Daily Archives: March 8, 2015

Colorado, Original Relation

Them Bones

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Imbolc                                        Black Mountain Moon

These bones, these bones, these weary bones. Took Ruth (granddaughter Ruth) to the Colorado Museum of Geology today. We drove in to Denver and picked up after Sunday School, in the Jewish instance this is school on Sunday. She’s on the long road to the Bat Mitzvah, learning Hebrew, Torah, tradition. Over the last few weeks she’s been learning the 4 questions for the Pesach meal, the first of which is the famous, Why is this night different from all other nights? She recited it in Hebrew.

When Kate told Ruth she’d studied Hebrew long ago, Ruth replied, “Well, if you learn the alphabet and the vowel marks that’s all you really need.” And, of course, in a sense she’s right.

We ate lunch in downtown Golden at the Blue Canyon Grill, then went to the museum. We were late getting in because (only at an academic institution situation) a sign there said, “Between March 7th and March 15th we might be open. Call to confirm.” Several people gathered with us in the lobby and one efficient looking mom whipped out her cell phone and called. “Answering machine,” she said.

Just when we’d decided on the Science Museum a slightly padded guy in a black t-shirt, ear plugs and a stubbly beard wandered up. Yes, he said, I’m here to open up.

The museum has display case after display case of beautiful rocks and minerals from all over the world (and out of this world, too, since it has the largest moon rock brought back with one exception, plus several meteorites), but with an emphasis of course on Colorado minerals, notably gold and silver, but copper, molybdenum, pyrite, too.

There was, too, a significant collection of fossils and petrified plants. Dinosaur bones, too. When I asked the guy who opened the museum to explain petrification, he did so, and afterward added, “The same process works with organic matter like bones, too. In the instance of dinosaur bones found in Colorado a major element that precipitated out of the water solution and into the bone was uranium. Colorado’s dinosaur bones are hot. Really hot.”

The Colorado School of Mines is an interesting place, full of people who know a lot about rocks and geological history. Much more to learn from there.

To get back to these weary bones. Didn’t seem like much of a day activity-wise, but when we left the museum grandpop felt completely tuckered out.

Beyond the Boundaries, Myth and Story, Original Relation

From the Slumber of the Everyday

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Imbolc                                             Black Mountain Moon

From the dog to the human. Seeing the dogs yesterday, 100% clicked in to their genetic heritage and feeling great about it, made me wonder what circumstances create the same integration of body, mind and spirit in humans? Two ideas occur to me right away: sex and flow, yet those don’t seem quite right. Sex is instinctive and common among mammals, for the purpose of reproduction. Lions and tigers and bears and humans, dogs, too, all engage in sex, so it’s not distinctive, it’s instinctive. Flow is closer, but in its case it’s too distinctive, too idiosyncratic, too much a marker of an individual’s uniqueness and only rarely achieved.

Perhaps the trigger is hunting. After all, we share with lions, tigers, bears and dogs a predatory nature. We are not rabbits, squirrels, mice, voles. In this case I wouldn’t know since I’ve never hunted. But I can imagine. A true hunt, one where finding food is a necessity, would concentrate the mind, require attention to even the smallest physical movement, both on the part of hunter and hunted.

Or, perhaps, defending loved ones. This could explain the attraction of the warrior ethos. Though these are both traditionally male roles. What would be the female equivalent? Or, is there one trigger that unites men and women? Women hunt and fight, too.

Of course, there can be more than one trigger, I’m sure. Or, maybe we’ve evolved ourselves past a distinct trigger, become too socialized, too far distant from our veldt past. Still, watching Rigel yesterday afternoon come up to her purpose from the slumber of the everyday, I wonder.