typhoid vaccine. Immunocompromised. Joe Mama’s. Alan. Driving down the hill. A cool but clear day so far. Rain yesterday. Rabbi Jamie’s 18th anniversary. The potluck. Ice Cream from Liks. Seeing Sally, Ann, Ellen, Dick, Alan, Cheri, Helen, Rich, Kim, Rich’s mother, Irene, Elizabeth, Susan. A community. My community. An informal conversion. Me. Crossing the Threshold. A ritual. Herme, a one man show. Anemia. Weariness.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Alan and me

One brief shining: Yesterday in a ten foot wide breakfast place Joe Mama’s Alan and I managed a feat worthy of an updated Buster Keaton sketch wherein I arrive early and take a seat at a two-topper right ear against the wall and back to the door order coffee looking at the menu until I decide to text Alan thinking he’s found the place as hard to locate as I did only to discover a text had come in from him saying the same huh so I turn around as Alan gets up from the table behind me where he’s been sitting for ten minutes having just read my text. Oh.

 

Still laughing about that one. Once a month I drive down the hill and go to breakfast with Alan somewhere in the west Denver metro. This time it was Joe Mama’s. A clever name. I missed it twice. It’s situated between Celebrity Tattoos and The Glass Pipe Shop in a tiny strip mall on busy Colfax. My deaf left ear to noise, my right ear protected by a wall sound comes to me much more clearly, with or without hearing aids. So my back to the  door since the two-tops were only on the right side as you enter. Alan missed me when he came in and we sat like teenagers across the table from each other texting unaware of the other’s presence. Funny.

 

Finished a session with Rabbi Jamie on Jewish prayer. Can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I am. I’m gonna convert. Or, join up. Or, whatever. It wasn’t so much about this session as it was a journey of the heart, a long one. A really long one.

 

Just sent this note to Jamie:
Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I want to go through the conversion process. Not so much to convert, I believe I’ve already done that in my heart, but to get more of the shared language of Judaism. That way I can appreciate the opportunities at CBE much more.

Been on my mind for a while, but the recent work with metaphor and this morning’s work with the prayers has opened a way in for me at the human, non-metaphysical level I hadn’t felt before.
Said I was done with joining things. Well, I was. Now, I’m not.

 

Let me give you a brief synopsis of the journey: As an anthropology student, I had an assignment to visit a synagogue and write it up from an anthropological perspective. It felt very foreign to me. Somewhat foreboding. At the same time I was dating a Jewish girl and met her parents. He was a jeweler, but very well read in philosophy which was also my major at the time. That really impressed me.

After my first philosophy class at Wabash demolished Christian proofs for the existence of God, I exited the Christian faith and became an existentialist vis a vis Camus.

You know already, most of you, about my seminary and ministry experience focused, I now know, on the God as judge metaphor. God judged our society and found it wanting when it came to caring for the poor, the other, the downtrodden. So did I. So do I.

I was a Christian. Yes, I was. But the glue that held me there was weak from a theological perspective. Justice has other roots than the New Testament demands for loving the neighbor. So when I felt the need to leave, it was not a difficult change. Especially since I’d found Kate and she me.

At the time I found Kate I was also dating Caroline Levy and had a connection, never acted on, with Ellen Sue Stern. All three Jews. I had also made a vow to myself during college that I would not seek spiritual guidance outside the Western tradition. Why? Because culture is so powerful I believed we could only reach profound understanding with Western inflected religious tradition.

I mostly followed that. No Buddhism. No Hinduism. Well, almost none. Taoism however did exert a pull on me. And remains an integral part of my essentially animist approach to finding the sacred.

Then Kate and I moved to Shadow Mountain and because of her earlier conversion found Congregation Beth Evergreen. I became an embedded pagan over the last eight years first as Kate’s husband and then on my own right. I was happy with that until this morning. Now I want to move all the way inside the miskhan, the sacred temple that is the Jewish people.

I’ve probably known I would do this since Patty told me Have a nice Easter and unbidden rose within me no, I’m a Passover guy. That was my clue that I’d converted in my heart already.

So I’m gonna do it. Yes, I surprised myself here. Happy to do so. Consistency as my evergreen buddy Ralph Emerson says is the hobgoblin of small minds.

 

Asia, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Holidays, Judaism, Korea, Politics, Travel, US History

Happy Birthday to the good ole U.S.A.

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Summer and the Summer Moon Above

Tuesday gratefuls: Acting class tonight. First half of Israel trip paid for. Herme introduction rewritten. Parchment paper ordered. No Fireworks up here. Good for Dogs. Fire. Air. Thin air, melting into thin air. My feet and toes. Holding me up since 1947. My ankles and calves and thighs. Mobility. My pelvis, butt, penis and testicles. Sitting, twisting, elimination. No joy at this point in my life. My thorax. Holding important stuff in. My arms and fingers. Dexterity for all my needs. My shoulders and neck. Supporting my head. My head, mouth, nose, ears, and eyes. Eating, hearing (sort of), seeing, smelling, taking in oxygen, a case for my brain. All these years forgot to be grateful for that which is closest.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: My body

One brief shining: Can you imagine the evolution of the eye or the slow changes necessary to create a thumb perhaps you are the one who can follow the path from our One-Celled ancestors to a beating heart maybe you grasp the folding and intricate interlacing of brain matter neurons synapses the marvel of language as it first sat on the first tongue to express a thought through sound oh this everyday miracle our body ourselves our home for life.

 

I’m a Yankee Doodle Dandy, a real live nephew of my Uncle Sam, born on the Fourth of July. Today is Seoah’s Yankee Doodle birthday. What a great birthday for a naturalized U.S. citizen. Seoah and my son. Ruth and Gabe. My immediate family. Mark in Saudi Arabia. Mary to return to Malaysia and South East Asia. They are my hope for this country. Them specifically and what they represent.

Seoah, a Korean by birth and a citizen of Korea until two years ago. She married my son, a Bengali by birth. Both now naturalized citizens of the U.S.A. My son serving this country in the military. Both abroad, in Korea, protecting not only the U.S.A. but much of Asia as well. This is, in these two people, the most fundamental promise of America. That you can come here from wherever you were born, no matter the circumstances, and become a citizen, a full-fledged participant in the colorful tapestry of American life.

Or consider Ruth and Gabe. On their mother’s side Jewish, their grandfather a Romanian Jew from Bucharest and their grandmother of an immigrant Jewish family as well. Third generation. On their father’s side Norwegian ancestry four generations removed from Bergen. They are also both Gen Z, the most politically aware generation since the Boomers. They will need to be with the crushing weight of adaptation to climate change they will have to carry.

Mary and Mark. The expat life. Being American on foreign soil. Contributing to the lives and welfare of Saudis, Thais, Malaysians, Japanese, and Singaporeans. Representing the American ideal of a world known for its inclusion rather than its chauvinism. Representing our country to other cultures. Being the good American rather than the ugly American.

How can I not be hopeful when I can see in my own family the very America I hold so close and dear. Especially on this day.

 

Acting, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Judaism, Mountains

Too Much Chocolate and Brain Fog

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Summer and the Summer Moon Above

Saturday gratefuls: Han Shan. His poetry. Shadow Mountain. The green green Mountains of home. China’s Mountains. Korea’s Mountains. Mt. Fuji. The sect in Japan that worships Mountains. The Mule Deer Doe eating Grass and Dandelions in my back last night. Joan and Alan. The Bread Lounge. Evergreen. The everlasting construction along its Lake. All detours, everywhere. Tom’s old fashioned thank you note.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Joan’s house and property

One brief shining: Never had French toast like that six Texas toast sized slices stuffed with Nutella and chocolate small drops of chocolate on the top and syrup even syrup it was the chef’s choice for stuffed French toast and oh my I ate about a third and gave up turned it back over full.

 

Yeah. Alan and I had breakfast at the Bread Lounge and I ordered the stuffed French toast. Not gonna do that again. Thought I wanted something sweet as a counterpoint to my usual savory breakfasts with Eggs and chicken fried steak or bacon or tamales, a few too many potatoes. Maybe hot sauce.

We got caught up on this and that. CBE news. His life in the vertical cruise ship as he calls his apartment complex in central downtown Denver. Many puns later, he can’t stop, we left with a bag of pastries for Joan’s.

I’d never been to Joan’s house before though I’ve heard often about its daunting driveway. Which I thought was not so bad. Not curvy, not even that long compared to others. Anyhow her house sits on the crest of 27 acres of prime Colorado Mountain real estate looking west toward Evergreen, Mt. Blue Sky (formerly Mt. Evans), Mt. Berrigan and beyond. It’s a lovely and special location.

Her home is a beauty, too. All polished woods and black rafters, black painted wood here and there for contrast. Plate glass windows with the view toward Evergreen. A perfect house for a writer. I think Joan’s on her 18th or 19th published novel now.

Her husband Albert died last year at 96. Not sure exactly but 68 years of marriage. Somewhere in that range. We talk about grief from time to time before acting class begins. Yesterday she asked me brain fog.

I’ve only come to realize now, two and a half years after Kate’s death, I told her, how much brain fog I’d had. And that’s an exact metaphor. When it began to lift, I could see life again. With clarity. Before there was always a scrim, one I was not aware was there until it began to lift.

Jon gave the best metaphor for it. Recovering from the fog of grief mimics the slow rebounding of the North American Continent from the last Ice Age. It’s still underway, measurable especially in the Canadian tundra.

When Alan and I left, Joan told me she was going to mail me one of those rocks over there. She pointed to a rock wall she or Albert had built near her front door. It was what, she said, I had lifted from her mind. I reached back for her hand and gave it a squeeze.

Colorado, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Judaism, Mountains, Mussar, Our Land and Home, Shadow Mountain, Travel

A Thursday with Friends

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Summer and the Summer Moon Above

Friday gratefuls: Tom. Ellen and Dick. Hail. Again. Cool nights. Good sleeping. God is Here. Metaphor. Kathy. Luke. Vince. Gutters. Psilocybin. Flower. Weed. Red Rocks. The Bread Lounge. A Cuban. Evergreen. Gracie and Ann. CBE. High water on the fish ladder. Maxwell Creek running full.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Friendship

One brief shining: Life in its fullness comes running at you, with you like a Mountain Stream after a heavy Rain, crashing over barriers, not allowing any obstacles, where necessary spreading out, then calmly, gently flowing into the placid waters of a great River, headed to the World Ocean.

 

Yesterday. A full day. Talking to Diane, always a pleasure. Catching up on family news. A favorite cousin for all of us moved into hospice. We’re all in the aging range. This group that used to play with each other at Thanksgiving, during family reunions at Riley Park, on the farm outside Morristown. Family in its longue dureé as Ginny, daughter of Diane’s sister, Kristen, gives birth to a new generation of the Keaton clan as have children of other cousins. We will wink out one by one, but the family will continue.

 

Over to the Bread Lounge to read a bit before Tom got here from DIA. Instead ran into Tal and Alan talking to each other. Alan in his  usual I’m here to assist you mode trying to figure out how he can help Tal’s new company, All in Ensemble.

Alan’s decided to let his beard grow back. I’m glad. It was odd seeing him clean shaven. He shaved for his art, as he says. A role in Zorro!, the musical.

Together we talked about Tal’s character study class, about mutual friends and family. The Bread Lounge serves as the student union restaurant for Evergreen. Go there and you see folks you know.

After Alan left, Tal and I discussed my character Herme. He liked my idea of a one-act play to introduce the Rivers and Mountains Poets of China to Mountain audiences. He offered to help me in any way he can. He’s bringing an outline from a playwrighting class to our next Tuesday class. Who knows? Perhaps the Hooded Man will play up and down the spine of the Rocky Mountains. Could happen.

 

Tom got to the Bread Lounge after navigating an overly busy DIA filled with summer travelers. We ordered sandwiches, which came late so we had to pack them up and head over to mussar. Where we discussed the role of metaphor in our daily lives and the implications of metaphor for understanding what we might mean when we use the metaphor God. A good heart/mind conversation.

Following mussar Tom and I were hosted by Ellen and Dick Arnold, Rabbi Jamie’s parents. A wide ranging conversation which had as its focus the upcoming trip to Israel. Dick will be my roommate for the group part of the trip.

 

When we got back to Shadow Mountain, Vince was here mowing and weed whacking. In the rain. Vince is a good guy. Lucky to have him as my friend and property manager.

Tom and I were tired. We talked, then went to bed. Getting ready now for our trip this afternoon on the Royal Gorge Rail Road.

 

 

Acting, Asia, Commentary on Religion, Faith and Spirituality, Judaism, Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant.

Herme and Religion’s Institutional Decline in the U.S.

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Summer and the Summer Moon Above

Wednesday gratefuls: Shirley Waste. Joan. Abby. Debbie. Alan. Marilyn. Tal. Rebecca. Cold Mountain. China. Chinese art and poetry. Asia. The arts of Asia. Song dynasty painting and ceramics. The Japanese tea ceremony. Ichi-go, ichi-e. Wabi-Sabi. Korean celadon. Ukiyo-e wood cuts. The temples of Angkor and Bangkok. Haiku. Zen. Chan Buddhism. Applause last night when I finished reading Cold Mountain poems. Keys on the Green. Beet salad and a Reuben. Coffee. With Rebecca Martin. Heated days. My fan, air purifier, oxygen concentrator, and mini-split on cool. All electric sleeping aids.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Spoken Word

One brief shining: Last night I learned again how pleasant it is to have people clap for something I’ve done when all I did was read poetry by Cold Mountain out loud stopping between 10 poems for dramatic effect and interpreting his condensation of Mountain recluse scholar life.

 

Herme, the character for my character study class, has begun to emerge. His first work has been identifying 8 to 10 poems of Cold Mountain to use as the core of his piece. I have at least two other components to add to the project. A way of introducing the Hooded Man of the Wildwood Tarot Deck as Herme himself. Then weaving into his major arcana characteristics the Celtic ways of the Old Grey Magician. I want Herme to blend the Hooded Man and the Old Grey Magician into one person. Following that I need to figure out a way for Herme to introduce himself and the poetry of Cold Mountain without becoming didactic. The obstacle I feel right now is the gulf between the world of the Celts and Tarot  and the somewhat hard edged, very Chinese world of Cold Mountain. The bridge is the reclusive nature focus. I know that much.

I toyed on the way home last night from acting class-driving up the hill between Shadow Mountain and Black Mountain-with doing the whole project as a one act play. My aim would be introduce the not well known in the U.S. Chinese tradition of Rivers and Mountains poetry to Mountain audiences. The reception of Cold Mountain’s work the two times I’ve read them has been wonderful. Part of it is Cold Mountain’s rendering of life in the Mountains away from the dust of urban life delivered to an audience of Mountain dwellers. Might be fun. A playwright? Why not?

Acting calls on different aspects of my person than my usual reading and writing. Emotions. Body. Alertness to an audience. Ability to read the words of others in a manner that conveys meaning using all of those tools. I find the challenge energizing. Not looking forward to the memory work however. I have to get better at that. Somehow.

 

How bout those Southern Baptists? Doubling down on, well, stupidity. Closing doors left slightly ajar that allowed women, oh the shame of it, to mount pulpits and lead congregations. This article in today’s NYT, The Largest and Fastest Religious Shift in America is Well Underway, is the most recent of four articles focused on the secularization of American life. A phenomenon already well played out in Europe. In the article they argue that those institutions with high barriers to entrance also have high barriers for leaving and have suffered less attrition than those like my previous religious home, the Presbyterian Church U.S.A. which were more liberal in their theologies. Yet they too have begun to decline, a long slow ride to virtual irrelevance as far as the broader culture is concerned.

Many years ago in the 1980’s I got my Doctor of Minister degree. My thesis way back then was on the decline of the Presbyterian church and other liberal Christian denominations. I don’t even remember my arguments. I’ll have to get the thesis out and read it again. I used to be pretty knowledgeable about all this.

Oddly I still believe in religious institutions but not ones with high barriers to entry and leaving. I believe in them as small communities where friendships can develop, where life’s big questions can be explored, where life’s transitions can receive ritual expression, and where the knowledge of the past can inform and leaven the present. Reconstructionist Judaism does it for me, at least in its CBE expression. But any religion could open itself in the same way. And I hope they do because religious life is an ur part of human life, one developed long before academics and politics and cell phones, and one with a vital human contribution to make.

 

 

 

Feelings, Fourth Phase, Judaism, Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant., Shadow Mountain

The Sacred

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Beltane and the Shadow Mountain Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Trips becoming more and more real. Vince, my man. Kat. More connected, more grateful than ever. Tom. Mary. Sarah and BJ. Kate and the sweet picture with my daughter-in-law. Kep, my furry friend, a blessed memory. Rigel, too. Gertie, Vega. The Colorado companions. Cleaning off the art table. Getting back to painting. Sumi-e. Korean. Our journey around the sun, through the galaxy, and with the Milky Way itself. All the wild Babies out there right now, learning about life and its wonders, its perils.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Life finds a way

One brief shining: Water amazes me in every way liquid solid steam all different the liquid and the steam states capable of powering engines, generating Electricity, carving Mountains, carrying nourishment from one Continent to another, aqua vita not only whisky but aqua vita, a metaphor for the flow of ch’i and the reality of the flow of ch’i, either fresh or salty a wonder on which to float, in which to dive, over which to paddle cradled in Lakes and Ponds and Rivers and Oceans, delivered by pumps and pipes, everyday necessary, water, wow.

 

Had a down day in the afternoon again. Watching too much TV. Not tackling household tasks. Then I thought. Wait a minute. Yesterday I met with friends for breakfast (even though they didn’t show up, I did), had my car detailed, read many more Cold Mountain poems. Read some other poets of the Rivers and Mountains school of Chinese poetry. My character study began to take shape. Read two chapters in the excellent book God is Here. Made connections with Keshet (rainbow), the Israeli travel agency.

Still on the old achievement treadmill once in a while. Maybe more than once in a while. Enough, already. And I mean ENOUGH already! I’ve done enough, have enough, am enough. Always. No matter what I do or don’t do. I am. Or better I am becoming. Without the lace and frills of degrees or salary or salutes or celebrations.

I’m OK, You’re OK. The World’s OK. To go back in time to the self-help cliches of the early 70’s. This is the day the big bang has made let us rejoice and be glad in it.

 

God is Here takes our perceptions shaped by the word God and puts them through the metaphorical ringer. Changing them, adding to them, recognizing the metaphors as signals for new ways of approaching the sacred, the divine. Though I’m on board with new ways of describing what we mean when we use the word God or its other names like Elohim, Hashem, Adonai, YHVH, I still feel like we’re holding the wrong end of the stick. In other words I think we should talk about why water has a sacred valence. Air. Fire. Earth. Humans. Trees. Rocks. Dogs. Cows. Bacilli. Why do we need to fill in the vacuum created by the word God? Why not acknowledge the sacred nature of all things and learn how to talk about divinity itself in their terms. This is neither panpsychism nor pantheism nor panentheism. This is a version of animism.

 

Holding some disappointment that the Elk Bulls have not come. At least not when I was looking. I’ve held off having the yard mowed to preserve their favorite food. I miss seeing them.

 

Jefferson County, Judaism, Politics, Shadow Mountain, Travel

Silver threads

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Beltane and the Shadow Mountain Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Shirley waste. A solid workout, resistance & cardio. A weighted blanket. An electric shaver. Joe Pickett on TV. Mark’s new apartment. Psilocybin spores on the way. Reading the Rivers and Mountains poets of China. Finding my character. Cold Mountain. The Threshold ritual. Nights out. Booked flight to Israel. Oct. 25 thru Nov 10th. Excited. Getting some tips from a friend of Tom’s. Will probably buy Korea tickets this week or early next. On the road again.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Travel

One brief shining: Violet who served me breakfast said my hat and my shirt made a nice outfit which I assured her was totally coincidental she laughed as if that were not possible and I’d made an attempt at modesty later she looked at my book, Birchers, and asked me what genre was my favorite hers she offered was love stories if the book doesn’t make me cry I don’t like it.

 

Got hungry while writing, realized I had little I wanted in the house so I took myself to the Conifer Cafe. That’s three times including last Saturday. Unusual. Got to make a grocery order, get some breakfast variety available. Evening meals, I’m good.

Was gonna go to the synagogue last night for Richard Levine and Rabbi Jamie’s conversation about gun violence. Didn’t. No good reason except I didn’t want to drive to Evergreen or get home late. Late being 9:30 or 10. Acting class on Tuesday found me hitting the bed at 10:10. Don’t like that.

 

Finally cracked the code for booking my flight. Get in at midnight. Stay in Tel Aviv that night, then a taxi to the group hotel in Jerusalem the next day. A friend of Tom’s had recommended Eddie, a tour guide, but he’s booked. Not sure whether I need a guide or not, but he sounded worth exploring. Korea in late August will see me in the Far East. Israel the Near East. Asia is a big continent.

 

How bout those Nuggets? Jokic and Murray both with triple-doubles. I’m taking the Nuggets in 5. Next Grand Prix is in Canada.

 

I’ve been reading books like Fever in the Heartland, Why Liberalism Failed, Birchers, Christian Nationalism, Chosen Country: A Rebellion in the West so you don’t have to. Got Regime Change by Patrick Deneen in the mail yesterday. He also authored Why Liberalism Failed. Regime Change offers a road map to a post-liberal future. He says.

Not in my lifetime. He believes liberalism has two Satanic horns one Democrat and one Republican but still festooning the head of his fiery majesty and moving in unison when he thrusts his pitchfork. In brief he believes both Democrats and Republicans are classical liberal parties bent on expanding the amount of space each individual has for self-expression. Republicans work toward economic freedom and international markets while Democrats expand social realms like sexuality, racial engagement in the demos, and programs for the poor.

Deneen sees right through their often bitter electoral contests (academic x-ray vision) to focus on their mutual expansion of government as the guarantor of free markets here and abroad, human rights based on sexual and racial differences, leveling programs for those left behind economically.

I imagine if woke wasn’t already taken, he’d be saying Wake Up America.

There are many threads here. Beginning to come together. Later.