You Have Entered. The Deadline Zone.

Samain                                                                        Moving Moon

We have transitioned to a new zone. The deadline for finishing our packing is Sunday because the packers come on Monday. I don’t like deadlines. I clutch (as I would have said in the 1960s). This means gears grind and my ability to make good decisions declines. That’s why I wanted to have two years to make the move. That way, I could manage a shorter time frame as we made it possible.

Fortunately, Kate’s gears engage just when mine begin to slip. She’s got lists and her purposeful walk and good humor. I feel pressure and would  prefer not to. She’s great in a crisis. I like planning. We are yin and yang though sometimes she’s yang and I’m yin, other times the opposite. We bring different parts of our psyche to bear at different times. An altogether good thing.

Nocturne

Samain                                                                           Moving Moon

Quiet. Peaceful. Holiseason lights are up. Songs of the season are in the air.

Greedy commercials which equate holiday delight with a diamond from Jareds or the latest, greatest tech or the it toy this year smear themselves across our television screens.

I’m holding out for the long night, the Milky Way, Orion rising and snow falling. Lodgepole pine and aspen singing in the wind. Mountain air. Quiet. Peaceful.

That’s my holiday. The big one for the year.

The Preventable Invasions

Samain                                                                         Moving Moon

Torture. Dick Cheney. George Bush. Especially Cheney. The Torture Report from the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence–which I have not read–has not raised huge protests or expressions of outrage around the world. I heard this on NPR this morning while on the way to breakfast.  Made sense to me. Why? It’s just not news.

That’s different from it being very important. The report is hugely significant for our democratic culture, significant in a way very similar to Edward Snowden’s revelations about the NSA. We allowed (and were prevented from allowing, too) erosion of our personal liberties, especially relative to personal privacy.

Torture and the Prism program connect at a critical point, the invasion of personal space. Obviously they are very different, one physical and the other cybernetic, but in the focus on an individual, on penetrating domains normally forbidden to others, except those who love us, they are remarkably similar.

In the name of fighting a War on Terror we followed Nietzsche’s keen insight. We fought the monster and while doing so became the monster ourselves. The abyss not only stared back at us, it flowed into our actions as a nation. I blame Cheney, more than any other.

And, I also believe, with a columnist for the New York Times that he should be pardoned. As should anyone else identified as creating this regime of terror and personal degradation. Seems strange to do, but I agree that it is probably the only way we will get acknowledgment that these things were terrible and that they were done. The hope is that such an action will inoculate us, at least for a while, against allowing these things to happen again. May it be so.

Sadness. A Measure of Value.

Samain                                                                      Moving Moon

Breakfast at Key’s with Woolly Frank Broderick. He gave us a bowl by Robert Big Elk with smudge in it for purifying the new house. There were also six prayer ties for protection on our journey a week from Friday.

My first introduction to Frank was his shamanic drumming, 20+ years ago. I’ve gone on many shamanic voyages to his drums over the years. He walks with the Lakota people as a friend and ally.

Frank’s a Celtic guy, as am I, he more purely than me. My Germanic heritage is probably stronger genetically and reinforced by upbringing, but it was not the heritage I embraced when I began writing over 25 years ago. It was the Celtic.

Not sure why I made that choice at this late point, but I know that the Celtic world felt and feels very close to my soul’s journey, especially in its intimate linkage to the natural world. Of course, if I’m honest, the Germanic scholarly mind has made an equally strong imprint. I’m a combination of the two: wildly passionate and captive of a need for scholarly precision. An uneasy mix.

Sadness, I’ve learned, is a measure of value. As we love, so are we sad. I’m sad to leave Frank behind, as soul brother and as political fellow traveler.

I’m Hoping For A Mild Christmas

Samain                                                                                 Moving Moon

Weather station and a computer monitor went in a plastic tub. The final items have begun to disappear leaving only the bare minimum. This computer, this printer, the two televisions. Dishes, pots and pans. Even those will go on Monday.

Though there’s some question about Conifer, it’s beginning to look like the weather is going to cooperate with a thaw headed toward us and a mild week next week, the packing, loading and leaving week. Though I’m a guy who likes a consistently cold winter and lots of snow, I’m happy if it holds off this next couple of weeks.

Eschaton Now

Samain                                                                              Moving Moon

Kate’s off at the Third Bird, a Minneapolis restaurant, with the ladies who lunch, a last meal together. I’ll have my last presentation at Groveland on Sunday, then the last Woolly meeting as a Minnesota resident on Monday night at the Nicollet Island Inn.

These moments are no longer a ways in the future. They are now. This house is a temporary skin, one we’re ready to molt. Someone else will harvest the garlic crop in the ground. Someone else will plant the raised beds next year and harvest the apples, cherries, plums, blueberries.

Meanwhile we’ll be considering how to keep the bears out of the honey and how to grow vegetables at all at 8,800 feet. And opening boxes.

Shift

Samain                                                                            Moving Moon

Can you feel the shift? The wind has started blowing from the east, giving us lift. No matter now the final bits of packing, the papers, the plans. The momentum has begun to take us, all the work past or almost past and nothing but future lies ahead.

It’s heady. Creates a swooning sensation, a bit giddy. When Brian, our window washer, loaded up the Simplicity Landlord lawn tractor into his trailer, he said, “I’ll bet you guys are ready to go?” Oh. Yeah. Replying to him carried me into the future for a moment, desire collapsing the days. “Yep. We are.”

The liminal field in which we have lived for the last seven months has begun to fade away. We are living the move. No longer living in the move.

The circus tent has two main tents collapsed, one folded up and headed for the truck, another ready. The third won’t go down until this house sells, but the roustabouts have their instructions. They will know when to strike it and get it loaded. The circus will have to do with only two rings for a short time. It will manage.

Seed Planted

Samain                                                                                  Moving Moon

The Great Wheel congruence I mentioned a few posts back, the one between closing on Samain (Oct. 31st) and having our first full day and night together in Colorado on the 21st of December, the Winter Solstice, are not the only ones.

When I went back over posts related to this decision, I discovered Kate and I discussed the possibility and then decided to move on April 30. That day we planted a small seed that began to germinate on May 1st.  That’s Beltane, the Celtic holiday that marks the opening of the growing season.

That means the idea of moving to Colorado took root that day and began to flourish over the growing season. We tilled the ground around it over the summer and into the fall, finally harvesting the fruit of a new home on the day marking the end of the growing season.

There is natural magic here. Yes, these dates are coincidences, but the congruity between our dreams and their realization in parallel with the Great Wheel’s turning demonstrates, profoundly I believe, the interdependent nature of our lives as human animals (see the TED talk below) and the life of plants and other animals. We reflect in our lives the patterns to be found in the world around us. I find this deeply comforting.

Thoughtfulness

Samain                                                                              Moving Moon

A little top of the right curve on the U humor from the Onion:

Elderly Woman Begins Freezing Meals Husband Can Eat While She’s Passed Away

the u-shaped graph

Samain                                                                                Moving Moon

Been thinking about the U shaped graph I’ve seen in recent articles about happiness. The graph follows feelings of happiness over a lifetime. During early childhood happiness is high according to the graph. Then somewhere around adolescence and continuing through  an individual’s working life happiness declines reaching a nadir in mid-career. After that the curve ticks up, implying of course that we’re happiest again when we die. Hmm. Probably not.

(graphic for an Economist article on this topic.)

My life experience so far seems to underwrite the broad concept. Specifically I’ve been wondering about that uptick in happiness (well-being, satisfaction)-I prefer the Greek,  eudaimonia, human-flourishing. Why does it happen?

Here are a few random ideas, not proven as far as I know.  We flourish when our life has recognizable limits. We’re always being told we can do anything we set our minds to, we can be anything we want to be. Maybe so, I don’t know.  I do know that the burden of  having to choose among competing futures can make the present seem fraught and burdened. One limit in the third phase is that of diminished prospects. We no longer have the career world and its vast horizons spread before us, nor do we have the energy, the ambition we had in that time of our life. Seems good to me. Narrowing down the future and its possibilities means a less fraught daily existence.

A second limit we encounter (most of us) in the third phase is financial. We know how much money we have and what we have to do to live within its possibilities and constraints. Again, I think, good. We’re not reaching, hoping for another raise, a windfall, a lucky break. No, we can settle into the life we can afford.

A third limit is length of life. We know now that life does not stretch on well beyond the horizon. Our friends and family have begun to get serious illnesses and die. Our own body has begun to signal its intention, too. Like the other two, narrowed prospects and financial constraints, at first this seems like a horror, an anathema to the American dream of excelsior. But I think good here, too. I want my obit to start out: Ate right, exercised, died anyway.

Acceptance of all three limits encourages us to focus on those matters dearest to us, most important in our lives. Does this mean that we have no hope for a productive life? No. It simply means that we’re likely much clearer about where to spend our energy and gifts. Does this mean we give up on managing our financial affairs? Again, no. It just means that they’re easier to manage and probably take up less energy. Does it mean we abandon caring for our health? Of course not. It means that we no longer do so with the illusion of eternal physical life as our reward for it.

Just random ideas. Not proven as far as I know.