Monthly Archives: April 2023

Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health

Reminders

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Spring and the Mesa View Moon

Thursday gratefuls: #8 and last radiation session. Diane. Tom. The Ancient Brothers. Kat, who’s reading the book. Kate, my sweet soul companion. Jon, a memory. Breezy. A bit of sway in the Lodgepoles, the Aspen Buds red at Branch tips, waving to their neighbors. Sun bright. Sky blue. Clouds white and fluffy. Resting heart rate down to 63 bpm. Good sleep. Luke, who has the psilocybin. Leo, his dog. Kep, of blessed, sweet memory. Breakfast out. A treat.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Simcha

One brief, shining moment: Simcha-a Hebrew word that always reminds me of the Lion King or Tarzan comic books- means joy, said to be by the sages a spiritual obligation and I wonder how that can be, then how sublime always seeking and finding the wonderful, the awesome, the delightful within and without, what a marvelous way to live!

 

Yesterday I spoke the truth, but it was maybe not the best thing to say. At Anova for #7 radiation. A guy came out in the blue drawstring pants. A slight belly, a round mellow face, taller than me. They’re ready for you. I have to drink more water. Ah. I remember that. How far along? 34  out of 35. But you’ve had this before and you’re back? Yes, it doesn’t always work.

Ooops. This guy’s there with his wife, both wearing Toronto Blue Jay fan shirts. She’s a beauty. Smiling, gray hair. A sort of woman that appeals to me. No makeup. Supporting her guy.

I went on back. Ordered up Patsy Cline. Laid down with the red laser markers converging near my chin as she comes on: I’ve got your class ring that showed you care, and it still looks the same as when you gave it dear, but I’ve got your class ring and she’s got you.

Robocop/Cyberknife/Dalek lurches into position, the apertures click open, click closed. I’m thinking what can I say that will make that less dispiriting.

A lady I don’t know comes back and tells me to wait while she lowers the table. They lift you up as the priests did the omer and lambs in the Second Temple.

On my way out the Toronto Blue Jay is on his feet, ready to become the next one on the altar. Many sacrifices this day.

Hey, dude. I didn’t mean to bum you out. Pointing at myself I said, somebody has to be on the thin end of the bell curve. You’ll fatten up the middle. He and his beautiful wife laughed. Maybe just a bit too much. Did I just reinforce what I’d said? Don’t know. Out of my control. But I did what I needed to.

As these radiation sessions come to an end for me, I realize they’ve taken an emotional toll as well as a physical one. They have been, for three weeks, a reminder that I’m wrestling with what I called earlier the intimate assassin, an assassin that has already breached the castle gate, and waits inside for its moment.

Usually I have these reminders every three months, when I have blood drawn and then visit Kristie or Dr. E. I’ll be glad to go back to that schedule.

 

 

Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Judaism, Memories

A Companion of the Soul

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Spring and Kepler’s Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Tom and Talking Story. Diane and Clan Keaton. Last of the left hip lymph node radiations. #7 today. T3. Kate Strickland’s birthday on the same day as Gabe’s. 40 and 15. Very different life moments. April 22. My dad and my brother Mark’s birthday are in April, too, as well as Ruth’s. Prostate cancer. Treatments. Doctors. Insurance. Hospitals. The yetzer hara and the yetzer hatov. Counting the Omer. Luke and Leo. Psilocybin. THC

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Goya

One brief, shining moment: Kate’s death coming on a new Moon, as the old one gave way, went dark, and the new one lay in the shadows, her new world also shadowed but waiting to fill out, wax, become full.

 

The Jewish calendar, a lunar one, preserves the moon phase of a death date, remembered each year as the yahrzeit. So each year as the month of Nisan ends and the month of Iyar begins Congregation Beth Evergreen and our family will celebrate Kate’s life and memory. This Friday. Nisan is the Jewish month of Spring, when Pesach falls.

Iyar is a variant of ohr, or divine light, the shards of divinity that splintered to all the Universe after the tzim-tzum happened. Tzim-tzum is a kabbalistic term for a sacred withdrawal so there could be space for a universe. When ohr flooded back into the space created by the contraction, the vessels to hold it were too weak. And shattered sending out shards of ohr which became part of everything in the universe. Or the realm of Malchut.

I’m belaboring this because it gives me a new way to see Kate’s yahrzeit. She died on a new moon, while the moon began to wax. As that happens, the calendar ticks over to Iyar, the month of ohr. So the waxing moon’s power joined with sacred light as Kate’s soul left her body. If there is a propitious moment for a journey into the unknown, this would have to be one of them.

It may mean nothing. It may mean something. Today, for me, it gives some solace as I contemplate not only her death, but also her life. Kate did not allow the fallow lands of sexism to subdue her intelligence and her manual skills. She marched into those desiccated lands with the power of Spring, sacred light shining from every pore, pushing against the masculinist assumptions that pervaded medicine. And I loved her so much for it.

She had her pain, yes, she certainly did. But she did not allow that to stop her either. Not her mother’s withering menace nor her father’s lack of boundaries. We carry our pain with us, a satchel of parental and cultural abuses, each of us. How we carry it determines our life path.

God, I miss her. She was my hand to hold, my heart joined to her heart, our paths walked together. I miss her.

And yet. My life continues. I live it with her as a companion of the soul.

Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health, Shadow Mountain

Attacked

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Spring and Kepler’s Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: The Cyberknife. Kim and Patti. Ruby. Going for radiation trips again. Ivory, now at home with Ruth. Good sleep. A Mountain Morning, Sun, blue Sky, alert Lodgepoles. Black Mountain. And its ski runs. Marilyn and Irv, brunch at 10. Radiation #6 today. Good workout. That Landice treadmill. Hiking. Burning Bear Creek Trail. An excellent resting heart rate. Perry Mason on HBO Max. James Pogue’s Chosen Country: A Rebellion in the West.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: This Day, this Wild and Precious Day. The only one we’ve got.

One brief, shining moment: The Lodgepoles this morning put their best Bark forward, Branches swooped down as always, drinking in the true food, the only food, the radiation that feeds us all wrought in the massive fusion furnace of our not too close, not too faraway Star.

 

Continuing a theme from my Robot Overlords post. Radiation #5 was the first of three targeting my thoracic vertebrae. My third.

It creeped me out. The beak of the Cyberknife’s head, fitted with a camera like aperture that opens and closes with clicking sounds, hovered the whole time near my chin. Aiming beams of radiation from 50 different positions determined by Dr. Simpson and the medical physicist.

Irrational, yes. I felt under attack. Not to the point that I felt actual fear, but it was too close to my head. As long as the beams got aimed at my abdomen, well. I had 35 sessions of experience with that. We protect our heads from harm, both a learned and instinctive response to perceived dangers. Remember duck and cover? Putting hands over your head in case of nuclear radiation from a bomb. See.

Also, I could watch the aperture open and close. What its leaves held back was radiation that spilled in the wrong spot would do me harm. So close to my head.

After a bit of that I closed my eyes and listened to Bob Dylan. Who added this to the mix in my mind:

How does it feel, how does it feel?To be on your own, with no direction homeLike a complete unknown, like a rolling stone

Triggered a moment of self-pity. Yeah. On my own here. Like a complete unknown. Just me and the Cyberknife clicking away. How does it feel? How does it feel?

Self-pity. I prefer self-empathy. Chesed for myself. So with loving kindness I ratcheted myself back from the clicking of the Cyberknife, the feeling of mild dread, and recalled this. I do have a direction home. Back up the hill. To Shadow Mountain and Shadow Mountain Home.

I’m not on my own. I’m being walked home by so many, so many. Family and friends. Wild neighbors. Lodgepole Pines. Aspen. Black Mountain. The Sun. Orion. All those Dogs of blessed memory. This ancientrail we all walk together winds further up the hill until we reach the cloudy summit and disappear into the fine, dark realms. Realms we know not at all because they begin where this world ends.

Oh. BTW. On the way home on Hwy 470 a jet black Escalade passed me. I thought it was a hearse. In big gold Gothic letters on its back window though was this: FUCK CANCER.

 

Aging, Feelings, Fourth Phase

Aging

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Spring and Kepler’s Moon

Monday gratefuls: Gabe and his birthday retinue. My son and his wife. Getting ready to move. Getting old and being old. Why Liberalism Failed by Patrick Deneen. Kep, my sweet boy. Freedom to travel. Someday soon. The Ancientbrothers. Our church. Evergreen Market. Stuffed Bell Peppers. Broccoli salad. Bread Lounge Sourdough. Radiation #5 today. CJ Box, one more book.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Acceptance

Caveat to this post. I write from a place of white privilege, of male privilege, of financial stability, and also from a beautiful home in a beautiful place. So take this as the thoughts of an older guy happily situated. And glad that he is.

 

A few thoughts about getting old. 76 is NOT the new 56 or 66 or whatever. 76 is the age I am now. And, how it feels to be 76 is how I feel right now. What I mean is. If I feel strong and capable. If I feel playful. If I feel ready to live each day fully. If I feel tired and sick. If I feel engaged with life. Then that’s how 76 feels for me. Not putting this on anyone else. But I don’t honor my own path if I try to convince myself that not only I do feel like 60, but that this age is the equivalent of how I felt at 60. No. I am who I am at each moment in my life both regardless of and because of my age.

I do not feel like I’m 25 inside. I feel like I’m 76. I also recognize what people mean when they say they’ve felt the same age for a long time. There is a certain agelessness to the Self. But for me rather than tether that feeling to a younger age I acknowledge the Self as an aspect of me, perhaps my soul, that senses both the lived moment and the possibility of eternity.

I want younger folks to know that being old is glorious. A time for reaping the harvest of years. That each age we are is glorious, but old age has a release from the harsh demands of work and ambition as well as a release from the illusion of immortality. This gives life in old age a richness and texture very different from earlier life periods. Its relative brevity focuses us, or can focus us, on the beauty of each experienced moment. The never to be repeated moment that the Japanese tea ceremony calls ichi go, ichi e. Once in a lifetime.

This visit with a friend. That meal with loved family. The hike today. The Sunrise. The colors of Dawn and Dusk. The greeting of a Dog. Even the illness of a wife or a beloved pet. Once in a lifetime. And so, so precious because of that.

This journey, this ancientrail of life. It does not need massaging with the oils of youth. When young, blaze along the trail. When middle aged work and love your children. When old savor the day. And the fact of living. No matter your age or circumstance.

 

One brief, shining moment: I rocked back in my chair holding that book, the one this week that shook my world, made me see our lives in a way as different from what I believed as the hare is from the tortoise.

Judaism, Kabbalah

The Omer

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Spring and Kepler’s Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Easter. Passover. A cool night. Kepler, my sweet boy. Kate, her yahrzeit this Friday. Probate. Some ways through. Snow falling on Lodgepoles. Though not this morning. A Mountain morning feeling its way toward the light. Alan. The Bread Lounge. Counting the omer. Rabbi Jamie, a teacher. The Evergreen Market. Southern Fried Catfish. Broccoli salad.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Gettin’ Old

 

And now for something completely different. Counting the Omer is a first fruits practice that celebrates the beginning of the barley harvest. In this way it is similar to the Celtic Lughnasa which celebrates the first corn (wheat in Britain) harvest on August 1st. Counting the Omer starts during passover and proceeds until Shavuot 50 days later.

I like this practice, though I find it hard to follow, because it adds a thoughtful intention to each day, an intention that helps carry us away from the slavery of culture and history toward the promised land. What promised land, you might ask? Well. What promised land do you need?

I also like this practice because it is, as are many Jewish holidays, rooted in Mother Earth and her changes.

 

Counting the Omer*

“And from the day on which you bring the sheaf of elevation offering—the day after the sabbath—you shall count off seven weeks. They must be complete: you must count until the day after the seventh week—fifty days; then you shall bring an offering of new grain to יהוה.” Leviticus 23:15-16

This is a spiritual reenactment of the Hebrew slaves journey of out Egypt, out of slavery toward the promised land. As Rabbi Jamie explains it:

“Over the course of the seven weeks between the holidays of Passover
and Shavuot, we are invited to recount the steps of our ancestors. As the first
three uncountable stars appear on the second night of Passover, we count each
day of a journey from the shores of the Sea of Reeds, newly freed from the
constraints of enslavement under Pharaoh’s reign, to the revelatory peaks of
Mount Sinai. We number the days and weeks to revisit a path that took us from
a narrow and harrowing escape to a knowing and holy expansion of awareness
and mission. From Mitzraim [Egypt] we were forced out by plagues, and
decrees. At Sinai, we stood and freely choose a collective destiny.

“It is easier to take the people out of slavery than to take the slavery out of
the people,” it has been said. Mussar is a discipline devoted to shedding a
‘slavery mentality,’ increasing the human capacity to freely choose how we act,
even how we think and feel.”

Each night, the beginning of the Jewish day, a prayer is said and the omer for that day is counted. Traditionally the counting of the Omer (and naming a
measurable attribute to practice) happens as soon as possible after the stars
appear in the night sky, and is preceded by the following blessing: “Blessed are you O Lord our God, King of the universe, who has sanctified us by his commandments and commanded us concerning the count of the Omer.

Today is day ten, which is one week and three days of the Omer.

Day 10. Association with sages. Sign up for a class. Attend a class. Read a
book or article by a scholar or writer that you respect – and one you don’t.
Organize a book club. Remember as you go through the day, that one who is
wise “learns from everyone.” Consider everyone you meet a teacher sent by the
universe just for you, and you will always be in the company of the sages…and
be counted among the wise.

This thought for the 10th day of the Omer comes from Rabbi Jamie’s fitting of the whole counting of the Omer into a kabbalistic frame.

*An omer is a unit of measure. On the second day of Passover, in the days of the Temple, an omer of barley was cut down and brought to the Temple as an offering. This grain offering was referred to as the Omer. Judaism 101

 

One brief, shining moment: The inner way has many paths, some shrouded in darkness, some pressing against the heart to be felt, others pressing against the mind to be understood.

Acting, Art and Culture, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health

Robot Overlords and Improv

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Spring and the Kepler Moon

Saturday gratefuls: Rebuilding Notre Dame. Wildfire. W.U.I. Kepler, my sweet boy, his memory for a blessing. Kate. A blessing always. Jon, a memory. Ruth, 17. Gabe, a week away from 15. Fresh Snow. 19 degrees. Good sleeping. Rabbi Jamie today on counting the omer. Alan. Rebecca back from India and feeling better after pneumonia. Scott, a reader of Ancientrails and a friend. Dogs.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Dogs

 

Round 4. Miles Davis as the Cyberknife made its robotic transitions around my abdomen. If AI rebels and sends out robots after us humans. Fear them. The Cyberknife has constraints. For now. The route the medical physicist prescribes. Ensured by Patti at the controls. And, it’s bolted to the floor.

The Cyberknife is basically an industrial robot designed to deliver radiation in precise measures to exact spots in the body. Put it on treads, push its radiation up to kill. You see the problem. Also, it’s built of heavy, heavy metal. It would not go down easily.

Yes. OK. I do find the Cyberknife menacing. Sort of. It whirs around my body, pointing its raygun at me. Clicking. Clicking. Hard to not see the business end of it as a head with a weapon. I know it’s under control and in fact working for my benefit. Yes, I know that. However. Our all too human tendency to anthropomorphize.

After session number 5 on Monday, the focus of the treatments will change. Its aim will be just below my clavicle. Going through my esophagus to my T3 vertebrae. I imagine the sense of menace will increase. There is an odd disconnect between the disconcerting fact of a metal behemoth focused on my body and its healing function. Probably because I can neither see nor feel the radiation. I do trust Patti and Dr. Simpson. Otherwise…

 

The showcase for All in Ensemble, Tal’s new theater company, was fun. Whether it was intentional or not, he set up in CBE’s social hall. The effect was good organizing. More chairs had to be brought out. Then. No more chairs. SRO. Created a good buzz. I sat on the front row, on the far left. Maximizes my ability to hear. Which, even with my excellent hearing aid, is not good in these situations.

There were monologues and scenes for the Jewish American Playwrights class. Joann Greenberg gave a heartfelt and funny rendition of the funeral of Froem, a disliked member of a Yiddish speaking Jewish community in Germany. Hamish and Terrence went each other as a son, Terrence, betrayed by his businessman father. Hamish has a niche now. Tortured characters. And, he’s good at it.

The improv crew, which included Luke, did something unusual. Each actor, five altogether, gave a short monologue about their life. The improv took its cue from these monologues which were sprinkled throughout the performance.

The first monologue, offered by an older woman, told of an evening on the high seas where she was a cook aboard a yacht. Making spaghetti. In rough seas. She served guests on the high side and the boat heaved spilling the spaghetti back on her. I then went directly to bed.

Her story set the tone for the evening which eventually featured Poseidon, fish trying to make it on land, and a charming Prince Eric who wanted to conquer the land for his dad, Poseidon.

I admit it got me going again on the acting thing. Might try again.

 

One brief, shining moment. The Lodgepoles this morning wave in prayer to the Sun, encouraging it to shine, shine, shine and melt the Snow off their downswooping Branches so more food can be made, more of the  miracle without which all Animal life on Earth would perish.

 

Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Writing

Working for me

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Spring and the Kepler Moon

Friday gratefuls: Dr. Simpson. Carmela. Patti. The others waiting. A shared male experience. Neil Young searching for a Pot of Gold as the Cyberknife did its work. Slept in after MVP. Long nap after radiation. Cooked. All in Ensemble. CBE. Rebecca. Ginny. Marilyn. Leslie. Ellen. Luke. Leo. Gracie. Ann. 2 nights out in one week. #4 today at 1:30. Light Snow this morning. More tonight. Temps cooling again.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Acting

 

I find myself developing an odd calculus. (and, btw, no. I have not forgotten about Calculus or Korean though I’ve put them both aside for right now.) Here’s an example. Minimum 150 minutes of exercise a week. NHS recommendations. After 150 is in the bank I prioritize relationships. So, if I have 150 minutes, but a friend is only available on an exercise day, I’ll see them instead of the treadmill. But, if I’m not going to make at least 150, I’ll say no. Both have significant value for me. Taking care of myself comes first. Because. Well. Taking care of myself. Relationships are so valuable. Why I take care of myself. So I can enjoy them.

Another example. I said to myself that I’d only go out one night in a week. But this week, I went out twice. MVP on Wednesday and the All in Ensemble showcase last night. Why? Two core groups. The Jamie, Marilyn, Tara, Susan, Rich, Ron mussar group on Wednesday. As close to the Woollies as I’ve come here.

Thursday. Tal and his acting classes. Brought out a side of me that had lain dormant for many years. I skipped the Jewish American Playwrights class, otherwise I would have been in the showcase last night. I wanted to support my friends Rebecca, Hamish, Terrence, Natiya, Luke, and Tal.

So. If two core groups of relationships have a night thing in the same week, the relationships are more valuable than my one night rule. And in fact I find it good to challenge my own rules every once in a while.  So I’m not getting into a rut. For example I slept well last night. Feel rested. Maybe two nights? At least when it’s not icy out? Maybe Spring, Summer, and Fall? Important to maintain my rest, yes. But maybe I can do that and still go out a bit more at night.

Another example. Not deviated from with rare exceptions. Write Ancientrails when I get up in the morning. No matter where I am, no matter what’s going on. I’m convinced this writing has helped me sort through the long string of difficult events that eventuated after our move to Colorado. Both in the moment, writing about them as they happened, and over time, writing about their cumulative affect. Writing puts things just a hair away from inside, yet still available for consideration. Also documents them. Leaving a record I can refer to later.

Writing about them doesn’t make them easier. Nothing can make death, family dysfunction, cancer easier. And probably shouldn’t. We need to live into these sorts of things, not push them away, avoid the feelings. But writing, especially writing in a public way as I do here, does have a dual function. First, it informs those who care about me, love me, of what’s going on in my life. No hiding. No secrets. Second, it allows me to put difficult matters in context, see them as part of a longer tale. Context puts tears and awful, awful days in the flow of life. I tend to get stuck in them less. That’s valuable.

With the aid of Ancientrails, self care, and people who love me with whom I communicate regularly, my life retains its richness and I remain afloat even through the worst storms. Working for me.

 

 

Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health, Hermitage, Judaism, Mussar, Shadow Mountain

Round Three

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Spring and the Kepler Moon

Thursday gratefuls: MVP. Tara. Marilyn. Susan. Jamie. Rich. Ron. Bitachon, trust. Kate’s memory, a blessing in all ways. Cooler today. Snow. Good workout. Furball Cleaning. Ana and friend.  A clean house. The new colors. That threshold. Coming closer. Irv. Adoptable dogs. Radiation #3. Joy. Simcha. Embracing joy. Living joyfully.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Eudaimonia

 

Hit the treadmill for 65 minutes. 101 total minutes of exercise with the 2 minutes for every intense minute calculation. Felt good. Coffee and albuterol, oatmeal and peanut butter on board before hand.

While I exercised, Ana and her friend cleaned the house. It needed it. The last of Kep’s hair. The leftover from Doug’s painting. Ruth, Gabe, and Mia’s visit. Plus it had been three and a half weeks since it was last cleaned. Feels so good to have a clean house. A clean house with a fresh look. Mental health. Moving forward, over that threshold.

 

MVP last night. The topic, the middot, was bitachon, trust. I said that I trust everyone. To be who they are. Realized I need to modify that. I trust everyone to be who I know them to be. I can’t truly know another’s essence. But I can know how I experience them. In the moment and over time.

This means I have varying levels of trust, many of them. None blind. All based on experience, not hope. If you tend to show up late, I know that. If you do what you say, I know that. If you anger easily, I know that. If you steal things, I hide what’s valuable to me. Either emotions or goods.

We all agreed we had trouble, for various reasons, keeping our mouths shut about others. Not that we gossip, but that some circumstances arise. Ones where we start sharing things about others that aren’t ours to tell. Not necessarily secrets or negative things. Just things that belong to others. One person gave the example of a neighbor asking about a divorce. She found herself offering more detail than she needed. Wanting to keep the friend. That sort of thing.

So our mutual practice for this month is. Value the vault. Keep what we know to ourselves. Allow others to tell their own stories. If they want to.

 

Round three of radiation on my left hip lymph node today. Though the radiation itself is both invisible and non-tactile at my sensory level it’s still powerful. Find myself sleeping longer and harder. Fatigue, not awful, but there. The thing about radiation is that its side effects can show up a year, two years later. And I won’t know for sure whether it killed my two mets until later this year when I have a P.E.T. scan. An odd form of therapy. You can’t feel it and you can’t tell if it worked until sometime after. Glad it’s available though.

Next week we get started on my T3 thoracic vertebrae. This is the one where the possible side effects become dire. Including, but not limited to, paralysis. After several conversations with docs, I decided the risk made sense. There is a chance, albeit a small chance, that if we kill these two mets I could be cured. Wouldn’t that be something?

Not counting on that. But I will extend my time off Erleada and Orgovyx when I go on a drug holiday later this year.

Neil Young for music today.

 

Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health, Shadow Mountain

Kate

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Spring and the Kepler Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Kate, who died two years ago today. Kep. Radiation #2. Jon, a memory. Ruth. Gabe. Both a year older this month. Another bright Mountain morning. Heat. Melting snow. Floods likely. The Colorado River. The Compact. Water and the West. The humid East. 10,000 Lakes and that really big one. Moose. Wolverines. Grizzly Bears. Gray Wolves. Coyotes. Great Horned Owls. Pine Martens. Minx. Mountain Lions. Black Bears.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Life after Kate’s death

 

Two years ago today I got the call from Sarah. She’s gone. Kate was the one. And no longer with me day to day. Of course I hear her. Have you zipped up? Do you trust the doctors? Turn the heat down and it’ll be fine. Add some vinegar. I love you. Flashed, too, with the ASL. I see her presence here in Jerry’s paintings, the few turtles I’ve kept from her collection. The Karastan rugs in the lower level. The Portemerion dishes we bought at the Reject China shop in London. The Stickley furniture we both loved. And most of all in Ruth and Gabe, her living legacies.

No memory, nothing tangible, however, can replace her presence. Her love. Her wisdom. Her wry humor. Her honesty. I miss all those to this day. She was my cooking consultant, offering me the lessons she’d learned as a great cook. We talked thing through together. Made joint decisions. Also had our separate lives. Her sewing room. My loft.

We began living her Jewish life from the first night at CBE. A class on King David. She gifted me the community that now sustains me here. Her IRA, earned over many years of work taking care of children, has given me financial stability. She’s far from absent in my life.

Last night I had a long dream. Kate and I had gone to a conference. I left the conference and went out to deliver a note to a guy that ran a drugstore nearby. It was London. A down at the heels and no straight roads at all London. With people struggling, kids trying to steal things from me. I wandered, hunting for the drug store. Thieves got my phone and my wallet. Got very, very lost. Night began to fall and I couldn’t call. I asked some folks about Randall Street. Oh, it’s very far away. How do I get to it? The directions made no sense to me. Then I woke up.

 

Yesterday, lying on the thin metal bed of the Cyberknife treatment room, I looked up at the rich wooden slats above me. The Cyberknife whirred and danced around delivering radiation according to the medical physicist’s plan.

I had asked for Southern Gospel Revival, a band, but I guess Kim only heard gospel. Oddly the second tune that came up was He Touched Me. Written by the Gaithers. My old high school French and English teachers. Put me in an odd, nostalgic place.

That transformed into a moment of existential aloneness. The Cyberknife clicking its way into different positions. Oh, I realized. This is a matter of life and death. And I’m in here alone on the altar because no one else can see the face of this modern God and live.

The moment passed. But in that moment I felt the truth of our essential isolation, limited to experiences mediated through our senses. Did not feel bad. Just real.

 

Friends, Health, Hermitage, Judaism, Politics, Shadow Mountain, US History, World History

Good News

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Spring and Kepler’s Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: A good colonoscopy report. Tara. That catfish po’boy and beignets. Susan, my nurse. Luke, the doc. Propofol. Little pictures of the inside of my insides. A really long nap afterward. Sleeping in this morning, a bright one well underway at 7 am. Melting snow. Dark Sky communities. 5 in Colorado. The Milky Way. Our Galactic neighborhood. The Spiral Arm. Our street. The James Webb. Science. Community. The Humanities. A sad time.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: That Threshold, becoming more clear

 

Small polyp. Benign, Evans said. But. Sent to pathology anyhow. That propofol. A white solution injected into my iv. I watched as the fluid went in and woke up later back in the same small curtained off area I had left for the exam room. In between Evans had pumped CO2 in my intestines and run a scope up them looking for cancer. None. Good news. Also. You’ve graduated. No more colonoscopies. Yay! But. Can I still do the prep every once in a while, just for fun?

When I did wake up, I wanted to go back to sleep. I felt so good. So good. I go back to sleep. Charlie, are you ready? Huh? No, not yet. A bit more time went by. Charlie! Are you ready? Oh, uh, yeah. Getting up now. (I wasn’t.) Charlie. A frustrated gal. Ok, ok. Swing your legs over the edge of the bed. Ok, ok. How do you feel? Dizzy. Sleepy. But. I’ll get dressed. I promise. And so I did.

Tara, who took me, smiled when I came out. She took me to Nono’s and bought me a catfish po’boy and two beignets. Then home. A sweet woman and important in my life. I was at her house for a seder last week.

We discussed the history of Christianity. A bit fuzzy if your life orientation is Jewish. Also parenting. Jon, Vincent, Sofia. And, just. Life. You know.

Back home I ate my sandwich and the beignets. Watched TV. Took a three hour nap.

 

Now that Doug has finished, I can begin making decisions about where to put my art. Going to take my time. Not rush. Maybe get in some work on the loft, too. Clear off my art table. Maybe reshelve some books. Move files downstairs to the home office. Have Ana clean it when I get done. When I get the art figured out, I’ll get Vince to come over and hang everything.

I have a list of property management chores for him and as soon as it warms up I’ll get him started on those.

 

My journey into the dark and confusing reality of our current political situation continues. Why Liberalism Failed will help me crystallize my understanding. Without getting too far into Deneen’s argument right now I will say that he’s coming at liberalism as a political philosophy and not using the term as we do in the U.S. for party politics. In his broader argument most U.S. conservatives are liberals, too. That is, both parties (bracketing Trumpists and the new Far Right) support free enterprise, science as a way to gain dominion over nature, the autonomous individual, and government that derives its authority from the consent of those individuals.