Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health, Politics

Recognize the Good. And, the Bad

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Beltane and the Greenhouse Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Shadow, eater of window cranks. My son and his first week in his new job. Seoah working on the family farm. Guess who’s coming to America: the Jangs! Aug. 1-7. The Morning Service. SPRINT.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Canes

Week Kavannah: Gratitude. Hakarot Hatov. (recognizing the good)    “Who is rich? Those who rejoice in their own portion.” Perkei Avot: 4:1

One brief shining: Days of needed rest after a couple of weeks in this machine, then another, seeing this doctor, then another, driving with a left hip that would rather complain than be helpful, days of leaning into positive news, good news, feeling relief, joy, satisfaction, shabbat for sure, these days of awe.

 

Pain/Cancer coda: In the day after my news I owned a conflation I’d made. A putting together, even though conjectural, of my back and hip pain and my cancer. Natural since my oncologist wanted the MRI to see if I had new cancer in my hips.

However. It also meant that with each twinge of pain from my back and legs a secondary specter emerged. My cancer had spread, gone to the bone, and I was in for a long, slow miserable death. I didn’t believe this. But I couldn’t not believe it either.

I know correlation is not causation, but sometimes, when the pain comes from the same region where my cancer originated, for example, it’s hard to suspend a conclusion, to not skip right ahead to the obvious.

Now that I know this is not the case, thanks to the imaging, I feel much lighter, as if I have life ahead of me rather than endurance and suffering. Facts, contrary to the current political zeitgeist, can set us free.

Thank you for listening over these last few weeks.

 

Just a moment: Crushing Latinos and allies protesting draconian immigration enforcement. Using the National Guard under a law allowing the President to deploy them to quell rebellion.

Here’s a direct quote from an NYT article:

“Mr. Trump’s directive said, “To the extent that protests or acts of violence directly inhibit the execution of the laws, they constitute a form of rebellion against the authority of the Government of the United States.”” NYT

Read that again. If a protest blocks a street, diverts traffic, or should, say, walk on both lanes of a bridge outside Selma, Alabama that can be considered an act of rebellion.

This is not a President enforcing Civil Rights laws; no, this is a President holding the fire hose with Bull O’Connor, standing on the steps of the Alabama capital with George Wallace, holding an axe handle with Lester Maddox.

This is the same as using faux actions against anti-Semitism to punish East Coast Universities.

Orwell called it double-speak. It is real and may be coming to a town or an issue near you.

 

Here’s another quote from the same pages of the NYT: “Southern Baptists plan to vote this week on acting to overturn Obergefell v. Hodges, the Supreme Court ruling that legalized gay marriage 10 years ago this month.” NYT

Jesus Christ. WWJD. Come on. Let’s explore that great commandment: Love your neighbor as you love yourself. Of course, what’s on display here really is a group of folks who cannot love themselves due to all the guilt wanting to take love from people who don’t feel guilty for who they are. Put that in your DEI pipe.

 

 

 

 

Garden, Greenhouse, Health

Good Friday

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Beltane and the Greenhouse Moon

Shabbat gratefuls: Shabbat. Cancer news. SPRINT news. Shadow, more and more. Greenhouse news. Nathan. Natalie. My son. Mary and her balloons. Seoah. Mark in between terms in Al Kharj. The Hajj. Eid. The Akedah. Torah. Talmud Torah. Rain and chilly nights. Ruby with her summer sandals.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: PET Scan

Week Kavannah: Gratitude. Hakarot Hatov. (recognizing the good) “Who is rich? Those who rejoice in their own portion.” Perkei Avot: 4:1

One brief shining: Once in a while, not often, but once in a while, the One pulses through me, my chi dancing a tango with my neshama, the flow of sacred power running from the ayn sof through me to malkhut, lighting up the sefirot on the Tree of Life like bumpers on a pinball machine, a buzz of embracing and being embraced, of being one with, yet also one as myself with the One, and so it is today. Can the congregation say amen?

 

Back pain and cancer: My Friday began in the normal way. A creaky, painful emergence from the one sixtieth of death the rabbi’s call sleep, my wandering neshama returned to its fleshly vessel, Shadow licking my head, chewing on my blanket. Oh, Shadow.

Unsteady on my cane (made in the Ukraine and beautiful) I lurch a bit, get my feet moving. Morning medications. Let Shadow outside, fill her water bowl. Retrieve coffee and mineral water from upstairs.

Flop into the chair. Grab my laptop and begin writing Ancientrails. Finish. Still two hours before my 8:30 call with Taylor, Dr. Buphati’s P.A. Hard to wait. A feeling a bit like Christmas in terms of anticipatory edge though knowing it could be Krampus delivering coal and sticks rather than Santa Claus.

Set out on this tiring journey during my visit with Rich to Buphati almost three weeks ago. After, MRI and PET scan. New PSA. Waiting. A time of uncertainty. Will the MRI show metastatic lesions in my right hip? Will the PET scan show more metastases? Will my worst fears be confirmed, that my pain is not back and hip pain, but cancer turned aggressive, out of control?

8:40. 8:45. No Taylor. A telehealth visit with only a screen assuring me, oddly, that I am in Taylor Taroyasan. I wasn’t.

At 8:46, a nurse. We’re having technical difficulties here. Ah. The scourge of our technological era. The dreaded difficulties.

Then, Taylor. Without her mask since this is zoom, or zoom like.

No lesions on the hip. MRI. PET scan showed no new metastases and the ones from a year ago took up less of the tracer, in a couple of instances a lot less. That means less activity in the cancer cells. After the span of a year! That’s really good news. Hormone therapy may always fail, I’m assured that it does, but not yet.

The problem with my right hip, the MRI revealed, is a tear inside the labrum of my right hip. The labrum is a sort of organic o-ring around the hip socket that gives the ball of the hip a good seal as it turns and twists. Not uncommon. Maybe a quarter of people have some degree of wear and tear on their labrum. Mine’s acting up.

An orthopedic referral. No surgery in my near term future though. Because in the next 4-6 weeks, I’ll have a SPRINT device implanted. While it’s in, for sixty days, no MRIs or surgery. Could give relief up to two years or longer. For my back and hip pain. Wowzer. I’m holding low expectations, but am ready for a good result.

I learned this from Kylie whom I saw after my telehealth visit with Taylor.

For the trifecta:

Greenhouse: Later in the day on Friday I got this e-mail from Nathan:  “Good news! The pavers finally came in this evening. I will plan on starting back in first thing Monday morning and will put in long days and get your greenhouse done ASAP! Thank you for your patience. You will not be disappointed with the finished product.”

All in all. A good Friday.

Dogs, Garden, Great Wheel, Greenhouse, Health, Politics

Godzilla v Mothra

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Beltane and the Greenhouse Moon

Friday gratefuls: Irv, Tom. New Human Consciousness. Halle. Hip and leg pain. Exquisite. Kylie today. Taylor today. Natalie today. Alan today. Shabbat this evening. Shadow, chewer of duvets. Sweet morning girl. Tara. Susan. Diane. Morning darkness.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Information

Week Kavannah: Shleimut. Wholeness and Peacefulness.

One brief shining: Rain and slow delivery of plastic foundation tiles has delayed the construction of the greenhouse, but I’m ok with that since it will be a slow project, maybe flowers more than vegetables this year, not sure what the later planting schedules can yield.

 

Greenhouse: Nathan asked me a week ago if I would prefer plastic foundation tiles, better for water runoff in Spring. Sure, I said. He didn’t know then that the delivery of these tiles would not happen until this evening. He’s very apologetic, going to cut me a break on labor at the end of the project. Things like filling my raised beds with soil. Kind of him

The delayed construction has drained some of my enthusiasm for the project, though I imagine once the construction gets going that will return. Besides, it’s a long haul project. Once it’s up the fun begins.

Next week Nathan will have a helper and he’s done a lot of precutting so the greenhouse will go up fast.

 

Dog journal: During my nap yesterday Shadow jumped up on the bed, lay with her head on my legs, and slept. Such a sweet moment. With her willingness to hug me and get hugged back, her greater ease with the threshold (far from resolved), and her willingness to be on a leash, we’ve moved into new territory.

Of course. While on the bed, she did rip my duvet, allowing goose feathers to escape. Buying cloth tape to fix it. No sense being elaborate since she’ll probably do it again. Gonna buy new bedroom stuff from carpet to bed to nightstand after she finds her maturity.

Shadow has also mastered the stairs to the main level. She’s up there right now while I write on the lower level. Wonder what she’s doing?

 

Health: A significant Friday morning. Taylor, Dr. Buphati’s P.A., (oh, Shadow just came back down) will tell me the results of my MRI and my PET scan. As usual, my anxiety titer hits its peak about now. Do I have many more metastases? Is there cancer in my hip joint? And if so, what happens next?

That’s at 8:30. Then, at 9:40 I see Kylie to get slipstreamed into the medical process again, this time for the SPRINT neurostimulator device implantation. My life would be better if my pain were less.

 

Just a moment: Aw. The Donald and the African-American coming to blows. Elon’s intelligence and his libertarian revulsion toward government bonded with Trump’s Revenge and Chaos tour. Result? Madness.

Now Trump’s willingness to do whatever he wants whenever he wants with no underlying rationale other than personal animus and a narcissistic belief that any thought passing through his mind is big and beautiful has clashed with Musk’s libertarian, tear it all down and don’t let it get back up sensibility. This is a perverted form of ideological logic versus irrationality. Will not end well. For any party affected. Including the U.S.

Dogs, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Mussar, Wild Neighbors

Grading Life on the U curve

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Beltane and the Greenhouse Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Diane. Shadow. On the bed. Ethical concerns about her. Back and leg pain. SPRINT. MRI. PET scan. Kylie. Ruth in Alaska. Gabe reading. Mary in Seoul. Guru in K.L. Mark in Al Kharj. His summer school job. Shadow Mountain Rain. Cool night. Halle. Good at her job.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Natalie

Week Kavannah: Wholeness and Peacefulness. Schleimut. Not in spite of but with pain

One brief shining: Shadow I call not even seeing her Shepherd’s lantern white tipped tail and she comes, full speed, mouth open in a wide smile, her legs barely touching the ground. Good girl.

 

Unrelenting stories of pain and suffering. Not material designed to keep readers coming back. Let’s engage shleimut today and find our wholeness and peace with it, but without focusing on it.

Our lives, all of our lives, experience sine waves of calm, anxiety, gracious acceptance, and tense rejection of circumstances. There is no stable mood. We travel in a bath of feelings, some felt, some repressed, all having their moment to stand with our consciousness, color the terrain.

Natalie says scent adds color to a dog’s world. In the same way feelings add color to our inner lives. Give it snap and rustle. Pop. No such thing as a bad feeling. Only a poor response to it. Also like the weather. No such thing as bad weather. Just inadequate gear.

On the U curve we sink toward middle years of career stress, family complexity, striving, only to rise toward death with acceptance of our limitations, our inability to change the past, a broader understanding of joy, and what constitutes shleimut for us.

A wonderful thing. Good news for the human spirit. Perhaps a long and strong message to all ages.

What is the message? That life’s purpose does not lie at the office. That family can and does heal, provide a backstop. That friends and companion animals matter. That the world is trustworthy. That pain and illness are always temporary.

 

As we learn these messages on our upward journey toward death our end gains context, breadth and depth. We move forward through aging with short intakes of breath as we realize our family loves us. Our friends complete us. That life’s purpose is found in living, not in dogma or ideology. That death is valuable, not awful.

Once we embrace these learnings we can take in the various insults our body suffers and know them for what they are.

 

Fourth Phase, Health

Not the Monk’s Simplicity? Or, is it?

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Beltane and the Greenhouse Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Jamie. Radical roots of religion. Shadow. Rain. Chilly night again. Wind. Natalie. MVP. Hip and back pain. Shirley Waste. Buddy Ode on Youtube. Halle, the traveling physical therapist. A sweet gal. Tara. Ruth in Alaska. The Commander. Seoah. Murdoch. Mary and Mark. Diane.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: PET Scan

Week Kavannah: Wholeness and Peacefulness. Shleimut. Integrating pain into my daily life. Accepting it all and being grateful for it.

One brief shining: Once more into the metal and plastic breach, my son, to see what can’t be seen with the eyes of nature, this time positronic emission tomography enhanced with a radio isotope that binds to prostate cancer cells flowing through my circulatory system as I lay on the moving bed, pushed slowly through the donut, too warm, yet handling it.

 

Cancer and back pain: I know. A steady drumbeat. This pain. That scan. This doc. That one. This last two weeks has been…oh, how do you say it? A bit much.

I’m not alone. Friends seeing docs a lot, too. Cardiologists. Nephrologists. Oncologists. Pain docs. Life in the retired lane replaces work with hospitals, medical clinics. Imaging with and without contrast. Expensive drugs.

Friday morning should reveal the latest. Do I have more metastases? If so where are they? In my hip? Am I qualified now for the SPRINT device? Telehealth.

Current observation. Chronic pain, which most of us will never know, clouds each day, marks a path filled with things, formerly done with ease, rendered literally out of reach.

It reaches into even the quiet places, tires us out, makes us want to live very simply. No unnecessary, triggering movements. No unnecessary upsets. Things like water in a dog’s bowl. Taking the trash out to the street. Standing and cooking. Each one a calculation of desire versus pain. This is not the monk’s simplicity. Or, is it? Maybe the lesson here is paring down life to its necessities. Doing less, with less. Maybe pain has a spiritual lesson about shleimut, wholeness and peacefulness. Or, maybe it’s just pain.

Wore my Los Alamos t-shirt purchased for my 35 sessions of radiation. Danger Radioactive Material with the familiar three yellow hash marks and the circle in the middle. Waited for 50 minutes with the lights turned down low as the 68Ga-PSMA-11 tracer wound its way through my blood system hunting for the PSMA protein.

Laid down. Covered up. Over the next twenty minutes moved slowly through the machine. Palm trees in the ceiling tiles at both openings. Sending me to Hawai’i and my days with my son and Seoah there.

The hour long drive to the PET Scan clinic another exercise in pain management. Singing out loud helps. I don’t look forward to drives of almost any length. Sciatica makes each time in the car a bit of the inquisition with not even its twisted purpose as a rationale.

This has been a difficult couple of weeks. Too much pain. Too much medical scrutiny. Too many unresolved questions.

There have been highlights. Shadow and our hugs, her happiness. Tara driving me to the open-sided MRI. Natalie’s careful, expert work. Nathan’s getting things ready. Rereading the Dresden Files novels. Morning prayers. Rain to dampen the Forests and swell the Creeks.

 

Dogs, Health, Politics, US History

The Shepherd’s Lantern

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Beltane and the Greenhouse Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Morning service. Morning darkness. The bird of dawn. Setting people free. Making firm our steps. Shadow at 4:30 am. Happy. A chilly night. JD, man of ambition. Shepherd’s lantern. Ukraine’s drones. The lives of simple people. Of angry people. Of cautious people. Of wise people.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: White tip of the herding dog’s tail.

Week Kavannah: Wholeness and Peacefulness. Shleimut. Integrating pain into my daily life. Accepting it all and being grateful for it.

One brief shining: Drove down the hill through the Front Range Foothills, geology and orogeny on display, small cliffs of Granite, pink and black Gneiss, made more beautiful by the Rain, Lodgepoles, White Pines, Ponderosas, and Aspens on Mountain sides, Grass greened by the Rains, Hwy 285 cutting its steep decline toward the High Plains which appear beyond the Hogbacks, evidence of an orogeny older than the one that pushed the Rockies up above, both demonstrating the power of continental drift, great sheets of Rock moving; slow, but unrelenting force, enough to remake our world.

 

Back pain and cancer: Last week and this there has been a flurry of activity around these two. P.T. MRIs. Oncology appointment. PET scan today. Another oncology telehealth on Friday am. Pain doc appointment on Friday, too.

Pain doc prepping me for the SPRINT device. Oncologist letting me know the MRI and the PET scan results.

These two are unrelated pathologically; however, they entwine thanks to lower back and leg pain occurring where prostate cancer tends to spread. They also entwine when the back/leg pain chips away at my resilience. Takes work to stay level.

Ready in both instances for whatever comes next.

 

Dog journal: I walked Shadow on a leash yesterday. All was well until the leash snagged a downed Lodgepole branch. Shadow thought the branch had begun to chase her. Natalie had me drop the leash.

Shadow ran inside the house, next to my chair. When pushed, next to my chair is her safe spot. Good to know.

I got Shadow on February 4th, four months ago tomorrow. She’s been a challenge. At times I’ve wondered if I could follow through. Today though I have no doubt. As I wrote earlier, her story and mine will be told together.

The Shepherd’s Lantern. I couldn’t find Shadow in the yard when Natalie came. Then, I spotted Shadow’s tail, held erect, obvious by its white tip. “That’s the Shepherd’s Lantern,” Natalie said, “I only learned this a couple of weeks ago.” Check herding breeds. White tipped tails are common.

 

Just a moment: My friends talk of news diets. Of putting down the podcast. Turning off the TV. Not even reading headlines, much less stories. I sense this is more intention than action.

Why? We’re taught, aren’t we, that staying up with the news is critical for a citizen of a democracy. Civics 101. Yet what to do when the news singes your eyeballs. Boils the blood. Clenches the fist. Engenders feelings of helplessness.

My hunch is that only action can really work. What kind of action? Depends on you. What you’re willing/able to do. However. We cannot abdicate our role, however small it might be. Our history has more years, more elections to play out and we must prepare the way.

 

 

 

Boulder, Colorado, Family, Judaism, Politics, US History, World History

It’s Personal

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Beltane and the Greenhouse Moon

Monday gratefuls: Buphati. MRI results. The Ancient Brothers. Shadow. Water. Food. Natalie. Tom. The Happy Camper. Driving, painful. Ruth in Alaska. Mary in Seoul. Guru in K.L. Me on Shadow Mountain. Great Sol. The bird of morning. BJ. Pammy. Gabe. Family, flung far.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Books

Week Kavannah: Wholeness and Peacefulness. Shleimut. Integrating pain into my daily life.

One brief shining: The greenhouse has more than plants and memories; it will be therapy and prayer, too, an everyday exercise in tactile spirituality, joining with the evolved life of plants in an act of co-creating abundance: Lettuce in a bowl with dark red Brandywine heirloom Tomatoes, rings of Red Onion, a diced orange Nantes Carrot, not yet, no, but soon.

 

Judaism in trouble:

Front page news from Boulder. A fiery assault on demonstrators bringing attention to hostages still held by Hamas. This apparently not Nazi nostalgia, but Palestinian weariness with the long, long war and its murderous execution.

Not only Boulder, but the home of UC-Boulder, Ruth’s university.

You may recall that my conversion was to have taken place in Jerusalem, October 31st if I recall correctly. That pleased me because it married my pagan observance of Samain with my immersion in an ancient mikveh in the holy city.

You do recall, I’m sure, why it didn’t happen. On October 7th, Hamas attacked kibbutzim near the border with Gaza, killing and raping as they went. A horrific act of terror. Really, a brazen pull on the nose-ring of militant Israelis.

For many dark reasons, Israel stepped into the trap Hamas had made. Netanyahu needed to avoid corruption charges. A never-to-be-realized war aim of eliminating Hamas. Frustration with continued anti-semitic activity by Iranian supported actors like Hamas, Hezbollah, and the Houthis. The out of proportion political influence of the Jewish ultra-right in Israel that wants genocide. The perilous location of Israel.

The Israeli Defense Force (IDF) continues to pound Gaza, killing civilians, civilians, because Hamas hides among them. Many (most?) of us who love Israel as a needed safe place for Jews long ago stepped away from support of this “war.”

The immorality of bombing starving women and children. Using up whatever goodwill Israel had accumulated. Being tone deaf to the world’s critique. Bad, sad days for all.

No wonder the anger and frustration has spilled over into the U.S. No wonder, too, that this same anger and frustration has served as fuel for the alt-right with its white supremacist views, its Hitlerian hagiographies, and not only them, but American Muslims, college students who see an asymmetrical war, politicians who want any lever they can find to bring the East Coast elites to heel.

In the same ugly way that testosterone feeds prostate cancer, the war over Gaza feeds hatred and bigotry all over the world. We will all be poorer when it ends.

Boulder is an hour from Shadow Mountain. I’ve been there many times over the last year plus for breakfast or lunch with Ruth. She’s a Jewish student in a time when Jews, again, are persona non grata.

This attack was not something I read about. It’s personal.

 

Commentary on Religion, Dogs, Health, Humanities, Judaism, Kabbalah, Literature, Myth and Story, Politics, Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant., Science, Torah

This Is Not the Way

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Beltane and the Greenhouse Moon

Sunday gratefuls: A day of no-things. Shadow and I outside, drop, walk, stop, drop, turn, walk, drop. Her eagerness. Her five o’clock licking. Sciatica. Morning darkness. The morning service. The Shema. Tara. Ruth, home two days ago, leaving for Alaska today. Gabe, now a senior. Whoa. Mary in Seoul. Seoah, Murdoch. My son. Mark walks to downtown Al Kharj. Shadow Mountain.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: MRI

Week Kavannah: Wholeness and Peacefulness. Shleimut. Integrating pain into my daily life.

One brief shining: Sorry, Marines, pain is not weakness leaving the body, no; but, it is a constant reminder of being alive, of still having a body that can identify itself through the jolt that starts in the hip, gathers intensity around the knee, and on occasion flashes to the foot.

 

Back and cancer: Get MRI results tomorrow. Buphati at 3 pm. On Friday I see Kylie my Army officer retired P.A. for preparation. I have a SPRINT device in my future. The bogo MRI. Checking for cancer and readying me for a pain reduction, elimination procedure. Rare confluence of medical care.

Ouch, ouch, ouch. ouch. Sciatica is a son of a bitch. Above 10. A crescendo, then a falling away. I. Do. Not. Like. It.

If the SPRINT device works, I will send up hallelujahs in the name of its inventor, Kylie, and the doctor who installs it. If it doesn’t? I’m no worse off than before. Probably nerve ablation.

If there’s cancer in my hip? Don’t know. But Buphati will have things to recommend, I know.

 

Reading: I’m on a run of science fiction and magic. John Scalzi’s Starter Villain and Kaiju Preservation Society. Jim Butcher’s Dresden Files. The Gray Man and Daniel Silva set aside for the moment.

My serious reading of late has been for my two Kabbalah Experience classes. A New Story for Human Consciousness and the Radical Roots of Religion. The first, learning to retell, reimagine the story of Adam and Eve. And, in so doing, realizing we can reframe, reconstruct any story, including the one we tell ourselves about who we are in this world.

The second investigating moments when Judaism received a radical refit. Focused on Mordecai Kaplan, Abraham Joshua Heschel, Reb Zalman, and Art Green, but looking backward to Maimonides, the Bal Shem Tov, the destruction of the second Temple and the rise of Rabbinic Judaism.

I’m excited about these classes. I want to retell the story of Adam and Eve. Maybe my own story, too. Most of all I’m excited about considering what the next revolution might be in Judaism, imagining it, perhaps helping to build it.

 

Just a moment: Whoo, boy. We’ve crossed over and I didn’t really get it until I read this paragraph in an article titled: “Why Trump’s push for ‘gold-standard science’ has researchers alarmed.”*

Crossed over to what? An age of ideology, a time when political thought, doled out by political commissars, trumps (see what I did there?) decision making for any other reason.

This is a direct route to a Stalinesque, Mao Tse Tungesque form of governance. It is, as George Will observed in his strange opinion piece about Trump as a progressive, a form of Statism.

I admit I’m an Enlightenment, scientific method guy. But. I know that science does not occur in a political vacuum. Its funding, its direction, even its focus often has political influence. Look, for example, to the Agricultural and Mechanical universities dotted around the U.S. and delivering junk methods to farmers that kill the soil and enrich Big Ag.

Even so. I support science and the scientific endeavor to understand, to grasp the world around us as it is, not as we either imagine or wish it to be. No political commissar will know scientific facts better than scientists themselves.

I do agree with one facet of this critique of science, however. Many Americans have lost faith in science and we need, as a country, to help restore it. This is not the way.

 

 

 

” “And in a “Gold Standard Science” executive order last week, President Donald Trump outlined a new level of oversight over what counts as quality evidence and what does not, (emphasis mine) putting “a senior appointee designated by the agency head” in charge of overseeing “alleged violations.” Michael Kratsios, director of the White House Office of Science and Technology Policy, said in a briefing that the goal of the executive order is to “rebuild the American people’s confidence in the national science enterprise … the status quo of our research enterprise has brought diminishing returns, wasted resources and public distrust.”” Washington Post, June 1, 2025.

Dogs, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health, Humanities

Oh, It Lifts

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Beltane and the Greenhouse Moon

Shabbat gratefuls: The Morning Service. Our God, life of all the worlds who makes firm a person’s step. Jamie. Tara. Natalie. Caroline. Shadow. The Greenhouse. Nathan. Alan in Las Vegas. Rich in P.R. MVP next week. Morning darkness, then dawn. Then Great Sol in a blue Colorado Sky. Yet more Rain. Spine Ranch Fusion. Tandoori Chicken. Gulab Jamun. CuTO salad and Garlic naan.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: A Clear Day

Week Kavannah: Wholeness and Peacefulness. Shleimut. Integrating pain into my daily life.

One brief shining: Natalie, skilled and kind dog trainer, goes on youtube to find out how to do her own brakework, when she has engine trouble; she also mentioned cutting a notch in my dying tree so it could fall over on its own, and knows the work of Minnesotan David Mech on wolves.

 

Dog journal: If you live in a bookish world, surrounded by bookish people, it’s easy to forget or ignore other intelligences. Like BJ, Pamela, and Sarah who used string instruments to reveal theirs. Or. Natalie’s treat bag, her experience with many dogs. Or Nathan’s carpentry and his aesthetic sense. Or Caroline’s empathy.

I’m so grateful to have found others with intelligences that complement my journey, make it richer, easier, more full. Transactional relationships at first, yes, all. During and after, at least more than casual acquaintances. Shared worlds. Recognition of the other’s value.

Shadow and I continue to hug. She zooms and smiles outside, a happy young puppy. Natalie has changed our life together from one of cautious wariness to companionship. Natalie also got a leash on her and walked with her yesterday.

The next unsolved problem? Thresholds. So she’ll come inside and let me close the door. Preferable when it’s cold.

 

Cancer: Had my first therapy session with Caroline Merz, a Princeton and Washington University (her Ph.D.) trained psychologist. She specializes in geriatrics and cancer.

This was our first session and it was a listening session for her as she heard my “unique life story and how aging and illness have affected me.”

It surprised me, but I felt teary almost the whole way through. At a couple of points I did cry and later I cried (after the session was over) about Rigel, now long dead. Chewy, the pet food folks, sent me a rock with a rainbow and Rigel’s name on it.

I’m alone but not lonely. Yes, true. I’m neither afraid of cancer or death. True. However, since Kate’s death and in spite of my friends and family, I carry the psychic burden of responding to loss and pain and disease mostly alone. I can and do carry it.

There is, however, a price. Hard to describe. A sort of Atlas thing where it rests on my shoulders, bearing down, not pushing me to the ground, not making me depressed, but always there, a weighty presence.

The tears are about this, I know. A response to even the momentary sharing of the burden. Oh, it lifts. The relief wells up and expresses itself through release.

Reverend Doctor Israel Herme Harari