Spring Bloodroot Moon
The Woolly Mammoths met tonight at the Red Stag. Stefan, Lonnie, Bill, Scott, Frank, Warren, Mark, Tom and me. We talked of grandkids and blood sugar levels, the first days of retirement and the career of Teddy Roosevelt.
Some time ago I learned that these kind of gatherings are therapeutic in and of themselves. By that I mean there is no particular therapeutic strategy in play save the most ancient one of a gathering of friends, yet that one, the ancientrail of friendship in a group, has curative powers. My shoulder feels better. I have a smile lurking just around the corner of my mouth.
Here we are seen by each other. Our deep existence comes with us, no need for the chit-chat and polite conversation of less intimate gatherings. The who that I am within my own container and the who that I am in the outer world come the closest to congruence at Woolly meetings, a blessed way of being exceeded only in my relationship with Kate.
Now over 25 years of being together. Then, in the second phase of work and nuclear family, now mostly in the third phase. What will we be to each other as this life change gradually envelopes us all? We suspect it will be more than it has been up to this point and up to this point it’s been very good.
