Category Archives: Fourth Phase

Acting, Denver, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health, Hermitage, Literature, Mountains, Shadow Mountain, Travel, Weather +Climate

Learning my lesson. Again. And, yet again.

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Summer and the Summer Moon Above

Monday gratefuls: Tal. Lid. Luke. Leo. Dick. Ellen. Rabbi Jamie. Laura. Lisa. Sagittarius Ponderosa. Roaming Gnome Theater. Aurora. Bad memories. Not blessings. Angry Chicken. Korean hot pot. Sundays. Shabbat. Seoah. Murdoch. Storms coming. The wettest June on record here. Keeping that Fire risk low. Traveler’s insurance. Allianz long term care insurance. Kristen. Travel medicine. Travel. Welcome to the journey.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Shakespeare

One brief shining: Read some of the Tempest and Midsummer Night’s dream this morning reminded of the packed and punchy nature of Shakespeare his plays and his poems words all tight ricocheting off each other building meanings until like a Han Shan poem one line changes the meanings of all that came before a genius so luminous I feel like kneeling down before him to say, Master!

 

Ooh boy. I keep learning and relearning the same lesson. Which I suppose means I’m not learning at all. Anyhow. Drove into Denver yesterday, then into Aurora near Jon’s old house. Left here about 11:45. My plan. Go to Stanley Market, eat at Rosenberg’s deli, then make the short trip from there to Roaming Gnome theater for the matinee performance of Sagittarius Ponderosa.

About half way down the hill on 285 I saw all the cars streaming west, latecomers to the usual Friday boat and camper show headed to South Park and the interior of the Rocky Mountains. What’s this? Oh. July 4th traffic. Folks taking the week, leaving late to avoid the Friday afternoon traffic jams so common here. Wait. July 4th weekend.

Oh. Stanley Marketplace. Will be packed. I might not get served in time. I had given myself an hour to eat after arriving. Began to run through alternatives. The Bagel Deli just past I-25. That could work. Pulled into their parking lot. Nope. Folks waiting outside. Confirmed my hunch about Stanley Marketplace. Well. New York Deli not far from that spot. Will be too busy, too. A holiday weekend.

I had wanted to eat lunch at Rosenberg’s, then pick up some dinner at the Angry Chicken after the play. I love their Korean fried chicken, but it’s way too far to go unless I’m close by. Turned north as 285/Hampden became Havana. An Asian inflected part of the Denver metro. H-Mart nearby. Lots of pho shops. A Korean hot pot and barbecue restaurant. Hmm. May not be as invested in the holiday weekend. Could be easier to get in and get out.

It was. I had never had hot pot before though it’s similar in nature to Khan’s Mongolian barbecue in the Twin Cities. Tables with induction coil wells over which a pot of broth sits. You pick up soup ingredients on your own, take them back to the table, and put them in the heating broth. Waitress delivers the meat in thinly sliced rolls on long platters. Spent more than I wanted to but I learned how to do it. Will be useful when I hit Osan. Could have been tasty but I was in a hurry and didn’t really realize the potential of the hot pot.

Got to the theater a bit late. They had waited for me. But not long. Sag was already underway. In the small darkened space I fumbled my way toward a seat. Dick and Ellen Arnold were seating in the same four chair row.

The play itself. Can’t tell whether my hearing made it difficult to follow or whether it was the script. Or, the direction. Anyhow it had funny moments, tender moments, and commentary on the difficulty of communicating our selves as we know them to others, especially family members. Perhaps my expectations were too high?

Anyhow I left quickly after the play was over at 3:30. Not before greeting Luke, Leo, Tal, Dick and Ellen, Jamie and Laura. Realized I leave things early because the hubbub afterward makes it impossible for me to hear.

Drove to the Angry Chicken on Havana. Blessedly on the way home. Put in my to go order. Ten wings and some corn salad. Waited twenty minutes. Plastic bag in hand I left.

Then drove back across the south Denver Metro in 90 degree heat, AC blasting. This is the lesson. I left the Angry Chicken at about 4:30. With the hard part of the drive ahead of me. I’d already been gone from home for almost five hours. Exhausted. Still in the city. The drive wasn’t torture. Not exactly. But it was uncomfortable, unpleasant. I was worn out, wanted nothing more than to be home. In my chair. At 8,800 feet. Cooler. Quieter. Way less busy.

I can’t drive that far anymore for that long and not get exhausted. Just can’t. I know it. But not well enough. Not sure what to do about it either. Stay home? Nope. Need human connection, some out of the house moments. Go with others? Maybe.

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

Too Much Chocolate and Brain Fog

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Summer and the Summer Moon Above

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dogs, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Shadow Mountain, The Move, Travel, Woolly Mammoths, World History, Writing

Guests

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Summer and the Summer Moon Above

Monday gratefuls: Tom. Roxann. Lodgepoles. Aspens. Sunlight. Another blue Sky day. Ruth and Gabe in North Carolina. Joan. Tal. CBE. Israel. Trip payments. Fixing the wireless keyboard. Dead hearing aid. Marilyn and her award. The Bread Lounge. Quiet days, cool nights.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Guests

One brief shining: Sentences can run from harsh to gentle, grating along the tongue of the mind or softly caressing it, making the tongue recoil or roll over in delight sentences can be funny or serious delighting the mind or causing it to work carefully and sentences can confound the mind throwing it into utter confusion what power sentences have!

 

Tom’s visit comes to a close with our final breakfast out this morning. It’s been a real delight to have him here, continuing our Colorado conversation begun on December 19th, 2014 when he drove Kepler, Vega, Rigel, and me out here. We slept on the floor in sleeping bags that night. Gertie came with Kate in a packed rental van. She fed Gertie cheeseburgers along the way.

He returns to the heat and humidity of a Minnesota Summer. Different from the arid West.

It’s been a season of visits for me. Ode and Dennis in May. Mary a week ago Saturday. BJ and Sarah that Sunday night. Tom last Thursday until today. Nice to have folks in the house for a bit.

Tom has noted it feels strange for there to be no welcoming dog here. And it’s true. I’m dog identified. Yet I don’t feel their absence in the same way. I would love to have another dog, but I’m also enjoying having no one to care for but myself. So easy to contemplate travel, staying longer somewhere in the afternoon. Getting up at any time. Perhaps it’s the memories of so many dogs that keeps me company. Iris and Buck. Celt and Sorsha. Scot and Morgana. Tully and Tira. Bridget and Emma. Tor and Orion. Hilo and Kona. Rigel and Vega. Gertie and Kepler. 18 dogs. All still alive in memory, each one’s memory a blessing. As is Kate’s.

 

How bout those Russians, eh? Can’t fight a war, didn’t stop a rebellion. Putin’s looking a lot less like a strong man since the weekend. Instead of putting down the Wagner group when it seized a military HQ in Rostov-on-Don he allowed Prigozhin to slip away into Belarus and Prighozhin’s troops to stand down with no penalties in either case.

May they both get what they deserve.

 

Lots of ideas still floating around for Herme and Cold Mountain. Enough for a one act play? I won’t know unless I try to write one. The idea gives me energy. I like the idea of a one person play: Herme and Cold Mountain.

I also like the idea which resurfaced as Tom and I talked about cooking yesterday afternoon. A serious class in cooking basics and maybe one on a particular cuisine. At a cooking school. Realized I’ve taken all these other classes, why not one that will positively affect my daily life?

 

 

 

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

A Thursday with Friends

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Summer and the Summer Moon Above

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

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Friendship

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

 

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

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

 

 

Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Shadow Mountain, Travel

Hotel Shadow Mountain

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Beltane and the Herme Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Mary. Ruth. Gabe. A bright Sun shiny Day. 72 today. Three dry days in a row. Sarah and BJ coming in later today. The World. Cultures other than our own. Day off yesterday from Ancientrails. BJ and Sarah. On their way to Driggs, Idaho. In the U-Haul. With loads of books. Great workout. Great chocolate. Father’s day present from BJ and Sarah. 83 yesterday! After a month and a half of Rain and cooler Weather. Overcast this morning. Cooler again. Robin and Spacewranglers. Rebecca. Herme work today. Chores.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Family

One brief shining: Oh, took Mary to the light rail in Lakewood in the morning on Sunday and the long way back through crowded Morrison and then the Bear Creek Canyon road which looks like a perfect setting for old fashioned Westerns, trying to find a place to eat breakfast but Sunday city tourists all over so passed through a crowded Kittredge and Evergeen back up the hill to Shadow Mountain Home and cracked open the frig because by that time hunger occupied my attention cooked ate napped and then began to wonder where BJ and Sarah were.

 

Charlie’s no-tel motel has shutdown for two days. Opening again on Thursday for a longer stay. Tom.

Here’s what happened. Mary misread her plane ticket as arriving at 11:59 am. Nope. pm. So she booked a hotel. Which told her when she arrived that they were overbooked. This very late at night. Obvy. They found another room for her, paid for a taxi and breakfast the next morning.

Ruth and Gabe had already planned to come up. Lucky. Because Mary’s hotel was not far from Galena Avenue where Ruth and Gabe live. On the second day of having her driver’s license Ruth picked up Mary and drove her up here. We all went out for breakfast at Primo’s and talked a lot. Ruth had to leave to make it back to work at Starbucks. She’s a barista now. Lots of positives with both Ruth and Gabe.

Mary and I spent the day talking. Catching up on her travels. Japan. Guru and Kuala Lumpur. Eau Claire. Her wonderful furnished apartment in an old factory.

Her trip to Indiana. All the cousin news. Age beginning to ravage the still close gaggle of Keaton cousins. Ikie Jones died a while back. The first cousin. Annette died this year, his youngest sister. Melinda, their remaining sibling now in a nursing home and refusing to eat. Lisa, the youngest Steffey of five, died also a few years back. A stroke. Her four siblings Kathy, Tanya, Carla, and Kenya all alive. Though Kathy couldn’t make the meetup in Muncie, Indiana due to arthritis. She’s the oldest of the five. Diane, the oldest of the Keaton sibs, was there on her used to be annual trip to Morristown for her school’s reunion and renewal of family/friend ties. Richard’s on the farm and Kristin is in Michigan. Both doing ok. Mary, Mark, and I round out the Keaton cousins. We’ve stayed in touch since childhood, sharing news and stories.

I don’t get back as often as Mary who has made heroic efforts to stay in touch with family, traveling thousands of  miles and crossing oceans each year to do so. Props to her. Due to the travel mix up her visit here was only Saturday.

 

BJ and Sarah had planned to make Denver around 1 pm on Sunday. Missed it by a couple of hours, then spent time loading Merton’s photographs into the U-Haul they’re taking turns driving from NYC to Driggs. In it is 90% of BJ and Schecky’s worldly belongings, mostly books. Huh. I know that routine.

We had a couple of snafu’s before we finally connected around 7 pm in the King Sooper’s parking lot. They left their truck there, Sarah bought some food, and we drove back to Shadow Mountain.

Sarah put together a salad, steamed asparagus, and set that out with some sushi rolls. A fine meal. We caught up on Johnson news. BJ and Sarah both saw me through the two weeks of Kate’s final hospitalization and death. She was their big sister.

The three of us went to the Conifer Cafe in the middle of the next morning for breakfast before they saddled up the U-Haul for the penultimate leg of their journey to Idaho. This is a big, big move for BJ and Schecky. They have lived in the same rent controlled rooms in the Beacon Hotel on Broadway since they were both students at Julliard. Well over 50 years. They’re letting go of the apartment and moving lock stock violin and cello to rural Idaho.

 

I drove back home to Shadow Mountain and took a nap.

 

Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase

Fathers

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Beltane and the Summer Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Mary. BJ and Sarah. Ruth and Gabe. Ivory and Ruby. Dependable transportation. Up the hill, down the hill. Rapid Transit Denver. Brown Machne Yehuda hotel, Jerusalem. Sadot hotel, Tel Aviv. My son’s and daughter-in-law’s big apartment. Murdoch. Korea. Israel. Water. Ode and the mushroom spores. Luke and Leo.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Wide World

One brief shining: To have a brother and a sister in far away places like Hafr, Saudi Arabia and Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia extends my life into other cultures at an intimate, everyday level as does a son and daughter-in-law in Korea and  trips for myself to Korea and to Israel, we are many we are one.

 

Fathers. Yes. We all have one so… Even if it is a Hallmark moment it’s a legitimate celebration. Unless you think the oh so ordinary, so mundane fact of biology is ho hum. But it’s not. Not really. Yes, we all have fathers. But none of us have the same fathers. Not even siblings. Each relationship between father and child has its own unique stamp created by gender, timing in the child’s life and the father’s life, timing in the zeitgeist, location on Earth, cultural and linguistic and genetic peculiarities.

My father Curtis and I for example. Dad’s own father, Elmo, led a chaotic here and gone again sort of life finally disappearing into the wilds of 1920’s California, leaving Dad and his siblings in the care of Jennie Spitler, his mom, and Dr. Jonas Spitler, his grandfather. Not great training for the role.

Dad went to Oklahoma State University and graduated with a degree in journalism, his profession for his lifetime. After brief jobs in Duncan and Watonga, Oklahoma, the family-Dad, Mom, and me-moved to Alexandria, Indiana where he remained for the rest of his life.

He stayed true to his family. Always providing. Always working. Not following Elmo’s scoundrel pattern. Props to him. He also followed the strict upbringing he had under his grandfather, a country doctor and farmer within the German heritage. In that sense the Spitler side of our family with Hessian mercenary soldiers as its starting point in revolutionary America influenced us much more than the Welsh and Irish Ellises.

That strict Germanic sensibility fell afoul of the 1960’s for both of us. He was for me a distant father emotionally unavailable and only mildly engaged in my life until the death of our mother at my age 17. Then we stumbled through an uneasy closeness occasioned by mom’s disappearance from our lives. It was not well done on either one of our parts.

We parted abruptly in 1968 when he demanded I cut my hair and I said no. And he said cut your hair or leave. And I left. Both of us stubborn and unyielding.

I wish now that we had healed that rupture in our lives but we never really did. I saw him from time to time, but we never established an adult father and son relationship.

He wrote well, worked hard, and hung in there for all of us. Given his particular circumstances a difficult but real advance generationally. Props to him again.

Family, Fourth Phase, Friends, Jefferson County, Mountains, Shadow Mountain, Travel, Weather +Climate, Wild Neighbors

Verdant

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Beltane and the Shadow Mountain Moon

Friday gratefuls: Mary on her way. Ruth getting her driver’s license. Coming up here tomorrow. Possibly bringing Mary. And Gabe. Cool, Rainy Nights continue. Mussar. God is Here. Monotheism. Boo. Animism and polytheism. Yay. Marilyn and Irv. Good friends. Ribeye steak. Potatoes. Mushrooms. Mixed Vegetables. Peaches. Verdant. The Mountains in June. Unusual and beautiful.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Green

One brief shining: When I look out my window to the back, I see wet Lodgepoles, red bark standing out against green Bunch Grass pocked with yellow Dandelions, Kate’s Lilacs growing taller, the gray white Aspen with its chartreuse Leaves, Rocky Soil damp with the Rains, but no Elk Bulls, no Mule Deer, an occasional Rabbit and Chipmunk.

 

In the eight and a half years I’ve been up here on Shadow Mountain the Mountains have never been so green. The Mountain Meadows have Grass in abundance, a buffet for our Wild Neighbors after a difficult, painful Winter. I’ve noticed for the first time that the chartreuse Leaves of the Aspen light up the Lodgepoles in Spring (or, Summer, not sure which is which) as they do in their gold clothing in the Fall. We’ve had cool, Rainy weather since late April. Not what other folks have experienced, I know. Glad for us though.

All the Mountain Streams would have diminished by this time in a normal June, yet they remain full. Not raging like they did at the end of May but still sending heavy amounts of Water over their Rocks and Falls. Flooding down the hill at several locations though not as bad as 2012.

 

I could, I know, spend the rest of my life following Mountain roads, visiting New Mexico, Utah and northern Arizona. There is so much to see so close to me. Places people come from all over the world to see. The many national parks in Utah, the four corners area, Rocky Mountain National Park, Mesa Verde, Chaco Canyon, Santa Fe, Taos, Dinosaur National Monument. Too many to point out. And perhaps I will spend a year focused on doing just that. But not this year. This year and at least part of the next I’m going overseas, seeing new parts of the World. Yay!

 

The travelers coming to Shadow Mountain Home have changed schedules. Mary will be here tomorrow in the morning. BJ and Sarah won’t arrive until Sunday at the earliest. Mary leaves Sunday morning. Ruth will pick up Mary from her hotel near the airport after her midnight arrival. Ruth has her driver’s license! She’ll be coming up in her car. Ivory, our old Rav4. Which has no air conditioning. A good year for her to get used to it. A new era has begun. Ruth can drive on her own.

 

Going over to Kittredge for breakfast with Alan. The Blackbird Cafe. In a place where an old favorite restaurant used to be. First time. Summer or its early Springlike equivalent makes driving so much easier up here. I need these times with my friends.

 

Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Memories

Subdued

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Beltane and the Shadow Mountain Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Acting class. Abby, her passion. Alan, his commitment to stretching himself with Lear. Joan for her brilliance and breadth of knowledge. Rebecca trying comedy rather than drama. Tal, a wonderful teacher. Cold Mountain. The Chinese scholar and Mountain recluse. Follower of the Tao and the Buddha. Poetry. Kristie. Drug holiday. Money in the bank for my airline tickets. A rich and satisfying life. Eudaimoniac. That planet in the night Sky as I drove home. More Rain. 39 this morning.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Acting

One brief shining: Standing up there in front a sheaf of Cold Mountain’s poems in my hand I began to read, to inhabit this long ago Chinese hermit who wandered his Mountain, slept in a Cave, and wrote poetry that still shocks the heart, watching as his words landed, jarring the acting class as they had me the first time I read them.

 

An odd moment that affected me the whole evening. I chose to go to Sushi Win for a meal before acting class. Kate and I went there often when she was still able to get out and about. When she wasn’t, I would go pickup spring rolls for her. The best anywhere in her opinion. And mine, too.

When I got in and ordered, the music was from my high school days. The classics the young Vietnamese guy behind the counter said when I thanked him for playing them for my meal. He hadn’t of course played them for me.

I sat down and looked out the window at the Mountainscape. Remembered I sat here one evening in 2015 and called Kate to tell her I’d been diagnosed with prostate cancer. I don’t remember where she was, but she wasn’t at home. I also remembered the photograph now hung on the wall leading to the guest room. Kate smiling with her arm around my shoulder. Seated across from us Joe and Seoah, her arm around his shoulder. At Sushi Win, too.

Reading during this meal-two spring rolls and the Sushi Win special roll, hot tea-Regime Change by Patrick Deneen, the author of Why Liberalism Failed. Still much I don’t find compelling or with which I actively disagree, but his arguments do limn a major fracture in our nation. And suggest some core uncomfortable truths about our current reality. The biggest one with which I agree so far is our abandonment of the working class.

Drove over to the synagogue. Greeted Tal. Sat down to wait for the others to come since I was the first student there. The CBE social hall. Folding chairs in a semi-circle with their backs to the window wall. Outside the amphitheater built during the pandemic. Alan came in and touched my shoulder. Abby and her mother. Joan. No Lid this evening. Car trouble. Rebecca swept in commenting about fire mitigation, raking pine needles. Marilyn and Debra came late.

At one point Alan leaned over and said to me you’re not very talkative tonight. Oh. I wasn’t. Subdued. Realized then that the memories at Sushi Win had turned me inward. Toward Kate. Toward long ago high school years. I hadn’t noticed. Still a bit subdued this morning.

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

The Sacred

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Beltane and the Shadow Mountain Moon

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

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Life finds a way

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

 

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

Feelings, Fourth Phase

I do not.

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Beltane and the Shadow Mountain Moon

Friday gratefuls: Tom. Alan. The Bread Lounge. Rebecca. Luke. Buying tickets today for Korea. Talking to my son last night. Kep, my sweet boy. Kate, her memory a blessing. Dandelions. Bunch Grass. Green Green Green. Not brown brown brown. Blue Sky. Warner Robbins. Oklahoma City. Rabbi Jamie. God is Here. Metaphors. Kindness. Chesed. Anshel.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Mountains Green

One brief shining: Over the last few La Nina years by now the Meadows would have turned brown, the Lodgepole Needles would look starved of moisture, Smokey the Bear would have had his paw at High or Extreme Fire danger, my back yard would be desiccated, but this year, this building toward La Nino year has seen so much Rain the Mountains and Valleys and Meadows have plants in abundance all in different shades of green from the deep green of faraway Mountain sides covered with Lodgepoles to the brilliant chartreuse of the Aspens as they leaf out, blazing against their darker brethren like they do in the fall when their Leaves turn gold to Grasses and Flowers with the rich healthy green of Photosynthesis at its peak.

 

Conversation with myself. Going out and being with folks, especially at CBE makes me happy. My practice this whole month for the middot of simcha, joy, was to go to one more event at CBE. I’ve done that and it did make me joyful. Yet when two of my favorite CBE’rs were doing a gig on something I care about, Gun Violence, I couldn’t rouse myself to go. Evenings out. Driving at night. Late to bed. As I said before. Can’t quite get the handle on this one. It’s easier to go out at night now that the days are longer and the roads aren’t Snowy and Icy. That lowers the threshold for getting my butt out of my chair and in the car. Even so. I guard my early mornings because that’s when I have good physical and mental energy. Another event tonight. Gospel music shabbat. Already figuring out why I can’t be there. Even though I would enjoy it.

This inertia traps me as it might you. As we age, our energy supply does dwindle. And mine has chemically induced torpor. Low testosterone and the side effects of my chemotherapy drugs. Still. A life ruled by not doing begins to fade away, reduce itself to habit and routine. Why I’m pushing forward with travel plans in spite of impulses to not go, stay home where it’s comfortable. My goal as I may have said here before is to live until I die. Not become some sit around guy with no focus and no energy.

Let me be clear however. This does not mean I feel a need to accomplish anything of note. I do not. Been there. Done that. No, this refers to a state of being alive as one engaged with the natural world, with others in appropriate proportions, with getting up in the morning and being glad for another day.