Category Archives: Great Work

Aging, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Great Work, Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant., Tarot

Keeping it real

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Synthroid. TSH. Thyroid gland. Shadow, coming in more often, more easily. Who knows? Good workouts. Cook unity. Chewy. Natural Balance. Rabbit Bites. Dog treats and toys. Lidocaine. Mitzvah committee. Luke. Susan. Steve. Dr. Vu. Mountain View Pain Center. Increasing darkness. Artemis.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Magic of the Ordinary

Year Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Malchut.  Wonder. “Wonder is the beginning of wisdom.” Socrates

Tarot: Gonna take a rest here. Has become too routine.

One brief shining:

 

A life in full: Still struggling, beating my soft moth wings against the window of my soul, trying to see if it’s enough, this time, these days. But from the outside looking in. How to sense, how to live from my nefesh rather than looking in, wondering if its purpose has become real. Velveteen Rabbit real.

Have I loved my nefesh enough, carried it in my five-year old arms from bedroom to living room, into the car, often onto the playground. Have I told it the stories of my five-year old heart which wondered about dogs and spiders and Mom and that new baby. Do I listen to it now, a grown and old man, for the wisdom of its unique path?

Only to live my tao. My way. That is it. To follow the watery course of my buddha nature as it flows downward from the peak altitude of my birth, through the canyons and valleys of my life, to the wide ocean of our collective unconscious, where it becomes one again with the tao.

You know, I have. My velveteen soul has expressed itself often, guided my neshama as the world of experience shaped me against the anvil of my true self. However I feel about myself in one joy filled or angst filled moment, however you may feel about me, peering in from the abyss between us, I have remained true (of course not always which is nonetheless also part of my tao) to that five-year old’s tender, wonder-filled embrace of an often puzzling and frightening world.

Which means, I feel, that this time filled with the dog, the greenhouse, books and movies, study and esoterica, friends and faraway family, ancientrails, medical this and medical that, is  on that path. Is not a deviation but a continuation in the idiom of today’s possibilities.

So. Why not let it be. Mother Mary, come to me. Whisper words of wisdom. Let it be.

 

Just a moment: I’ve let the activist go dormant while l dealt with cancer and sick, dying Kate, then mourning followed by Jon’s death and a close group hug with Ruth and Gabe.

The rhythm of a life lived in love and in awareness. The activist cannot return, not as he was. Again, a rhythm.

And yet. I see this: He got an entire country running on clean energy. Can he do it again?. My commitment to the Great Work, creating a sustainable presence for humans on Mother Earth cheers. Wants to duplicate, triplicate, over and over and over until we walk again with the sun, the wind, the tides, the heat of Mother’s inner core.

 

 

 

Friends, Great Work, Judaism

Is it too late?

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Lughnasa and the Korea Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Rebecca. Terry. Joanne. Coal Mine Dragon Chinese Restaurant. Lake Evergreen. A golden Sunset. Elk Cow headed to the library. Marny Eulberg. Post-Polio Syndrome. Mussar. Luke. His new job. Alan and the Wildflower. Veronica on the Pacific Crest Trail. Tom. Roxann. Sylvan. The Pacific Northwest. Alaska.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: A Western Sunset

Year Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah: Hakarat Hatov. Recognizing the good.

Tarot: The Stag. #8 of the major arcana. Guardian of the Forest: The Stag is a powerful symbol of the forest, embodying strength, dignity, and a connection to nature’s wisdom

One brief shining: Terry, who has lived in Evergreen since it had all dirt roads, Joanne, who owns 27 acres of land overlooking the Continental Divide, Rebecca, who on September 16th goes again to a Tibetan Buddhist nunnery near Dharamsala for four months, and I ordered Drunken Noodles, Shrimp dishes with Chinese Vegetables while discussing whether we’re in a pre-holocaust time in the U.S.

 

Judaism: The conversations grow more prevalent. Should we leave? Joanne knows several who have gone, fearing the next ICE sweep will be for Jews. After they’ve sated themselves on Mexicans, Central Americans, and any other poor bastards they can round up.

Joanne wondered whether the goyim, any of them, feel this sense of disease about their personal safety. “Or, is it just us. The after the holocaust generation of Jews?”

My sense is that no, the goyim do not feel the same sense of personal peril as Jews. Though some groups, like LGBT folks and some naturalized citizens do. That’s not to say they don’t fear the future (and immediate) impacts of Dictator Donald. Those on the liberal side of the equation. Yet their talk about leaving the country hangs more on distaste, on no longer wanting to be identified with a cryptofascist version of the nation they once loved. Not on worries about Alligator Alcatraz being used on them.

All three of us Joanne, Rebecca and me (Terry is not a Jew.) agreed we were too old to leave. Joanne hopes her sell by date comes up before things go that far. I’m banking on Colorado and the Mountains. Rebecca, if the worst appears on the horizon, could flee to the nunnery, but she faces visa issues there. So we may eat our last meal together at the Coal Mine Dragon Restaurant.

 

Tarot: The Stag. Emphasizing connection to natural wisdom. To the truth that no matter what trivial politics come and go, Mother Earth will be the final arbiter of our case. She will not hesitate to scrub us off Her Lands if we continue to insult Her and Her Atmosphere.

She metes out a certain justice, one that considers the good of all more important than that of any one species. No forgiveness. No mercy. Rising Tides. Powerful Storms. Blazing Heat. We all sit at Her judgment seat.

The Stag says, heed Her before it is too late. And so do I.

Great Wheel, Great Work, Greenhouse, Plants, Seed Keepers, Shadow Mountain

Hallelujah. And, amen.

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Lughnasa and the Korea Moon

Friday gratefuls: At 8:30 pm tonight, MT, the visit of the Jangs leaves Incheon. 11:30 am tomorrow, KT. Alan. Bread Lounge. Shadow. Artemis. Morning Darkness. Lughnasa. Christmas in July, Melbourne. Mary settling in. Mark in Al Kharj. Family, far far away. Loved. The Sprouts, Seeds making good on their implicit promise.

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

Year Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah: Yirah. Awe.

Tarot: The Seer, #2 in the major arcana. What do the cards have to say?

One brief shining: Forgot the excitement of watching Plants emerge from Seeds, checking each day to see the progress they’re making, often a Seed Husk hangs on a bit, discarded after protecting the vitality of the green Emergent, like a body left behind after death.

 

Artemis: I suppose you could call it a hobby. Growing things. But, it doesn’t feel that way to me. Each day is a small Christmas with yellow Tomato Blossoms fattening out into green bulbous beginnings of Fruit. With Sprouts reaching further above the Soil, their new chartreuse already shading toward a darker hue. Their Leaves, at first only two, then a stalk, then more Leaves. Artemis pregnant with so many children.

I love these early days of Plant growth, coming out of hard shelled Seed with vigor, piercing the dark, reaching toward the nutrition of Great Sol, light eaters hungry for their first meal.

The miracle of photosynthesis. Eat Great Sol’s rays, produce carbohydrates, give off O2. Grow more. Grow more. Until a red Tomato lies in hand. Or, a Leaf of Chard, of Spinach, a blood red Beet.

If there’s a category above miracle, and there must be, it would include this oh so ordinary magic that most ignore. Celebration of life its very self. We can train our eye to see it. Our hands to pick it. Our nose to smell it. Our tongue to taste it.

The Midwest, the Central Valley. Vast lands devoted to farming. Yet most of the farming now done by mechanization, fertilization, irrigation. No celebration of the miracle until it produces the other green, profit. Measuring the worth of photosynthesis against its value to the bottom line may be the ur-evil afoot in the World. That metric drains Aquifers, strips away Top Soil, erodes whole Landscapes.

Maybe I am. Maybe. A broken record on this point. Only because my joy in growing things is so great, my closeness to the Plant Kingdom one of delight, not monetized as the tech bros like to say.

Yes. Growing things, eating from the bounty of Mother Earth’s vast collection of foodstuffs, can harmonize with the needs of Soils, of available Water, of sustainable harvesting. It can be the basis of human life, a human way of being that lives long and prospers. But it sure isn’t right now.

Those Beets pushing down roots that will develop into a tasty salad fixing, the Spinach ready to spread its wide Leaves, the peppery Arugula tentative in its early growth testify. They preach in the oldest language of all, the language of life sustained by life, of life sustained by the heat of Great Sol, the much recycled Water, the nutrients in the Soil. Hallelujah. And, amen.

 

Fourth Phase, Great Wheel, Great Work, Tarot

Improving Balance

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Summer and the Greenhouse Moon II

Monday gratefuls: Shadow coming in on her own. P.T. Exercise. Overnight Rain.  Artemis at 68 degrees. Tomato Plants thriving. Cleaning up after the party. The stool. Oiling it. Gabe’s awakening. World Chimpanzee Day. Primates. Lucy. Australopithecus. Gorillas. Neanderthals. Homo sapiens. Still evolving. The Bird of Dawn. Lift up the weary. The Morning Service. The Shema.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Israel ben Avram v’ Sara

Year Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah: Patience. Savlanut.

Tarot: #14 Balance

One brief shining: Mornings bring us up from the one sixtieth of death (as the sages call sleep), our soul returns to our body, Shadow wakens, comes over and licks my face, I let her out; later I say the Shema, read parts of the Morning Service and ask a question of the Wildwood deck, drink coffee, begin to type.

(N.B. Images below created by chatgpt from my prompts.)

 

A Bird sings, or rather, rasps, greeting another day as Great Sol slowly warms the Air cooled by the night. Shadow has come in after her early morning turn outside, awaiting her main meal at seven.

I’ve done my in bed exercises, but my workout yesterday ouches my left leg still. A tramadol and two acetaminophens washed down with espresso roast coffee. My Lenovo Thinkpad warms my legs through my Vermont Flannel red and black checked jammies.

That Balance card* sifts its way through my question to the deck: What can I do to enhance my experience of the Tarot? First blush. Read the morning service. Balance the Tarot with the ancient tradition. The Siddur. A prayer book written largely by Kabbalists. So, I do.

Second blush. Balance indoor, reading time with outdoor time with Shadow, with Artemis, with Shadow Mountain. As I have been doing. Be even more intentional.

The Wildwood book offers a sad word about balance. The way our capitalist dominated economies have pushed away from indigenous knowing about living in harmony with Mother Earth. How instead a loving, intimate, co-sustaining relationship has become transactional. And, at that, an unbalanced transaction where Mother Earth may be plundered for what we need without regard to future consequences.

My immersion in pagan ways-in the cyclical beauty of the Great Wheel-born from my  immersion in the Great Work, makes me sad.

Yet. A Colorado Youth Climate Conference. Gen Z awakening to their brutal task, undoing late stage capitalism and restoring a balance necessary for human survival. Ruth and Gabe, their peers.

May they go where we failed. May they forgive us our sins as their ancestors. May they be strong where we were weak.

My ongoing task now is to support them, love them, hold out my hand as a grandfather. Let them know we are not all cruel, selfish, indifferent. And that they are wonderful, amazing.

 

*”You must balance and be patient. This is the right time to take a break and consider all the personalities that exist in you. To keep walking, you must now stay calm and still. Finding inner balance will help you understand yourself, be confident in your own strengths. Your personalities may include the dark corners you don’t want to face, but you need to accept and control them. Balance is absolutely essential to freeing the individual self from fear and self-doubt.”  TarotX.net

 

Dogs, Great Work, Greenhouse, Judaism, Politics

Lessons

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Summer and the Greenhouse Moon II

Friday gratefuls: Gabe. His awakening. Ruth. Her new apartment. Shadow, who came in last night on her own. The greenhouse, a fall garden ready to plant. A mezuzah for Artemis. Rebecca. Mussar. Azzut. Self-Confidence. Luke. Leo. Marilyn and Irv. Tara. Rabbi Jamie. Alan and Joanne. Dandelion.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Wildwood Tarot

Year Kavannah: Wu Wei. Swimming in the direction of novelty.

Week Kavannah: Hearing on the side of merit

Tarot: The Six of Stones, Exploitation.

One brief shining: Shadow jumped up on the bed, came over and licked my face, I put my hand under her belly, giving her a quick scratch, all I want.

 

Tarot: I asked the Wildwood Deck what insight it might have about the mezuzah hanging today. Drew the six of stones which you can see above. I thought, what? Artemis is exploitative?

Then I read about the card: “If we continue  to exploit the land without replenishing what we take, the things we take for granted will disappear and our world will be broken and ruined, like hives. This card may represent poverty of the soul – some form of psychosis…”  TarotX.net

I had an aha with this card about Artemis. Artemis is a living witness to our need to care for the Soil, for the Plants that flourish in it.

She has no solutions, will grow little food, but her presence on this Land says yes. Yes we belong to the Soil. Yes that belonging is collaborative. Yes the Soil is in danger and the Plants that thrive in it. Which means that we humans, creation’s most fragile and dependent creature, are also in danger.

It’s a matter of love. Which do we love more, Mother Earth or our things? Artemis is a sanctuary for all those who love the Soil, Plants, caring for the Planet. She is a sacred place.

 

Dog journal: Shadow came in last night on her own. Gabe and I were talking. She strolled in. Ran back out. Came in again. And stayed. Made me so happy. Hope we can figure out how to repeat this.

 

Floods: The Texas hill country, site of the awful catastrophe unfolding over the last week, was LBJ’s home. Ironic, when you think about it.

Kerr County politicians and administrators have denied requests for various sorts of alarm systems from early warning messaging to sirens. Red tie guy has gutted NOAA and the National Weather Service. In both cases these represent government refusing to do its most basic job: seeing to the welfare of its citizens.

Red tie guy also had FEMA on the way out until-TACO alert-until this morning. When it wasn’t.

How is all this ironic? Red tie guy and the Kerr county officials have just taken a severe lesson in the proper role of government. It was LBJ who, for all his Vietnam War faults, passed the Civil Rights Act, the Voting Rights act, Model Cities and other legislation aimed at building a Great Society, not destroying it.

No wonder TACO.

Dogs, GeekWorld, Great Work, Politics

Sins of Emission. No, Onan, Not You.

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Beltane and the Wu Wei Moon II

Tuesday gratefuls: Rental Camry. Snow today. Rain overnight. Thunder yesterday afternoon. Seasonal transition. Still late Winter here. Or very early Spring. Shadow, who needs her space. My wu wei teacher. My Lodgepole companion. Aspen catkins. Lodgepole male and female cones. Grass, greening. Good sleeping. Dependable organic alarm clock. Learning about Abraham Joshua Heschel. The Shema. Mah Tovu. My mezuzahs.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Lord and the Lady

Week Kavannah: Enthusiasm. Zerizut.

One brief shining: Drove down the hill yesterday to Stevinson Toyota, Ruby needing IV fluids for her transmission, her differential, her brakes, and her motor oil so I had to leave her at the clinic, take a rental to drive back up into the Mountains.

 

Chatgpt favors symmetry over all. It left out the seventh sin: Oligarchy

Each time I have work done on my infernal combustion engine, I have a strong anachronistic feeling. Like a guy sitting in the buggy repair shop getting a broken spoke repaired, or split tongue. Perhaps having the buggy whip replaited.

Sins of commission and emission. All those miles over 62 years of driving. All those rush hours. All those times with the car idling to keep the interior warm. Trips in and out of gas stations. In and out of repair shops. Until not so long ago, ordinary, venal we might say. Now one of the seven deadly ones, maybe the deadliest in a literal sense.

Perhaps Hell is perennial eye watering smog, acid rain, Phoenix in summer heat, and everyone in MHGA hats. With red ties so long everybody trips, falls in the polluted mud.

Hoping the Snow holds off long enough for me to pick up Ruby before it gets heavy. She has Snow tires. The Camry does not.

This morning I have to vote in the Elk Creek Fire board election, keep the libertarian trolls under their bridges. Then scoot over to Evergreen, to Rich’s law offices to sign what I hope is the last communication about Ruth’s 529.

I-70 down to Hwy. 6 to liberate Ruby from the clinic. After paying her hefty bill of course. Worth it. Her transmission, differential, and brakes work extra hard during Mountain driving.

 

Dog journal: Shadow requires wide open doors. Then she feels safe coming in. Some times. A new learning on my part. She knew it all along.

Even when she refused to come inside-most of yesterday-if I went outside, she ran to me tail-wagging, play bowing, happy I was outside. Some trauma runs deep in her doggy psyche. Post-traumatic stress, I’d say.

She’s come so far from her days of hiding under the bed.

 

Just a moment: Fog among the Lodgepoles this morning. Reminds me of red tie guy’s flood the zone strategy. Raised an obscuring fog as DOGE dug their precocious hacking fingers deep into the entrails of U.S. payment systems. As ICE agents in plain clothes hustled foreign students into vans for a free trip to Louisiana. As Trump Tarrific played his anti-globalist cards here, there, then everywhere. As judge’s orders went unheeded. As retribution against his enemies gained steam, using the powers of his office.

Oh, America. My heart weeps for thee.

 

 

Great Work, Jefferson County, Mountains, Quotes, Seed Keepers, Shadow Mountain, US History, Weather +Climate

The Great Work

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Beltane and the Wu Wei Moon II

Monday gratefuls: Stevinson’s Toyota. Snow and rain. Now 8 or 9″. All moisture accepted and appreciated. My son. Shadow, the regresser. Her 15 minutes on the treat (shh. Leash.). Common Ground. Heal the soil. The Great Work: create a sustainable presence for humans on Mother Earth.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Rain and Snow

Week Kavannah: Enthusiasm. Zerizut.

One brief shining: A cold rain has fallen; on its cool breath came a good night’s sleep, up at 5 am with a lick of Shadow’s tongue, a deep whine, unusual for her, so I moved as creaky quick as possible to get her outside.

 

The coming Snow. Leaving her Snow shoes on. Ruby will still get her 60,000 mile service with all fluids replaced. Means I will sit. Wait. Not easy, but necessary. Keep Ruby on the road. She’s already been built. I’ve gotten at least 250,000 miles on the Toyota’s I’ve driven. Probably my last car. Now seven years old.

A devil’s bargain I didn’t know I made back in 1963 when I got my first driver’s license. A carbon footprint, cabrón. All those years on the road. Helping send carbon up, up, up. Insulate Mother Earth.

The freedom of driving carrying such a high cost, higher even than Dead Man’s Curve or Teen Angel. Back then car wrecks were the worst we could imagine. Now: each car a tiny Chicxulub meteor. Death by a thousand infernal combustion engines.

 

Kate used to talk about an adrenal squeeze. Saw in my USPS advance notice I had a letter from Traveler’s Insurance, carrier for my home, auto, and personal liability. Stamped on the outside of the envelope: IMPORTANT INSURANCE INFORMATION.

Was it my turn to scramble for another carrier? The envelope didn’t show up that day. I checked online. Found nothing. It came the next day.

Conditional renewal. I have to accept a $5,000 deductible for Hail and Wind damage. Well, all right. I can do that. I’d read that insurers for Colorado homes see our hail threat as much more dire than Wildfire. Here’s proof.

 

Just a moment: Do all people deserve due process? I don’t know, said our President. It might mean, he went on, one million, two million, three million trials. What was that oath again?

Perhaps he thought then, right at that moment. What if I could be Pope? Hey, let’s get AI to see how I’d look. Tone deaf doesn’t even begin to describe that. It’s the religious equivalent of saying if you’re famous you can grab them by the pussy.

 

On a more upbeat note. I watched, at Tom’s suggestion, Common Ground. A documentary on Prime Video. I felt tears well up often at the savage rending of our most important resource: top soil.

Joy with the clips of regenerative farmers growing corn in fields with legume cover crops. With the 7,000 acre farm in Williamsport, Indiana. Disturbing the soil with cattle grazing, mimicking the buffalo. Turning a profit by not feeding Monsanto, Bayer, John Deere. Lower input costs. Higher return on investment. This is the way.

Aging, Dogs, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Garden, Great Wheel, Great Work, Politics, Wild Neighbors

They Call it Puppy Love

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Imbolc and the full Snow Moon

Friday gratefuls: Mini-splits. Shadow. Ginny and Janice. Luna and Annie. Leo. Gracie. My Lodgepole companion. The crooked Aspen outside my bedroom. The Mountain Lion family near Morrison. Black Bears. Soon. Mule Deer and Elk. Fox. Abert’s Squirrels. Red Squirrels. Rabbits. Voles. Mice. Marmots.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Wild Neighbors

Week Kavannah:  Yirah. Awe.

One brief shining: Tis an odd season this with taxes due next month, the wearing of the green celebrating St. Patrick who took Irish Wolfhounds to the Pope, big Snows covering basketball tourney roads, and hints of Spring with resurrection and liberation waiting to manifest.

 

Always of two desires in these months. Crack wind, Winter blow, Snow. Stay longer. Fire in the fireplace. A good book. Cold nights for sleeping. Yes.

Open vistas. Clear Skies. Mountain Wildflowers. Aspen Catkins. Lodgepole Anthers. Rabbit families. Chipmunks. Greening Willows and Dogwood. Mountain Streams in full voice, tumbling and turning. A sense of possibility strong in the Air. Yes.

Dog journal: If you’ve never had a skittish puppy lay at your feet, head rested on your slipper. If you’ve never had a puppy wriggle up the side of your leg and look you in the eye with, yes, puppy love. If you’ve never had a puppy. I wish you had.

Shadow incarnates love. Adoration. Companionship. Even the struggles and the outright exhaustion. All part of the joy.

Puppies, like Wildflowers and Spring, remind us of the Great Wheel, Maiden-Mother-Crone, life begetting life. Old age and youth running next to each other in partnership. With love.

Shadow. A small streak of black fur bounding through Snow drifts, racing around the perimeter, the fence line, all young muscle and limber movement, all newness. A potion to ease the aching joints and rigidity of 78 year old bones.

 

Just a moment: I keep finding Seeds. Books about Seeds. Seed-Keepers. Seed Savers Exchange Catalogue. Seeds. The Seed Vault in Svalbard. Chapters in the Light-Eaters. Lectures in online botany classes.

Recalling the spiny nubbin of a Beet Seed. The delicate Carrot Seed. The thick Pea. The Soil in an Andover raised bed leavened with compost and top soil, organic chemicals. Pressing the Seeds into the Soil. Feeling a frisson of future salads, side dishes.

In remembering these things a sort of strange hope rises. That we, the faded flowers, now the Seed heads of yesterday’s generational garden will leave our Seeds of love, justice, and compassion to grow in the rich Earth of this once and future nation.

Maybe we could create a Seed Catalogue for our nieces and nephews, our grandchildren. Even a Seed Savers Exchange for the ideas and actions that still hold the promise of a victory garden for diversity, for equality, for shared wealth and opportunity.

Or a nation in exile limned in a new Whole Earth catalogue for those of us who hold fast to the notion that rapaciousness, cruelty, mockery, and misogyny have no place in America’s fields and beds. Plant these instead, these seeds of liberty and freedom with their attendant responsibilities.

Plant this seed of love and that one of compassion. Fertilize with chi, illuminate with ohr, moisten with joy.

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

A Day in the Life

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Imbolc and the Birthday Moon

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

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Shadow

Week kavannah: Persistence and grit. Netzach.

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

 

 

Great Work, Health, Politics, US History

Blunted Dagger Rattling

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Yule and the Quarter Century Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Rich Levine. Marilyn. Dr. Whited. Tom. Paul. Alan. Cold, single digits. Vince, plowed driveway. Rabbi Jamie. Writing. Kavannahs. Ukraine. Iran. Iraq. Turkey. Israel. Palestinians. Syria. Jordan. Egypt. Yemen. Saudi Arabia. Lebanon. China. Russia. South and North Korea. Japan. Taiwan.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Aortic Artery

Kavannah for 2025:  Creativity

Kavannah for this January 8th life: Foresight   (roeh et hanalod)

One brief shining: Aortic artery aneurysm they say, spreading, mom’s brain aneurysm, a visit today to a cardiac surgeon, the past coming forward to haunt me, not as a synaptic engraved memory, but as a body recapitulating my mother’s, weakened arterial walls threatening to let my blood run free.

 

Yeah. Keeping the world of doctors, nurses, technicians, phlebotomists, and billing departments in a steady flow of the green blood which runs through their veins. That’s me. Today’s contribution will go to Dr. William Whited, a cardiac surgeon, who will reveal to me the amount of danger I’m in from a slowly thinning aortic artery. A new issue for a new year. Yay.

 

After about a five hour break from that last paragraph I can write off my aorta as an issue. At my age, Dr. Whited said, most likely will never be a problem. I liked him a lot though I admit I’ll like not seeing him again even better. I’ll need a CT scan in the next few weeks, just to make sure measurements are up to his standards, but he expects no trouble. Would that cancer and my back held such casual futures for me.

 

From a geopolitical point of view I can see a certain logic in Trump’s desire for Greenland. Warming of the Arctic. The great northern passage opening up. Rare Earth elements. Sure, as a parlor game. Like, say imagining Canada as our 51st state. When we consider a rules base global order, maybe our NATO treaty for example, it’s not only flat out bonkers but a reflection of the Trump doctrine: keep your friends at arms length and your enemies close to the Oval office. Do favors for your enemies and take what you want from your friends.

Of course, as one commentator noted, this blunted dagger rattling has a bread and  circuses appeal to his followers. Watch me stand up to Denmark and Canada. What a strong guy am I. All the while his real work will be cutting taxes for billionaires, expanding his family’s net wealth, and punishing all who dared to stand against him.

Gonna be a long four years. And they haven’t even started yet.

 

Just a moment: Apocalypse Now. I love the smell of wildfires in the morning. I feel for all those whose lives, whose homes, whose work places may have to yield to the fury of a Mother Earth grieving for her finely tuned climate.

One way to reach the Great Work, a sustainable presence for humans on this Earth, lies in disaster after disaster until a more reasonable population size is left.