Daily Archives: March 1, 2015

Colorado, Great Work

Mother of Rivers

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Imbolc                                      Black Mountain Moon

Just spent a half an hour tracing the Rio Grande from its source in Colorado to the Gulf of Mexico. Then, the Colorado. The Platte River rises here, too, as does the Arkansas. Colorado may in the national memory be mountains, but in the national and international geography it is the mother of rivers, much like the Himalaya are the mother to India’s famous rivers.

It’s interesting to think of the snow hanging right now on the lodgepole pines in our yard melting, then later in the spring finding its way down the mountain into the South Platte and then on to the Mississippi and the Gulf. A mountains seems isolated, feels isolated but gravity and density make what happens on it run down hill.

 

 

Aging, Faith and Spirituality, Humanities, Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant., Third Phase

And Then Is Heard No More

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Imbolc                               Black Mountain Moon

Let’s paint the same message as below, but with a different brush and color. Gray fading to black dominated the last post. Let’s use blue fading to dark, dark blue here.

Life is the time between the first rays of dawn and the last, bruised hours of twilight. At its brightening life comes with expansiveness, light revealing first this and then that, all new. These are the hours of Heidegger’s being thrown into the world. We see first a soon-to-be familiar face, then faces. Realize at some point a home, then the home in a particular place. That place is in a larger frame which sometimes takes a while to come into focus. At some point we know that the 1950’s, this time of childhood is neither, say, the the 1930’s of our parent’s time nor is it the middle ages with knights and castles and it is not, either, the future. Not 2000. Not 1984.

Over the next few years we learn that our unique self will have its hour upon the stage over a certain span of time, not any we wish, but this one and this one alone. Who we are to become, what we are to do must fit into these years, years that have their own shape, their own special challenges, their own significant opportunities. We choose this path, that person, those places. They fit or they don’t. If they don’t, we choose again.

As the years accumulate and our hour ticks down, the choices become fewer, narrower. Our own history now shapes our future. This is a time of reaping, of being the person you have chosen to be, the unique mixture of your Self and the times into which you have been thrown. When the reaping is finished, our hour is up.