Monthly Archives: December 2025

Writing

We Made It Up

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Yule-New Year’s Eve and the Moon of New Beginnings

New Year’s Eve gratefuls: Another year of life. Living in the third millennium. The Jang visit. Tom’s visits. Seeing the Ancient Brother’s each week. Paul, Tom, Diane. Shadow. CBE. Shadow Mountain Home. Artemis. Lodgepoles and Aspen. A Mountain Fall. Nerve ablation. Care for prostate cancer. Ruth finishing her freshman year and beginning her sophomore year. Gabe becoming a senior in high school. Commander Joe. Mary down under. Mark the old Saudi hand. Each Snowflake, Rain Drop, photon of Sunlight that came to Shadow Mountain. Each Blade of Grass, each Leaf of Ground Cover. The Mule Deer and Elk. The Black Bears and Mountain Lions. The Squirrels: Fox, Aberts, and Pine. Chipmunks. Voles. Magpies. Ravens. Crows. Robins. Blue Jays. Canada Jays. Woodpeckers like Flickers and Hairy and Downy. Each Rock of each Mountain. Each Mountain like Shadow, Black, Conifer, Berman, Berrigan. Each Mountain Stream like Maxwell Creek, Blue Creek, North Turkey Creek, Bear Creek. Conifer, Evergreen, Pine, Bailey. And our poor benighted government ravaged by fear, greed, and lust.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Each day of 2025

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei    Shadow, my Wu Wei mistress

Week Kavannah:  Gevurah   strength, discipline

Creating Space: “Gevurah is the strength to create space and to hold space… it’s what helps us nurture our passions.” — Renee Fishman

Tarot: Doing a Celtic Cross spread for the New Year

One brief shining: The pregnant Mule Doe or Elk Cow will not celebrate a new year since time flows for them in seasons of plenty and seasons when food hides from them; the Mountain Streams know only flow or freeze, the Aspens gave up their leaves as they do, while the Lodgepoles did not; the Mountains stay steady, tall, varied while losing, slowly, their essence to Water, Wind, and Fire.

Time divided into seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, years, centuries, millennia, eras, epochs. A mental construct made by us bipedals who make a category mistake, the fallacy of misplaced concreteness, and imagine those divisions to be real. They are not.

No December. No New Year. Except for our need to name what we experience as the passage of time. Oh, by now, we do not question it. I mean the ball will drop in Time’s Square after all. The calendars of 2025 will go in the dust bin, while new planners, calendars, charts pretend the days have names and the months, too.

Yet you and I know the truth, don’t we? We exist for a moment, a mayfly moment. Life begins, then ends. Stars are born and then die. Planets whirl around them until they don’t. All this fussing and mussing around what happens in a life, wasted effort.

We blink on, we blink off. If we’re lucky, we experience other constructs like love and justice and joy and grief and despair, experiencing them all among others sharing this wondrous, inexplicable momentum gifted to us.

What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

General

Under the Moon of New Beginnings

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Yule and the Moon of New Beginnings

Tuesday gratefuls: Snow. Ruth at A-Basin. Gabe working puzzles. Shadow away. Goya. El Greco. Velasquez. Picasso. Pissarro. Monet. Rodin. Renoir. Cezanne. Toulose-Lautrec. Poussin. Van Gogh. Rembrandt. Holbein. Durer. Bosch.  Wyeth. Hopper. Bierstadt. Pollock. Rothko. O’Keefe. Turner. Waterhouse. Giotto. Michelangelo. Da Vinci. Botticelli.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Artists

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei    Shadow, my Wu Wei mistress

Week Kavannah:  Gevurah   strength, discipline

Creating Space: “Gevurah is the strength to create space and to hold space… it’s what helps us nurture our passions.” — Renee Fishman

Tarot: Doing a Celtic Cross spread for the New Year

One brief shining: This room resounds with silence, deafens me with its insistent beat of absence, Shadow away, yes, but also Shadow not here, no rubber tires thrown in the air, no food crunching, no water lapping, no downward Dog, no dark brown eyes gazing at mine, no hugs. Glad she returns on Saturday.

 

Dog journal: Nathan starts on the Dog run tomorrow. The igloo Dog house sits in its cardboard box from Chewy. The pheromones are in the mail. Doggy puzzles, tires, rubber donuts, her lobster and other favorite toys await her not so gentle chewing. Shadow’s coming home.

I enjoyed the time without her, after I finished grieving. I didn’t have to worry about her, get home faster to take care of her. No sleepless nights while she roamed outside in the cold.

Yes. I enjoyed all that. I also missed her smile, her greetings, her affection, her body curled up nose to tail beside my pillow at night. Her puppy joy at chewing, learning new tricks. Seeing the world through her eyes.

With her new learning, the Dog run, the igloo Dog house with its heater, the prozac and the pheromones, our time together will lose the edge of despair she occasioned in me from time to time. That I will not miss.

The Moon of New Beginnings: This new year, this secular new year, I plan to usher in a bit differently than the past 78.

First, I will do a Celtic Cross spread, asking the question: How can I live my best life in 2026?  I’ll report back on what I discover.

Second, I will choose a year kavannah, an intention for the year at least partly based on what I learn.

Third, I will set up this computer to make my review of news sources easy to access. This will entail creating tab groups in Chrome, finding a permanent spot for my political books, and better learning how to use Substack. It will also mean creating scheduled time for this work on a daily, weekly, monthly basis.

Fourth. I will create a new novel project in Scrivener and continue in depth research for the revised Superior Wolf novel. More group tabs, more reading. And, time for this in my schedule.

Fifth. Shadow and I will settle into yet another new phase of our life together, one, I hope, less fraught for both of us.

 

Ancient Brothers, Cooking, Memories, Men, Minnesota, Myth and Story

Santas

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Yule and the Moon of New Beginnings

Monday gratefuls: Cold Hafar. Mark invigilating. Cold night, good sleeping. Your favorite place. Mine is right here on Shadow Mountain. Ruth, skiing A-Basin. Gabe sorting through Jon’s art. Shadow’s last week in boarding school. Sue Bradshaw. Ana. Sheetpan meals. One of my own. Working out again. The Hummingbird.

Sparks of Joy and Awe:

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei    Shadow, my Wu Wei mistress

Week Kavannah:  Gevurah   strength, discipline

Creating Space: “Gevurah is the strength to create space and to hold space… it’s what helps us nurture our passions.” — Renee Fishman

Becoming a metaPhysician

One brief shining: Cutup the Spring Onions, added brightly colored strips of Bell Peppers, some Garlic, Olive Oil, Salt, Pepper, stirred them together to coat everything, all spaced evenly in one of my Nordicware quarter sheetpans, baked at 425 for ten minutes, then put Andouille and Italian sausages on top of them and baked 30 minutes more and soon I had at least five meals ready.

 

Cooking: Beginning to understand how to build my own sheetpan meals. Their virtue lies in their short prep, ability to accommodate diverse ingredients, ease of cooking, and limited cleanup. Just the sheetpan and whatever prep left over.

Once finished, I eat one meal right away, then portion out the rest in containers, pop them in the fridge, and I have my own meal service. Today I’m making Salmon fillets with baby potatoes and perhaps broccoli florets.

The nerve ablation has removed my back pain on my left side, so I can stand longer while prepping and cooking.

Still weak though, stamina sucks. I wanted to add sauerkraut to the sausage meal, but I’m too weak to open the f*!#&ing jar. Same with the Sour Cherry preserves I wanted to put on my toast. Geez. My modest goal is to get back enough grip strength to manage these simple tasks. I’m working on it.

Glad to be back in the kitchen, cooking for myself. I prefer my own food and the nerve ablation plus my new resistance work regimen enables me to get back at it.

 

Santa: Ancient Brother Mark told a great Santa story yesterday morning. Worth sharing.

When he lived in Marine on St Croix, Mark contacted a Santa to come for a pre-Christmas gathering at his house. Christopher was young, 3 or 4, and Mark invited a few other families with young kids. It was a Christmas party and the children had not been told Santa was coming.

After the party was underway, a pickup truck pulled up in the driveway and a man with a real great white beard got out, came around to the backdoor, and walked in, saying nothing. The kids stared.

Still saying nothing he went over to the fireplace and shined a flashlight up the fireplace chimney, checked the damper by opening and closing it.

“I’m one of the Santa’s.” he told the by now confused and wondering kids. “We have to go out and check chimneys to be sure Santa can get down them.” He went on to explain that there were many, many Santa’s. “Making Christmas happen is a big, big job.”

Mark and his friends tried to pay him, but he refused the money. “Don’t blow it for me, man. It’s for the kids.”

Commentary on Religion, Judaism

A Bonus Post from Rabbi Rami Shapiro

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I’m going to replace my New Year’s resolutions with the Five Remembrances from the Upajjhatthana Sutta (“Subjects for Contemplation”).

The Upajjhatthana Sutta is also known as the Abhiṇhapaccavekkhitabbaṭhānasutta. I mention this only in case you need to impress people at a New Year’s Eve party. Delivered orally some 2500 years ago and written down in Pali around 29 BCE, the Upajjhatthana Sutta is famous for its teaching of the Five Remembrances:

  1. It is my nature to grow old. There’s no escaping growing old.
  2. It is my nature to fall ill. There’s no escaping illness.
  3. It is my nature to die. There’s no escaping death.
  4. Everything and everyone I cherish shares this same impermanence. There’s no escaping my being separated from them.
  5. Thoughts and feelings are beyond my willful control. My actions alone belong to me. There’s no escaping the consequences of my actions.

These Five Remembrances aren’t resolutions; they are facts. You don’t have to accept them any more than you have to accept gravity. They are simply what is so.

Memorizing and reflecting on the Five Remembrances is said to deepen your appreciation of life and your compassion for the living. In my experience, it also eliminates the haunting question “Why Me?” When I remember that everyone suffers, there is no need to ask why I’m suffering. Not distracting myself with the story “Why Me?” allows me to address the problem at hand more creatively.

If the Buddha were a Jew, I imagine he would have ended each of the Five Remembrances with the Hebrew word titmoded: deal with it. There’s no escaping growing old—deal with it. There’s no avoiding illness—deal with it. There’s no escaping death—deal with it. There’s no escaping impermanence—deal with it. There’s no escaping the consequences of my actions—deal with it.

Dogs, Far Right, Friends, Politics, Shadow Mountain

A Very Doggy Shabbat

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Yule and the Moon of New Beginnings

Sunday gratefuls: Shadow returned. For an hour. Nathan and his journey. The Dog run. The igloo Dog house. Natalie. The season of Yule. Veronica in Brooklyn. Mary down under. Mark in Hafar. Joe in Korea. Diane in San Francisco. Shadow Mountain. The Twin Cities. Robbinston, Maine. Evergreen. Denver.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Shadow, my sweet girl

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei    Shadow, my Wu Wei mistress

Week Kavannah:  Gevurah   strength, discipline

In your daily life, practicing Gevurah might mean:
  • Setting Boundaries: Knowing when to say no to preserve your energy or integrity.
  • Ethical Discernment: Evaluating situations clearly rather than acting on blind impulse.
  • Discipline: Committing to a path and having the strength to stay on it, even when it is difficult. 

Becoming a metaPhysician

One brief shining: A very Doggy shabbat with Nathan coming by to make final measurements for the Dog run, talking with him about Montana and Colorado Mountain Dogs as Natalie showed up with boarding school girl, all wiggles and wags and kisses, happy to be in her own home with her Dad.

 

Dog journal: Shadow came home for a visit. Natalie knocked on the door and came in with Shadow on her yellow leash. Shadow barked at Nathan, turned to me, then went behind Natalie. Overwhelmed. She soon settled down and went outside, happy to be in her yard. Not too long after she came in after a brief hesitation and got her cookie.

As Natalie and I talked, Shadow, a bit tentatively at first, came over to me, then jumped up with her front legs on my lap, wagging her tail, smiling as we hugged. Lots of kisses. That felt so good.

She’s only on the doggy prozac now. Her reactivity, much diminished. Her personality, intact. A good result.

She comes home for good a week from yesterday. The Dog run will mean a less spacious yard for her until she reliably crosses the threshold. Could be a while.

Natalie wants me to walk her away from the house. I’ll probably take her to Flying J. I can walk a bit, walking her will be good for me, too. She allows the leash to be put on now, though she still doesn’t like it. However, after the leash is on, she’s comfortable with it.

Also going to try, at Natalie’s suggestion, Dog pheromones diffused through a plug-in diffuser. These pheromones replicate the ones Bitches express while nursing, the reason Puppies become “milk drunk” and often sleep after feeding. Natalie has been using them with her dogs and has found they do have a calming effect.

What a long, strange trip it’s been.

 

Just a minute: As my knowledge of the alt-right has increased, I’m beginning to see potential fault lines in the MAGA movement itself and among those few remaining Republicans of the old G.O.P.

The most commented upon fault line lies along the America First pledge and Trump’s promise of a laser focus on affordability: prices at the pump, grocery receipts, and mortgage interest rates.

As he’s gotten entangled in Ukraine, Israel, Iran, and now Nigeria, and as he’s sought peace making merit badges in pursuit of a Nobel peace prize, his MAGA base feels he’s abandoned his efforts on affordability.

Fourth Phase, Health, Holidays, Writing

Habits Old and New

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Yule and the Moon of New Beginnings

Shabbat gratefuls: Snow. Shadow here for a visit. Noon. Vincent and Julia home  for the holidays. Tara. The sixties. The anti-war movement. In loco parentis. Student’s rights. Civil rights. Philosophy. Anthropology. My 1950’s Chevy Panel Truck. Ball State. Wabash. Anti-draft movement. Second wave feminism. Judy. Fox River Paper. Appleton, Wisconsin

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Creole Food

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei    Shadow, my Wu Wei mistress

Week Kavannah:  Gevurah   strength, discipline

In your daily life, practicing Gevurah might mean:
  • Setting Boundaries: Knowing when to say no to preserve your energy or integrity.
  • Ethical Discernment: Evaluating situations clearly rather than acting on blind impulse.
  • Discipline: Committing to a path and having the strength to stay on it, even when it is difficult. 

Becoming a metaPhysician

One brief shining: The deafening sound of silverware on porcelain, the normal conversations in a full restaurant, the kitchen with waiters coming and going overwhelm my hearing aid, placing me outside even the table where Joanne, Alan, Cheri talk to Josh, the happy Hummingbird chef, while I sit there smiling and nodding, the fool on the hill.

During the Moon of New Beginnings I plan to recapture old habits and pick up one new one. I have already begun resistance work as my primary workout. Leaving out cardio, at least for now. I have a modest, but important to me, goal. Opening the wrapping on a protein bar with ease. Hey, I said it was modest.

I will also continue Ancientrails, as if I could stop at this point after almost twenty-one years of regular morning writing. I hope to add a rewrite/revision of Superior Wolf to my day. My focus on the kavannah of gevurah includes setting aside time for this writing project.

The new habit I want to add? I have been active in and read about politics since my teenage years in Indiana. That reading has included newspapers, magazines, books, and websites. I mostly read to give shape and reason to action. With no gevurah, no discipline however.

Like most folks I’d look at a front page and read what struck me. Same with a new issue of a magazine or the offerings on a website. Part of the new habit involves adding gevurah to my reading about politics. Chatgpt and I have developed a beginning plan for daily, weekly, and monthly reading on specific topics important to me and, I believe, others.

Those topics are: Christian Nationalism, New Apostolic Reformation, granola conservatives, white supremacy, MAGA, post-MAGA far right politics, anti-Semitism, democratic socialism, strategy within democratic socialism and the Democratic party for winning elections, state and city level politics expressive of any of the above.

Disciplined reading and thinking about these topics will inform columns commenting on what I’ve learned and how I see that learning affecting both the present political moment and movement toward a more just, compassionate, and loving world.

I will probably write these columns in Substack where I already have a spot which I’ve hardly used.

 

Humanities, Literature, Myth and Story, Original Relation, Our Land and Home

Riders on the Storm

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Yule and the Moon of New Beginnings

Boxing day gratefuls: Shadow, my sweet girl. Feeling no pain. Global warming. Climate change. Chatgpt. Snow in the forecast. Sorta. Football. How bout those Broncos? And, those Vikings. Joe. Seoah. Murdoch. Ruth and Gabe at Christmas dinner with Jon’s friends. Gabe looking through his dad’s art. Joanne and Alan today at the Hummingbird. Garlic in winter. Yule. Shema. Chesed. Yirah.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Resistance work

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei    Shadow, my Wu Wei mistress

Week Kavannah:  Yirah.    Radical amazement, awe.

Becoming a metaPhysician

One brief shining: On Christmas day I heard the heralds sing, Vikings in yet another takeaway from the Lions, that Viking’s running back leaped and got the ball over the pylon, touchdown, Bo Nix scrambles for another first down, and Bronco’s keep the ball moving downfield, proving that Christmas day did send good cheer to me, and to all Viking’s and Bronco’s fans, a happy New Year!

 

Riders on the storm. Into this world we’re thrown. Jim Morrison, who died too young, knew his Heidegger. Thrownness is a Heideggerian idea that seems obvious once you understand it, yet has profound implications for understanding anyone’s life purpose.

Thrownness means birth locates you not only in a family and a place, significant enough, but also in an era, a moment in time neither in the past nor in the future, but in what becomes for you, as long as you live, your time. Sorta obvious, right?

Its profundity comes from this: Even though I may want very much to be a Druid in the peak era of Celtic civilization, I can’t. The past. Even though I may want to live in an era without Trump, I can’t. We share this time. Damn it. Even though I may want to live in a time long after this one. I can’t. The future.

Thrownness positions us where we are, with this body and its gifts, its flaws, these relatives and friends with their gifts and flaws. With the joys and possibilities available through computers, electric cars, zoom calls, good medicine, a prosperous nation. But also within a time straining to solve civilizational problems through old, time cursed solutions like oligarchy, fascism, and bigotry.

We cannot be anywhere else, with any other world around us. We must, therefore, act within this one. And, we must act as the person we are, not one we wish we might magically become.

In case this is all too abstruse, and it probably is, let me anchor the idea in my life. I was thrown into post-WW II America with two veterans of that war as parents. It was a time when polio still raged among the young. It caught up with me. I grew up in a small Indiana town with displaced hillbillie’s kids as my classmates and friends. My mother died when I was 17, almost out of high school.

Let’s stop there. I had no choice about any of these things. They were the realities of my life in the same way being raised as a  Masai warrior’s child of the same era was theirs. My development physically, emotionally, intellectually, had to have these influences.

In other words who I am today at 78, sitting on Shadow Mountain, remains anchored in how I chose to respond to those realities. Could not have been otherwise. Though my choices could have, potentially, been different, they were the ones I made and I cannot go back and remake them.

As this 21st century year comes to a close, give some thought to the world into which you were thrown. It is your only world, for this lifetime, and only you can offer yourself to it as healer, servant, bringer of justice and compassion, artist or engineer.

Family, Health

Christmas Edition

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Yule and the Moon of New Beginnings

Christmas gratefuls: Children, all the children. Christmas Trees. Wassail bowls. Yule logs. Mistletoe. Holly and Ivy. The whole pageant of pagan appropriations. Merry Christmas, everyone. Snow. Ice. Wherefore art thou? Shadow of the morning. All those who are alone, bereft, unloved on this day in particular. Friends and family. Wild Neighbors and the Rocky Mountains.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Tara, Marilyn and Irv

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei    Shadow, my Wu Wei mistress

Week Kavannah:  Yirah.    Radical amazement, awe.

Becoming a metaPhysician

One brief shining: Tara brings all black, curly haired puppy Eleanor and all white, curly haired Kingsley; they run down the stairs yin and yang on four legs, out the back door and into doggy freedom, while they play Tara and I talk. Humans, eh?

A Christmas edition of Ancientrails. Nostalgia carries me into Christmas, any Christian embers long extinguished. The pagan accretions, the family and friends celebrating. Yes. The incarnation. No.

Jacquie Lawson, the e-card company, puts out a fun animated Advent calendar and I buy one each year. It’s heavy on traditional Christmas themes like Snow, sledding, Santa, hot chocolate, with a soupcon of baby Jesus. This year’s version had an English village setting with the village gaining buildings as the days progressed. A sweet immersion in the parts of Christmas that still matter to me. Very well done.

Yule makes more sense to me with its Evergreen Trees, Holly, and Ivy. Its emphasis on Fire as the human imitation of Great Sol. Wassailing, feasting, singing songs. Celebrating the essential and inextricable relationship between humans and their parents: Mother Earth and Great Sol.

So throw that Yule log on the Fire, drink from a flagon made of Elk Horn, listen to the lute and the zither, and sing the night away into the coming of the light. You pagan you.

 

In saying my piece about the difficult realms of my inner world I put them out there, on the page, away from the clanging cauldron of my doubts. They no longer have the power of hidden things. Does not make them dissolve, no.

Yet. Their power diminishes in the air. Looking back to yesterday’s post, I can see them as part of my larger whole, and only part. That alone puts them in conversation with the strength of my will, with the love of friends and family, with  the sacred energy of my nephesh which joins  my Self to the collective unconscious. In that broader, richer context the self-insulting and self-negating thoughts have to contend with years of reflection and self-understanding. Their obscurantism evaporates, sending them back to their subterranean homes in Kubla Khan’s caverns measureless to man (sic).

Also, when they’re out folks can raise them with me. Diane helped me today with two stuck places: exercise. I committed to resistance work only for the next few weeks. Being weak really bugs me. She also helped me see that reading and writing can indeed be my purpose now. Thanks, cuz.

 

Feelings, Fourth Phase

Fallacies

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Yule and the Moon of New Beginnings

Wednesday gratefuls: Luke and Leo. Snowpack Pizzeria. Safeway pickup. Sheetpan meals. Climate change. Being a Jew, a son of Avram and Sarai. The Shema. The Far Right. Democratic socialism. The whole, wide world. Everywhere and everyone. The blessing and grace of the one. This darkness. This light.  Purpose. Meaning. Love. Joy. Compassion. Angst.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Ninth Wave

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei    Shadow, my Wu Wei mistress

Week Kavannah:  Yirah.    Radical amazement, awe.

“Don’t ask yourself what the world needs.  Ask yourself what makes you come alive, and go do that because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”  ― Howard Thurman

Becoming a metaPhysician

One brief shining: Natalie sent a video of Shadow crossing her threshold with no hesitation, tail up, ready to sit with the other dogs for her come in the house treat, then running upstairs with the other four, headed off to bed, in her third week away from home, away from me. An ache in my heart.

*The Ninth Wave” by Ivan Aivazovsky
Year 1850

I suppose most of us, if we felt so inclined, could document the thousand doubts our mind is heir to. I know that.  I’ve shared mine the last couple of days. So here’s another vantage point, a perspectival shift.

The philosopher Alfred North Whitehead warns us against what he calls fallacies of misplaced concreteness. That is, taking an idea and removing it from its context as if it were a thing sui generis. For example, imagining that there is such a thing as intelligence, justice, love instead of understanding that they are all part of a process of ongoing life, embedded in persons and situations and never existing in any other sense.

So when I place my finger on the doubts, the fears, the weariness and conclude from that I am melancholic or even depressed, I commit just such a fallacy. Yes, those doubts, fears, and weariness are part of me, yes. The key word in that sentence being part. Over the last couple of days I’ve obscured-through a fallacy of misplaced concreteness-my whole self. Imagining that the map I’ve written with those words is the true territory of my soul.

It is not. As Whitman wrote, I am many, I contain multitudes. I am no more explained by doubts and fears than I am by my knowledge and compassion. Probably less so. Why? Because the doubts and fears are more like flotsam and jetsam in the ocean of my Self. Sometimes certain currents swirl around, collect them, force them to the shore, to consciousness.

Oh, yes, I am these, too. No, wait. They are all I am. I cannot see beyond them. Never ever true.

Always a part of larger, more complex and wonderful whole. Not to be ignored, not to be pushed away in fear or pushed down in frustration, but to be felt and known and embraced and then put back out to sea, their work done. For now.

Not quite ready to stop listening to and learning from my doubts, my I can’ts. But I will be. Soon, I hope.

*Ninth Wave (Russian: Девятый вал, Dyevyatiy val) is an 1850 painting by Russian marine painter Ivan Aivazovsky. It is his best-known work.[1][2]

The title refers to an old sailing expression referring to a wave of incredible size that comes after a succession of incrementally larger waves.[3]

It depicts a sea after a night storm and people facing death attempting to save themselves by clinging to debris from a wrecked ship.   Wikipedia

 

*

Feelings, Fourth Phase

I Can’t Quite

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Yule and the Moon of New Beginnings

Tuesday gratefuls: Ruth, who sees me. Joe coming in January. Shadow in her third week of boarding school. Going to public spaces. That old debble melancholy. Deep darkness, nurturing. Now more light, let the growing season show its first tiny shoots. The dance of light and dark. Shadows. Shadow Mountain.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Self

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei    Shadow, my Wu Wei mistress

Week Kavannah:  Yirah.    Radical amazement, awe.

“Don’t ask yourself what the world needs.  Ask yourself what makes you come alive, and go do that because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”  ― Howard Thurman

Becoming a metaPhysician

One brief shining: Can you feel the trembling heart of children, ones who await not gifts but special dispensations from the holy Santa Claus who once a year accomplishes the miraculous, Reindeer powered sleigh landing on rooftops, finding a way in even to non-chiminied homes, eating millions of cookies and drinking gallons of milk, knowing what each child’s heart needs, and bringing a present that speaks love and caring.

 

And so. I’ve mostly said it out loud. I can feel, often feel, boxed in by my choices, living a tentative life with medicine offering temporary balms, welcome, yet always with the awareness that this drug, that ablation, will fail.

Chips away at my sense of self, my fantasy of permanence. I feel myself too often sliding into no, I can’t, rather than my usual, from a life I remember well, I can. I can’t travel. I can’t take care of this dog. I can’t engage large tasks. I can’t stand long enough to cook. I can’t.

When I can’t takes over, the self does not lose agency, it relinquishes it. No wonder sadness follows. What a pitiful excuse for a human being. Who’s old enough to know better.

Ah, as Shakespeare wrote, there’s the rub. I do know better. But knowing is a weak cousin to action and an even more distant relative to healing a wounded heart. From this well, I look up and see others handling their lives, doing this and that, keeping their life going while I languish. The one who can’t.

I know. For sure and certain.  This view flows from a crippled heart. And yet, I can’t seem to find that Archimedean lever to move my inner world.

It’s not for lack of love. Not at all. Friends and family, yes. Who see me. Care for me. It’s not for lack of self knowledge gained the hard way over years of analysis and honest self-reflection.

Then, what is it? I think, sometimes, that I should sell the house, move into a condo or an apartment, or assisted living where the burdens I feel in this independent, introverted life I lead would fall away. Then I remember AA, wherever you go, there you are. No to geographic escape.

I need to figure this out living in this place I love, with the Dog and human family I love, with my friends, with my wild neighbors both of whom I love. With Mother Earth, from her I  came and to her I will return.