Category Archives: Judaism

I’m Still Learning

Summer and the Lughnasa Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Grant Property Medics. The Wildflowers in the back. Their Pollen. Tarot and Kabbalah. Loki. Rain. Cool night. Alan. Breakfast out. Mussar. Its folks.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: I’m still learning.

Tarot card drawn this morning: 6 of cups

 

Rider-Waite six of cups

As you can see, I’ve added a new section. Rabbi Jamie’s Tarot and Kabbalah class started yesterday. A guy named Luke, a Tarot reader and scientist, has a co-teacher role.

The first class involved introductions and brief comments about the Tarot and its relationship to Kabbalah. Rabbi Jamie talked about the evolution of the standard deck of 52 cards used in various games in the U.S. He sees a direct line between the Tarot deck and the Bicycle cards shuffled and dealt thousands of times everyday. Probably millions of times.

Luke and Jamie suggested drawing a single card each morning, looking at it, considering its meaning, then doing an internet search for interpretations.

One way of reading Tarot cards involves an intuitive consideration of the art on the card. There are many, many decks designed over centuries and Luke’s guidance invited us to pick a deck whose illustrations speak to us.

Marseilles six of cups

The three decks I own, a reproduction of a very early deck, the Tarot of Marseilles, an Aleister Crowley designed deck, and one whose origins I don’t know, don’t appeal to me as reading decks. For example. I selected the six of cups from the Marseilles deck. It has six medieval style chalices, three on side and three on the other, separated by an abstract floral motif. Didn’t send my imagination into overdrive.

The Rider-Waite deck, however, which I ordered yesterday from Amazon, has the delightful scene above. With just a gentle nudge from the interpretations online I can get going with it.

For example: “The VI of Cups is rooted deep in the past, but it is also a card closely bound to your happiness. It suggests that your family, your old friends, perhaps even past lovers, are in the process of adding greatly to the joys in your life.”

Chilean Fjords

Or, “With the Six of Cups reversed, you can finally close accounts with the emotional undertow that has been part of your life. You can now revisit those wounded places calmly, without the fear that you will be drawn back in.

There is no lingering emotional residue or entrenched nostalgia remaining. You have finally digested those past experiences. They can now be put to rest.”

Whether the card is right side up or reversed influences the meaning. This morning I drew the six of cups reversed.

When I look at the Rider-Waite card with these ideas in mind, I see first the man walking away from the main scene, staff in hand. Perhaps the mature fool (the first card in the major arcana) setting out on a journey. He’s walking away from the pleasant associations in the foreground. A boy and girl enjoy a flower, a star shaped flower, perhaps one they grew together, as Kate and I used to do in Andover.

The man, a pilgrim?, has had to leave this wonderful memory behind and now walks alone. Perhaps not wholly alone though. The card suggests to me that as he’s leaving, it is this memory that he’s carrying with him. A pleasant, joyful one. A time of innocent love made clear through a link to the natural world, to flowers and stars and attractive scents.

He’s headed toward buildings of an antique style, but I imagine him only passing through them on a path. Perhaps they represent the past that innocent love created, a life of joy in small things. Flowers. Dogs. Music. Creating quilts and novels. Cooking. Traveling to foreign lands. A past he’s now able to leave behind, yet also a past that sustains his present and gives him joy.

What’s beyond the buildings? Unsure. A future though. One that sustains the joy of unconditional love in new ways and in new places and with new people, new events.

New land created by Pele, Kilauea

I find the notion of synchronicity, or no coincidences, difficult to swallow. My reason and logic say, hooey. On the other hand each instance in our life has a direct connection to whatever shows up in it.

That sounds obvious, is obvious, but it may obscure that these links are always known through our world of meaning. We interpret them through that world, our idiosyncratic web of associations. Each event and each particular in the event has meaning within our understanding, our way of making sense of this blooming, buzzing confusion we call consciousness. There are never any coincidences then, only new contexts for the worldview we take us with on our journey.

This six of cups card, drawn from a deck shuffled repeatedly, is not then a coincidence, but a direct link to my immediate past of mourning and grief, now resolving in favor of joy. A profound and innocent love, expressed often in our life together through nurture of the plant world, remains with me, sustaining me, as I head out towards an unknown future.

 

 

Back in the Mountains Again

Summer and the Shadow Mountain Moon

Saturday gratefuls: Franny and the Jets. Alan, proud poppa. Jon, calmer. Downtown Denver. The 16th Street Mall. The new breakfast place. Beignets. Feeling a bit lost yesterday afternoon.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Front Range last night with the Sun setting behind it as I drove home.

 

June, 2019, our backyard

Back now, reabsorbed into the Mountains. Surprised yesterday to see a for sale sign on Holly and Eduardo’s house. They’re moving to Palm Springs, close to it. Eduardo got a new job with the same company, a commercial laundry. Sad to see them go.

Holly told me that Jim and Roberta, who live next to them, got divorced and their house will be up for sale, too. We’ll find out how accurate the (seemingly) inflated estimates are for our house prices.

Drove over to Evergreen yesterday AM and had breakfast with Alan. Cheri, his wife, has organized a big July 4 music festival for Evergreen. She also did one for Memorial Day. A lot of work. Good for the town.

The continuous rains we’ve had have greened up the Mountains. All the Plants look happy, watered, vibrant.

Elk Meadow, which I passed on the way to breakfast yesterday, was the first tract of land protected by a community land trust based in Evergreen. It’s big. The namesake Animals lay down in the grass, others wandered, eating. Highway signs say Watch for Elk. Scan the Roadside.

Got my x-rays back. No cancer, at least in these views. Whew. In the dry and matter of fact way of these reports: “X-rays show no acute changes; just old degenerative changes to lumbar spine and right hip.

That’s me. An old degenerate. P.T. starts next week.

Still busy with this and that. Mostly. Yesterday afternoon though I’d paid all the bills, had breakfast with Alan, napped. Nothing really to do until 5 pm when I would leave for Dazzle Jazz in downtown Denver. Got to feeling displaced, a bit down. X-ray findings, while not terrible, reminded me of my own mortality. Which seems more real now with Kate’s death.

Also, Dr. Thompson told me not to take anti-inflammatories because of “your vascular disease.” Oh. I haven’t taken them for years, but that was because of kidney disease. I have atherosclerosis, my Midwest U.S. diet hasn’t helped. Since mom and dad both had strokes a reminder of the vascular disease sent me down a short rabbit hole.

Steadied. Sure, I’ll die. When? Don’t know. Today? Well, if so…

Jon and Kate in his new house. The kitchen looks very different now.

Alan’s daughter Franny is a jazz singer with a band called the Jets. They played an Amy Winehouse set yesterday. Dazzle Jazz @ Baurs. I saw her there three years ago when she decided to give up music and had a farewell show. Felt like I’d seen the end, so I wanted to see the beginning. She’s young.

Invited Jon. We had dinner, enjoyed the show. The band took a while to gel, but when they got there, it was good. Being there was therapeutic for me. Saw a lot of CBE’ers and had time with Jon. He’s on a beta blocker now which seems to have calmed him down. A good thing.

I can now find my way out of Denver without GPS. That feels good. It’s taken a while since I’m not in Denver often. The Mountains, as Jen pointed out long ago, line the western horizon. Angle toward them and you get outta town.

As I drove home last night, the setting sun backlit the Front Range, giving it a paper cutout look with jagged peaks in black against a blueblack and white sky. Beautiful, poignant.

When I turned off 470 onto 285, my favorite sign shone up ahead: Watch for Rocks and Wildlife. That’s home.

 

 

Life Incidental

Summer and the Shadow Mountain Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Conifer P.T. Hearing care. Leigh Thompson. Health Care Imaging. Jon and his pain. Ruth and Gabe. Kep and Rigel, who couldn’t wait. Happy Camper. Widower, being one. CBE.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: X-Rays. Medical care.

The Cuna Islands off Panama

What I call the medical stretch of Co. Hwy. 470, heading south from 285. Went on it yesterday for the first time since Kate died, alone. To see my (our) doc, Leigh Thompson. A pang of remembrance that our outings for the last year plus came along this stretch of road and the one leading to Swedish Hospital.

Dr. Thompson said she was sorry about Lynne’s death. And, she was. She tried to help, but Kate’s situation had progressed too far for successful intervention. She didn’t even know her well enough to call her Kate. Dr. Thompson also probed me for signs of depression, complicated grief. Do you have a good support system? Yes.

Where does it (did it) hurt? Here, here. Along my right leg, upper thigh, above my sacrum. How much better is it now? 60-80%. Why was I there? I wanted to get back to exercise, but not aggravate, worsen the pain. And, I didn’t know how it happened.

We agreed on physical therapy. Which I love. Targeted and helpful. Clear instructions. I’ll get a path back to regular exercise. Which I want and need. Also, X-rays.

I admit. Incidental findings. Often the punch behind the actual reason for the imaging. Hope they don’t find metastasized cancer. David and Charlie both have prostate cancer growing in their sacrums. Don’t want it in mine.

Jon had another panic attack bringing Ruth and Gabe up here. He didn’t get out of the city. Called an ambulance. Went back home. Jen picked up the kids. Not sure what’s going on, but I imagine grief playing a large role.

Now I have p.t. to schedule and a hearing exam. Yes, I got right on that hearing issue I had at the airport in Hawai’i. Approach the problem and deal with it. Keep moving.

Waiting on a call back from social security.

Today I’m going back to mussar for the first time in over a year in person. Looking forward to resuming that study. I also signed up for another Rabbi Jamie class through the Kabbalah Experience. A focus on the kabbalistic roots of the Tarot. I’ve had a long time interest in the tarot, waxing and waning. Wrote one book that featured chaos magic. I used a lot of tarot card lore in it. Starts mid-July.

Keep moving. Stay in the present, but keep moving. Is that an oxymoron? Xeno’s paradox in modern psyche help shorthand.

 

Ah

Language. Language about language. Language about languages. Language about the mind, created in the mind. The mind talking to itself, using symbols and signs. Which it has to interpret, even the ones it uses to talk to itself. A Mobius strip of neurons and synapses.

Data. Outside data. Collected. Fingers. Nose. Ears. Eyes. Tongue. Which the mind interprets. Builds. Say, a Tree. A lover. An Ocean. That pickup truck. A Dog. Stars.

Words not created in this mind. What are (a more loaded verb here than often understood) they? Where are they? In my mind where I’ve put the pieces together or out there, somewhere? What do they mean, those words? What did the one who wrote them mean them to mean? How can I know?

Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent. LW. Does this seal our lips forever?

Or, I think of David Hume, that Scottish curmudgeon, kicking a cabinet and saying, “I refute it thus.” Speaking of Lord Berkley. “To be is to be perceived.” The stubborn persistence of things. That stubborn consensus we seem to share. Yes, the tree is there. Where? Right over there.

I believe I prefer William James, “Consciousness is a blooming, buzzing confusion.” We put down this yod, that hey. A vav. One more hey. And we agree, sort of, about what they denote. Or, we don’t.

Look at the evidence. Fake news. It’s all in your mind.

No, no. It’s really there.

Oh, really? How do you know?

I see it. I can touch it. I can smell it.

Ah.

 

Messianic Times

Beltane and the Shadow Mountain Moon

Endless Messiah Contemplation

 

Water rippled by trade Winds, an endless path

Travels up, up into the clear blue Sky. Made fresh,

Land its Plants, its Animals drink and live.

Ancient, received not made here, one of the four

 

This Land. Made by Pele as Plates shift, restless, find fire.

Islands alone, contemplating restless creation, recreation.

Land loosens, sifts, smooths, ground fine. Sand.

A place not only Land, not only Water. The Shore.

Like our bodies between our souls and eternity.

 

The Trade Wind. Faithful, gentle, dependable.

A quiet Messiah who reveals the unseen’s power

Who moves the Palm and the Monkey Pod Tree

And lifts the Water into white pregnant Clouds.

 

No slouching toward Bethlehem. No complicated timing.

Earth, Air, Fire, and Water.  Those who need them.

The Messianic times come round through the heat of the Sun,

The turning of the Earth, and the long pilgrimage of life.

Sword, Sorrow, Simplicity

Beltane and the Island Moon

Free writing for my Hebrew alphabet class

1969. A crowd. Mostly young. “We’re not gonna study war no more.”

Swords planted deep in the bodies of Vietnamese guerrillas. The Cong.

Swords planted lev deep in the young Americans who fought there.

Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.Flag draped coffins unloading from the cargo planes in Delaware.

Sorrow. A deep Sorrow. Back to the land, away from the fighting against the fighting. Simplicity. Not so much. The Peaceable Kingdom. Not so much.

2021. Hickam Air Force Base. Joseph, Major Joseph. Manning the Philippines desk. A China barrier. My son, Major Joseph.

Sorrow. Kate dead a month ago. Sorrow. Alone without my partner.

My son. A sword himself. Command and Control. Bombs. Troop support.

No longer simple. Just. Not. Simple. He loves this country. Wants to defend it.

He is a warrior. A sword for each of us who claim America as home.

I bless him. Anoint him with oil. Explain to him the sorrow of war.

He knows already. Better than I do. His friends have died. He has killed.

Just. Not. Simple.

He wraps his arms around me, “I love you, Dad.” No sorrow. No simplicity.

Just love and family and death and grieving.

 

Hey, Pardner

Beltane and the Moon of Mourning

Saturday gratefuls: Kate, sticky with the honey harvest. Kate, shepherding me into a shower, giving me antihistamines after multiple bee stings. Kate, Celt, and I at the St. Kate’s art fair in St. Paul. Cody Wise, a Wells Fargo Banker. Rich Levine, bee keeper. Rabbi Jamie. Mark Koontz, of Primitive Landscaping. He will extend and replant the Iris bed and put in three Miss Kim lilacs in the back. BJ live on the radio with Schecky.

Sparks of Joy: Beekeeping. Getting tasks done.

Wild grapes waiting for Kate to turn them into jelly

Yesterday afternoon I pulled out all the honey harvesting equipment: uncapping knife and rake, solar wax renderer, motorized extractor, buckets, and filters. Took it to the driveway so Rich could pick it up for our work this morning with Sofia.

As I moved these objects, each last touched by us in 2014 when we moved, a wave of sadness and longing swept over me. Kate and I were partners. We grew flowers, picked fruit in our orchard, planted and harvested vegetables, managed a pack of dogs. My partner is dead. I missed her so much in that moment. Went back inside, sat down, cried for a bit. Not paroxysmally, but tears running down my face.

We were bound together by those things of the soil, of the four-leggeds, of the six-legged. It was a good life until the physical burden of became onerous. The move to the mountains, here on Shadow Mountain, came at a time when we needed to set down those tasks, pass them onto the younger couple that bought our Andover home.

We partnered again, living in the move. It took us most of 2014 to get ready and we worked hard. Once here in the Rockies we found ourselves tested by cancer, by Jon’s divorce, by Kate’s medical issues. Through it all. Partners.

Even to the last. Death with dignity. Yes, the right choice for you, I said. Even beyond the last. I’ve hired a landscaper who will fulfill two of Kate’s last wishes, a larger Iris bed in front and Lilacs planted in back. Half of her ashes will go into the Iris bed in August when family gathers to honor her on her birthday, August 18th.

Those tears, that sadness. It was for the good stuff. The way we lived together, always. Yes, I miss my pard, as we might say here in the West, but the knowledge and memory of how we were together does and will sustain me as I move forward.

Grief is the price we pay for love.

 

Post remnant from Thursday

Osatara and the Moon of Mourning

Thursday gratefuls: Kate, always Kate. Her memorial service and each of those who attended. Each person who has Kate in their heart right now. Ruth, who offered to stay with me last night and the night before. And, did. Jon, who saw Kate’s spirit before she died. Gabe. Kep and Rigel. The Woolly Mammoths.

Sparks of Joy: Ritual and its healing power. Sitting shiva. SeoAh’s arrival.

Wednesday I drove down the hill on an icy Shadow Mountain Drive. Evergreen Memorial Park. Finish the details of Kate’s cremation. When I left, as I realized suddenly what I had done, I had to stop, put my hand out and steady myself on the door jamb. Goodbye to the earthly container, the thing of Malkut.

Kate has returned to the cycle of life, ready to join the upcoming surge of spring and the growth of Beltane. As you, as I, move through this turning of the Great Wheel, she can walk with us, point out the energy and the power from her side of the veil. The gardener in her delights in this time and I delight in it with her.

As her condition deteriorated, I bought two sets of emergency call lights, synched them and place them around the house and up in the loft. We never used them. This morning, when I came up to the loft to write this, the receiver next to my computer blinked off and on, blue light flickering. I plan to let it blink until it runs out of energy.

We decided that I would I sit shiva, go through the mourning rituals. And, I am. There’s a lot about it that I don’t understand, most of the rules I don’t know, but CBE will guide me through it. Rabbi Jamie and my buddy Alan Rubin.

The torn garment, or torn ribbon, represents rending of life by the fact of death. I’m choosing a black ribbon to tear.

Not sure whether we’ll do seven nights (shiva means seven), probably not, but on Sunday night there will be a shiva minyan, requiring at least 10 members. A service very like the one done on Wednesday will be held.

Of all the statements made about Kate over the last week, the one that touched my heart most came from Lisa Deutsch, a CBE member and member of the Thursday mussar group Kate and I attended, “She was,” Lisa wrote, “what you would call a good Jew.” That makes me so happy because Kate considered her Jewishness a primary fact of her life, one she was only able to honor fully after we joined CBE.

 

Rachel’s Obituary

Ostara and Kate’s Moon

Kate Olson has died. She was a wife, a mother, a grandmother, a pediatrician, a gardener, lover and mother of dogs, a bee keeper, a quilter, a needleworker, a master cook, and crossword puzzle completer.

She was also Rachel since her early 30’s after her conversion to Judaism at Temple Israel in Minneapolis, Minnesota.

Kate died April 14th after a long illness, over three years, wore out her body.

Kate loved me (her husband) with a love that made me a better person and she told me my love for her made her a better person. No marriage can wish for more.

A tribute from a friend who got Kate right:

“She seemed fearless, walked to her own drummer and if she wanted to do something she damn well did it.”

As her long illness pushed past her body’s ability to cope, she chose to move to hospice care. Her choice. A brave one, someone said. Yes, it was brave, and yet it was typical.

I will miss her at a level and in a way no words can express. The joy she brought me will be a constant resource when times are tough. Again.

 

 

 

 

Rachel

Ostara and Kate’s Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Kate, always Kate. The washing machine. Food from CBE. Tara last night with great Japanese. Schmira. Evergreen Mortuary. Zoom. Coffee. Rest.

Sparks of Joy: Snow and cold today. Kate’s favorite.

Kate, costumed for Purim March, 2018

 

Schmira. Folks from CBE now watch over Kate’s body in an ancient tradition that guards or watches (schmira) until burial or cremation. One at a time, 24 hours. Her soul lingers until then and needs companionship. That’s the idea. I think. Reassuring and humanizing this wait no matter the reason. Humans and religion. A wonder.

Kate was a Jew of the heart, I told Rabbi Jamie the other day. She walked into Temple Israel in Minneapolis, attended a service officiated by Rabbi Max Shapiro and “I felt at home.” She was in her thirties. This lead to a full conversion, a two year process in which she studied with Rabbi Shapiro.

When we moved to the mountains, our last great adventure together, we happened on a class, “King David”, taught by Bonnie Houghton, then a rabbinical student. At that that class, over five years ago, we met Tara and Marilyn Saltzman. They are our friends today. In fact, Tara brought food for our gathering last night.

Congregation Beth Evergreen became a locale where, for the first time, Kate could live as a Jew in her own synagogue. She became a trusted and loved friend to many.

 

Baruch Dayan Emet,

With heavy hearts, we share the sad news of Kate Olson’s passing.

Kate had been a member of Congregation Beth Evergreen since 2016, was an active member of the Mussar class, and served on the board of directors.

We extend condolences to her family. Details about arrangements are forthcoming.