The Dance of The Seasons

Spring                                                               Bee Hiving Moon

Coon Rapids has 9.0 inches and Ramsey has 8.0.  We’re between them so our snowfall must be somewhere in that range.  Minnesota’s weather always surprises.  I know many people live in areas where the weather changes only from dry to wet, never from hot to cold, but I find that sort of climate just as difficult to imagine as I figure they do ours.

It’s not like I haven’t experienced the sub-tropical, tropical climates.  I have.  What I can’t imagine is a whole year where the temperature doesn’t change and where one season is dry and the other wet.  Living in it, I mean.  From my vantage point it appears boring, but I know people adapt to it.  Brother Mark and sister Mary both live in climates very different from ours here in Minnesota:  Arabia and Singapore respectively.

I don’t know how much of the world’s food production occurs in the temperate latitudes…stopped to look it up.  “Most food is produced in the temperate Northern hemisphere, with the US by far the largest total and surplus food producer.”  IPCC, 2007 So, while we humans are by body a tropical to sub-tropical species, we are now fed by those regions that have a fallow season as well as a growing season.

This is the world I know best, being a midwesterner by birth and continued residence, changing location only slightly (by global standards) from the lower to the upper midwest. This agricultural area-the heartland of U.S. as well as world food production-is my home.  It is no surprise then that the Great Wheel has come into prominence in my way of viewing the world.  It is a temperate latitude agriculturally focused calendar, one that weaves together the rhythm of spring emergence, summer growth, fall harvests and the winter’s cold, growthless time into a whole.  With the Great Wheel we understand the necessary interlocking components of seasonal change for food production and more, how those components also serve as metaphor for our own lives.

The best thing about the Great Wheel is its insistence on the whole, celebrating the distinct seasonal changes as elements in a cycle, all required.  We cannot become summer people, or winter people because we know the summer as the hot, growth enhancing aspect of vegetative growth, not just the time of swimming suits and summer vacation.  I suppose this underlies my inability to imagine those other climates.  One season, extended, made permanent, upsets the dance.  At least from the perspective of those between 30 degrees and 50 degrees north latitude.

Now That I’m Here; Was I Really There?

Spring                                                          Bee Hiving Moon

The snow has come, as predicted. Heavy since around 2 pm.  April?

As it falls, so has the night and with the night the quiet.  While on my trip, no matter where I was the rooms were noisy: traffic outside, television leaking from the room next door, the heaters and air conditioners working in agony, basketballs thumping on the court next to my room at the Resident’s Inn.  I have become used to, dependent on the silence here.  It’s absence grates, draws my attention and focus away.

Of course, there are the noises here, familiar ones that I incorporate.  The train whistles far in the distance.  The occasional great gray owl hoots.  The metal clicking, contracting and expanding as my gas heater responds to changes in the room’s temperature.  But these are gentle noises, not so much intrusive as atmospheric.  At least to me.

It’s interesting though how, once back in the familiar, the far away can come to seem dreamlike, maybe not real.  Were those great kiva’s built of stone, yet curved into perfect circles?  How could that be?  Are there vast expanses of land filled with catci and other desert adapted plants?  Did I walk through a hole in the earth, past a twilit zone where light from the sun vanished forever?  Did I keep going then, deeper?  Were there those others who gathered to listen intently to their own inner life?  Was it hot there? Did I visit a city where many of the buildings, businesses and homes alike were made of adobe and had fireplaces built into an interior wall?

Bishop Berkeley, the English idealist, is famous for his dictum, Esse est percipi. That is, to be is to be perceived. Once I’ve stopped seeing something, touching it, smelling it, hearing it, tasting it it’s reality, for me, begins to fade.  In fact, Berkeley would go so far as to say that I have no way of proving Santa Fe exists apart from my mental idea of it.  The same for Chaco Canyon, the Saguaro, the Intensive Journal Workshop.  And he would be right.

Yet there is, too, David Hume’s equally famous response.  He kicked a table or a door frame and said, “I refute it thus.”

So, though I can not convince you of the desert’s reality with my words about it, I do expect it to be there the next time I visit the southwest.  That’s how stubborn our minds can be.

The Hospital

Spring                                                              Bee Hiving Moon

An oddity for sure.  Bill in the hospital.  Ruth in the hospital. Kate in the hospital.  Judy Wolf in the hospital.  Frank going in two weeks.  A popular place to be.  Oops, and as he noted, Tom next Thursday.

These semi-secret places have an unusual and ubiquitous place in our lives, usually reserved for moments we’d prefer not to have.  Behind operating room doors, in intensive care units, in emergency rooms the lives we cherish can be saved by robed priests and their acolytes using tools we rarely see and chemicals we little understand.  It is also here where many of us end the same lives, our bodies failing beyond the powers of medicine to heal them.

The modern hospital is a maze of corridors and elevators, lobbies and treatment rooms, operating theaters and vast caverns filled with boilers and roofs dotted with huge HVAC machinery.  They are the contemporary labyrinth, difficult to navigate and with so many different Minotaurs down so many hallways.

The smells are antiseptic and there is a ritual emphasis on cleanliness, foam in, foam out, yet it is in these places where the deadliest virus and bacteria live, the very ones that have begun to outstrip our armamentarium of antibiotics and and anti-virals.

It is difficult to approach a hospital without at least a vague feeling of dread because they hold this anomaly:  Seen from within by their functionaries these are places of healing, but experienced by those of us who come to their doors seeking succor, we bring with us not the memory of victories won, but of final struggles lost.

Here the aura of the medical profession is at its strongest; its strict hierarchy shown in uniform colors, places of work and cars parked in the lot.  Cultures have always valued those who commune most closely with the gods of the age and the physician in our age knows the grimoires of our bodies.  Using medicine and machine and the knife they cast the spells that fend off the ravages of age, the trauma of accidents, the insults of disease. And we respect them for it, hold them in a bit of awe.

Cling to hope all ye who enter here.

 

 

Battery Check

Spring                                                       Bee Hiving Moon

Up early and in to Abbott-Northwestern.  Kate had a battery replacement in her pacemaker.  Her doctor, the yoda-like Dr. Tang, was efficient and clear in his explanations.  No complications and now plenty of percocet. (update:  Kate wanted me to say that the battery replacement includes the pulse generator, too.  This is standard when replacing the battery.)

Driving in at 6:30 was easy, the traffic not too heavy and the closer we got to the city the lighter it got.

Everyone’s talking about the snow storm on its way.  We’ll see if it interferes with sheepshead tonight.  Hard to tell from the forecasts.

During the Deluge: Ovid

Spring                                                           Bee Hiving Moon

Spent today reimmersing myself in Ovid.  Pleased to see that I could get in and start swimming right away in spite of the two week’s absence. Preparing for my Friday tutoring session with Greg so I’m back in the beginning of the deluge:  Book I, 262-312.  Here’s a great, long image from the beginning.

(flood-anne-louis-girodet-de-roucy-trioson)

264b …The South Wind flies on water-soaked wings,

265  he covers his terrible visage with pitch-black gloom,

266 his beard heavily laden with violent storms, water streams from the hoary white hair of his head,

267 clouds rest upon his brow, his wings and breast shed water,

268 with his hand he pressed wide the hanging clouds,

269  a crashing noise is made:  here the dense violent storms

270 are poured out from the sky.

Increase the Flow of the Water

Spring                                                            Bee Hiving Moon

A major reason for doing the Intensive Journal Workshop was to restart my meditative practice and I’ve done that, now meditating in the morning and before bed. In its emphasis on integrating inner and outer work the journal itself  is a spiritual method fit for a humanist to practice though it is agnostic in its essence.

In the workshops I’ve attended many attendees have been Catholic and I can see why. This is a way that puts a premium on regular introspection and openness to the movement of the underground stream.  And, it insists on bringing that work into daily life.  This would feel familiar to someone who knows the monastic spiritualities.

It also has a distinctively Quaker feel with its emphasis on being led by the inner life (what Quaker’s call the inner light) and working in silence.  Though I never became a Quaker I’ve always felt close to their way.

Perhaps the point of closest connection between my own philosophical position and Progoff’s comes through Lao Tse.  A parable Progoff often uses sounds Taoist to me. When we come to an obstacle, imagine a large boulder, in the stream of our life, we have several options.  We can try to go around it.  We can climb out of the stream and attempt a You can’t control the Universe. You are the water, not the rockportage.  We can probe for a way under the obstacle.  Or, we can remain stuck behind it.

Progoff offers an unusual strategy. Increase the flow of water in the stream.  Then, we can simply ride over the rock, carried by the extra water.  How do we do this in our life? By identifying the things that are working and emphasizing them.  As we increase our activity in the things that are working, we increase the positive flow in our life and any obstacles diminish, in fact, we may be able to float right over them.

Progoff offers this approach as an alternative to the problem oriented strategy of most therapy.  I like this idea, which is essentially the goal of Jungian analysis, too.  In my troubled late twenties and early thirties, I sought therapy, including doing outpatient alcohol treatment through Hazelden.  I went through a number of therapists, all well-intentioned, kind and compassionate, but each focused on my problems.  As I focused on the problems in therapy, then tried to work out the solutions in my life, it seemed my whole life was problematic.

It wasn’t until I found John Desteian and his Jungian approach that I began to appreciate my virtues.  Though I continued to grapple with anxiety and depression, I dealt with them as a whole person experiencing debilitating symptoms, rather than as a “depressed person” or an “anxious person.”  This insight, which came over years, allowed me to increase the flow of water in my stream so I could metaphorically rise above them.  That is, I continue to experience melancholy and anxiety, but as episodes in a full life, rather than as definitive of my life.

The Progoff work underscores and reinforces this understanding.

 

Hospital Visits

Spring                                                                      Bee Hiving Moon

Hey, Bill. If you’re reading this, I hope you’re doing well. Friend Bill Schmidt has taken a room at Casa Methodist for observation.  Maybe they’ll have dancing nurses.

Bill wasn’t the only person in my life in the hospital tonight.  Granddaughter Ruth missed the stirrup on the teeter-totter and had her foot smashed.  X-rays didn’t show a break, but she did get a boot.

Life is temporary.  Any reminders can put a highlighter over live now.  Even at almost 8. (That’s Ruth, not Bill.)

 

First Full Day Home

Spring                                                                      Bee Hiving Moon

Naps.  Not possible when driving long distances or engaged in workshops all day.  But I had one today.  The first time I’ve felt fully rested in two weeks.  Home is where the nap is.

Realized while waking up that I may not be able to keep bees this year.  I promised 06 27 10_package colonygrandson Gabe last year that I would be at his birthday party.  That happens on April 27th. We’ll leave sometime that week.  Right now the new package arrives April 12th.  That would make hiving and checking the colony 7-10 days later to see that it’s queen right just possible. Even then, leaving them just after I’ve hived them?  Not the best plan.

This would be a good year to skip, too, since we still have almost 70 pounds of honey from last year.  Probably doesn’t make sense this year.

I was unable to keep up my exercise on the road, though I had planned to.  The cold, then inertia.  That means I’m starting back today after a little over two weeks off.  Like the football players, I have to knock some rust off.  Will be good to get back it.  I missed exercise this time.

 

What Is My Life Reaching For?

Spring                                                              Bee Hiving Moon

On the last afternoon of the Intensive Journal Workshop we had an exercise focused on what our life is reaching for.  In the first morning we had defined the current period of our life: in my case the time after Kate’s retirement.  By the last afternoon we had worked ourselves into the next period of our lives.  Since we were newly in this next period, this exercise asked us to feel, below the conscious level, where our lives wanted to go.

Here is my sense of what my life is reaching for in this next period:

1. a bountiful, sustainable nutrient dense harvest of fruit and vegetables.

2. a way to use the Great Wheel website to advance the Great Work through literature, science and political activism.

3. a third phase (third lifetime) writing portfolio with short story writing credits as a floor for selling novels.

4. a schedule for translating and commenting on at least several books of the Metamorphoses

5. still more of a stable, wonderful marriage, regular visits and communication with kids and grandkids and friends.

6. more mutual travel opportunities with Kate.

As I work in the inner movement of my life, I can feel a quieting, a confidence that who I am and what I do is enough-no matter the outcomes.  This feeling has grown stronger since Kate retired and continues to strengthen with time.

In my third lifetime I will be calm, steady, productive.

 

Snow comes down here.  Big fat flakes and plentiful.  After two weeks away at the end of March, there is still snow cover on our entire property.  We have a north facing front and a woods protected back so we sustain snowpack longer than our neighbors.  On the drive in yesterday most of the yards in Andover were snow free.  Not ours.  And now it snows.