Oh, well. A pause would have been better.

Imbolc                                                             New (Anniversary) Moon

Black Mountain barely shows itself in the cloud of snow over it. We’ve had snow since yesterday, winter is back. We’re glad here on Shadow Mountain. This Colorado feint of warm weather in the middle of winter keeps me thinking spring, then the sky turns white.

It’s been one of those days when the adult quotient required exceeded my ability to manage it. When I went out and found the guy from Geowater working on our well-head, installing a product I didn’t want, then found out he’d ordered a $1,000 pressure tank to replace our current one, well, let’s just say I didn’t handle it well. WTF! No, I didn’t think it, I said it. Oops. I had them walk back the work order, pushing the day’s bill down from around $7,000 to $2,000.

Then, they nicked a water line from the boiler and had to call a plumber to fix it. That set things back on the right emotional track. I had to get on my hands and knees, literally, to crawl into the space under our house and apologize. I was hot and said sorry. One of the guys fist bumped me and said thanks. The other guy was not quite so quick to forgive. Still, after I apologized that was his issue.

One of those situations where I wish I’d taken the mussar way and introduced a pause between the match and the fuse. I could have gotten the same result without being hostile. Maybe by the time I’m 80?

Anyhow, the ph in our water is now up from 5.2 to 7.5. Much better for the boiler and the copper piping. This was preventive maintenance, something I seem to be doing a lot up here. Of course, our Andover house was a model so everything was new; though over 20 years, we did end up doing some preventive work and some replacements.

 

In, but not of

Imbolc                                                                    Valentine Moon

“Solitude” by Marc Chagall, 1933
“Solitude” by Marc Chagall, 1933

In, but not of. Yesterday at mussar, a spiritual/ethical system within the Jewish tradition, I had a complex moment. We were discussing truth and mercy, the relationship between them. To compare mercy and truth I defined mercy as suspension of judgment. Truth though is a sword and a judgment. If that’s correct, then not all truth is merciful. Rabbi Jamie started to dispute that, but had to leave for his daughter’s wisdom teeth extraction.

truth

In the conversation that followed afterward my use of the sword metaphor was identified as a Christian trope, “I come to not bring peace, but a sword.” I’ve been working very hard over the last year to bracket my mode of theological thinking while absorbing a Jewish style of thinking. This requires effort because though I abandoned Christianity over 30 years ago, my seminary education and professional life as a clergyman reinforced my already strong Judaeo/Christian enculturation. Christianity does still define much of how I think and feel about matters religious and secular.

While that’s obvious, I still felt a flush of embarrassment at being identified with a New Testament informed concept. That flush, as mussar teaches, is an important signal about where growth is necessary.

On the way back up to Shadow Mountain I described my situation to Kate as similar to traveling. “I love to go where the culture is very different from mine, where I’m a stranger. It helps me know my self.” Kate’s journey is one of a Jew deepening her own understanding, her own identity as part of a religious world. My journey is closer to travel, “It feels like I’m traveling on the inside.” In this case no geographic change is necessary for me to be a stranger.

travel

This inner travel exhilarates me, but it also confuses and, in a mild sense, scares me. I’m trying to gain wisdom and personal growth from Beth Evergreen while maintaining my own identity as a pagan. But, not only that. My life as a pagan is not divorced from my enculturation as a Christian. I’m a cultural Christian in many ways. That means I encounter many shocks to my inner world, shocks that wake me up, like a Zen koan, but that also and in the same instance disorient me.

Yaowarat
Yaowarat

It’s like being on Yaowarat Road in Bangkok on a weekend night. On Friday and Saturday night the sidewalks of Bangkok’s Chinatown, of which Yaowarat is the main street, fill up with small restaurants, often two tables, some chairs and a street vendor style kitchen with a wok, propane tank, utensils and a stack of plates and soup bowls. What food are they serving? I don’t know. I speak neither Thai nor Mandarin. Many people are there who do understand the food offerings, how to eat them, but I’m not one of them. I’m in, but not of the street life. Observing, yes, eager to learn, yes, but even after sampling some food and gaining some insight, I will go back to my hotel, a stranger traveling through.

I’m grateful to the folks at Beth Evergreen and Kate for putting up with my being present as a stranger and an inner traveler. A long journey, barely begun.