Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Thursday gratefuls: Artemis in orbit. High orbit. Space dreams. The Moon. The far side of the Moon. Back at it after 53 years

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe:  Retina photographs

 

 

Kavannah: Wonder. Malchut.  Shadow

Tarot: Two of Arrows, Judgement. Randomization today. Decisions will follow.

One brief shining: I lost my phone on Sunday. Hunted in the house, at the restaurant where Luke and I had lunch. No teléfono. Peculiar feelings. Relief. Concern. Has anyone tried to contact me?

Losing your phone seems impossible. Unless you drop it out of a moving vehicle. We cradle and carry our personal computers. With care. Not unusual to hear someone say: My whole life is on that phone.

Cute photographs of Shadow. Alan’s contact info.  A quick way to see if anyone responded to my e-mail about the phone.

When we sit down, the phone comes out. Oh, Ruth texted me. Tom sent out another poem.

How could I leave something that intimate, that personal behind? Maybe it was the fatigue from wearing the neck brace. Maybe that I didn’t wear a hat. I almost always wear a baseball cap. At a restaurant I’ll put my hat down, my phone inside it.

If I knew where I lost it, it wouldn’t be lost.

This would not have been a thing in high school, college, seminary. Or even through my fifteen years in the ministry. Ubiquity of the sort we have today? Not until the early 2000’s.

At my age and my level of infirmity, I’m inclined to forgive myself. Going out has increased in difficulty. Unlike Ruth and Gabe I spent over fifty years without a portable phone. I’m on my side.

Wasn’t always.

What can compare? A car? No match for something I could carry inside it. Television? No. Ironically, no longer bound to home to watch TV. You can watch on your phone.

Lost time. Lost relationships. Lost in the woods. Lost

“Not all who wander are lost.”  JRR Tolkien

In certain Christian communities if you’re lost, you’re going to hell. I’m sure my phone is ok there.

I’ve lost many things. Two marriages. My car in a parking lot. My relationship with my dad. Two wedding rings.

Kate died. Five years ago. In 10 days. Losing her? The most difficult of the last sixty years. I’m following her path. Gradual decline.

Over the last year I’ve lost a lot. I’m weaker. A bit unsteady. My feet don’t always go where I aim them. Opening sealed dog treats. Difficult to impossible.

I’m ok with it.

When you lose something.
Look carefully.
Forgive yourself.