When did this happen?

Fall                                                                                     Falling Leaves Moon

Cultural immersion today at Spyhouse Coffee at the intersection of Broadway and Central in Minneapolis. I suggested it for a meeting because it was a coffee house. Quiet, right? Farthest thing from. Every table and most of the nooks and crannies were filled with twenty and thirty somethings, laptops up, heads over keyboards or deep in conversation with someone, hands gripping smartphones. Loud rock played from the timbered rafters. The password code for today, jackiebrown, scrawled on a chalkboard by the register.

This was today, Friday, at 11:00 a.m. When Michelle came in, I was a bit sheepish, “I didn’t realize this place was so. Popular.” She laughed. “It’s fine.” And it was. We got down to work. And, guess what. Michelle had her laptop open and we gazed at its screen. Occasionally I would check some material on my cell phone.

Full disclosure. I didn’t bring my laptop only because I couldn’t remember the password. Which I could reset it said. But only if I was on the internet. Which was where? Behind my password. Which I couldn’t remember. Ouroboros.

Fall                                                                                    Falling Leaves Moon

Another SortTossPack day today. Kate’s the move manager for this event. Mostly getting our art and objet of same wrapped up for the move. A lot of fussy work that will go better with folks who’ve done it a lot.

I’ll be in Minneapolis working on election 2014 matters for the Sierra Club.

Spinoza and Me

Fall                                                                                         New (Falling Leaves) Moon

The card gods were good to me tonight. Until I took over and started getting frisky. I tried to make a hand work where the force was not with me. Still, a good night with plenty of good conversation with men I’ve come to know well.

Bill Schmidt and I had dinner at Pad Thai, as we have for many of the evenings before the game. Bill’s reading a book about Spinoza and one by Spinoza. Spinoza’s an interesting guy in many ways. An apostate Jew. A monist, which is a hard position to defend. An optics maker, a lens grinder by trade.

Bill linked Spinoza’s work and mine, generous of him to think of the two of us in anyway linked. But the connection is fair, I think. When I left the Christian faith behind, I left behind a medieval approach to questions of metaphysics. That approach is text based rather than experience based. In the Christian instance experience is viewed first through the lens of scripture, and through the particular interpretative schema you bring to it. So by the time you get to reality, the gap is already pretty wide.

Christians are not the only ones with this inclination: Islam, Judaism, but, too, as the scholar Bill read points out, anyone who reads the texts of another as the first line of inquiry when faced with philosophical or theological or political or ethical questions.

Where Spinoza and I come together is in having rejected that text based, medieval model of scholarly inquiry. We both turn instead to nature, to lived experience, so the mediation is left to the senses rather than texts. This makes for a different sort of thought, with very different evidence for what we believe is the case.

Spinoza takes his inquiry deep into the nature of nature, building his thought systematically. I’ve never been able to hold myself to one line of inquiry long enough to work systematically, but I have had insights recently that seem to follow some of Spinoza’s. For example, in thinking just yesterday and today about the nature of political commitment, I’ve come to realize that ethics and political thought come after our political values, rather than from them deductively.

What I mean is that what you feel is fair, just, equitable, decent, honest, valuable for yourself and your community, comes first, informed by any of a number of inputs from personal history to family imprint to community of identification and place and era of birth. Only later do we seek out socialism or compassionate conservatism or democracy or autocracy as more systematic elaborations of our apriori sensibilities. We may then use them to enhance or inform nuances of our political beliefs, but they do not create them.

I’ll stop here with this thought. This is why political debate does so little to change minds and hearts.

Fall                                                                              New (Falling Leaves) Moon

Turns out I love most of the art I already have. Objet d’arts, too. I only set aside a few objects and all those I loved at one point, just less so now.

All day today spent setting out this stuff so it can be easily packed by the SortTossPack folks.

Sheepshead tonight and dinner with Bill Schmidt.

A Crucifixion Moment…for the garden

Fall                                                                                    New (Falling Leaves) Moon

The river birch has begun to shed its golden leaves, small instances of light as matter falling toward the ground. The neighbor’s Norway maple has turned its autumn red, a reliable clue that the seasonal change is well underway.

Senescence becomes the word for gardens, vegetable and flower. Green turns to brown, then withers and falls onto the earth which has held it up so long. Tired, I suppose, from the long fight during the growing season to remain upright.

The water that fills out the cells flees back to the roots or out into the air through transvaporation, so leaves shrivel, stalks collapse. But this is not the field of ruins it appears to be. This is instead gathered nutrients ready to return to the soil following that

most necessary of almost hidden processes, decay.

We have arrived, from one perspective, at our crop’s crucifixion moment, when they give up their bodies on behalf of others. It is only an apparent crucifixion though because the dead will rise again, either from underground chambers where they lie dormant or from seeds. What a wonder. And it happens every year.

Sorting

Fall                                                                         New (Falling Leaves) Moon

Weather warms up over the next few days, more summerly temperatures, but with a welcome lower dewpoint. Today is art sort day for me. Kate’s taking a rest. And a well-deserved one.

(my stone sculpture from artisans d’angkor will go to Colorado)

I’m looking forward to deciding what gets sold and what goes to Colorado. Not sure why, but I am. Over the course of diminishing my library I came to enjoy the process of deciding what was important to me now and what to let go.

Tomorrow, instead of being here with the SortTossPack folks, I’m going in to work on the Sierra Club’s independent expenditure campaign for the November elections. The staffer who has these responsibilities had Friday morning open.

Weary

Fall                                                                                New (Falling Leaves) Moon

A weariness has affected both Kate and me. I think I know its source: the move. We’ve pushed in several directions: decluttering, packing, fixing up the house, choosing two realtors, one here and one in Colorado, securing financing. Visiting financial advisers. Corralling cash for the expenses. Changing our budget to conform to a possible two mortgage situation for as much as six months or so.

(not to mention that G.I. bug we’ve both been hosting.)

Yes, we’ve chosen this. And, yes, perhaps even more important, we’re trying to pace ourselves. Which, btw, I think we’ve done pretty well. But the pace has been constant. Add in the growing season and four dogs. You get the picture. Not to mention that we both have had our medicare cards for more than a year.

So. Tired. Need to rest, refocus, change course for a while. Will do next week after SortTossPack is done.

Rising

Fall                                                                                       New (Falling Leaves) Moon

The prototype of the evil doer, the mother of all James Bond’s enemies and role model for purist tyrants of all stripes, Adolf Hitler, still shines with a dark light, casting a pall of sickness over the future. Of course, even Hitler represents a distillation of a much deeper human problem, that of denigration based on secondary characteristics: racism, anti-semitism, misogyny, nativism.

In Hitler’s case a centuries old virus, a plague in the soil of Europe, a virulent stream of racism, anti-semitism, found its perfect host. Hitler glorified the notion of racial purity over against its worst violation, blood pollution, and found reason to kill Jews, gays, Gypsies and the mentally disabled.

This is not news. Except it is if you’re Jewish and living in Europe. Or, Jewish and living anywhere in the world, even here in the United States. Here’s a paragraph from a NYT article published today:

“From the immigrant enclaves of the Parisian suburbs to the drizzly bureaucratic city of Brussels to the industrial heartland of Germany, Europe’s old demon returned this summer. “Death to the Jews!” shouted protesters at pro-Palestinian rallies in Belgium and France. “Gas the Jews!” yelled marchers at a similar protest in Germany.”

Though not Jewish myself I count many Jews as my friends. My wife, my daughter-in-law and both grandchildren are Jewish. So, I ask all my fellow goyim to say, along with the Jews, “Never again.”

Nocturne

Fall                                                                                     New (Falling Leaves) Moon

Back into the packing, sorting realm tomorrow. Two days in a row. Then, I’m going to take a rest from it for a week or so. We are, if anything, ahead of even our more rapid timeline and I need a break.

Watch movies. Go to museums. Take hikes. That sort of thing. Put the garden to bed. Restoratives.

(Michaelmas on September 29th.)

One quality I expect in our new home that I’ve not emphasized as we’ve looked. Quiet. At night especially. I’ve grown used to the calm here at night.

Off to read.

 

Rheum

Fall                                                                                         New (Falling Leaves) Moon

BTW: I originally named this the Leaf Change moon, but saw that the Ojibway call it the Falling Leaves moon. I liked that better.

Kate had an appointment with her rheumatologist this morning. As I often do, I wondered about the rheum part of this word. So, from my favorite online etymology dictionary:

rheum (n.) Look up rheum at Dictionary.com“mucous discharge,” late 14c., from Old French reume “a cold” (13c., ModernYou can’t control the Universe. You are the water, not the rock French rhume), from Latin rheuma, from Greek rheuma “discharge from the body, flux; a stream, current, flood, a flowing,” literally “that which flows,” from rhein “to flow,” from PIE root *sreu- “to flow” (cognates: Sanskrit sravati “flows,” srotah “stream;” Avestan thraotah- “stream, river,” Old Persian rauta “river;” Greek rheos “a flowing, stream,” rhythmos “rhythm,” rhytos “fluid, liquid;” Old Irish sruaim, Irish sruth“stream, river;” Welsh ffrwd “stream;” Old Norse straumr, Old English stream, Old High German strom (second element in maelstrom); Lettish strauma “stream, river;” Lithuanian sraveti “to trickle, ooze;” Old Church Slavonic struja “river,” o-strovu “island,” literally “that which is surrounded by a river;” Polish strumień “brook”).

(this stream really flows if you click on it.)

Notice in there that rhein meant “to flow.” So, if your child wants to grow up to be a rheumatologist, tell them to start paying attention to discharges from the body as well as rivers, streams, floods, even rhythm, anything that flows. If it’s got a good beat, you can code to it. (medical humor)