Category Archives: Fourth Phase

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Tradition a longer conversation summarized

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Lughnasa and the Michaelmas Moon

Tarot: Nine of Stones in the Wildwood Deck

Meaning (according to the Wildwood Tarot book-WTB):

Reverence for past wisdom and sacrifice. The ability to relate to ancient knowledge and pass on the lessons of ancestral memory and ritual.

Let me throw in here, too, Ovid. And, my interest in pre-Socratic philosophers like Thales, Anaximander, Heraclitus. Dante. The Tao. The early world of Hinduism. Christianity and Judaism. Those very early shamanic faiths of the Mongols, of the Japanese (Shinto), the Koreans.

Even anthropology. My interest in anthropology was to find the way of other peoples, to know and understand them as much on their own terms as possible. Travel as well. The learning inherent in being the other.

I’m not a syncretist. I’m not an everybody has something to teach us sorta guy. Though there’s a sense in which that’s true. I’m not trying to find the one truth that snakes through all the traditions. There isn’t one. And, yes, I’m pretty sure of that.

There is though this truth. The human body, its limitations and potentials, does remain pretty much the same over time. The brain and its evolution has hardwired certain ways of responding to the world around us. Though there have been dramatic climatic changes like the ice age, the sorts of challenges the world provides in its various regions remain at least similar even today.

What I’ve done, often without knowing it, is to immerse myself in the thought ways, the life ways, the ritual ways of so many different cultures over long periods of time and in very different geographical and geological conditions that I feel like a citizen of multiple cultures, yet beholden to none of them. Including, perhaps most of all, my own.

The tricky part for those of us raised in the West and in the Judaeo-Christian tradition can be capsulized in one word: progress. Progress assumes linear time. Progress assumes one culture can evaluate others qualitatively. Nineteenth century France is better than, nineteenth century England. Or, China’s civilization is superior to everyone else’s outside the Middle Kingdom. Or, we, the USA, will make the world safe for democracy, the obvious best form of government.

Progress both puts blinders on us, makes jingoists of us all, and imagines an unproven and unprovable idea: that next year, next day, next minute things will get better. By whose standards? Mine? Yours? Theirs? The citizens of ancient Ephesus? Of X’ian. Of Kyoto.

Of course, central heating beats a fire in the middle of the hut with a hole in the top to let smoke out. Of course, driving in a motorized vehicle is easier than walking or riding a horse. Of course, air conditioning is preferable to suffocating heat. You can extend this list.

But. Is central heating progress? Depends on the fuel, in one way of looking at it. Natural gas, propane, and heating oil are all common fuels. Think. Climate change.

Same question about driving and air conditioning.

Humans tend to favor the thing they have and know. So, today is better than yesterday.

 

Meaning (according to the Wildwood Tarot book-WTB):

Reverence for past wisdom and sacrifice. The ability to relate to ancient knowledge and pass on the lessons of ancestral memory and ritual.

As a 1960’s radical, anti-establishment, pushing for new political, military, economic, sexual, intellectual mores, to consider myself one who reveres past wisdom, ancient knowledge? No. No. No.

Yet. There I was studying Socrates. Zoroaster. Ovid. Greek history. Biblical literature. Dante. Taoism. The history of ancient civilizations like Assyria, the Qin dynasty, Middle Kingdom Egypt. Not only studying. Learning. And in that learning, unbeknownst to me, at least partially, being shaped by that learning.

When I went to seminary, I saw the utility of the prophetic tradition in Judaism and Christianity. It could be used to press for change on behalf of the widow and the orphan, the enslaved, the oppressed, the poor and the hungry. I considered this tradition, that of the prophets of Ancient Israel, the real gem in the long years since the death of Jesus.

It was. And, is. But. There is another jewel there, too. One only accessible to the meditator, the reader of scripture, the ascetic, the one willing to face the root of the faith. To get burned by its heat. This is the faith of the Russian Starets, the Welsh peregrinators, mystics like St John of the Cross and Meister Eckhart. And, not faith. Not really.

Why? Because it involved and affirmed an actual experience of the numinous.

My inner world got shaped, in the end, more by this strain of the Judaeo-Christian tradition. Though. Again, I was only partially aware of that at the time.

When I fell too far away from the very idea of theology, of religious institutions, I went into a long period of quiet. I sold my commentaries, no longer engaged in lectio divina, or used the Jesus prayer.

Camus came back to me. Life is absurd. Without meaning. Death is final, extinction. To live is a choice. One that can be altered.

The Great Wheel came into my life sort of through a back door, a way of understanding Celtic thoughts and motivations. But when Kate and I moved to Andover and our long horticultural, beekeeping, canine loving life really began, the Great Wheel slowly seeped into my thinking about the garden, about the life of dogs and people, about the hives and their superorganism.

That was what I had been prepared for. Staring at the root of an ancient faith. I had the inner tools to accept the Great Wheel as the genius of a culture, one that had clear application to what I did every morning with hoe and spade.

Gradually I came to see that this ancient religious calendar spoke as forcefully to my spirit as the Gospel of Luke, as the prayers of Meister Eckhart. More forcefully at that point.

That was what led me to a bare knuckle spirituality, stripping away the accretions to the Great Wheel that had come from well-meaning, but in my view, silly, Wiccans and Druids.

I saw the Great Wheel, and when I did I saw it through Taoist influenced eyes, as not a belief system but as a metaphor with its feet planted in my garden. It was there, right before my eye. Beltane to Lughnasa. To Samain. To the Winter Solstice.

I had embraced an ancient way, a way I had learned from study and practice. I am, sort of, a traditionalist.

So, Nine of Stones. Hear ye, hear ye. Yes, sir!

 

 

 

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An Ordinary Pagan

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Lughnasa and the Michaelmas Moon

Monday gratefuls: My sisters: Mary, BJ, Sarah, Anne. My brother: Mark. My ancient brothers: Tom, Paul, William, Mario. Family. It is both what you make it and part of what made you. Three-hole punch. Internet recipes. Cooking. Inogen. Rain and a cool night. Living on the Mountain top.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Rain on the deck

Tarot:  Nine of Stones, Wildwood Deck

 

The Wildwood deck bases its suits and major arcana in Celtic myth and lore. And, it correlates them to the Great Wheel. I’m learning from the deck, deepening my own thinking about the Great Wheel, about this World, this Earth onto which I was thrown along with each of you reading this.

My interest in the Great Wheel ignited during my search for a theme, a focus for writing. Kate suggested I look into my heritage. At the time I knew about Richard Ellis, my indentured servant ancestor who arrived in the U.S. in 1707. His father, a captain in William and Mary’s occupying army in Ireland, came from Wales. Denbigh. I also knew that the Correls, also on my father’s side, immigrated during the Great Potato famine in the late nineteenth century.

So, things Celtic. I expanded my reach later on into Northern European myth and legend. Genetics put this strain of my family history as more significant than the Celtic, but I was well into the Celtic material before I got genetic information through 23andme.

This learning coincided with my leaving the Presbyterian ministry and moving toward Unitarian-Universalism. I found(find) the UU movement liberating, but thin soup. It’s a nice refuge for folks fed up with traditional religious institutions, but in itself it offers only a bland diet of warmed over religious thought disconnected from its roots, decent poetry, and a laudable willingness to take action for social justice.

Though I transferred my credentials to the UU, I found my attempts to enter its ministry regression. After a couple of embarrassing and unnecessary attempts. (Kate told me I was making a mistake.) I needed to write, to be away from religious institutions. Not try again in a profession which did not fit me from the beginning.

After I left my ministry monkey back in its theological jungle, I became a flat-earth humanist. Atheist. No afterlife. Death=extinction. No world beyond the phenomenal one. And that one only as it can be understood through science. Logic. Yes. Data. Yes. Facts. Yes. Myth. No. Other World. No. Spirituality. No. Learning from poetry and the world’s religious traditions? No.

Oh, I used the Celtic and Northern European folk traditions in my writing, yes. But, did I believe it? No. How could I?

Yet. The Great Wheel. Fit so well with my Thomas Berry inflected view of climate change work: creating a sustainable future for humans on this planet. It helped me into the thought world, the faith world of the early Celts.

When Kate and I moved to Andover in 1994, I’d already written three novels using the faith worlds of early Irish, Welsh, Scots, Cornish, and Breton folk. And, one using the Ragnarok idea from Northern European faith worlds.

We wanted to grow perennial flowers. Have fresh cut flowers every day. So, I learned about spring ephemerals, corms, tubers, bulbs. Food for them. The culture they needed in terms of soil, light, protection.

Then vegetables. A degree in horticulture by correspondence from a university in Guelph, Ontario. An orchard. Bees. A fire pit.

At the Andover firepit

Our life together, Kate and mine, had Irish Wolfhounds, Whippets, and plants. Lots and lots of plants. We worked together, sweated together. Got sticky harvesting honey. Steamed from canning. Drying and freezing became a usual part of our fall.

It was hard manual labor and I loved it. So did Kate. We also loved each other and who each other was when working outside. When putting food by.

As the life of our gardens became our lives, the Great Wheel began to make deeper and deeper inroads into my heart. The Winter Solstice became my High Holiday. Or, my Deep Holiday. I celebrated the Celtic holidays, wrote e-mails and blog posts about them in addition to using them in my novels.

At some point I realized I had become a pagan. Not in any particular sense like Wicca, or Druidry, or Witchcraft, just an ordinary pagan, a person who found his religious life adequately nourished by the turning of the seasons, by the natural world, by love.

I’ll get to the nine of Stones later, but it supports this journey in a very specific way.

 

 

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Underneath the bones, my wings are pushing out

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Lughnasa and the Michaelmas Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Susan. The Woolly Retreat. Pruning. Yet more of Kate’s jewelry. Satisfaction at getting things done. Subway. Stinker’s gas. Lodgepoles. Black Mountain. That one forerunner Aspen. Golden. The Stars. The blackness of Space. Four amateur astronauts. New hearing aid. Roger.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The house on Shadow Mountain

Tarot:  Ten of Swords, Druid.  King of Stones, Wildwood. (not sure about these two. for the first time. maybe it’ll hit me later.)

 

Rigel and Kepler

Met with Susan yesterday. She’ll house sit for Kep and Rigel when I drive to the Woolly retreat the first of November. We had a long chat. Dogs. Drivers in the mountains. Cars. She’s a Mountain type. Making a living anyway she can. She cleans houses and dog sits, lives in a rented room in King’s Valley. Almost 70.

Living in the Mountains has a strange and strong attraction for certain folks. Kate was one. She refused to consider moving. I’m one, too. Though. Once in a while, recently, I get twinges of, oh, this might be too much for me someday. Usually in the morning when I’m still sleepy, still not warmed up. But that worm is there.

Still remember the first days up here in the loft. I’d write, then look out the window at Black Mountain. Write. Look. A sense of being in the right Place. Yirah. Awe. When I’m down the hill, hot and bothered by all the traffic, I can turn the car West, head back up into the Front Range. I become peaceful again.

BJ, Kate, Anne at Kate’s birthday party apres eclipse

Kate’s here now. Forever. In the Iris bed. In Maxwell Creek. On the Yahrzeit wall at CBE. In my heart. In the bones and stones of this place. She died a Mountain Woman. Fits with the Earth Mother persona she nourished for over 20 years in Andover. A powerful attractant for me. Keep the memories, the torch for her going.

The running of the fence line is underway. Zeus. Boo. Kep. Thor. Rigel. Rigel. Boo. Thor. Kep. Yip, yip, yip, yip. Neighbors kept friendly by a fence. Yup, Robert Frost.

The day got away from me. I had to change the sheets on the bed, always a good workout. That damned Tempurpedic weighs 120 pounds and concentrates all of its weight right where you’re trying to lift it. Got it done so I laid down for a nap.

In my zoom meeting with my ancient buddies Paul, Tom, Mario, and Bill I checked in. Well. As near as I can tell, I have no tale of woe. For the first time in six months. They all laughed and clapped. Me, too. Yeah.

Of course. Cheer up, things could be worse. I cheered up and sure enough things got worse. Hope not though.

This is six months later. After a lotta upset. Kate’s death, grief, and the return of my prostate cancer. Jon’s various illnesses. Which continue. Sorting through the necessaries after Kate’s death occupied more time than I would have thought. Normal, though. Still not quite done.

As I’ve written, I can feel the tidal forces running with me now rather than pulling me out sea. Provided I can stay well, I think that will continue. Gonna get a flu shot and a vaccine booster in the next couple of weeks.

I also contacted Elisa Robyn’s, my astrologer friend from CBE. She’ll do a new reading for me on Monday, September 27th. I’m leaning in to the Tarot, astrology, Kabbalah world. Letting it speak to me. Call to me. Challenge me. Inspire me. That old skeptic me would pooh pooh all this. Showed him the door. What helps is what helps.

Tom had an interesting exercise for us this morning. He gave each of us a poem earlier in the week. We read them aloud and told the others what we thought.

Here’s mine:

 

The Phoenix Again

On the ashes of this nest
Love wove with deathly fire
The phoenix takes its rest
Forgetting all desire.

After the flame, a pause,
After the pain, rebirth.
Obeying nature’s laws
The phoenix goes to earth.

You cannot call it old
You cannot call it young.
No phoenix can be told,
This is the end of the song.

It struggles now alone
Against death and self-doubt,
But underneath the bone
The wings are pushing out.

And one cold starry night
Whatever your belief
The phoenix will take flight
Over the seas of grief

To sing her thrilling song
To stars and waves and sky
For neither old nor young
The phoenix does not die.

May Sarton

My reaction: I can feel, underneath the bone, my new wings pushing out. And I await the cold starry night when my new Phoenix self will take flight.

 

 

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Country Roads. Pruning.

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Lughnasa and the Michaelmas Moon

Saturday gratefuls: Zeus, Boo, Thor. Rigel, Kep. Running the fence. Happy. Susan, who will care for Rigel and Kep during my time at the Woolly retreat in November. Social Security. Orgovyx. The rolled over IRA. My pension. This house. This life. More pruning.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Alan in Fiddler. Taking Jon, Ruth, Gabe.

Tarot: Ten of Wands, Druid. Queen of Stones, Wildwood. Question-what can I do today to move my new life forward?

 

Happy Camper. On the way I pass King’s Valley where Marilyn and Irv live. The intersection of King’s Valley road and 285 is deadly. Each year people die. No light. No overpass. Left turns into heavy cross traffic.

Fire mitigation, May 2016

When I finished up my first round of fire mitigation, I hired a teenager from down the block. A good worker. On the last day of our work together he got a phone call. His Uncle John, a Harley rider, died in a wreck at the King’s Valley crossing.

Further on 285 winds down into a Mountain Valley. A right turn takes you to Staunton State Park. I see the eastern Slope of Black Mountain out my loft window; its western Slope is the eastern boundary for the park. 45 mph down the Mountain to the Valley.

Later, after a steep climb, up yet another Mountain, 285 snakes past Pine. It has a short shopping mall with coffee and gift stores at the intersection with Pine Valley road. Down the Pine Valley road winds the North Fork of the South Platte River, opening out into wide swaths of Pasture, boiling over Rocks. Tom and I drove Pine Valley road to Manitou Springs and the Pikes Peak Railroad.

Up. Down. Colorado Mountain roads. At Pine the Continental Divide shows up in the distance, well beyond Bailey.

Happy Camper has a narrow, bumpy, dirt road that winds up a Hillside. At the top is a metal industrial building where Happy Camper grows Maryjane and creates their own branded products. The retail shop is on the right as you drive in.

When I went in yesterday, there were 8 men of my age, some with masks, some not. They’re all together, so I can help you, said one of the budtenders. Yes, that’s a thing.

Eight of the Indica Cheeba Chews, please. The black ones? Yes.

Back home for a full workout. A few tasks. Called Jackie and changed my October 2nd hair appointment. My Tarot and the Tree of Life spread class interfered. Lunch and a later nap.

It’s been what qualifies as a busy week for me. Glad the weekend is here. It always amuses me that I feel different on the weekends, looser, less driven. I mean, I’ve been retired from a regular work week since 1992. But the weekend, even though I often worked on Sundays, still feels freeing. Yay. Friday’s over! Reminds me I want to experiment with keeping the Sabbath.

Still working on cooking for one. Sometimes good. Sometimes not. Last night. Not. I had cheese and crackers.

 

Ten of Wands, Druid.  Queen of Stones, Wildwood

Until today I have not asked a question of the cards I turn over in the morning. It is usual to ask a question, but the daily “oracle” card can also be read in light of the general trends in your life.

what can I do today to move my new life forward?

The ten of wands has shown up a lot for me. It’s about carrying a burden, keeping on keeping on. Staying the course. The Queen of Stones in the Wildwood deck evokes a different, but complementary sensibility.

The Queen is a Cave Bear, guarding the entrance to her home as dawn paints the near sky. The Wildwood book suggests she raises these questions: How can you best promote well-being at home? Where can you make space to care for yourself and others? What needs to be preserved?

The ancient Cave Bear is now long extinct. I saw a Cave Bear skeleton, it might have at the Science Museum in St. Paul. They stood fifteen feet with their upper limbs extended. Big. Strong. Master and Mistress of their domain. An apex Predator.

This Bear Queen has a home, one she uses to raise her cubs, for hibernation in the winter, for shelter in other seasons. So do I. And, as I went to bed last night I had thoughts about what I needed to do next. Pruning?

Yes, some of that. The bookcases in the bedroom, the still cluttered living room area. The recipe book I have to create out of recipes printed from the internet. I also got the file folders I needed to organize my financial papers.

Another thought last night focused on reading books about the Tarot, reentering the world of astrology. That research and scholar mode.

Today the Bear suggests I focus on space. Making it a caring space for myself, for Jon and the grandkids, for guests. So. I will.

The Ten of Wands reminds me though that I need to put down the pruner and the book, take a break. I no longer need to have my head down, pushing forward. That time died with Kate. I can relax, do something fun.

Deciding to go to the Woolly Retreat is an aspect of this. Road trip. I’m going to drive. First long trip on the road since 2016. Excited.

 

 

 

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Fourth Phase

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Lughnasa and the Michaelmas Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Happy Camper. Kol Nidre. Yom Kippur. CBE. Marilyn and Irv. Cool(er) nights. Alan. The Wildflower. Colorado DMV. Ruby. Her new tabs and title. Workout. Black Mountain. Maxwell Creek. That Deer I hit. Shadow Mountain. All the Critters. National Western Stock Show. Bees. Evergreen. Black Mountain and Brook Forest Drive.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Draft Horse Shows

Tarot: 8 of Swords, Druid

 

Yom Kippur. The Day of Atonement. The sealing of the Book of Life for the next year. It is written. Choose life.

I didn’t attend any of the High Holidays though I tried last night on Zoom. I don’t have the same childhood memories of these holidays that bring so many back to the synagogue. Sorta like Christmas and Easter if they were in the same week. Also, I still don’t feel comfortable in large groups, masked or not. In addition I’m tired. Orgovyx still saps my energy, leaves me achy and flashy. (hot flashy, that is)

Sukkot, on the other hand. I’ll go next Wednesday unless I’m still worn out. Sukkot is a harvest holiday and fits with the Pagan Great Wheel Taoist guy that I am. Ruth and Gabe may come up, too. I hope so. We’ll sit outside, spend some time in the Sukkah, see friends. Eat pizza. It will have no meat. Meat and cheese, nope.

Marilyn called last night before Kol Nidre, the first Yom Kippur service. Checking up on me. I appreciate that. That’s Alan, Tara, Rich, Jamie, and Marilyn. All since Sunday. I have friends here.

Interesting to consider the impact Judaism has had on me. Significant, for sure. I still feel no desire to convert, but the way of the Torah is now part of my way. Torah means learning, but learning in a particular way. With keen attention. With observance of details and mistakes and embellishments. With all we have. With others. Rabbi Jamie has taught me that Torah study is the way. And, I try to follow that way. See what you’re looking at.

My investment in applying Torah to biblical and Jewish liturgical traditions is slight, but I appreciate the opportunities. Applying it to Kabbalah, Tarot, poetry, my backyard, my inner world, the lives and times of my friends and family, the Critters that live up here, politics, on the other hand. My investment is high.

The wonderful aspect of Judaism, especially reconstructionist Judaism, is that I fit right in anyhow. I don’t have to try to shoehorn my actual beliefs into some ragged conformity. I can let them hang out, to be seen by all.

Rabbi Jamie, my first true mentor, has taught me a worldview that can accommodate my peculiar religious/spiritual/philosophical bent and add to it. It is Torah. It is grounded in the now. It is communal. It does not find tradition oppressive, nor does it find tradition authoritative.

In the simplest terms it is a hermeneutic. A method of interpretation that insists we be faithful to our experience, that we open ourselves as broadly as we can to the world around us and within us. That we learn with a bias toward merit in all that we study. This means not always going in with the sword of reason or the bludgeon of logic. It does not mean, however, excluding them.

In philosophy and anthropology, even in seminary, I found academics more a blood sport than anything else. What does that mean? How do you know? Who says so? Where’s the evidence? Correlation is not causation. Let’s wrassle!

Rabbi Jamie has taught me a gentler way of approaching learning. It does not neuter the intellect, but it does insist on giving sources a chance. On giving others a chance. On giving your self a chance. It does insist on openness.

In that process I have discovered tarot as a mirror for my soul, a guide for my journey. And, in discovering that, I have reached into my rib cage, spread it out, and exposed my heart. I can feel my way past the veil, again. I can let the totality of the universe, seen and unseen, in. I can feel my presence in Malkut, yes, but I can also feel my presence in the Crown, the Keter, and, yes, I can also feel the ayn sof.

My grief and my past six years at CBE and my own dogged searching has prepared me for this time. My fourth phase. My life has begun to withdraw from the hurly burly toward the spiritual, the soulful, the unseen. I’m thinking of myself right now as a hermit and of Shadow Mountain as my Mountain Hermitage. We’ll see if that lasts, but I think it will. I hope it will. This is the last journey of my soul here in Malkut. May it be a fruitful one.

 

Eight of Swords

 

 

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Shadow Mountain Hermitage

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Lughnasa and the Michaelmas Moon

Kate after election day, 2016

Tuesday gratefuls: Bailey. Bailey Patchworkers. Sewing, quilting. Kate, feisty and adorable. From so many cards I got yesterday. Drawing the Death Card. Gratitude. Gabe. Ruth. Jon. Kep and Rigel. Rain yesterday. Kitchen remodeling. Greg Lell, house stainer. Moving forward, into the fourth phase.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Tarot and Kabbalah

Tarot: Eight of Pentacles

 

285 west to Bailey. A favorite journey, usually made to the Happy Camper. The Continental Divide shows up after Pine. The tone becomes more Western. This time though to Platte River Community Church. Upstairs to the social hall where older women sat around round tables, eating off paper plates with plastic forks. Piles of cloth sat on other tables, parts of Kate’s stash now on its way to other sewing rooms, her taste distributed.

I said very little. Kate met you when we moved up here. She loved you and felt loved by you. You encouraged her and were her friends. Thank you.

Oh. And, I took off my shirt. This is not a strip tease. Lots of hands went up, encouraging me to keep going. Flattering at 74. I had on the Love is Enough t-shirt and showed it off because it featured a counted cross-stitch familiar to them.

As I drove away the North Fork of the South Platte River roared over Rocks on its way to Denver’s Water system. I passed the somewhat dilapidated office of the Bailey Flume, a six trailer trailer park, and a home next to the River with a Horse paddock. Bailey is in Park County, no longer the Denver metro and much poorer than Jefferson County where I live.

Been pondering the cards. Again. Still. Drew the eight of pentacles*. Again. Key words from the Druid Tarot Book: Steady progress. Apprenticeship. Training. Makes sense to me after the High Priestess and Death.

I’m in my fourth phase of life, a new path, a new ancientrail has appeared before me. The High Priestess has blessed me and Death holds the gate open. What do I need to do? Work methodically, steadily. Stay on the trail.

What is this trail? Some of it is much clearer now. I need to dive into the tarot, astrology, and kabbalah. Learn about them, keep my head down until I can do readings, cast charts, count the Omer. Bring all of this into conversation with the Great Wheel and Taoist strains of my own thought and practice.

Will I do readings, cast charts? No idea. But that’s the level of learning I want and it will require my attention. I will count the Omer

This trail adds research and study to my already existing writing and painting. Up here in the Shadow Mountain hermitage we have plenty to do. Time now to get at it. The destination is unknown, yes, but it’s end is certain.

 

“In a general context, the Eight of Pentacles Tarot card indicates a time of hard work, commitment, diligence and dedication. The effort you put in will not be in vain as your hard work will pay off and lead to results, rewards or the accomplishment of your goals. When this Minor Arcana card appears in your Tarot reading, it indicates that you are methodically working towards something you want. It may seem boring, mundane or even relentless at the moment but you are on the brink of achieving great success, so don’t give up. The skills you are learning at the moment will stand to you later in life and you will come away from this experience not only with the inner wisdom you’ve gained but with a sense of pride and self-confidence from achieving your ambitions.” tarotguide

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Let go (Note: correction below)

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Lughnasa and the Michaelmas Moon

picture by Mary

Monday gratefuls: Tara. The Ancient Ones, holding space for my eventful life. Peregrenatio. Rigel, lying down with me last night. A long night asleep. Orgovyx. Exhaustion. Hot flashes. Cousin Riley, his wife. Diane and Mary in Indiana. Bailey Patchworkers. Kitchen remodelers. House stainer. Jon, Ruth, and Gabe.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Death

Tarot: Death, #13 of the Major Arcana

 

So many help me. Jon, Ruth, Gabe came up Saturday. We had chicken pot pie and I sent them home with two. They also went to Upper Maxwell Falls to scatter some more of Kate’s ashes. I didn’t feel quite up to going and I wondered if it might be better anyhow. Allow them their own time, their own way of saying goodbye.

And, it was so. Here are Gabes’s (correction) words about it:

Gabe

“Grandma’s metaphorical ashes. The ashes that stuck to the bottom were the parts of grandma that will stay with us forever. The cloudy ashes that eventually dispersed to go to the Atlantic Ocean were the parts of grandma that were temporary and that we don’t need to remember like pain and suffering. And, the glass was the vessel like our bodies, useful but not permanent.”

Leaving for Durango, Bill not pictured. Tom, Paul, me, Mario

The next morning I take a walk with my Ancient friends: Paul, Mario, Bill, and Tom. We spoke to each other in our minds, through the spirit air waves as Mario suggested. We gathered afterward. They’ve allowed me a lot of time to process my ongoing, eventful life. And, I love them for it.

Afterward I went over to an organic breakfast spot, Taspen’s. Been here almost seven years and it was the first time. Meeting Tara, my friend from CBE.

Marilyn, Tara, the Burning Bush

We talked. Tara is a great listener and an empath. When I told her I felt I’d expressed self pity when Jon and the grandkids left on Saturday, she said it sounded like love. Ruth had said, See you, grandpop. And, I said, my voice catching, I hope so. Sounded needy and self-pitying to me at the time.

After talking with Tara, I thought. No. I was vulnerable, sadly hopeful. And I don’t experience vulnerability with them too often. Maybe that’s changing now.

Today I’m going to the meeting of the Bailey Patchworkers. Kate’s stash and other sewing accessories will be given away to her friends there. I asked for a couple of minutes to speak. I’ll tell them that Kate loved them. That they gave her friendship and motivation for sewing. And, right after we got here. She went faithfully as long as she could.

They were a very different crowd from her ordinary social circles. She spoke her political truth often, to folks who didn’t agree. As Lauri, her engineer friend said, “I should have disliked her, but I adored her.” That was Kate.

These are those who helped me just in the last three days. A lucky guy, I am. And, of course, Rigel and Kepler.

 

Tarot: Death, # 13 in the Major Arcana

I’ve been drawing cards in what some call a daily oracle. Pick out one card, see how it speaks to the day. Oracle is a poor choice of words in that it has a predictive connotation. I don’t find the tarot useful as prophecy. I’ve found it astonishingly useful as a mirror to my inner world. It shows me things I ignore, or overlook, or diminish, or things I didn’t know were there.

Let’s see. I’d call it, I guess, The Daily Mirror. Ha.

Anyhow my point here is that I’m doing my own thing with these daily cards and I’m not only reading the day, but the trends. I’ve had so many cards that spoke to my anima. I’ve remarked on this before. I’ve also had cards like the Hanged Man that speak to a transformation in values, in beliefs, in life way.

The Death card is the apotheosis of that trend. Yes, indeed, it refers to death. But, to death as transition, as transformation, as a severance with the ways of the past (including life, eventually. for Kate, already), an entry way to the new. If you recall the High Priestess from yesterday, she blocked the way on the path. She encouraged waiting, going down into the depths. I’d call it wu wei.

The death card opens the way, suggests I embrace the changes that the anima cards have hinted at, the inner knowledge that the High Priestess wanted me to attain before going on. It also suggests letting go.

Let go, Charlie, of the flat-earth humanism of your post-ministry years. Let go, Charlie, of the old life you had with Kate. (note: this does not mean an end to grief or a diminished view of life with her.). Open yourself to the tarot, to astrology, to kabbalah, to the other world. Open yourself again to the creative life of writing and painting. Live into it. Live with it. Live. Let go of the caregiver, let go of the inner skeptic, the inner editor, the inner cynic. Embrace the mystical, the soulful, the beautiful. Let go.

Die to the old ways and be born again into a fourth phase of life. One focused on creativity and the other world. Let go.

 

 

“Meaning: Initiation and transformation.  The core structure of initiation involves an experience of death followed by an experience of rebirth…We often have to die to our old ways of thinking, feeling, or behaving before we can open to our new life.” DTB

* “After a period of pause and reflection with the Hanged Man, the Death card symbolises the end of a major phase or aspect of your life that you realise is no longer serving you, opening up the possibility of something far more valuable and essential. You must close one door to open another. You need to put the past behind you and part ways, ready to embrace new opportunities and possibilities. It may be difficult to let go of the past, but you will soon see its importance and the promise of renewal and transformation.

Similarly, Death shows a time of significant transformation, change and transition. You need to transform yourself and clear away the old to bring in the new. Any change should be welcomed as a positive, cleansing, transformational force in your life. The death and clearing away of limiting factors can open the door to a broader, more satisfying experience of life.” biddy tarot

 

Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Great Wheel, Health, Kabbalah, Tarot, Woolly Mammoths

Last Glimpses

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Lughnasa and the Michaelmas Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Jon, Ruth, Gabe. Chicken pot pies. Kep and Rigel. Another cool night and morning. Dish soap and dishwashers. Permanent press shirts. Orgovyx. Fatigue and hot flashes. Rain. Grief. Kate’s ashes. Always, Kate. Sadness. Tears. Vulnerability. Mortality.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Grief. And, Kate.

Tarot: The High Priestess, #2 of the Major Arcana

 

On October 2nd I’ll begin a four week course on the Tree of Life tarot spread taught by Mark Horn. He’s the founder of Gates of Light Tarot. He spoke to the one class of the Tarot and Kabbalah course I missed. Rabbi Jamie recommended him and I wanted to keep my Tarot learning underway.

He asked for 250 words for an introduction to theothers in the class:

Charles Ellis (Rev. Dr.) has studied mysteries since the garden spider wove its web outside his kitchen window 66 years ago. All of the natural world, including us two-leggeds, has fascinated me ever since. Religion, first Christian, then Unitarian-Universalism, Taoism, and now Judaism are gateways of mystery and to mystery. Philosophy, too, especially process oriented philosophy and existentialism.

I’m more pagan than anything else, a Celtic influenced follower of the seasons, the Great Wheel explains so much.

At the Denver Kabbalah Experience and at my home congregation of Beth Evergreen I’ve studied Kabbalah for four years with Rabbi Jamie Arnold. I recently completed his Tarot and Kabbalah class, learning of Mark and this class through that. If you asked my place on the journey, I’d say I’m the Fool, always ready to take the first step, happy to have my dog and the road ahead.

Looking forward to the class. In fact, I seem to be in a sop-it-up mode right now. I’m also looking for an online cooking class. That will fit in with the kitchen remodel and my new life as chef for a single client, me.  So many things I want to learn, so many ancientrails I’ve already followed. Thinking about going back to Ovid and Dante, too.

This evocative article. Last Glimpses of California’s Vanishing Hippie Utopias. Memories of the Peaceable Kingdom, the most poorly named commune of all. Judy and me. Then, Johnny Lampo. Then, the mechanic and his wife. Steppenwolf. Psilocybin. A long, very cold northern Minnesota Winter. I fled one of the least well-conceived and executed ideas in my life.

Ancientrails. The old days when most folks didn’t understand the difference between hippies and radicals. Most hippies were radicals, but fewer radicals were hippies. I made a mistake and added myself to the hippie/radical lifestyle. Nope. Plain old radical me.

Although. With Kate I was able to revisit the back to the land idea. She was my Earth mama and I was her worker companion. We dug and planted and harvested and tended. Raised dogs and two sons. Artemis Honey. A sweet life. And in the ‘burbs at that.

Ruth printing her spoon

Yesterday. Made chicken pot pies. Ruth wanted them and Jon was happy. “Your pot pies are delicious.” I started them on Friday night, making the chicken soup. Mirepoix. Mine was celery, carrots, red onion, and garlic deglazed with sherry cooking wine. Then, water and a whole chicken in the wire insert for the stock pot. Simmer for an hour and a half. Bag of frozen green Peas. Bag of frozen Corn.

Wore. Me. Out. Friday I had energy. Wednesday and Thursday I struggled. Yesterday. Struggle. Realized I had begun to force myself up the stairs with the same doggedness I felt when caring for Kate. Not a pleasant touchstone.

Jon, Ruth, Gabe came up. Jon still much clearer, less edgy and angry. Beta blockers, he says. I had them take Kate’s ashes to Upper Maxwell Falls by themselves. Too weary, too short of breath. And, I also thought it would be good for them to have their own good-bye to Mom and Grandma.

I prepared some of Kate’s ashes for them. Put them in the Ball jar I used on August 18th.

As they left, beginning to move things from the sewing room, I got a rush of sadness. She’ll never be in the sewing room. Standing at the kitchen window I watched them load. That window has become a place for calling Kate back from the Other World to come stand beside me. Watch it rain, snow. Consider the house, the life we built together.

 

Tarot: The High Priestess

from the DTB: Present yourself before the mysteries of life and before the Goddess in humility and with reverence. Open to the stillness and the depths within you to gain strength and wisdom.

Entering the Stillness   The High Priestess seems to bar our way forward-don’t be in a rush to move onwards. True passivity is strong and fertile, and shouldn’t be mistaken for weakness or inertia. Be open to your dreams and intuitions.”

 

Aging, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health, Kabbalah, Literature, Myth and Story, Shadow Mountain, Tarot, Writing

Tireder

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Lughnasa and the Michaelmas Moon

Friday gratefuls: Orgovyx. Biologic Pharmacy. The Roger. Phonak. Cheaters. All the little accessories that make aging so much fun. Pulmonologist, too, of course. And, Kate. Always. Jon and the kids. Coming tomorrow. Chicken pot pies. Fatigue. Cool nights in spite of warmer days.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Kabbalah and the Gates of Light, by Mark Horn

Tarot: King of cups

What a difference. Yesterday Biologic Pharmacy called and said they were shipping my first prescription of Orgovyx for which I have to pay. Co-pay, $10. Boy, that assistance fund really whacked away at that $800 number.

I am, of course, happy. But. My friend Judy says big pharma wants to cover all of our co-pays for these expensive drugs. Why? So they can charge medicare or insurance companies a higher price without resistance from patients. Don’t know, but seems possible.

When I get into any thought process about medical costs, insurance companies, and medical professionals including hospitals, my brain goes hunting for Ariadne’s thread. So far I’ve not found it. Getting back out from the maze of deals and restrictions and downright cruelty has so far eluded me.

In my second week plus of Orgovyx. It’s kicking my butt right now. The hot flashes have become more frequent, though not too bad. At least not yet. Cheer up, eh? Fatigue, however, has literally laid me low. Backed out of MVP last night after resting most of yesterday. Shortness of breath and no stamina.

This may sound like complaining, but it’s not. I’m grateful for the opportunity to use Orgovyx since it has fewer cardio-vascular risks, lowers testosterone to castration levels in the first month, and has become affordable. We’ll know more at the end of the month after blood work. It can create anemia and I’m wondering about that as an explainer for the fatigue.

Gotta say this was all simpler when I got cured after my prostate removal. Wish it had been true. The journey. My life’s ancientrail from birth to transformation, reincarnation, mortality.

So much happening in the world. That damned Texas abortion law. The possible cessation of the Gulf Stream. Hurricane Ida’s aftermath. Trying to get people to avoid death with an easy vaccine. These painful divisions in our body politic. Trouble passing voting rights legislation. Voting rights! Rights. Trouble getting the second large infrastructure bill through the Senate.

Where to put any inflection, any thumb on the scale I can manage? Seems difficult right now. And, I feel sad. Work other than staying alive feels so hard right now.

Although. I keep drawing Tarot cards that push me toward creative work, art. To get back to it. Example: King of Cups. Three of Stones, Wildwood Deck. Bear, the Animal Oracle deck.

King of cups: Druid deck

A well fed, calm man, a Celtic king, looks out over the ocean, possibly the Irish Sea or the North Sea. His feet, planted on bedrock, show some eagerness to get moving. The bard’s harp behind him speaks to his creativity, his status as king to Fire, a creative element, and the Irish Wolfhound behind him to his character as a compassionate, loving king who will nonetheless protect his subjects. Dawn has begun to rise over the forest behind him and a salmon, the salmon of knowledge, I imagine, jumps in the sea to his left. The small crab at his foot connects him both to the unconscious and to the Zodiac sign of the crab.

The king of cups represents a well-balanced man with his emotions and intellect working together. A great resource for the creative life. Cups as a suit focuses on the emotions so this card is the animus figure, the male energy associated with emotions.

Three of Stones: Wildwood Deck

A Green woman leans against three large standing stones, two pillars and a cap stone. Her hands rest on an Auroch, her right, and an ancient Horse, the Przewalski, her left. Her body has become rooted to the Earth, Wood and Stone and human flesh embrace each other.

The Holy wells of inspiration, of creativity are ancient and eternal like the three standing stones. They are vital and nourishing, like the Green woman and her rootedness. They feed to and from the animal energies of the Horse and the Great Auroch.

This card speaks to my anima, as have several I’ve drawn over the last week.

The Bear: Animal Oracle

Again, a focus on creativity. The Bear suggests a time to relax, to let inspiration and the muse rise to the surface on their own. He’s the monarch of the animals, no need to hurry, to rush around hunting for sustenance. Take a nap.

I’m going with the Bear for right now, going to ease back into writing Jennie’s Dead. But, I am headed there.

 

 

 

 

 

Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health, Shadow Mountain, Tarot

Tired

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Lughnasa and the Michaelmas Moon

the roger

Thursday gratefuls: New hearing aid. A Phonak. And, the Roger. Gonna try the Roger today at mussar. A small microphone that looks like a flying saucer. Hearing folks on my left side! Hope it works as well as promised. New noises, sounds. Good workout. Harry Potter.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Chicken Pot Pies

Tarot:  Ten of Wands

 

A full day yesterday. Went through my workout, still at two sets but I’m up to 15 reps on the first exercises Rebecca gave me, still ten reps on the new ones. 15 minutes of cardio. Tired. Didn’t get much nap because I had to go to Mile High Hearing.

Amy fit my new hearing aid, calibrated it. The machine she used for calibration was called, The Aurical. Get it? Lots of static and one guy talking about a rainbow over and over and over again. Weird.

We linked my new aid to my phone. Another part of weirdness. I can tap my ear, a double tap, and my hearing aid will answer my phone. Another double tap and I hang up. When I got the tap the first time, I told Amy I was always good at hitting myself in the head.

Amy has blond hair and blue eyes, built like a shield maiden. Not fat, muscled, dense. Didn’t ask but I strongly suspect Viking ancestry.

On the drive back I decided to hit Scooter’s Barbecue for takeout. Ranked the best barbecue joint in Colorado and it’s in Conifer. How bout that? Got a half-rack of ribs, Texas toothpicks (fried onions and jalapeno), pinto beans, and some corn bread. The owner is a good ole boy. Tall, built like a linebacker. Smiles a lot.

By the time I got home my body was crying uncle. Stamina has begun to wane, I believe. Sat down and watched the last Harry Potter film, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, pt. 2. Yes, I watched them all.

Magic, fantasy. Well done. Not great movies, not great acting, but good movies and good acting. Emma Watkins kept up with Alan Rickman, Gary Oldman, Ralph Fiennes, Maggie Smith. Over the course of these eight movies they used many of Britain’s most prominent actors.

Part of breaking in a new hearing aid is a new fit. It’s bugging my ear right now. I hope that lessens as I go on. If it doesn’t, it’s a deal breaker. Another part is my new voice. The new hearing aids pick up my voice differently than the old ones. Is that me?

Wrasslin my way through assistance forms and phone calls for Orgovyx. Hope they can get the price of the co-pay down. Also got a bill for medicare. $750 bucks. A bill for medicare? Whaaaa? Then I remembered that I closed my old Minnesota credit union account. That’s where my social security payments used to go by direct deposit.

I didn’t give social security new routing numbers until I had my phone interview for survivor’s benefits. That got delayed until August. H.O.G., the guy who handled my claim said I would get a makeup check with the larger amount figured back to April. But, not until the third week of September. That means I’ve not gotten any checks from social security since June. And, medicare payments get subtracted from social security payments. Oh. So, gotta call social security today and get that straightened around.

A few hot flashes, gentle, at least for now. Unwelcome, sure. But, they do signal the drug has reached therapeutic levels. Both Eigner and Kristie, his PA, have this corny thing, “Imagine the cancer cells dying with each hot flash!”

Had to remove my new hearing aid and put on my noise canceling headphones. Cancel culture. I’m canceling that damned yappy dog that will not stop. Of course, the hearing aid amplified those barky, barky, barky sounds. Sigh.

 

The Ten of Wands:

“Key words: Demands. Burdens. Overwork.

Carrying the weight of responsibility or obligations on your shoulder…Uncomplaining acceptance of your perceived burden. Reassessing priorities and values.” DTB

Exactly how I felt last night and feel this morning. Needing to find money to help with the Orgovyx co-pay. Adjusting to a new hearing aid and the Roger. A strenuous workout. Having to deal with social security. Hot flashes. Again. Physically tired. Close to too much.

But, not. I may need to rest today after my cardio. Skip afternoon mussar since it’s MVP tonight. Yirah, or awe, is the character trait, the midot, for tonight.

The Orgovyx may be draining my energy. Seems like it. Even more important to keep working out. Counter intuitive, I know, but it really does help.