Veni, Vidi but no Vici

Winter                              Waxing Cold Moon

Did something today I’ve not done in many years, decades, certainly not this millennium.  I conjugated verbs.  Latin verbs.

Laudare (to praise)

Laudo     Laudamus

Laudas   Laudatis

Laudat   Laudant

What do you know?  Next is translating some sentences.  Kate’s already started on that.  I’m saving it till tomorrow.  On Thursday we have our first phone call with the tutor.

This is, for me, an effort with two purposes.  First, I need some intellectual rigor in my life.  The docent class finished almost three years ago and my other recent immersions:  astronomy and Jungian thought have receded even further.  Rather than artificial brain exercise, I prefer to learn something useful.  Second, I want to read certain authors in their original Latin:  Ovid, first, but Tacitus and Horace, too, among others.  Julian the Apostate.  That goal lies further down this ancientrail, but the trail leads there.

Wrote more on the novel, too.

America the society is in fine shape! America the polity most certainly is not.

Winter                                   Waxing Cold Moon

OK.  The Cold Moon has finally risen on its namesake air temps.  8 this morning.  It’s a clear day after a small snowfall yesterday.

If I were to put my finger on one thing to account for the Viking’s loss Sunday, discounting the six turnovers, it would be the 12 men in the huddle call that put them out of field goal range with 28 seconds left.  That’s a coach thing.  In spite of a spectacular job of recruiting personnel, we have the best overall players at many positions–8 Vikes in the ProBowl–the on the field decision making by coaches still leaves something to be desired.  I don’t know what it is, but it seems apparent.

The Democrats need to grow some cojones and pass healthcare reform.  Whining because you’ve lost a super majority makes no sense.  They still have an 18 vote majority.  Use it or deserve to lose it.  We need leadership and decision making, not caviling and cajoling.

I read a very interesting analysis of our political system a few days back that jolted me.  Printed in the Atlantic it shows our system has big  problems, based largely on the shift of populations since the early days of the colonies:

How America Can Rise Again

“We are now 200-plus years past Jefferson’s wish for permanent revolution and nearly 30 past Olson’s warning, with that much more buildup of systemic plaque—and of structural distortions, too. When the U.S. Senate was created, the most populous state, Virginia, had 10 times as many people as the least populous, Delaware. Giving them the same two votes in the Senate was part of the intricate compromise over regional, economic, and slave-state/free-state interests that went into the Constitution. Now the most populous state, California, has 69 times as many people as the least populous, Wyoming, yet they have the same two votes in the Senate. A similarly inflexible business organization would still have a major Whale Oil Division; a military unit would be mainly fusiliers and cavalry. No one would propose such a system in a constitution written today, but without a revolution, it’s unchangeable. Similarly, since it takes 60 votes in the Senate to break a filibuster on controversial legislation, 41 votes is in effect a blocking minority. States that together hold about 12 percent of the U.S. population can provide that many Senate votes. This converts the Senate from the “saucer” George Washington called it, in which scalding ideas from the more temperamental House might “cool,” into a deep freeze and a dead weight.

The Senate’s then-famous “Gang of Six,” which controlled crucial aspects of last year’s proposed health-care legislation, came from states that together held about 3 percent of the total U.S. population; 97 percent of the public lives in states not included in that group. (Just to round this out, more than half of all Americans live in the 10 most populous states—which together account for 20 of the Senate’s 100 votes.) “The Senate is full of ‘rotten boroughs,'” said James Galbraith, of the University of Texas, referring to the underpopulated constituencies in Parliament before the British reforms of 1832. “We’d be better off with a House of Lords.”

The decades-long bipartisan conspiracy to gerrymander both state and federal electoral districts doesn’t help. More and more legislative seats are “safe” for one party or the other; fewer and fewer politicians have any reason to appeal to the center or to the other side. In a National Affairs article, “Who Killed California?,” Troy Senik pointed out that 153 state or federal positions in California were at stake in the 2004 election. Not a single one changed party. This was an early and extreme illustration of a national trend…

I started out this process uncertain; I ended up convinced. America the society is in fine shape! America the polity most certainly is not. Over the past half century, both parties have helped cause this predicament—Democrats by unintentionally giving governmental efforts a bad name in the 1960s and ’70s, Republicans by deliberately doing so from the Reagan era onward. At the moment, Republicans are objectively the more nihilistic, equating public anger with the sentiment that “their” America has been taken away and defining both political and substantive success as stopping the administration’s plans. As a partisan tactic, this could make sense; for the country, it’s one more sign of dysfunction, and of the near-impossibility of addressing problems that require truly public efforts to solve.”

Holy, Water. Bathman

Winter                                              Waxing Cold Moon

Namaste.  The restaurant.  Where we ate lunch and discussed Stealing the Mona Lisa, an impenetrable book most thought, a romp in psychoanalytical language cursed with the stodgy background of Freud rather than an expansive peyote fueled Jungian.  We entertained ourselves with a good two-hours of conversation on the nature of art, whether art exists when we don’t see it, whether any of us made art and bollocks.

It’s always a good experience to be with these folks, some idea gets knocked loose and rattles around, sometimes settling down as a learning.  Next month the Walker.

We’ve had snow, more of the nuisance variety than a real street and artery clogging invasion.  The temperature stays down though so we may continue to get snow for a while.  I hope so.

Here’s a headline you don’t see every day.  In today’s Washington Post.

117 Russians in hospital after

drinking holy water

Vikings Lose. And, It’s OK.

Winter                                   Waxing Cold Moon

And mighty Casey had struck out.  Vikes lose 31-28.

It was a good ride this year.

Brett Favre’s 40th year will go down in story and in record books, but I will remember him most for this last game.  It reminded me of Michael Jordan playing sick against Utah in Game 5 of the 1997 NBA championship.  Favre went out again and again after several terrible hits, at one time lying prone on a blue bench as the crowd screamed above him, the trainer taping his left ankle with a saran wrap like wrap then an ace-like bandage.  He went back out.  He led a touchdown drive which tied the game in the closing minutes.  He almost put us in position to kick the winning field goal but threw across the grain to a receiver on the left side of the field.  Interception with 13 seconds left.

In overtime the Saints moved the ball poorly, but got some good breaks and their second year kicker put a line drive through the goal posts and the Saints go to the Superbowl.

Yes, we had 6 turnovers, four fumbles and two interceptions.  In spite of them we battled to the end and I’m proud to say today that I’m a Viking fan.  They played hard, they played well.  I think they may have tried too hard in the end.

Even so, thanks guys, for an entertaining season.

I’m not a big sports fan, though the Vikings caught my attention wholeheartedly this year.  I can remember a few major stars:  Sandy Koufax, Maury Wills, Bob Cousy, Parnelli Jones, Jack Brabham, Magic Johnson, Kareem but the two stand outs for my money are Michael Jordan and Brett Favre.

When the whole Favre brouhaha got started, I said any wins we got with him would be tainted.  I was wrong.  He played as a Viking.  He played as a guy who loved the game.  He played at an exceptional level, too.  I’m glad I got to watch him this year, even if it turns out to be his last.

Hey, Ho Costco

Winter                              Waxing Cold Moon

My upper body and aerobic work out is in for the day.  I bought 8 40lb bags of dogfood, lifted them all them three times:  onto the cart, off the cart into the car, out of the car into storage.  Not mention pushing the fully loaded flat cart around the store, up to the checkout and out to the car.  Well, guess I did mention it.  Costco has some remarkable bargains if you have the space to store stuff.

Lot of folks in number 28 jerseys, Adrian Peterson.

This day is dreary, cloudy, cold misty and just above freezing.  Yuck.

Living in Alien Land

Winter                                        Waxing Cold Moon

The NFC championship game  is today.  You know where I’ll be.  Yup.  Right there in the chair, cheering on the Vikes.  After dispassionately reading all the match-up analysis and carefully considering all the key information, I still believe the Vikes win a close one.  Adrian Peterson dominates the running game.  We keep Drew Brees and his high flyers off the field.  Favre connects with Rice twice, Shiancoe once, Berrian once and Peterson goes in for one.  Jared Allen and Ray Edwards keep Brees out of his rhythm and don’t allow deep balls.  Vikes 35.  Saints 28.

I had a strange dream last night.  Somehow I got a job working in a financial company, investment company, something like that.  Our financial planner, RJ Devick, worked there.  I did some work that needed to be turned in by a specific time, but couldn’t find either a phone or the work.  Borrowed RJ’s phone, still couldn’t find the work.

All the while Izzy, the famous Hawai’ian singer, sang background music, “Living in an alien land.”  This was to the tune of his protest song, “Living in a sovereign Land.”

I went out for a while, came back to the office (music still playing) and I had red rock dust on a sweatshirt and I realized I had way under dressed for work.  I couldn’t go back in.  I went out to get the Celica and it had one of those tiny spares on it–though in this case it was very large and shredded.

I’m still working on this one.  Guess I recalled it after my Jung tribute.

Might have been related to some reading I did in a journal from 1991, written as I separated from the Presbytery and started writing.  Some of it made my teeth clench.  I planned and planned, struggled this way and that, but had trouble finding a new  way, even though what I wrote there made clear the ministry had never been the way.  A hard time even though I was breaking free, or, maybe, a hard time because I was breaking free.  There would be another ten years of on again off again angst as I wrote, got rejected, failed to market my work, felt like a failure, was a failure.

Then, somewhere in my 50’s I began to realize I had broken through into the life this Self came into the world to live.  It’s not a flashy or big life–as I wanted at times before–it’s a life devoted to family, beauty, the earth, creativity and knowledge.

And, at least for this evening–the Vikings.

Jung

Winter                                 Waxing Cold Moon

“The greatest and most important problems of life are all fundamentally insoluble. They can never be solved but only outgrown.” – Carl Jung

Jung has been central to my later life and this quote shows one reason.  He recognized the indescribable complexity of the lived experience and never tried to simplify it.  We live into problems, rather than roll over them or change them.  If we’re lucky, we make the problems part of our lives, otherwise they eat away at our lives.

Life from 17 to about 37 was difficult for me.  Sometimes in the extreme.  When Mom died, though I couldn’t see at the time, my world fell apart.  It didn’t have to, but I let it.  I internalized my grief, took up drinking and smoking and completely screwed the pooch when it came to making use of a pretty good academic career.  I ended up in the ministry, a place I should probably have never been and it took me 20 years  to extricate myself from that.  Along the way I got married twice, to women for whom I was a bad fit and who were a bad fit for me.  I drank myself into alcoholism, got cleaned up, but didn’t get better until I realized my second marriage was a bad one.

In that process I found John Desteian, a Jungian analyst.  He guided me on a journey of self-exploration and honest self-reexamination.  Much of what I learned about myself was painful, some of it exhilarating.  In the end, I left the ministry, started writing, found Kate and got myself headed off in a direction that fit who I was then and am now.

Jung’s metaphysics may be wrong, who knows?  The collective unconscious has no falsifiable reality.  The Self, as Jung understands it, stretches into neo-platonic realms.  Could be wrong.  His naming of complexes and archetypes likewise have no tangible referents. Doesn’t matter.

What does matter is this.  The blend of thought that Jung put forward encourages me to take mySelf seriously, yet to do so lightly.  It acknowledges the essentially messy and chaotic nature of both inner and outer life, yet makes clear that the only through it is eyes open, heart open, with forgiveness for yourself and others as humans struggling together.  That worked for me, works for me, and will see me through to the end of my life.

Thanks, Carl Jung.  I needed what you offered.

Rain? In January?

Winter                                               Waxing Cold Moon

These are the ten coldest days of the year on average.  And we have rain.  Whass’ up?

A full day back from the Mile High City, where it was spring, and I return to sloppy, icy gunk.  This is the stuff I moved out of Indiana to avoid.  I like winter when it’s winter.  I like fall when it’s fall.  Spring and summer I’m not fussy about, let’em come however the winds dictate, but winter and fall, my two favorite seasons, I prefer as I imagine them.  Rain in the third week of January is not as I imagine it.  But, of course, the weather gods do not listen to me, or to you for that matter, so we have to just shut up and take it.  I guess.

(Freyr:  Norse god of fertility and weather)

I mentioned Ruth several times over the last week.  Here is a picture of her at the rodeo:

ruthrodeo

Mostly back home now, better rested and ready to write and watch the Vikings on Sunday night.

Leaving Denver

Winter                          Waxing Cold Moon

The decompression has begun.  My suitcase awaits only my dopp kit to be ready to go.  A shower, final packing and I’ll be ready.  Ready, that is, to drop off the rental car before noon then spend three hours at the Denver Airport before my 3:00 pm flight back to the Twin Cities.  When I arrrive around 5:45, I’ll still have one more leg to go:  Super Shuttle, in a ride on which I will be the last one delivered home.  All in all it will probably be between 7 and 8 hours before I get home after leaving the hotel.

I’m reading a book called Stealing the Mona Lisa, discussing it comes next, at a gathering of docents, dining at the Namaste Restaurant.  I would describe it as a difficult book, written by a psychoanalyst for whom style seems an afterthought and clarity a bother.  Having said that though, it is a profound book, digging deep into the meaning of art and, surprisingly, into the meaning of art’s absence.

Why I mention it this morning is an aha from the section I read over breakfast.  In describing psychoanalytical attitudes toward drives the author, Darian Leader, makes clear that sublimation is NOT a replacement for the act of sex, fucking as he so baldly puts it, rather it is an expression of the individuals need to fulfill the same desire as sex fulfills, that is, in Freudian terms, a return to the pleasure of direct bodily manipulation, pleasures lost as we adapt to cultural definitions of who and what we are.

Also, and most interesting to me, for Lacan, drives are an attempt to get to the state Freud describes as pleasuring the body, but Lacan describes as The Thing, a vast emptiness that exists just outside our capacity to reach.  Therefore our drives are attempts not to fill this emptiness, but to reach it, to find it, to discover what was lost when we became creatures of culture.

Lacan’s emphasis on emptiness as the defining state for our humanness, and as a state forever beyond our reach, yet felt and desired in every moment, struck me as a link to both existentialism on the one hand and Taoism on the other.

In existentialism we admit the reality of this emptiness, admit it’s definition of life as meaningless, then proceed to construct our life both in spite of and because of this emptiness.

In Taoism, we recognize the creation of the universe to have come from emptiness, the Tao, and we also recognize it as a vivifying impulse behind each moment.  It may be that Lacan’s more tortured and dark view of emptiness as The Thing exactly misses Taoism’s great point about emptiness as the very reason for a door, a cup, a vase.

There is, too, one other important thread that I don’t find so far in the book and that the is the realm of rationalist philosophy.  In this idea we construct our reality through sensory data, but our sensory data is not reality in the same way that a map is not the territory.  This means, according to Kant, that we can never know reality, the ding an siche, the thing-in-itself.  Sounds pretty Lacanian to me.

One last hug, Granpop!

Winter                               Waxing Cold Moon

Ruthie ran down the drive and said, “One last hug, Granpop!”  We had come back from an evening at the childhood sensation, Chuck E. Cheese.  I hugged Jon and Jen, kissed Gabe, under a crescent moon and took for the Marriot for one last night in Colorado.

Chuck E. Cheese, for those uninitiated, is a bunch of booths spread out among many games of chance and skill.  All the games take one token, available with purchase of the meal.  The food is unremarkable, but the music is loud, the place safe–it has rules against gang colors, signs, weapons (which made me wonder)–and there’s a video camera where your kid can go and perform, broadcast on in-house closed circuit TV’s.  Ruth performed.

It’s been a good six days here.  Family requires time and this is probably minimal but it was important, for me and for them.