Category Archives: Fourth Phase

Family, Fourth Phase, Health, Politics, World History

The Dead Live On In Memory

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Samain and the Yule Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Snow. Ruth. Gabe’s poetry. Boulder. CU. The Village Diner. Its Village Virgins punchcards. Ben and Jerry’s on Pearl Street. Only short walking distances. Resistance work. Feeling stronger. Jon and his children. Rich and Doncye.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Poetry, messages from the lev

Kavannah: Perseverance

One brief shining: As we passed Rebecca’s Herbs and Ointments, headed toward our ice cream tradition as Ruth calls it, the wind began to howl, and the cold blasted through my layers and caused both of us to hold our unsnapped and unzippered coats close, hurrying along while my back, as the pace increased, declared itself, stop stop it said. We hurried on.

 

 

Having done what I can for my back, physical therapy, lidocaine patches, and now Celebrex and the occasional tramadol, I put its complaints in the category of life as it is. Yes, it limits my mobility. No, it will not kill me. Unless of course the Celebrex does. This is me, now. At 77.

Another wonderful two hours plus with Ruth, eating at the Village Diner, one of those places students and professors flock to for the literal greasy spoons and great coffee. It wears its worn and chipped table tops, its random displays of CU-Boulder memorabilia, its fry cook behind the long counter with those stools you know, with the pride of a beloved spot rubbed real by hungry students and teachers of physics and philosophy.

During the week and after the noon rush, Ruth and I had a two person booth beside a west facing window, my hearing not the issue she assured me it would be had we come only a bit earlier. I wore my dancing Bears hat in honor of Jon’s birthday.

He was a true Deadhead, loading up whatever vehicle he owned at the time and heading out to follow the band. On one trip Kate and I loaned him Bucky, of Buck and Iris. Buck rode in the front seat of the pickup truck with Jon, happy to see more of the world than our back yard.

Ruth received calls from Jon’s closest friends: Max, Thomas, and Patty. Gabe wrote poetry. Jon was not forgotten. And will not be.

 

Just a moment: Luigi Mangione? Straight outta Mario Brothers. And, apparently, the wealthy upper crust of Maryland. Didn’t see that one coming. I stand by what I wrote the other day. No to murder. Yes to a wholesale revamping of our broken, broken healthcare system. Come on RFK. Your time to shine.

Being caught in a McDonald’s. How absolutely dead center American can you get?

 

Can you imagine Syria. A ruthless dynasty toppled. A palace ransacked. Secret prisons opened. A rebel army that knows fighting now in charge. Governing is a distinctly different skill. Who can predict?

Israel continuing its version of the forever war bombing Assad’s military assets. Not letting them fall into the hands of terrorists they said. Maybe. Or maybe they’re governed even more by hubris. Thinking they can bomb their way to a new Middle East. It will not be so.

 

Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health

Meal Time

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Samain and the Yule Moon

Monday gratefuls: Rich and Doncye. That 529. Captive money. Jon’s 56th birthday tomorrow. Lunch with Ruth in Boulder. Lunch with Joanne today. Dinner at Evoke 1923 with Veronica on Sunday. Our year anniversary for our conversion. By the lunar calendar. Birthday brunch with Luke yesterday at Sassafras.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Regular workouts. Feeling stronger.

Kavannah: Persistence and Joy

One brief shining: Sassafras has a Cajun inspired menu and tables distributed throughout the rooms of two old Victorian homes connected to each other; when Luke came we ordered beignets with the usual heavy load of powdered sugar, then fried green tomatoes Benedict for him, grits and Shrimp for me, a nod to his southern roots and his 33rd birthday. We took a short walk afterward in this hipster neighborhood of Victorian and brick homes.

 

chatbot at my prompt. in the style of Botticelli

Beginning to find a calling in breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Eating out with friends. Keeps me fed, enhances and sustains relationships. Conversation over food, another hominid in the veldt experience. As old as humanity itself. Odd way to live, I guess, solitary and happy, yet also punctuated with laughter and deep talk. Visiting breakfast and lunch spots, fancier places for dinner. Adds 3-D moments to my zoom talks with other friends and family.

When I think about it, not too different from the way I worked while I did organizing out of my Minneapolis West Bank (Mississippi, not Jordan) office. I would meet people for breakfast and lunch, eat, discuss plans, get things started or nurture ongoing work relationships. One big difference: no agenda these days other than showing up, seeing and being seen.

 

chatbot image

Yin/Yang. Masculine and feminine. Man and woman. Gender fluidity. Animus and anima. Queer and straight. Non-binary. Trans. Thinking about all of these lately. Wondering how they intersect, influence each other. Not going to tread too far into these Waters, but I do find the animus/anima, yin/yang, masculine/feminine polarities provocative.

On the MMPI, which I took many times while in seminary, I always spiked the M/F scale. Here’s the summary of a high scores potential meaning for a man:

  • May indicate interests and behaviors that are traditionally considered feminine (e.g., interest in the arts, sensitivity, or gentleness).
  • Possibly challenges or discomfort with traditional male roles.

In times past this scale often identified such high scorers as either actually or potentially homosexual. Wrong. It did and does signal the influence of animus and anima, yin and yang energies in a person. In my case it correctly identifies what Kate called my androgynous personality. A straight male heavily inflected with anima. Probably the deep influence of Mom in my life. Not an unusual finding for men in the ministry, in helping professions.

I also scored high on the 4 scale for psychopathic deviation. This represented my unwillingness to conform to social norms and my ongoing political struggle with a racist, sexist, homophobic, classist culture. This was an unusual finding for men in the ministry, but it sure fit my personality. And, still does.

 

 

Fourth Phase, Friends, Judaism, Torah

Livin’ in a small town

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Samain and the Yule Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Cold nights. Tramadol and Celebrex. Jackie. Her friends. Studying Torah with Rabbi Jamie. Sisyphus. Zeus. Hades. Holy Wells. The Elk Bull in the Rain. Seeing the sacred where you are. Beth-el. Cairns. Wrestling with the angel. Israel. Jacob.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Celebrating Luke’s birthday

Kavannah: Joy (simcha) and Enthusiasm (zerizutz)

One brief shining: Walked into Aspen Roots yesterday, Jackie had another customer’s hair folded into aluminum foil squares-hair coloring-and a man with a bald head, dressed casually in jeans and new shoes, a blue shirt not tucked in, everything neat, sat in Ronda’s chair facing his wife as Jackie worked her hair stylist magic.

 

Jackie called me on Wednesday and said she needed to reschedule. A funeral. The two in her shop yesterday had also attended the funeral. Of all of us, Jean said, I didn’t think he’d be the first to go. Jackie and Dave nodded. What followed was the usual funeral chatter. Who was the blonde with him? Oh. Him? He has issues, said Dave, I love him but he has issues. Did you know his brother Jim? No. I knew of Jim, but never met him.

One task of grieving and funerals is reordering the social structure of a group. Acknowledging the loss of a member of the group, remembering their story. Seeing people, perhaps even family members who live at a distance, either geographically or relationally. Recalling how things were. And in the process redefining how things will be now without the deceased.

When it was my turn in the chair, Jackie schedules me sandwiched between the  application of coloring and its slow baking in time, I had a chance to chat with Dave. He had retired two weeks ago from a fire department in Highland Hills. I asked him how it was going. Oh, he said, not well. When I offered that he couldn’t expect to get retirement in two weeks, his wife, now sitting in a chair festooned with aluminum foil, said, I did! We all laughed.

When Jackie began her work on my beard and hair, I asked about the guy who died. He just had to clean the gutters, she sighed. Fell off the ladder and landed on his head. I felt so sad. What a way to go. She leaned into me and said, Don’t climb on ladders. I assured her I wouldn’t. They scare me now. I even gave away my chain saw.

As I left Jackie gave me a big hug and Dave jumped up from his chair, shook my hand, “Good to meet you, Charlie.” Enthusiasm and Joy at Aspen Roots. Life in a small community. I love it.

 

Just a moment: Earlier that morning I signed onto the Bagel Table, which had to be online because Rabbi Jamie didn’t feel well. There were 12 of us, 13 including Jamie. We had a spirited and deep conversation about struggle, about family-the parsha was about Jacob’s ladder and his long negotiations with his father-in-law Laban, the nature of God or divinity. I loved it. It was fun and profound. Luke and Ginny were on.

 

Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health, Judaism

Blah. Bah.

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Samain and the Yule Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Rich Levine. Small Estate Affidavit. The arcane lore of the law. The law itself. Making and enforcing laws. Judges. Lawyers. Police. Detectives. Canon law. Bishops. Diocese. Bishop Joe Strickland. Life in spite of. A good life in spite of. Seed-Keeping. Soil. Roots and Rhizomes. The Light-Eaters. Zöe.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Boulder

Kavannah: Perseverance and love (ahavah)

One brief shining: As I drive down the hill, and everything is down the hill from my home on Shadow Mountain, the lights have gone up, pushing that holiseason instinct to brave the advancing darkness by illuminating it, brilliant tiny bulbs of all colors strung along eaves, up a forty-foot Colorado Spruce, on wires from a tall pole to form a tree of lights, we are still here they say, look at what we can do.

 

I have only one thing that carries a weight for me. You might think prostate cancer, but no. That’s not it. It’s transferring the money from Kate’s 529 accounts for Ruth and Gabe to my own. I want to start giving Ruth money. Since last August. My formophobia notwithstanding I have dutifully sent off three packets of declarations, forms, and certificates. Still no joy.

Dealing with it makes me tense, jaw tightens. Teeth clench. My emotional resilience plummets. Not good for problem solving. Especially over the phone, to call center employees. Some who can do this, but not that. Those who can do that are not available and will call me back. Right.

Reached out to Bond and Devick, my financial planners, since they’re in Minnesota and it’s a Minnesota program. They helped me. Sort of. Going to see Rich tomorrow. If I can, I’m going to hand it to him and ask him to finish this for me. I want it off my back.

 

Going to see Rabbi Jamie tomorrow after mussar. Twice in the past month I’ve encountered a barrier within that I didn’t know existed. I believe my flat affect stems from its grip on me. The barrier is enough.

My first encounter with it was on my second visit to my medical oncologist, Dr. Buphati. I’d gone to that meeting expecting clarity about the status of my advanced prostate cancer. When I discovered they did not have my PSA results, drawn in their office three weeks before, I hit the barrier.

As if a train of cars, each one carrying a different emotional cost levied over the whole of my nine year plus cancer experience piled up, each one pushing against the other with the force of inertia gained over time and distance.

Over most of those nine plus years I’ve tried to deal straight up with the news about this change or that, move on to the next step, treading that fine line between being informed and responsible as a patient and trusting my doctors as Kate asked me to do. Sure, I’ve had times when fear overcame me, uncertainty pushed me to my knees, but each time I got back up. In this moment, at that visit I could not get back up.

Though I left after that visit with a feeling of doom and sadness overwhelming me, I drove home without incident and did right myself later in the day.

For some reason I cannot recall the second time right now. Not the trigger that is. But the feeling? Oh, yes. Here’s a different metaphor. Have you ever worked in or been in a factory where they had heavy doors attached to a counterweight with a chunk of lead in the cable holding the door open? If there’s a fire, the lead melts and the counterweights engage pulling the door closed to protect whatever lies beyond it.

That sort of feeling. As if what has gone before has been so much, that my feelings slammed my inner world shut. Trapping those feelings that threatened to engulf me.

It doesn’t surprise me that these moments have come to visit. The last ten years have held more tough times than I can recall. Yet I feel I’ve learned how to navigate the grief and the fear neither ignoring nor denying it, while not being captive to it either. In spite of that I have had death, divorce, and disease as my constant companions over the last ten years. I have not forgotten that. I don’t dwell on it, but the memories and the feelings remain stored within me.

When I stepped into this new period of uncertainty about my prostate cancer, right after my bar mitzvah ironically, I’ve gone up and down. Sometimes steady. Sometimes not. The most current manifestation of these feelings has been a flat affect, not down, not up. Blah. Unmotivated. Slow. Tired. Very much like acedia.

The door to my inner world slammed shut. Bottling up my exuberance and joy.

I don’t like living blah. My life means more to me.

 

Asia, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Great Wheel, Holidays, Judaism, Paganism

A Way Back

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Samain and the Yule Moon

Bush_turkey Jim Bendon from Karratha, Australia

Shabbat gratefuls: Body weight workouts. Brush Turkeys in Queensland. Lizards in K.L. Asia. Korea. Songtan. Beijing. Kate, my son, and I traveled there. 1999. Japan. Ichi-go, ichi-e. Ruth and Gabe. Mary and Mark. Oz and Malaysia. Black Friday. Advent. AI prompts. Yule. The 12 days of Christmas. Feeling flat.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Light-Eaters, Zöe Schlanger

Kavannah: Perseverance and chesed. Love.

One brief shining: Ever have that pit of your stomach feeling that something marvelous lay just out of reach, if only you could get yourself organized, find the time, open yourself fully to the possibility; I do each time I look at the green candle made by Vance Kitire, never lit since I bought it with the lovely throw rug years ago; and why you might ask, because whenever I begin and sustain a writing project I always light a candle before I begin writing for the day.

A Pagan Yule. Chatbotgpt

 

That candle contains the promise of an immersion in another world, a world of fantasy, one created by me in which I find life emerging in its own peculiar way, no less real than IRL. An embrace of another personality. Both within me and within the work itself. Yet the candle remains in its as created state. Untouched by flame. The flame that signals to me work has begun.

This does not, most of the time, feel like a burden. Most of the time it reminds me that I have another version of myself that I love. One committed to the daily work of writing a novel. I await his emergence again, his claim on my time, on my mind and heart, on my imagination. No, not waiting on inspiration, but on an inner consolidation of intention, idea, and joy.

How do I lift myself up? Find that small lever that elevates my mood? Not from the abyss, not from melancholy, but from, perhaps oh archaic sin, acedia*. I’m not a sin oriented guy anymore. Hamartia, missing the mark of my values, yes. Sin, no. But I do recognize the flat affect of acedia and when it dominates, as it does right now, I search for teshuvah. A way to return to the land of my soul. A way I’ve wandered off and for the moment have forgotten.

Mussar offers a way to adjust our inner life by acting as if. Acting as if we persevere, as if we have compassion, as if we experience joy. I’ve used mussar to get back to working out by working out. At first a bit at a time, then back to a full diet as my neshama “remembers” who I am, one who cares for his body.

Perhaps a writing schedule, as I have for Ancientrails. I long ago ritualized the writing of Ancientrails. It is the first thing I do after waking up, saying the shema, and taking my pills. I write until finished. Only then do I eat breakfast. BTW: Ancientrails will finish its twentieth year next February.

I could do Ancientrails, breakfast, write 500 to a 1,000 words on a project, then exercise. After that read. Commit to exercise during the day rather than a half-hour after breakfast. That could work. Think I’ll try it.

 

*The word acedia comes from the Greek word akēdeia, which means “an inert state without pain or care”.
Acedia is considered one of the seven deadly sins, or capital vices. It’s often described as a “noonday demon”. Some say that acedia can arise from the social and spatial restrictions of a solitary monastic life.

 

 
Denver, Family, Fourth Phase, Shadow Mountain

Thanksgiving Down the Hill

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Samain and the 2% crescent of the Moon of Growing Darkness

Friday gratefuls: Water Grill. The Spiny Lobsters. Fresh Oysters. Thanksgiving with Ruth and Gabe. Jen. Gus. LoDo. Denver. Down the Hill. Shadow Mountain Home. Ruby. With her Snow shoes on. Cold night. Living alone. Kate, always Kate. Talking to her. Ruth potentially on the Dean’s List. Her next semester classes. A history minor.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Gabe’s hug

Kavannah: Perseverance and chesed

One brief shining: Only a brief while before it swam in a large aquarium with many other Spiny Lobsters, then it boiled in a pot, got cleaved in half, plated with liquid butter and coleslaw, given to a server, and delivered to my bibbed presence where I took the small fork and deftly lifted most of its meat out of one half, dipped a chunk in butter, and the great circle of life went on.

Straight outta the waters of Southern California.

 

The Water Grill. A fancy, and by that I mean expensive, Sea food restaurant. It has a Seahorse sculpture over its door, but no signage visible from the street. My second Thanksgiving in a row eating a Thanksgiving meal down the Hill in Denver.

With two downtown Thanksgiving’s literally under my belt (ha) I’m curious about the number of people who no longer cook a meal for friends and/or family. The reason? Both times all street parking has been full and the restaurants I saw had packed tables.

The Bib

The Water Grill has many tables and booths, a big place with glass buoys made into chandeliers, old boat propellers and coral behind the booths. Full. And stayed full over the two hours Ruth, Gabe, Jen, and I ate there.

Don’t know about the others but my excuse is I no longer have the stamina, the standing in one place capacity to cook a full meal. When the bill came, I paid it, thinking about what I had really purchased. Sure, a meal. But that was secondary. What I really paid for was the two hours spent eating by Ruth’s side, talking to her about college, talking to Gabe. Jen.

Remember that Thanksgiving we ate at the Water Grill? When I was a freshman at UC-Boulder? We had Oysters and Spiny Lobsters! Oh, right. I remember.

I’ll remember the sudden and unexpected Bear hug I got from Gabe, from behind, as I got up to put my coat on. Heartfelt. And, from Ruth after that. A brief hug with Jen.

Brought to mind the Ira Progoff seminar in Tucson, April of 2014, when I realized we needed to move to Colorado to support the kids. The fruits of that decision as well as my decision to stay here, not move to Hawai’i. Which I could easily do now if I wanted.

Love is a verb and it becomes real, Velveteen Rabbit real, in moments like these.

Drove home into the Mountains as Mother Earth turned her other face toward Great Sol, the early Night fully fallen when I pressed the garage door opener and drove Ruby into her stall.

 

 

 

Feelings, Fourth Phase

The Deep End has little water

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Samain and the Moon of Growing Darkness

Monday gratefuls: Israel. Palestinians. Hezbollah. Hamas. Iran. U.S.A. China. Korea. Japan. Taiwan. Hawai’i. Snow. Cold night. Good sleeping. Cooking. Mark, good self care. Mary. Pleasure. Sticking it out. Nexus. A.I. Small tasks to get done. Agency.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Coffee

Kavannah: Perseverance and Love

One brief shining: Silence when I go to bed, a Mountain stillness fills my property, peace radiates from the cosmic void punctuated by oh so tiny from my perspective Stars, Galaxies, and Nebulae, and I approach sleep with the attitude of a learner, what will my unconscious teach me this night knowing that in the morning I will awake refreshed and ready to live yet one more life. Love.

 

A feeling that dominated the end of the Ancient Brothers on love. For me. Enough. I’ve had enough. My emotional resilience has drained until the pool is nearly empty. Not enough of love, never enough of love. But of problem solving, of illness and death and the ascendance of cruelty and meanness in our country. I need to consider how to refill the pool in case I need to take a deep dive. Right now? Probably break my neck.

This feeling surprised me. As most of you know, I’m a put my head down, keep the legs churning sorta guy. Switching metaphors here. Even a rushing linebacker would find me making a spin move and heading for open field. In this moment I’d get tackled just beyond the line of scrimmage. An odd word, scrimmage, eh?

I’m fine. Not down or feeling melancholy. Just aware that I need something to help me restore my soul. Refresh it. Not sure what I can do. Think I’ll ask Rabbi Jamie.

Here’s what chatbotgpt4.o has to offer.* Good advice. Not quite specific enough for me.

Perhaps the keys for me right now are 6 and 7. Maintain my new workout regimen, step it up as I planned to do this week anyhow. Positive outlook. I don’t have a negative outlook, but I don’t have a positive one either.

I do look forward to more Snow, Fire in the fireplace, to the many celebrations of Holiseason. I look forward to reading more, talking with friends as I regularly do. Going to mussar. Thanksgiving with Ruth and Gabe. Petting Leo. Continuing to see Ruth in Boulder. My son’s visit in January. A visit to Korea in May.

Self care never ends. Well, until it does. But how we do it, what we do has to be nimble, adaptive to changed circumstances.

Let’s see. Perhaps counting the ways could be helpful.

Practice self-compassion: The Ancient Brothers. Alan and Joanne. Marilyn and Irv. Ginny and Janice. Luke and Leo. Ruth and Gabe. Acknowledging the challenges I’ve had and how I’ve faced them head on, not blinking. Thrived.

Mindfulness and relaxation: I do box-breathing. I pay attention, close attention, to the sacred in the ordinary. If stressed, I pick out five things I’m seeing or hearing right then. Once in a while l use a mantra to deepen an experience or go deep in my psyche.

Maintain Social Connections: I’ve become so much better at this after Kate died. I talk to friends and family often.

Develop Problem-Solving Skills: Bandaged my gushing finger. Keep my home going. Write about problems, ask friends for help. Pretty good at this.

Goals and Actions: A little light on this one right now. Trip to Korea. Maintaining my circle of friends. That’s about it.

Seek Professional Help: May reach out to Rabbi Jamie. I feel essentially ok, just depleted.

 

Chatbotgpt4.o

*Replenishing emotional resilience involves adopting strategies that enhance your ability to cope with stress and adversity. Here are several approaches to consider:

  1. Practice Self-Compassion: Treat yourself with the same kindness and understanding you would offer a friend. This involves acknowledging your struggles without harsh self-criticism and recognizing that difficulties are a shared human experience.
    Wikipedia
  2. Engage in Mindfulness and Relaxation Techniques: Incorporate practices such as meditation, deep breathing exercises, or yoga into your routine. These activities can help manage stress and improve emotional regulation.
    Calm Blog
  3. Maintain Social Connections: Building and nurturing relationships provides emotional support and a sense of belonging, which are crucial for resilience. Engage with friends, family, or community groups to foster these connections.
    Wikipedia
  4. Develop Problem-Solving Skills: Enhance your ability to tackle challenges by brainstorming potential solutions and taking proactive steps. This approach can boost confidence in your capacity to handle adversity.
    Calm Blog
  5. Set Realistic Goals and Take Decisive Actions: Break down larger objectives into manageable steps and take action toward achieving them. This process can provide a sense of accomplishment and forward momentum.
    Verywell Mind
  6. Cultivate a Positive Outlook: Focus on positive aspects of your life and practice gratitude. This mindset can broaden your perspective and build psychological resources over time.
    Wikipedia
  7. Prioritize Physical Health: Regular exercise, adequate sleep, and a balanced diet contribute to overall well-being, which supports emotional resilience. Physical activity, in particular, has been shown to alleviate symptoms of depression and anxiety.
    Mindbodygreen
  8. Seek Professional Support When Needed: If you find it challenging to cope, consider consulting a mental health professional who can provide personalized strategies and support.

 

 

 

Cooking, Family, Fourth Phase, Holidays, Memories

It’s the Best Time of the Year

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Samain and the Moon of Growing Darkness

Sunday gratefuls: Mark working his options. Mary. Turning cold and Snowy for Thanksgiving week. Thanksgiving at the Water Grill. Nexus, chilling and hopeful about A.I. Constitutional A.I. Anthropic’s Claude. ChatbotGPT. A.I.’s policing each other. Living. Cancer. Stable. Long tie guys quick appointments. Loyalty far and above competence.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Love

Kavannah: Perseverance

One brief shining: The coffee slides down my throat, the heavy mug with the Elk and the logo Evergreen reminds me of my current location as the caffeine hits my bloodstream and sleep begins to fall away, replaced by alertness, keystrokes and thoughts once again merge, another morning of Ancientrails under construction.

 

Hitting the family Ellis in their various locations: Melbourne, K.L., Songtan. All from the top of Shadow Mountain. Thanksgiving week. Holiseason well underway. Diwali. Thanksgiving. Advent. Yule. Christmas. Hanukah. Kwanza.

It’s that time of the year. My favorite. I love the lights, the music, the cheerfulness, the gatherings. The opportunity to celebrate life connections, to go deep into the psyche hunting for ohr, the light of creation. We’ve already had Divali and Samain both of which shared the same Gregorian dates this year. All Saints. Now Thanksgiving.

I appreciate the layered ironies of all holidays. Light against the fading of Great Sol. The depth of learning available only in the darkness. The messy and ugly origins of Thanksgiving, yet its warmth and family focus now. Our need to see Native American stories. Christmas replacing the Roman blowout of Saturnalia with its too often ridiculous capitalist captivity. Hanukah and its noble martyrs who were far right Jews of their time and its gentler but still ridiculous capitalist captivity. Yule, its symbols taken over: The Christmas Tree. The Evergreen Holly and Ivy. The crackling Fire with the Yule Log. A wassail bowl. Singing and Feasting. Cultural appropriation of long ago.

So much to appreciate, to probe.

Then, less than a month from now, the least encumbered holiday of them all, the Winter Solstice. A celebration of life continuing in the darkest moments. The rich nurturing of nighttime, of a blanket of Snow, a bright Moon. The psyche free to roam in the oceans of the unconscious. A still turning point. Join me on that long night. Unless of course you live in the Southern Hemisphere where you’ll get naked and dance around the bonfires of the Summer Solstice. Looking at you, Australia. New Zealand. Africa. Most of Latin America.

 

Just a moment: Reminded by all of the Thanksgiving recipes of my first attempt to cook a Thanksgiving meal. In my senior year of college, 1968-69, I worked as an 11 to 7 security guard at a factory that made magnalite cookware. For the Thanksgiving holiday they gave all employees a frozen Turkey.

I dutifully took it home and put it in the freezer of the second story apartment I shared with John Belcher and Carter Fox. On Thanksgiving day I took it out and called my Aunt Marjorie to ask her what to do. She was a professional cook for the University.

Imagine her surprise when I led with, “I have this frozen Turkey. What do I do with it?”

As you could guess, my roommates and I went out for our Thanksgiving meal.

Fourth Phase, Judaism, Mussar

Finding love

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Samain and the Moon of Growing Darkness

Thursday gratefuls: Amazon. Weights with neoprene. 48 ramen packages. Three light bulbs. One jar of protein powder. Being prepared. Weariness. Drugs. Of all kinds and all sorts. Visit to my medical oncologist tomorrow. Ley Septic. Furball Cleaning. Vince. US Mail. Mark in K.L.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Love

Kavannah: Perseverance

One brief shining: The downside of shopping with Amazon came along yesterday as the little photograph emailed to me with the cheery question-How was your delivery?- showed my package to be at a different door than mine, one with full glass and a bright orange streamer draped over its flower pot containing a now long dead leaf and stalk.

 

Mussar. From Monday night. Rabbi Jamie’s translation of Orchot Tzaddikim. From the chapter on love and hate:  “…by way of this gate of love, peace stands, a peace with everything And by way of this gate is silence and stillness, an openness to learn and perform good and worthy deeds.”

Each month we choose a practice for the middah we’ve studied. My practice this month is to notice when peace, silence, and stillness, an openness to learn and perform good and worthy deeds emerge in my daily life. Clues about love.

When I got home that Monday night, I walked into my home. Noticed silence. Stillness. Felt at peace. Oh. No wonder I like coming home, being home. It fills me with love. That was a surprise.

The next day I recalled the NYT’s article about the cosmologist who chose to study the cosmic void. The uncluttered apparent emptiness, silent and still. Oh. Studying the love that holds the Galaxies and Solar systems, the Nebulae, and Stars going nova.

Sat down to read Nexus that same day. Harari’s clear prose and interesting conclusions leading me on, eager to learn what he might say next. Love in the turning pages.

My brother and I talked over zoom. An opportunity to perform a mitzvah. Yet more love.

I speak with my zoomfriends. We see each other. Hear each other. Moments of mutual respect and love.

In just four days my practice has revealed love everywhere I go. In the still pause between breaths. In the silence of my back yard at night. The stillness of Orion, risen and visible in the cosmic void.

Even though I ache from it, I experienced love in the now regular resistant work I’ve taken up. Me performing a good and worthy deed for myself.

There is, too, the silent wisdom of my Lodgepole Companion. The massive, yet subtle presence of Black Mountain. The kind sadness in the still black eyes of the three Mule Deer Does and the young Buck who watched me walk out to the mailbox yesterday. Enjoy the food I said to them, breaking the silence.

I walk through the valley of love and I shall know peace, silence, stillness, an openness to learning, and the desire to perform good and worth deeds.

Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health, Politics

You know

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Samain and the Moon of Growing Darkness

Wednesday gratefuls: Rubberized weights. Working out. Feeling it. Cold night. 10 degrees. Coloradified. Me. Paul. Robbinston, Me. Lobster Pots. New Brunswick. Canada. New Foundland. Wawa. Marathon. Sault St. Marie. Toronto. Stratford. Pukaskwa. Road signs with the crown.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Body weight workouts

Kavannah: Perseverance

One brief shining: Marked HEAVY the cardboard boxes containing my rubberized weights for in-the-house workouts sat just outside my front door and posed a conundrum for this muscle wasted senior citizen, staring down at them, laughing at the paradox of not being able to lift the tools he needed to be able to lift the tools.

 

No. They’re not still out there. I cowboyed up and lifted each box, one at a time, to the lip of the door then shoved them into the living room. Where they still sit. Knife in hand, I’ll open them, and carry the fifteen pounders one at a time, the ten and fives two at a time, downstairs.

Another chatbot created image. Just what I’ll look like in only a few short months. By Spring I’ll be able to kick sand in the face of all those beach bullies. Like Jack Lalanne promised in those ads in the back of the comics. Or, maybe not.

I’ll settle for being able to open cans and bags. Carry groceries with ease. Not feel like such a wet noodle.

 

Realized last night that I’ve arrived at inner peace. No regrets or worries bother me before my head hits the pillows. My to do list nags me, yes, but not in an OMG, I gotta get this done sorta way. Not to say that on occasion a moment of angst doesn’t squash me. Consider my last visit to the oncologist as an example.

I did have a summer and early fall time of perplexity about my cancer. Didn’t know what came next or how long I had to live. Let that gnaw on me for a while. Even then though I never lost sleep, chewed my fingernails.

Not sure how I got here. Darn it. I could write a self-help book otherwise. A key component I do know. Contemplating my own death. Accepting it. Embracing it as a necessary, even desired punctuation to life. Meditating on my own corpse. Yamantaka to thank for that.

My paganism plays a role, too. The Great Wheel turns. The growing season ends, then the fallow time, finally the Winter Solstice and the long dark night. Death as part of the natural cycle.

Judaism does not emphasize life after death. Though it considers the possibility. Some kabbalists believe in reincarnation. I’m willing to be surprised. Joanne said, “You know you have to give up heaven and hell!” Never believed in it anyhow. Three story universe. Yesterday’s notion.

 

Just a moment: Oh. Well. Linda McMahon. WWF exec. With the necessary qualifying sleaze and scandals. For Education Secretary. A Cabinet department red tie guy has promised to gut. Foxes. Hen houses. Scorpions riding frogs. You know.