Category Archives: Fourth Phase

Ancient Brothers, Dreams, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Great Work, Torah, Weather +Climate

A Day in the Life

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Imbolc and the Birthday Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Torah study. Luke and Leo. Joanne. Ron and the Purim spiel. Shadow. Her wiggly, happy self. My son and Seoah safely back in Korea. Barb’s service today. Family. Of choice. All ways, always. Big problems to solve. Ancient brothers. Raising a puppy. Sarcopenia. Workouts.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Shadow

Week kavannah: Persistence and grit. Netzach.

One brief shining: Grappel pelted down, small pellets of snow, fog shrouded the route between Evergreen and Conifer, driving on and out of it on my way to the Happy Camper, more joint relief edibles for night time.

 

After sleeping through the leaving of my son, Seoah, and Gabe, I got up to a happy Shadow. We played a bit. Wrote Ancientrails, fed her, then got ready for Torah study.

Eleven people. A minyan. A lively and learned discussion. The tests of the Israelites on their way in the wilderness. Our family history. Also a family of choice for me. Lots of new voices.

Afterward, I drove to Bailey and picked up edibles for sleeping. Stopped at Buster’s and got a 12 pound bag of Natural Balance puppy food. Found even that bag heavy. I mean. Geez. Gotta get that resistance work back. Gassed up Ruby in a windy storm of grappel, then back home.

More cold weather. 10 when I got up. Not Minnesota cold but still… After 10 years of Coloradification, cold to me.

My son and Seoah spent 2 years plus in Hawai’i and a year in Singapore. They prefer the moderate heat of Hawai’i. Korea has its share of cold, snowy weather in a maritime climate. Tougher.

 

This last week, with Shadow and visiting family and my birthday. Exhilarating. Filled with love. Also exhausting.

I have decided to skip my son’s promotion ceremony in May. I will focus my energy and resources on the Jang family visit in late June or early July.

Seoah’s mom and dad, her brother, and her sister, possibly her sister’s husband, and three kids coming to the Rockies, to Conifer.

A once in a lifetime trip for them. I’m excited for them to be here. Seoah’s dad, in particular, loves Mountains. 8-10 days

 

Just a moment: The Ancient brothers theme this morning-what big question would we like answered. I have two.

How do we restore the flawed, yet wonderful government and culture we had only a month ago? What are the things that I can do to make that happen? Who are my allies?

How do we continue the work necessary for a sustainable human presence on Mother Earth? With climate deniers in the ascendancy around the world, at this critical juncture for global warming.

A second part of the topic responds to this Mike Nichol’s quote: “The only safe thing to do is take a chance. Play safe and you’re dead.” When did we last take chance?

Adopting Shadow is this year’s main chance. Can I do it? Will I be good for her? Can we create a life together?

 

 

 

 

Feelings, Fourth Phase, Politics

78

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Imbolc and the 78th Birthday Moon

Friday gratefuls: Casa Bonita. Seoah. My son. Gabe. Shadow and her fears. 78 years. Happy birthday greetings from friends and family. Still upright and taking nourishment. Valentine’s Day. Duncan, Oklahoma. Mom. Dad. WWII. Baby boomers. Talking about my generation. The training of Shadow. Alan.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: My son and Seoah and Gabe and Ruth

Week Kavannah: Love  Ahavah

One brief shining: The Spanish Mission architecture, the bell tower, the hot pink facade with lines of diners snaking towards the doors, Casa Bonita, newly refurbished by makers of the South Park cartoons, improbable sources of English instruction for Seoah through her online English class, which brought us to our table deep in the Silver Mine section of this combination restaurant and amusement park, occupancy 2045.

 

78 birthdays. Median age of death for men in the U.S. 74.8. For the population as a whole 77.8. Whew. Just made it. Have had many conversations over this last year in which this oddity occurs. Geez, when I read about somebody that’s 80, my first thought? They’re old! Then. Wait a minute. I can see 80 from here. It’s just. Right. There.

In the first episode of Picard Jean-Luc looks out over his vineyard and says, “I’ve not been living; I’ve been waiting to die.” 3 years of episodes follow as he demonstrates what a retired Starfleet Admiral can do. My own motto is this: I intend to live until I die.

Sounds easy. A tautology even, right? Well, no. With TV, zoom, kindles, smart phones and tablets it’s simpler now than ever to push pause at a certain point and recede behind a wall of easy. To take on no new challenges. To forget about the world beyond illness and onrushing decrepitude. Have medical visits become the raison d’etrê for getting out of the house.

And. It is tempting. Especially for an introverted, mildly monastic temperament such as mine. I love being alone, on my own. Reading. Studying. Watching movies and TV. Cooking. Shopping. Following the world through newspapers and magazines.

Yet. Last year I finished my conversion to Judaism. This year so far I’m working with Shadow, a rescue whose fears make her a distinct challenge. I cherish my calls with friends and family on zoom. My breakfasts and lunches out with them.

I’m studying the Torah, parsha by parsha, using several modes of learning that are new to me. I continue to write Ancientrails, now in its 21st year.

My view is in this moment and ahead. Not looking back, except to write stories in Storyworth.

 

Just a moment in oligarchworld: I will not look away. Pretend that this delusional twit is not twisting the norms and purposes of our government to match his own paranoid fantasies. That best buddy Elon is not systematically destroying, breaking, tearing at the tissue which makes us who we are.

I continue to dream the impossible dream of a country true to the poetry on the Statue of Liberty. Of a country that is a place the world admires for its commitment to the rule of law and the health and welfare of its citizens.

Dogs, Family, Fourth Phase, Politics, US History

Family. Shadow. Oligarchworld.

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Imbolc and the 99% Waxing Gibbous 78th Birthday Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Shadow. My son. Seoah. Here now. Cold weather. Blue Pastures. Mary Oliver. Tom. Diane, healing. Mark, bonding with his students in Al Kharj. Annie. Luna. Leo. The Moon. Great Sol. Trips around Great Sol. Our Cosmic voyage.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: My son and Seoah

Week Kavannah:  Love Ahavah

One brief shining: Cold air slammed its way downstairs as suitcases, backpacks, new ski boots made their way into the house, my son came, his military fade, big smile, long hug, Seoah in pink, another hug, a kiss on the forehead.

 

The travelers arrived after a visit to H-Mart, Pho for lunch, and buying bottled water which Seoah prefers to our tap water. They spent 7 days at Hickam AFB being trained in the subtleties of command from a commander’s and a commander’s spouse’s perspective, then a long flight to Minneapolis for 3 nights there and a short flight to Denver for 3 nights here.

Yesterday was a travel day even though it was a short flight. Up early. Airport. TSA. Land. Rental car line. This is Colorado in the Winter. H-Mart. Lunch. Picking up gyros for dinner.

A lot of catching up. I see them every one to two weeks on Zoom, but it’s not the same. As all us post-pandemics know.

My son talked about his old friends in Minnesota. Familiar names from St. Paul’s Central High: Matt, Katherine, Dan Pesich, Langon. U. of M. Greg. Dave. Brandon. Play It Again Sports. Joe’s ski shop. His friend Dave gave him a poster of Matt’s Bar, famous for its juicy lucy hamburgers, signed both by the artist and the owner of Matt’s Bar. A sweet gift.

Another friend, Dave, and his partner of 20 years showed my son a note he wrote to Dave after introducing them, “Don’t break her heart.” 20 years ago.

My son makes and keeps friends over time and over long distance. I admire that about him.

 

Shadow Watch: My son suggested moving the coffee table against the wall. Oh, duh. Now when Shadow comes from under the bed, which she did in her usual come in, then out fashion around 6 this morning, she has to be in the main room with me.

She also asked to go outside this morning. That’s a real advance.

The trainer, Amy, suggested I throw her a treat as I move my hand. Which she shies away from. I’ve been doing that and her turning and darting away has lessened. We’re making progress.

 

Just a moment in oligarchworld: Tulsi Gabbard, friend of Syria and Russia, confirmed as Director of National Intelligence. Gosh. What could go wrong with that choice? RFK passed a critical vote to advance toward  leading Health and Human Services. Vaccine denier in charge of NIH and the CDC?

Oligarchworld continues to scratch and claw, pound and pummel at the interstices of our once (and future?) government. Trump continues to sign Executive Orders. His Presidential equivalent of “You’re fired!”

Constitutional crisis. Eh? You mean Thursday in oligarchworld?

Commentary on the news, Fourth Phase, Health, Politics, Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant., US History

The Center. Can it hold?

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Imbolc and the 78th Birthday Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Shadow. My son. Seoah. Today! Ruth on Friday! -8 this morning. Snow. Red Lodgepole Bark against White Snow. Eating and drinking. Celebrex no more. Tramadol. Sue Bradshaw. Thyroid Stimulating Hormone. Kaylor. Prostate cancer. Spinal stenosis. Mark in Al Kharj.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Shadow

Kavannah: Love. Ahavah.

One brief shining: My son texted me from the airport, they’re about to board soon, and a thrill ran through me, those two, precious cargo on their way here to Shadow Mountain, my family.

 

Annual physical yesterday. Key learning. No more celebrex. My kidney functions showed deterioration. And, as Sue said, we need our kidneys. That leaves me tramadol and a referral to a pain management doc. Their options will be limited to. Next best treatment: narcotics.

The pain has grown incrementally since its break out moment in Korea a year and a half ago. Not having Celebrex will mean increasing limitations for my mobility. Not a happy thought. Will be adjusting to this for a while. Unsure what the future holds.

To complete a medical trifecta of dermatologist, pcp, and oncologist I have a telehealth visit with my medical oncologist’s p.a. Kaylor, today at 3. Big fun. PSA stable. Testosterone low. Should not be any surprises.

OK. Enough about me. How are you feeling?

 

Just a moment: Breaking heart. The specter of a President flaunting judicial decisions may happen this week. My head spins at that thought. I mean that.

All my life, 78 years tomorrow, I’ve lived in a rule of law society where courts arbitrate the most difficult, thorny problems and adjudicate between adversaries. Disrespecting a court decision? Unthinkable. Literally.

Never on my horizon. Now the President has spent a business career dodging and weaving from the courts. Even when finally cornered and convicted he trashes the legitimacy of the legal process. This from the leader of our government.

My inner gyroscope, the one that orients me to my place in the United States, has a serious tilt. My lev, too.

I prefer Margaret Renkl’s response. (see yesterday’s post). My America has begun to shatter. Its culture losing its moorings. This place, these United States, are my home and my home now feels like it’s built on a cliff soon to erode from a rising sea of political thuggery.

Maybe there’s help in the world of song lyrics about lost love.* Or, in poetry:

Yeats, The Second Coming

Here is your medieval illuminated manuscript-style illustration inspired by W.B. Yeats’ The Second Coming.

Turning and turning in the widening gyre

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity…
now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?”

 

*I can’t believe what i just heardCould it be trueAre you the (country) I thought I knewThe one who promised me her loveWhere did it goDoes anybody ever know
How do you heal a broken heartThat feels like it will never beat this much againOh noI just can’t let goHow do you heal a broken heartThat feels like it will never love this much againOh noTonight I’ll hold what could be rightTomorrow I’ll pretend to let you go   Chris Walker, 1993
Dogs, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Politics

A Broken Heart, not a Hardened One

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Imbolc and the 78th Birthday Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Day 7, the Shadow trial. Cold. 4 this morning. My son and Seoah come tomorrow! The coup. The New Apostolic Reformation. Shadow. Rethinking politics. Resistance. Is powerful. Aging. Sarcopenia. Cancer. Puppy learning. Me learning puppy. Tired.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: My son and Seoah here tomorrow

Week kavannah:  Love. Ahavah.

One brief shining: At times I feel old, and by that I mean losing a sense of capacity, agency, as fingers trigger, my back says walking any distance is too far, the steady drumbeat of this medicine, that doctor, and at times I know that’s only my carapace, certainly part of my journey, the bearer of my soul, yet not my soul, not my mind, not my lev, other parts of my eternal journey that feel mature, enriched by years of experience in this most wonderful of worlds.

 

Margaret Renkl is one of my favorite NYT columnists. Here are two paragraphs from a column yesterday titled Tenderness as an Act of Resistance:

“Fury is a powerful motivator of resistance, but there is only so much rage a person can harbor without nurturing something cold and still and hard in the place where a warm, living heart once beat. Already I am exhausted by my own fury, and the second Trump presidency is only three weeks old…

Anger lets in too little beauty, but heartbreak? A tender heart feels the fury and the fear, the sorrow and suffering, the beauty and the bravery alike. In the years ahead, we will need them all.”

This reminded me of parsha Bo where Pharaoh’s heart hardens as Moses and Aaron confront him. Note: Pharaoh’s heart. The learning I’m taking from Renkl and Pharaoh is this: hardening the heart, though it may make taking action seem easier, ultimately leads to defeat.

What does that mean for us right now, in only the third week of an assault on our democracy? First it means we can’t look away. We need to see and feel the wrongness, understand and know the slings and arrows of outrageous politicians.

And we must allow our dream, a nation made of many, and of difference, and of laws, and of equity and fairness from sea to shining sea to crash into that wrongness and break our hearts.

The way of the open heart is not easy. But a tender heart, not a hardened one, is the only response that carry us through these next few years as Seed-Keepers of the American Dream.

In that way, when this storm of cruelty and avarice has blown out, we or those we have influenced with our tender hearts will still be strong, still be true, still be ourselves.

 

Just a moment: Got Shadow out of the bedroom once again. Her skittishness remains an inscrutable problem for me. She’s afraid of my voice, movement, things in her way. A fearful doggy. And, in touch with the thoughts above: it breaks my heart.

Still in it though. Working for a breakthrough to her trust.

Commentary on Religion, Commentary on the news, Dogs, Family, Fourth Phase, Politics, US History

More Shadow and Faith

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Imbolc and the 78th Birthday Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Shadow. Ruth. Diminished stamina. Mark(s). Snow. Cold. Skittishness. Gabe. Puzzles. Enigmas. Thoughtful resistance. Learning about the New Apostolic Reformation. Books. Poetry. Lodgepoles. Great Sol. The days of our lives. Our lives in days. Bananas. Pears. Apples. Mandarin Oranges. Subway

Sparks of Joy and Awe: My dispersed family

Week Kavannah: Love. Ahavah.

One brief shining: Oh, Shadow, my Shadow, who chewed through my oxygen concentrator tubes leaving me breathless, who, when I figured out how to have them looped up high, then chewed on the cord of my electric blanket so it ceased working.

 

Oh. The dog. Challenging me. In good ways. Do I have the stamina for her? Still not sure. Can I, I mean, wait out her puppyhood long enough for her to be easier to care for? If so, then yes, I have the stamina. We’ll see. Ruth recommended I take the full three weeks for the trial. She’s right. And, I will. Honesty. So important.

I liked having Ruth here. So much so that I asked her if she wanted to commute. Free rent and food. Half her gas. No, she said. Too long a daily drive. Right at an hour both ways. Wise lady.

 

My son and Seoah will come on Wednesday. It’s been a year a half plus since I’ve seen them. I’m excited. Seeing them and having Shadow. A rich week in my life. Filled with love and caring.

Annual wellness checkup with Sue Bradshaw, too. And a visit to the medical oncologist’s P.A. A big week for this Shadow Mountain boy.

My peskyfowlatarian diet has proved easy to handle. Fish, other seafoods like shrimp and lobster, chicken. Gives me choices. Pushes me toward more vegetables. Plan to make chicken bean soup today or tomorrow.

Learning to love chicken subway sandwiches. A little tasteless. But o.k.

Shadow spent an hour in my lap, cuddling. I put her outside for about ten minutes, she came back to the door, pleased. I hear my own and others doubts and cautions. As Ruth suggested, three full weeks. Accepting input.

 

Just a moment: Super bowl. Nah. Too much fluff. Usually a bad game. But the two games leading up to it. Well, yeah.

More books coming on the New Apostolic Reformation. As I know more, so will you. This group is secretive, amorphous, and focused on political goals. Like creating a Christian nation.

For now, cue this:

“President Trump signed an executive order Friday to establish a White House Faith Office in an effort to empower faith-based entities.

The office will be part of the Domestic Policy Council and headed by a senior adviser tasked with consulting with various faith and community leaders in an effort to defend religious liberty and combat antisemitism, anti-Christianity and other anti-religious bias, according to the order.”  The Hill

Gotta fight all that anti-Christian bias out there. But, where is it? This is the thin end of the wedge for creating an autocratic, religion focused and dominated form of governance. Not democracy. Follow these bread crumbs. They’re more significant than they may appear.

 

 

Commentary on the news, Dogs, Fourth Phase, Friends, Shadow Mountain, US History

Shadow and Shadows on the Country

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Imbolc and the 78th Birthday Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Shadow (formerly known as Nugget). Sleeping with Shadow under my bed. Her struggle to adapt. Mine. The coup. Feeling alive. Purposeful. Elon Musk. His yetzer hara. Luna and Annie. Leo. Shrimp. Subway. Snow. Vince and Levi. Stable PSA. Shadow’s pooping and peeing.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Shadow

Week Kavannah: Curiosity  sakranut

One brief shining: All last night when I awoke, I heard Shadow moving beneath the bed, occasionally hitting the wooden slats, once a hard thwock of her head, often moving, then for awhile asleep, repeat.

 

Felt like a bad doggie dad. I thought Shadow and I were making progress. Then, my nap. I left the bedroom door open as I had the previous night when she slept under me on the floor beneath the bed. She came out that morning and I let her out. She roamed for a while. Came back in. We did this twice.

Meanwhile she put a tentative paw on my leg, licked my hand. Smiled. Ah, now we’ve gotten somewhere.

This continued until my nap. Exhausted from the drive to Granby and back I slept two and a half hours. When I got up, I saw Shadow had gone back under the bed. Didn’t think much of it. Then, she wouldn’t come out.

And, she’s been under there most of the time since. I lured her out with hamburger, but she slipped back under the bed. That was yesterday afternoon and evening.

This morning I noticed she had two well formed poops and had peed on an old yoga mat. Good girl, missing the Oriental rug. While I slept she got out from under the bed, but she was back there before I woke up.

Ginny’s going to come after mussar. Shadow responded well to her. I want to get Shadow out from under the bed and into a space where we can interact. I have a dog trainer coming next Tuesday for puppy 101. This is a marathon, not a sprint.

It will be well, all manner of things will be well.

About a minute after I wrote this she came out. On her own. The best way. Now she’s in here with me. We can continue the process of getting to know each other.

I will crate her later today so I can go to mussar.

BTW: I did close the bedroom door.

 

Just a moment in oligarch world: First of all. Visit the Egyptian/Israeli Riveria! Swept clean of Palestinians. Home to Trump properties like mega Mar-a-Lago. Adult themed. Rides. Classified documents. And no libtards allowed!

Have fun in the Sunny Middle East. Visit scenes of actual slaughter and mayhem!

Or come to D.C. Play with Federal disbursements. Knock your old high school bully off Social Security. Remember that frigid blonde? You can cancel her Small Business loan.

Never a dull moment when you play Crash the Government. Bring the whole family. Especially the kids and the dogs.

 

 

Boulder, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, GeekWorld

Loss

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Imbolc and the 78th Birthday Moon

Monday gratefuls: Barb. Jen. Ruth and Gabe. Rabbi Jamie. My phone. My most asked question (to myself): where is my phone? MVP. CU-Boulder. Sushi. Pain. Back. First World Problems. Technology. Uncanny valley. AI. Wi-Fi. CPU’s. Graphics chips. Internet.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Electricity

Kavannah this week:  Curiosity. Sakranut

One brief shining: Sunday I got up and wrote Ancientrails, signed on to the Ancient Brothers to talk about love, got a text from Vince saying he could come with Levi to move my workout equipment which he did as Bill, the last of us five, still spoke, so I went downstairs to help Vince who stayed until nearly eleven when I had to leave for Boulder to pick up Ruth.

 

That was when I discovered my phone had scuttled off somewhere secret. Here, I knew, because I’d used it that morning. Conundrum. Keep looking for my phone so I can call Ruth? What if I can’t find it and I show up late? Then she’ll get anxious. I decided to look for five more minutes. Nope. Not here.

Leaving the house I felt naked and irritated that I wouldn’t be able to listen to the Hardfork Podcast about Deepseek. Drove a bit fast to avoid showing up late. Ruth has anxiety issues, as I have had. So I get it. About a fifty minute drive.

Got to Boulder. Ruth was in tears. She had, she said, called me five times. Including this voicemail:

“Hey, Grandpop. I’m waiting outside and you’re scaring me to death, so just call me if you get this, or I don’t know if you left your phone, or I don’t know, but I’m outside, so I’m hoping you’ll get here in a few minutes. Just call me.”

I felt for her, frustrated that with all the available tech I had I still had no way of connecting with her. We had a good lunch. I’d already set this up in the middle of last week, not knowing that her other grandma, Barb Bandel, would die Friday night. That made me even more frustrated because Ruth didn’t need more on her mind. Barb had been in declining health, but her death came with no forewarning. Her death means Ruth and Gabe lost Kate in 2021, their Dad in 2022, and now Barb. That’s a lot of loss. A lot of grief.

Meanwhile my back began grouching while we ate. My walking limit seems to be about a block, two at the most. This with an extra Tramadol already on board. The ride back tested my pain tolerance.

Back home I began looking for my phone. I’ve still not found it. I’m going to have to do a sector search I guess. I know it’s here because I asked Ruth to call me at 5 to see if I could locate it. She did, but, in the first of many confounding situations, the call came to my hearing aid. Which meant it didn’t help me locate the phone.

Did three what I considered thorough passes through the house last night. No joy. Asked chatbot for help. Alexa has a find your phone feature. Oh. I rarely, rarely use Alexa, but here was good use. Nope. The internet is not usable Alexa says. Odd, since I’m on it right now. We had very high winds last night, power went out four times, generator worked, but apparently it reset Alexa. And the Alexa app, which I need to reconnect her to wi-fi is, guess where? On my phone.

As is my ability to connect to Google Voice, which required a setup code sent to my phone. Arrrgghhh.

So, blehhhhh.

 

 

 

Asia, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health, Poetry

A comma, not a period

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Yule and the Quarter Century Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Jon Bailey. Detailing my car. Seoah is coming. Casa Bonita. Valentine’s Day. #78. Fitbit. Charlie H. Ruby clean inside. Avocado Toast. Lox and English Muffins. Ruth’s excitement about her new Astronomy class. Gabe. Coming up Saturday to interview Rabbi Jamie. Sue Bradshaw. Josh. Kai. Evergreen Family Medicine.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Marilyn and Irv

Kavannah 2025: Creativity

Kavannah this week: Rachamim, compassion.  Practice-listening for the melody of the other.

One brief shining: Looking about the same except for a moon face, wondered if it was prednisone, my fellow traveler on the ancientrail of cancer sat in his chair, bookcases behind him, his lake out the window, and exhibited compassion, his melody a bit jagged after a year of death and illness, yet still poetic.

 

First iteration. A recruiting poster syle illustration of Mary Oliver’s quote

When Charlie H. said he was in remission, his surveillance pushed out to four months from the usual three, a sign of dramatic improvement, I felt an uncharitable son of a bitch why him and not me? I didn’t begrudge him at all the good news. No. Happy for him, but wondering why my cancer has proved so damned intractable.

Especially wondering today because yesterday I had four vials of blood drawn, one of which goes for testosterone and PSA lab work.

 

Reminded in that conversation of Paul’s online session with poet Jane Hirschfield. He reported two arresting sentences: Death is not a period, it’s a comma. And. Attention is your life.

second iteration after asking Chabot to correct the spelling of precious

A comma. “…a punctuation mark (,) indicating a pause between parts of a sentence.” Oxford Languages. Interesting to wonder about that sentence, the one in which your life this time might be an object or a subject, a life acted upon or a life acting on its own. What is the verb in the sentence? Verbs? Was there an adjective for this life of yours? Strong, passionate, weakened, vulnerable, clever, unusual? What is the cosmic sentence which the universe, in its polyvalent, multivalent way, has written that is yours and yours alone? It may be the work of a hundred lifetimes, learning how to read your own sentence.

One more thought on the comma. Learning to read each other’s sentence would allow us to glimpse the narrative line running through your time. A series of short stories, linked by the main character of your Self which, when combined, would be a novel in many volumes. Can you imagine the shelves in that Library of Alexandria?

What does that work require? Attention. To your own melody. To the melody of the other. To the moment, yes, of course. But also to the century, the year, the day, the hour. The millennium. Not different from the work of seeing. And hearing.

“What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” Mary Oliver’s “The Summer Day”

 

Just a moment: Welcome to the Year of the Snake. Although the Chinese zodiac correlates the snake as “simultaneously associated with harvest, procreation, spirituality, and good fortune, as well as cunning, evil, threat, and terror”, I can only see the last four in the American year of the snake.

 

 

 

 

Art and Culture, Fourth Phase

Mondays at the Museum

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Yule and the Quarter Century 4% crescent Moon

Monday gratefuls: Blackbird. Ginny. Janice. Annie. Vince. Diane, healing. Mark, teaching. Mary, waiting. My son, traveling. Cold night. Another full night’s sleep. Shrimp po’boy. Breaded catfish fillets. Chinese AI. Oh, my. Deepseek. Cousin Donald, America firsting. New computer. Ready to engage. Chiefs-Bills. Quite a game.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Hawai’i

Kavannah 2025: Creativity

Kavannah this week: Chesed (loving kindness)

One brief shining: The Blackbird in Kittredge has an outside host, even in the winter, though yesterday I was glad to see she’d been given a tent in which she could work in her shirt-sleeved Blackbird t-shirt, a tent where those of us waiting for seats could rest on white metal chairs or wooden crates.

 

Got a little way laid yesterday on seeing. Important, yes. But I really intended to write about art, the Docent years. So.

A person alone in an art museum looking at an earthenware coil built pot from China. In the style of Durer

Those Mondays at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts. Every Monday for a long time, years, I would drive in from Andover, listening to a Great Courses lecture while coming south past the ring road, crossing the Mississippi, eventually leaving the freeway. Parking in the parking lot near the museum.

Maybe the lecture would be on Chinese Silks. Or, the new Pre-Raphaelite exhibition. Could be Song Dynasty ceramics or the Armory Show. Whatever it was I filled a thick blue notebook with careful notes, soaking up the information, storing it away like a squirrel with acorns.

The Museum excited me, so many cultures, so many artistic disciplines, so many artists. From the early Mediterranean carvers of Venus Figurines to Van Gogh’s Olive Trees. The Chinese Jade Mountain to the Doryphoros. Three floors. Two buildings, connected.

No wonder that after the lecture many of us took full advantage of the museum on a day no outsiders were let in. Mondays were days when the registration department moved art from one gallery to another. Hung new art. Cleaned the art. I liked the scissor-jack platform in the lobby which carried a cleaner to the yellow horn like pieces of the Chihuly glass chandelier. They used small vacuums and feather dusters.

Mostly I wandered. I had my favorites. Goya’s Dr. Arrieta. The smooth, ancient Chinese pot, unglazed earthenware of perfect proportions. One Corner Ma’s painting of a Taoist scholar standing under a pine tree, admiring a waterfall. To have as I long as I wanted with a piece, no pressure to move a group along, no one to intrude on my, yes, I’ll call it reverie.

Each work that spoke to me was direct revelation from the artist’s inner world to mine. It was not like a spiritual experience. It was one.

Delicate works that had survived thousands of years after their creation. Some Chinese ceramicist built that beautiful earthenware pot over two thousand years ago.

The gratitude of the ailing Goya to his Doctor exposed in his vulnerable pose in the Doctor’s care. Kandinsky playing with color and form, moving away from representation.

I loved those Mondays and they remain precious in the memories of my life.