Spring and Kate’s Yahrzeit Moon
Monday gratefuls: Diane coming today. Joe and Seoah tomorrow. Party at Brooke’s Tavern on Thursday for Gabe’s 14th. Falling into a new way of being. Like a Mountain Stream flowing toward the Ocean. Life knows the way. Cool night last night. Good sleeping. Kep’s Hachiko behaviors for Rigel. House cleaning today. Including the loft. The Ancient Brothers. My true wealth. Ode on the road. Travel. Taipei. The National Palace Museum. This Fall.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Matt Rose’s-Philosopher’s of the Far Right.
It’s happening. Life beginning to realign, take on a new cast, a new way. Reading more now. Science fiction. Political analysis. Philosophy. Jewish material: mussar, parshas and parsha commentary. Heschel’s little book, Sabbath.
Preparing to add topics to my writing from fields where I have expertise. Or, at least experience. Art. Philosophy. Celtic matters. Asia. Ovid. Religion. Politics. Gardening. Bees. Grief. The 60s. Friendship. Men. Aging. Kabbalah and mussar. Not sure what form this writing will take. Maybe here on Ancientrails, maybe a second website, maybe essays.
And travel. Ordered the Insight city guide for Taipei. Found websites for the National Palace Museum, started poking around in the collection on line. Planning a trip there in the fall, maybe around Joseph’s birthday. Denver-Taipei-Hickam AFB-Denver. Also a trip in the summer for Seoah’s birthday on July 4th. Will be this Yankee Noodle Dandy’s first birthday as a US citizen.
After the family leaves this week I plan to get out on some short Colorado trips. 3 or 4 days. See some of this amazing state. Buddy Tom wants a return visit to Durango now that the train’s running. Sounds good to me.
Still feeling lighter. Less weighed down by sadness. I’m not Zhuangzi banging on pots and pans quite yet, but I’m getting there.
Art. God, how I miss it in my life. Having the Walker and the MIA close by fed me in ways I’ve only realized in their absence. Jon’s printing has got me in touch with working artists here in the Denver metro. A bit. But the Denver Art museum is a disappointment every time I go. Not that it’s so bad, but that I had it so good in Minneapolis.
Maybe I’ll give other ways of working with art another chance. Virtual museum tours. Reading the Grove Dictionary. Painting myself. Sumi-e. Doing the 1st Friday nights on Santa Fe now that Covid has become less of an issue. I don’t know. It’s a hole in my heart.
My favorite memories of the MIA were the weekly docent lectures on Mondays. The lectures were often by art historians or curators. Stimulating. I have two fat journal books filled with notes from them. Aha. A resource for writing, come to think of it.
Even those were not the best part however. On Monday’s the Museum had no visitors. Closed. Cleaning crews were out on their rotations. Curators might be installing new shows, but otherwise no one else was there. We could wander the galleries as long as we wanted with no interference. Stay with the Lucretia. The Song dynasty landscapes. Song ceramics. The Japanese sumi-e. That Van Gogh of the olive trees. The Rodin. The disturbing Bacon. Goya’s tender painting of Dr. Arrieta.
It was a spiritual time. Meditative. Contemplative. Precious. I miss it.
Breakfast now then workout.