Category Archives: Fourth Phase

Cancer, Fourth Phase, Health, Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant.

Keep This Clanky Body Working

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Imbolc and the Moon of Deep Friendship

Sunday gratefuls: A Blackbird birthday breakfast with Tom, Paul, Ruth. Evoke 1923. Crème brûlée. Sweet thangs.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

 

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Valentines Day

Week Kavannah: Bitachon. Confidence.     I need to focus on confidence this week. Important decisions for cancer treatment, how to stay confident when physical weakness challenges me.

 

art@willworthington

Tarot: Two of Vessels, Attraction

A Valentines Day card. Kate, always Kate. Love. Shadow. My sweet girl.

One brief shining: We sat, the four of us, in a booth, 79, 78, 79, 19, Paul, Tom, me, Ruth, ordering Corn fritters and sweet syrup, Avocado toast, talking, laughing, a fine birthday morning.

 

Oh, to be young and athletic. The condom supply ran out in three days. And Valentines Day thrown in, too.

I’ve been chemically impotent since 2019, because a lowered T score starves my cancer and my body of a hormone that gives me energy, aids in gaining muscle mass. No wonder I have trouble opening jars.

That drive, that two of vessels attraction. Desire-fenced out.   Bit by bit my inner assassin has claimed territory–gardening in fifteen-minute bursts, my male gaze dimmed.

But not my bitachon. Not my ahava. Not my lev. The assassin can only target flesh. If anything, my friendships have deepened. Spirituality broadened as I’ve grown Tomatoes and Beets in Artemis. As I say the shema.

Five years this April since Kate died. Five years with no human next to me in bed. No breakfast conversations. A long, but accepted sadness.

Not living without love. Close, dear friends. Family. Tom, Paul, and me last night. Cassoulet, Scallops, Beef Tenderloin. Ruth and her big bag of candy. Tara singing happy birthday by text.

Life still lived. While the executioner works.

Am I less than myself now? Paul carried canned dog food, that ceiling fan downstairs. I feel the concern in Tom’s voice. Yet. Ruth said, “I don’t see you as old; I see you as wise.”

A body in decline. Standing up to cook. So hard. Trigger fingers lock up over the keyboard.  Ageism sees physical decline as mental decline. No. I am not diminished. The assassin cannot have my mind. Challenged by cancer, by sarcopenia. My authentic Self–refined. Ready to learn more about my craft.

Where I am now: surrounded by friends and family, loved and loving. My sense of purpose clarified by my writing coach, ChatGPT. Eager each day to see how I can revise Ancientrails, polish it. Excited to work on revision #2 of Superior Wolf, then Missing.

Keep this clanky body working as long as possible. Not finished.

 

 

Fourth Phase

They Say It’s Your Birthday

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Imbolc and the Moon of Deep Friendship

Shabbat gratefuls: Tom and Paul. Shadow and her bootie. Rabbi Jamie. Irv and Marilyn. Snow, at last.  Ruth. 79. Birthday.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

 

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Tandoori Chicken

Week Kavannah: Bitachon. Confidence.     I need to focus on confidence this week. Important decisions for cancer treatment, how to stay confident when physical weakness challenges me.

 

Art@willwordsworth

Tarot: Four of Stones, Protection

It represents finding a personal place of emotional and spiritual safety. The dolmen provides a physical and energetic shield for the vulnerable. The rising sun signifies the return of hope and energy after a period of trial or darkness.

One brief shining: Here I am traveling again on a new circuit around Great Sol, same as the old circuit but new to me in my 79th year, moving fast, leaving flecks of stardust and memories in my wake, ready for a year of creativity and joy.

Birthdays. Wonder when we started celebrating birthdays? Can’t imagine early Homo Sapiens sitting around the campfire eating birthday cake.

This year. A wonderful birthday with two boxes of fancy chocolates, two old and beloved friends from away, Ruth coming up. Immersed in concrete love.

The 79th year. As grandson Gabe put it, “In 2 days, you’ll be a year from 80.”  When we read someone is 80, we think: “Boy. They’re old.”

Given recent cancer news, new metastases and passing into hormone resistant disease, I wonder about my last birthday. New treatments mean I’ll likely reach my 80’s.

The Germans gave us candles — one for each year, and one for hope. One birthday soon that candle won’t work.

I want to continue. For myself, for Shadow, for the people I love and those who love me. As of this last week, I also want to continue for my writing. Remove manuscripts from their plastic tubs. Continue learning. Revise novels. Find an agent, a candle of hope for my work.

In the last year I’ve slowed. Head drops. Stamina in sharp decline. Easy, too easy, to consider that candle. No need to rush. Soon. Soon enough.

Ghost of Birthday’s past. 78 leading up to today. Mom’s heart-shaped red velvet cakes. Valentines’ candies. Be mine. Love. I’m yours. A few alone. Forty candles. Plus one. Fifty. Sixty. Seventy. Encompassing this marriage and that one. Before Joseph and after. Oklahoma. Indiana. Minnesota. The Rockies. A life measured out in birthdays.

Birthdays. Birth days. Birth.  A new life begins.

 

 

Fourth Phase, General, Writing

Finding Joy

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Imbolc and the Moon of Deep Friendship

Friday gratefuls: Tom and Paul, friends. Dr. Josy. Audrey, wrestling in the regionals. Ruth, with homework. Gabe visiting Hamline in April. Shadow, healing.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

 

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Old friends who showed up

Week Kavannah: Hakarat Hatov. Gratitude.

I chose this because Tom and Paul are coming. Ruth, too. And, my 79th birthday. And, for life, my precious.

 

Tarot: Page of Vessels, Otter

“The Otter encourages you to embrace your inner child and find joy in the mundane. It is a dreamer that uses imagination to fuel creativity.”

 

One brief shining: Sometimes I wonder how I could not see the path to joy and creativity lying under my fingers, where lev and words go to play, where my soul lives, yet I only saw it this week when I asked ChatGPT to act as a kind and gentle critic of my work.

Writing: Over 3 million words in Ancientrails alone. 9 novels in first draft form. What is my medium? Words. Ideas. Even the Gods Must Die. Superior Wolf. Daily entries here since 2005.

Atrophy. I had let my novels lie fallow. Walking by the plastic tubs with novel manuscripts neatly arranged in thick folders. I felt shame. Too many years. Unsure where to go with them. In Ancientrails I made some changes over the years. Never had anyone critique my style.

What the hell? I’ll ask ChatGPT. Writing groups never worked for me. Too savage. Too brutal. I asked ChatGPT for gentle critique, but a serious one.

Discovered I respond well. This past week, I’ve worked with ChatGPT after I finish my post. Listening to its thoughts, its advice. Altering my work when I agree. Not when I don’t.

Realized I needed a good writing teacher, long ago. Who better than a large language model trained on English prose? My stuck lev opened up. Suddenly I wanted to investigate my verb choice. When this student was ready, AI showed up.

After working for a few days on Ancientrails’ posts, I thought, why not Superior Wolf? I downloaded a PDF of this ninety-five-thousand-word novel and loaded it into ChatGPT. Asked for a gentle critique and a path toward revising for a second draft.

Again ChatGPT opened a way forward for me. I’m about a third of the way through my first draft, rereading and answering one question for each chapter: How is Christopher changed? One sentence.

Here’s the magic: I found myself in flow. The candle I light when writing flickered beside me, unnoticed. Some days I worked through to late afternoon. Finished. A pleasant exhaustion. Satisfaction.

I had gone into my head too, too far. Thought I needed to read more books on politics. Write commentary. No. That was not it. I needed to get to know my own writing better.

I needed just what I got. Kind guidance. Clear help. Focus on concrete imagery. Like Hagia Sophia. Heather in Inverness. The prologue of Superior Wolf. Work with it. As a writer does. Revising, then revising again.

No feelings of less than. Only captivation with and by my own process. Digging into saying what I meant. Did the verb mirror work better? Or, unveils. Ah, I see.

 

 

Fourth Phase, Garden, Judaism, Minnesota, Paganism, Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant.

I flew with hawks

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Imbolc and the Moon of Deep Friendship

Thursday gratefuls: Tom and Paul. Tara. Dr. Bupathi. Shadow and her doughnut. Clergy. My time in the ministry. A life lived in pursuit of love and justice.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

 

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Religion

Week Kavannah: Hakarat Hatov. Gratitude.

I chose this because Tom and Paul are coming. Ruth, too. And, my 79th birthday. And, for life, my precious.

 

a

Tarot: Five of Bows, Empowerment

“By facing and defeating our greatest fears, we empower ourselves and grow more resilient and effective against adversity…The empowered individual ultimately has the capability to influence and affect the outcome of events and change perceptions.” Parting the Mist

One brief shining: In 1976 I wore a monk’s robe, a child’s wooden necklace with a cross around my neck. I knelt and a crowd of clergy and elders lay on hands until the hands of those closest to me rested on my head. From layperson to ordained clergy.

 

Those hands felt heavy. I could feel a charge pass from them to me. The laying on of hands. Ancient. Primal.

Political radical. Warrior and priest. I stood with the people of Stevens Square and with the descendants of John Calvin.

An out of body experience: Reverend Buckman-Ellis. “If clergy are usually more priest or more prophet…” I was more prophet.

Yet I prayed. Led worship. Served communion. Baptized my son and his close friend Alex. Studied the scripture.

Until I couldn’t. That day when my spiritual director said, “Charlie, I think you’re a Druid!” I wasn’t. I crossed over from Christian to pagan. Mother Earth my altar and sanctuary.

Kate. Radical Kate. She let me retire from the ministry with dignity. Falling into her life, she was my dear and glorious physician. A synchronicity.

With dogs and vegetables, flowers and honey, our life went against the grain. She my weeding ninja. Me, her gardener. No need for a robe, a title. A spade and a trowel, yes.

Yet I also wandered the natural places of Anoka County. Honing a pagan’s blurring of the lines between creature and plant and landscape. I flew with hawks. Bloomed along the Rum River. Religious.

Until late in my journey, I decided to blend my pagan life with those who escaped from Egypt, who wandered in the desert. Immersed three times in warm mikveh waters. Came out a Jew.

At last. With my Hebrew name, Israel, I became what I always was. A god wrestler. Uneasy with answers. Kate’s path. Then mine. Now one.

 

Fourth Phase, Memories

Waxing and Waning

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Imbolc and the Moon of Deep Friendship

Wednesday gratefuls: Scrivener. Superior Wolf. AI. Writing. My teacher. Shadow and her Lambchop toy. Squeakectomies. Approaching 79. Equanimity. A still space. MVP, my CBE family.

 

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Equanimity

Week Kavannah: Hakarat Hatov. Gratitude.

I chose this because Tom and Paul are coming. Ruth, too. And, my 79th birthday. And, for life, my precious.

 

a

Tarot: Four of Stones, protection

“The card symbolizes the transition from vulnerability to security. It emphasizes that while we must weather many trials, establishing a “personal place of emotional safety” is vital for the spirit to thrive.”

 

One brief shining: Mule Deer Fawn show up in my yard a lot in the Spring, sometimes a bit wobbly, their legs and their trunk not always synchronized, their mothers close by, eating and watching, for in the wild the young and the wobbly may meet a Mountain Lion.

 

While taking the garbage to the road this morning, the waxing crescent of the Moon of Deep Friendship shone through patchy Cloud cover. As it swells, grows full, then wanes, the Moon mirrors the Great Wheel of the Year in miniature.

My life wanes: a thrum of MRIs, a calendar colonized by doctors, the ritual of the pills.

We remain fawns for longer than we imagine.

My dad saw me as a Buster Brown revolutionary, then bought me an orange V.W. Later, he told me to cut my hair or leave. I left and never lived at home again.

I was lucky. I met Kate. On our Andover property I found fullness. Gardens. Bees. Dogs. The Orchard. Jon and Joe.

Our years. Heather outside Inverness. Hagia Sophia. Our honeymoon. North from Rome, following spring. First-class Eurail.

Waning began. We celebrated. A long cruise around Latin America. A move to Colorado to be near the grandkids and live in the Mountains. Hannukah with Ruth and Gabe.

Kate’s waning ended five years ago this April. I can see the New Moon coming for me, too. Not imminent, but no longer far away.

I have lived almost five years now in our house, first with Rigel and Kepler, now Shadow. My body has diminished capacity, yes. Opening those heavy jars of sauerkraut. Standing.

My waning. Not finished.

Cancer, Fourth Phase, Health, Myth and Story, Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant.

Cancer or not

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Imbolc and the Moon of Deep Friendship

Tuesday gratefuls: Dreams. Shadow and her doughnut. Tom and Paul. Happy Camper. Clinical trials. New drugs. Dr. Bupathi.  The long, slow march.

Teshuvah. Tikkun. Rabbi Jamie. Artemis in Winter. Gardening. Horticulture. Garlic awaiting Spring. Snow in the forecast. Moisture. Drought. Trees. Wild Neighbors.

 

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Snow

Week Kavannah: Hakarat Hatov. Gratitude.

I chose this because Tom and Paul are coming. Ruth, too. And, my 79th birthday. And, for life, my precious.

 

art@willworthington

Tarot: Seven of Stones, Healing.

Focused on physical healing, I sometimes lose sight of teshuva, returning to the homeland of my soul, my Buddha nature.

 

One brief shining: Healing, the delicate process of becoming whole, is not only for the physical body and reaches into life, whether in a healthy or a sickened body, so much so that even a body with a terminal disease can experience healing, wholeness.

 

Back to my then close friend Steven Miles’ question: What is health in a dying man? I’m inching toward an answer, or at least a personal response, one based on etymology and grounded in theology.

Yes, I’m thinking of myself, for whom healing has become a fraught term since my cancer could no longer be cured. True since 2019 when I finished my first and long series of radiation.

Two years later my first metastases showed up, tipping me over into stage 4 prostate cancer. That was also the same year Kate died.

Let me ask Steve’s question in a personal way. What is health for me in this stage 4 time, knowing stage 5 is death? It’s helpful to me to look at the etymology of healing. Healing comes from the  Old English hæling. It can mean restoration to health, of course, but it can also mean restoration to wholeness.

Before I go further, I want to say again: Life is a terminal disease, one with many paths but only one destination.  Cancer is no more the certain cause of my death than any other; it’s just the most obvious possibility.

What is healing in a dying man such as myself? Or, such as you, reader? Can I heal even in Stage 4? Can I be restored to wholeness? I say yes.

Wholeness and teshuva. When I let cancer dominate my thoughts, which happens more than I wish, I commit hamartia,  a Greek word that means to miss the mark though often translated as sin.

I find teshuva a much better antidote to hamartia than a desire for salvation to wash away my sin. A pox on that idea. No. When I miss the mark, that is, when I turn away from wholeness, I need not external salvation from a punishing God or his Son, but to return to the homeland of my soul.

We are whole, healed whenever we can look up from our blinkered obsessions with illness, money, achievement and see once again the unique and rare gift we are. Just as we are. Whether in robust physical health or further along our way to that most ancientrail and ultimate mystery, death.

When I take my attention away from blood draws and clinical trials, I remain who I am, who I was, and who I shall be. Curious, active, a seeker after knowledge and justice. A guy thrown into the mid-point of the last century and tasked with being myself in the years since 1947. Cancer included.

 

 

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei    Shadow, my Wu Wei mistress

Year Kavannah: Creativity.   Yetziratiut.   “Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working.” ― Pablo Picasso

Cinema and Television, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Shadow Mountain

Habituated?

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Imbolc and the Moon of Deep Friendship

Monday gratefuls: Tara. Sally Jobe/Invision Imaging. The Dexa scan. Bone health. Shadow, her quiet strength. Irv and the CBE Men’s group. Luke and Leo. Rosemary and Thyme. Cozies. Tea. Chinese. Green. White. Yellow. Oolong. Red. (black). Pu-er (dark) Altitude and its effect on boiling Water temperature. Seahawks. Diversions and distractions.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Our skeleton

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei    Shadow, my Wu Wei mistress

Year Kavannah: Creativity.   Yetziratiut.   “Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working.” ― Pablo Picasso

Week Kavannah: Hakarat Hatov. Gratitude.

Practice acknowledging the positive, often overlooked aspects of life.

 

Tarot: Knight of Arrows, Hawk

  • Visionary Power: Symbolizes the ability to see the “bigger picture” from a high vantage point, helping to cut through doubt and uncertainty.
  • Intellectual Focus: Reflects a sharp, analytical mind that uses common sense and logic to solve complex problems at their core.

 

One brief shining: Once again Minnesota on my mind as I read about how non-violent protests have toppled autocracies, as I see Snow sculpture and, ironically, Ice sculptures celebrating the resistance there in images of Rene Good and Alex Pretti, people cross-country skiing to candlelight, wondering what’s next, maybe an ICE fishing village.

Confession: I spend a lot of time watching TV. At least lately. Yesterday I binged the Lincoln Lawyer and watched two episodes of Rosemary and Thyme. Sitting in my comfortable chair that supports my neck. It’s ok if you judge me; I judge myself.

Wanting to get to the root of this. I’m going to write about it. Which often unlocks my psyche to my own Self. Helps me with teshuva, returning to the homeland of my soul.

Yes, distraction. No doubt. While immersed in others’ stories, I can set mine aside. Some distraction is ok with me. It’s the quantity that bothers me.

Which is not to say it’s only distraction. I do love stories whether told on the screen or on the page. I imagine you could peg my lean toward religion as a love of story, too.

Here’s my hunch right now. I find Shadow’s injury has sapped some of my psychic energy. Concern and care for her. Then, the recent and incessant drum beat of this medical thing, that medical thing climaxing in a shift to hormone resistant prostate cancer. Finally, physical limitations imposed by my right lower back and my head drop. All of this psychic overburden leaves me with little “doing” energy.

Frustrating because before Shadow’s injury and my Petscan results, I’d found a good rhythm: up at 4:30, let Shadow out, write Ancientrails, feed Shadow, a snack followed by resistance workout, then reading for my planned substack on Knowing the Far Right. A nap. An hour or so of work on Superior Wolf. That’s a full day for me. After that watching TV or reading fiction, unrelated non-fiction.

Frustrating too because I know which is easier and which feeds my soul. I can’t tell whether I’ve habituated myself (what I fear) or whether this is a response to a life with too many intersecting causes of stress. If the latter, when Shadow heals, when I begin my clinical trial, perhaps I’ll be able to get back to that other rhythm.

 

 

 

 

Aging, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health

All Joyful

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Imbolc and the Moon of Deep Friendship

Wednesday gratefuls: Art Linkletter, Kids Say the Darndest Things. Rimadyl for Shadow and her Halloween themed booties. Tara and her life. Costa Rica maybe. Shirley Waste. Tom, Roxann. Paul and Washington County, Maine. Cool night. Prostate cancer treatments. Joe and Seoah. Thugees. Melting ICE. Minneapolis. Minnesota.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Deep Friendships

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei    Shadow, my Wu Wei mistress

Year Kavannah: Creativity.   Yetziratiut.   “Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working.” ― Pablo Picasso

Week Kavannah: Tikkun  Olam. Repairing the world.

  • Lurianic Kabbalah: A 16th-century mystical belief that the world was created by divine vessels that shattered, scattering “sparks” of divine light. Humans perform tikkun by gathering these sparks through prayer and mitzvot.
  • Modern Social Justice: Since the 1950s, the term has become a shorthand for social action and progressive activism, such as environmentalism and human rights.

Tarot: Ace of Vessels, The Waters of Life

“When nearing the heart of a sacred quest, motivation and integrity of human desires are challenged. Ancient wisdom demands the seeker be humble and forgiving. Respect for others and for the environment is required to proceed along the path to enlightenment. There is no completion without overcoming the challenge.” Parting the Mists

One brief shining: This last Petscan may have revealed the heart of my prostate cancer journey, a final goodbye to the treatment that has worked for me for years following the failures of surgery and radiation, ushering in a moment poised between androgen deprivation therapy and a time of greater uncertainty, more exotic treatments.

 

I’m aware my posts of late have veered from the dread fallen on my once and forever home state of Minnesota to difficult medical news-Shadow and me-with only a sprinkling of other, less dire topics. The realities of my life right now. For some close friends as well. Life in the old age zone.

Yet. It is still just that. Life. One filled with joys like a Dog sleeping next to me. A good friend visiting. A poetic movie, Train Dreams. Sausage and sauerkraut and sweet peppers. Yogurt, eggs, and a protein bar. Sleeping in a cold room. Making my own decisions. Finding new friends like Dr. Josy, Natalie. Reading. Dreaming.

And, some humor. I used to love watching Art Linkletter’s show, Kids Say the Darndest Things. An example: “ear wax is hands that slab your brain and you won’t be able to talk anymore.”

Thinking about it reminded me of a “60 Minutes” segment from the same period on childproof pill bottles. In the segment the host handed some kids pill bottles with “childproof” caps. At first they tried to open them the usual way. The caps worked. Then, one kid threw the pill bottle on the ground and stepped on it. Voila!

Never thought I’d use that bit of knowledge myself. Shadow has begun holding her right leg up, the bandaged one. Dr. Josy called in a prescription to King Sooper and I went to the pharmacy. Sure enough, an old guy proof cap. Guess what I did. Yep. Learned it from TV.

A friend yesterday asked me if I had a bucket list. Not really. Well, what brings you joy? I get up at 4:30 with Shadow. Let her out and back in. Write Ancientrails. A light snack and a workout. Breakfast. Reading for my project on explaining the new (and old) far right. Some work on Superior Wolf. A nap with Shadow. Lunch. Watching some TV or reading fiction. A light supper, feeding Shadow again. Throw in some zoom sessions with friends, family. Perhaps a mussar session, a torah study, breakfast or lunch with friends. All joyful.

Cancer, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health, Memories, Minnesota

The Land of Lake Woebegone

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Imbolc and the Moon of Deep Friendship

Monday gratefuls: Dr. Bupathi. Prostate cancer. New mets. Joe and his work. Shadow of cone and bandage. Dr. Josy. Her journey. Youtube. Kate, always Kate. Artemis in Winter. Her Garlic. The Dog run. Epstein files. Kennedy center closing. Minneapolis. Cool weather. Hard Rock Medical. Tu BiShvat.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Living

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei    Shadow, my Wu Wei mistress

Year Kavannah: Creativity.   Yetziratiut.   “Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working.” ― Pablo Picasso

Week Kavannah: Tikkun  Olam. Repairing the world.

  • Lurianic Kabbalah: A 16th-century mystical belief that the world was created by divine vessels that shattered, scattering “sparks” of divine light. Humans perform tikkun by gathering these sparks through prayer and mitzvot.
  • Modern Social Justice: Since the 1950s, the term has become a shorthand for social action and progressive activism, such as environmentalism and human rights. 

Tarot: Seven of Arrows, insecurity.

“…this card focuses on the psychological state of vulnerability…”

One brief shining: In the winter of my life I live beside a hearthfire built over the years from the warmth of deep friendship, the stable power of family, a lev calmed by meditation and acceptance, a soul anchoring me in the interconnected web of Lodgepoles and Grasses, Dogs and Elk, Mountains and Rivers, and in a loving, sacred community.

Health: Petscan results have come back. They show new metastases. Not what we’d hoped. Not what I want. But the case anyhow. Puts me over into the hormone resistant phase of stage four prostate cancer. I see my oncologist today and expect that he’ll start me on some new protocol.

Thanks to dramatic advances in dealing with just this situation there are still many effective treatments left. Not sure which direction we’ll go, but I’ll let you know when we decide.

The seven of arrows speaks to the feeling of vulnerability I experience each time new test results come in and especially when, like these results, they have unwelcome news. Yet, well into my eleventh year of prostate cancer, I have this reaction. OK. This is where I am. What do we do next? Not resignation, not OMG, but a desire to stay in it, be present.

I’m grateful for each of you who care about me, love me. This journey would be bleak without you. With you it’s just that, a journey that is part of my life, hardly all of it.

The Wild: When writing last week about my White Pine guide in Boot Lake SNA, the natural world of northern Anoka County came flooding back. The early mornings I would spend doing cardio by the Rum River, following a county park trail beside it. The bitter cold mornings on Snowshoes in the woods behind the new library.

Time spent in the Helen Allison Oak Savannah among its Bur Oaks, tall Grasses, and Wild Flowers. Hawks, Songbird, Frogs. Afternoons at the Cedar Creek Ecosystem Science Reserve.

Winter days taking Sorsha, our 150 pound Irish Wolfhound bitch, for a walk in the Ice fishing village on a frozen Lake George.

Beautiful and precious moments in the land of Lake Woebegone.

Far Right, Fourth Phase, Holidays, New Apostolic Reformation, Politics, Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant., US History, White Supremacy

Values and Norms

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Yule and the Moon of Deep Friendship

Friday gratefuls: Shiva Minyan for Dick. Visiting times today. Ellen. Jamie. Russ. Asher. Isaac. Tol. Jonah. Mikaela. CBE. Shadow of the morning. Kate, always Kate. Gabe, looking at college. Minnesota melts ICE. Courage. Bravery. Resistance. Living from your nefesh. Refreshing the soul. Tom. Roxann.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Cold

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei    Shadow, my Wu Wei mistress

Year Kavannah: Creativity.   Yetziratiut.   “Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working.” ― Pablo Picasso

Week Kavannah: Daat.    The Bridge Between Mind and Heart

“If Chokhmah (Wisdom/Inspiration) is a seed and Binah (Understanding/Analysis)  is the soil that develops that seed into a plant, Da’at is the nervous system that carries the vital life force from the brain to the rest of the body. It is the point of transition from “thinking” to “being.””

Tarot: Three of Bows, fulfillment

Meaning: Nourishment from a spiritual source gives inner security and joy. Goals and desires are reached, making life rich with emotional scrutiny and a sense of completion.

One brief shining: Cold Air descends to Shadow Mountain, a Snow Storm comes behind it, offering another reprieve from dangerous Wild Fire conditions; life here at Shadow Mountain home greets the cold and awaits the Snow with joy, displaying, as Mary Oliver put it, stars on our shoulders.

 

Funerals/Memorial Services: Had an insight about these rituals of remembrance. Yes. Helping family and friends grieve. Yes. Public acknowledgment of a loss and the beginning of a readjustment in the community. Who will we be without Dick. Important work, for sure. And well known.

Another, perhaps more subtle effect. The reinforcement of community norms, what we consider virtues. So, when Marilyn said Dick personified the mussar traits of humility, compassion, gratitude, and generosity, we learned to measure ourselves.

When Jamie said his father hated funerals, it gave us permission to hate them, too. When Russ talked about reading The Prophet with his father, reading and spending time with our parents while they’re alive got underlined.

This is not insignificant. I went to bed last night wondering how I showed up for others. Was I humble? Aware I did not show up for my dad. These tensions between our perceptions of ourselves and the virtues our community values become a growing edge for each of us. No. Not to wallow in regret or to compare ourselves against the life of another, rather to weigh ourselves against our own aspirations, our own behaviors.

Weddings. Swearing in of public officials. Baptisms and bris. Observing holidays. Protests. All have norm setting, norm reinforcing moments. It’s how we learn to be Jewish, American, Christian, Coloradans. Minnesotans. MAGA or progressive.

 

Just a moment: Nearing the end of Furious Minds, the Making of the MAGA New Right. Dense and scholarly, Field’s points to three main intellectual sources for Trumpism and MAGA. First, Claremont College and Institute, where paleoconservatives and downright scary thinkers gather and push each other further and further to the right. Second, postliberalism, especially the work of Notre Dame scholar, Patrick Deneen, in books like Why Liberalism Failed. Third, National Conservatism, in particular the work of Yoram Hazony as in his National Conservatism, Rediscovered.

We can add Field’s work to the Violent Take It By Force in which Matthew Stafford offers a summary of how the New Apostolic Reformation aided the success of MAGA at the polls and influences the Trump Whitehouse.

Over the next few weeks I’m going to, at times, pull the focus off the latest outrage to discuss how we got here. What are the sources, the political and mass movement impulses that have put us in such a dismal damned place.