Fall Harvest Moon
“Just as we can experience the Death and Resurrection of the God in the Easter season in spring, so can we experience in the autumn the death and resurrection of the human soul, i.e. we experience resurrection during our life on earth…” Festivals and Their Meaning, Rudolf Steiner
Francesco Botticini, 1470; Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence.
Today is Michaelmas, the feastday of Michael the Archangel. British universities start their terms today, the Michaelmas term. Following Steiner, I have, for some years, seen Michaelmas as the beginning of a long period for soul cultivation. It is not, I think, an accident that the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashanah, falls in the same period.
These are, too, harvest festivals, falling near the autumnal equinox. It makes sense to me to begin the New Year as the growing season ends. Samain, Summer’s End, in the Celtic calendar, marks the finish of the harvest festivals and the beginning of the fallow time. It is also the Celtic New Year.
Last night at Congregation Beth Evergreen I waited for Kate while she took Hebrew. Where I chose to sit filled up with religious school kids, bouncing with tweeny energy. Rabbi Jamie Arnold came down to talk to them about the shofar and the upcoming New Year. He talked about Rosh Hashanah and described it as a moment when the creation can begin anew. It is possible, he said, for each of us to start life anew on Rosh Hashanah. I like this idea and the question it poses: Who do you want to be in the New Year?
I’m going to consider this question over the next few days before Kate, Jon and I attend the Rosh Hashanah service on October 2nd at Beth Evergreen.
Another way to pose this question is, how do I want to nourish my soul in this, its springtime? What practices can I use? Kate and I have begun to seriously wrestle with the Jewish spiritual practice of Mussar, as I’ve mentioned here before. It will be one lens through which I approach the possibility of a new being, a new me.
Yet. That new me will have a strong relation to the man who harvested years of friendships over the last week in Minnesota. He will have a strong relation to the man who hears, Grandpop!, from Ruth and Gabe. He will have a strong relation to the man who loves Lynne Olson, and Kate, too. He will have a strong relation to the man who is several dogs’ companion. He will have a strong relationship to the man who writes novels. He may be a new man, yet still the old one, too.
Interesting intersection of past and present yesterday. In my Christian days, I explored many different forms of spiritual practice, including a Benedictine form called lectio divina. Turns out a Rabbi is teaching a version of lectio to other rabbis for use, in particular, with Torah study. Bonnie, a rabbi in training who attends Beth Evergreen, modified it to use in our Mussar study.
I found myself slipping into a comfortable place, going inside, considering my inner journey. It felt good. I hope we use the process more.
Kate had Bailey Patchworkers for most of the day and I spent the day up in the loft with the dogs, so the jackhammering didn’t bother us. This will be worth it, but remodeling is never easy since by definition it has to take place where you live.
The clouds are at 8,800 feet this morning. We’re surrounded by and inside them. A foggy start to the day.
Mussar is defined here by Rabbi Ira Stone, of the 
Spent another evening at Montview Elementary with Jon, Ruth and Gabe. We ate a light supper of foods selected at King Sooper (grocery store chain here), then began to make more prints. Ruth has gotten into the spirit of found objects used as surfaces for print making. She bought some things at Goodwill to print: a leaf shaped metal serving dish and a small metal kitchen utensil that looks surprisingly like a giraffe when inked. I printed another spoon, gray-white this time. Gabe made wheeled objects with something like tinker-toys.
After the printmaking, Jen picked up Ruth and Gabe. I headed over to I-70, turned onto it going west and drove into this amazing sunset. The mountain silhouette in the evenings often looks like a Potemkin village, a prop set against the backdrop of a falling sun. This night it was something.
