Happy Mabon!
This year, it rained. That's funny, in all the years I've been celebrating Mabon--that's the fall equinox--here, it hasn't rained once, until this year, when I believe it rained enough for all six of the Mabon celebrations I've seen.
It was a cold, long, misty rain that began in the night and continued right on into the morning of the next day. The cloud lowered until you could not see the mountain ridge behind the campus and a fitful wind stirred the trees toward the afternoon. Sometimes the rain came hard, at other times it was a mere, drippy mist, but wet and gray either way. When the air was still and the mist thick, crows cawed once, twice, three times and nothing else made a sound. When crows caw like that, I've noticed, they'll respond to a human imitation, matching the number of caws you care to give, at least until they lose count. But I don't imitate wild animals anymore. It seems rude.
We continued our festivities as best as we could, though a lot of events had to be moved inside. The Gratitude Circle was in the Chapel, the Thank You Doll Build was in the Main Greenhouse, and so on. Some things had to be outside, such as waking the Doll, and the harvest festival was outside under the event tent, meaning we all had to get rather wet coming and going.
"No sense pretending to honor the Earth if you can't stand a little rain," said Charlie, but I noticed he pulled the hood of his rain poncho up, just life everyone else.
We all have rain ponchos as an optional part of our uniforms, and the wool cloaks we wear are excellent in any kind of cool weather, but as the day wore on the damp leaked in, and as we all spent more time outside that we normally do in such weather, by dinner time we were all rather chilled.
Joy noticed.
"If humans really are animals," she declared, in a loud voice, "I can diagnose you all with incipient hypothermia. GET TO BED."
But we didn't go to bed. We all repaired to our dorms, yes, but only to change clothes and, for some of us, to shower. Then most of us gathered in the Great Hall and built a fire (though we didn't light the wood stove) and set the hot cocoa and the spiced cider on to brew in the cauldrons on swinging arms over the fireplace. And there, led, encouraged, and abetted by Kit, we sat around telling stories half the night.
It's Fall, now.
Monday, September 24, 2018
Mastery Year 2: 5th Interlude
Hi, all, Daniel-of-2018 here.
Last week I was unable to post and here it is a few days after Mabon already. Things seem to be getting away from me, both in general and this week in particular--I'm playing catch-up after having a house guest for several days last week and then having to throw an unexpected party for someone I didn't even know (long story, but the party was fun and the guest of honor was...interesting).
Anyway.
So, I'm writing TWO posts today, an interlude and the Mabon post, and they will both likely be short.
Our new retail complex is starting to hit its stride. As you may remember, we now have a restaurant and two connected retail spaces, one a metaphysical bookstore and the other a natural science bookstore and gift shop. Aaron's library has moved into the basement, and there are apartments on the second and third floors, one of which is now home to Greg--though how long he'll be able to stay there is anybody's guess, as his health is getting poor. One of the other apartments is unoccupied and we use is for classes and rent it out for 12-step meetings and such.
As a campus of sorts, it's not ideal, but at least we as a community have a physical space to call home again.
-best, D.
Last week I was unable to post and here it is a few days after Mabon already. Things seem to be getting away from me, both in general and this week in particular--I'm playing catch-up after having a house guest for several days last week and then having to throw an unexpected party for someone I didn't even know (long story, but the party was fun and the guest of honor was...interesting).
Anyway.
So, I'm writing TWO posts today, an interlude and the Mabon post, and they will both likely be short.
Our new retail complex is starting to hit its stride. As you may remember, we now have a restaurant and two connected retail spaces, one a metaphysical bookstore and the other a natural science bookstore and gift shop. Aaron's library has moved into the basement, and there are apartments on the second and third floors, one of which is now home to Greg--though how long he'll be able to stay there is anybody's guess, as his health is getting poor. One of the other apartments is unoccupied and we use is for classes and rent it out for 12-step meetings and such.
As a campus of sorts, it's not ideal, but at least we as a community have a physical space to call home again.
-best, D.
Monday, September 17, 2018
Note
Hi, All,
I'm in the happy position of not having time to post this week because I have house guests. See you next week.
-D.
I'm in the happy position of not having time to post this week because I have house guests. See you next week.
-D.
Tuesday, September 11, 2018
Mastery Year 2: Part 5: Post 5: Thinking
Aaand summer is back.
It's not really, of course. The harvest is coming in fast, now, the swallows are staging to migrate, the goldenrod is coming into bloom....Fall is well underway. I mean it's hot and humid and I wish it wasn't. I'd like a good summer storm to cool things off, and I heard some rumblings in the distance today and even saw one cloud-to-ground strike far off, but none of the storms came our way.
I was supposed to teach a workshop today but had to cancel because the people who were interested had an extended field trip in another class and weren't going to be able to make it. So, I ended up spending the afternoon lying on my bed, watching the hummingbirds at the bean vines out on my deck, wishing it were cooler, wishing for cooling rain, and thinking about things.
And I was thinking about 9/11. The 9/11, I mean, the attacks. They're getting to be a long time ago, now. I mean, I could have a conversation with someone who wasn't born yet when that happened* and sometimes I do--my brother's kids, for example.
I remember that day. I remember before and I remember after. And someday there won't be anybody who remembers before--the amount of time before that event is finite, we've had all of it there is. There are days that change a person intentionally. I mean, when I first came to this place, I had no idea what it would mean for my life, what I was getting into, but I did it on purpose. And in a way I did know. I knew that here was a place that would be magical in some way, important, worth putting my energy into and caring about. I knew it was a place I wanted to belong and thought that perhaps I could. I was changing something and I was excited about it.
But when I woke up on September 11th, 2001, I didn't know that day would be different.
* Remember, this is set ten years in the past.
It's not really, of course. The harvest is coming in fast, now, the swallows are staging to migrate, the goldenrod is coming into bloom....Fall is well underway. I mean it's hot and humid and I wish it wasn't. I'd like a good summer storm to cool things off, and I heard some rumblings in the distance today and even saw one cloud-to-ground strike far off, but none of the storms came our way.
I was supposed to teach a workshop today but had to cancel because the people who were interested had an extended field trip in another class and weren't going to be able to make it. So, I ended up spending the afternoon lying on my bed, watching the hummingbirds at the bean vines out on my deck, wishing it were cooler, wishing for cooling rain, and thinking about things.
And I was thinking about 9/11. The 9/11, I mean, the attacks. They're getting to be a long time ago, now. I mean, I could have a conversation with someone who wasn't born yet when that happened* and sometimes I do--my brother's kids, for example.
I remember that day. I remember before and I remember after. And someday there won't be anybody who remembers before--the amount of time before that event is finite, we've had all of it there is. There are days that change a person intentionally. I mean, when I first came to this place, I had no idea what it would mean for my life, what I was getting into, but I did it on purpose. And in a way I did know. I knew that here was a place that would be magical in some way, important, worth putting my energy into and caring about. I knew it was a place I wanted to belong and thought that perhaps I could. I was changing something and I was excited about it.
But when I woke up on September 11th, 2001, I didn't know that day would be different.
* Remember, this is set ten years in the past.
Monday, September 3, 2018
Mastery Year 2: Part 5: Post 4: Rick's Habit
Today was the first day that felt like fall, cool and crisp. It doesn't look like fall yet, except in that, according to the Wiccan calendar, it is fall, so this is how fall looks. I mean, the color change hasn't started yet. I expect the weather will warm up again in a few days and we'll be back to "summer" for a week or two, before the season really changes.
I've been writing poetry for Charlie for over a year, now, and I've written about five hundred poems, mostly about my "spot" in the woods. That's probably more poems than I'd written in my entire life before this project, and I never thought I could be so productive, not that productivity alone is a good measure of poetry. It's just a lot, you know? We've decided to publish 180 of them in a little book, which is harder than it sounds because, first, only around a hundred so far are revised to the point where we're both happy with them, and, second, most of those hundred are clustered around the same season, spring, when I apparently had a burst of creativity or something. The idea is to follow the course of the year, so we need more poems for the other seasons. The book is therefore only about a third done.
Has my soul improved its condition? Charlie suggested we clarify my soul, back when I was protesting that poetry can't be edited because it is an expression of the artist's soul. How embarrassing, that kind of statement sounds so juvenile now....
Anyway, we never set about anything Charlie framed as "soul improvement," and I very quickly knuckled under and started rewriting my poems based on Charlie's editing. Sometimes I couldn't do it, I'd already forgotten the ideas and feelings that made me write the poem and I couldn't recapture that inspiration. But most of the time I found that answering Charlie's questions (usually some version of "what does this mean?) helped me clarify my intent and improve my communication so that the revised poem better expressed my thoughts and feelings than the original had.
But is my soul clarified?
You know, I think it may be. It's hard to tell. I've always been a man of few words, but the few words I speak are more likely to make sense, now. I stick my foot in my mouth less often. I'm more sure of what I want to say. I'm more sure, in general, of what I want. I'm less worried about it when I don't know. Is this clarity of soul? How am I supposed to know?
But poetry, along with therapy and the two courses the candidates' group takes, do seem to have something to do with the shift.
Speaking of shifts, both Ollie and Rick expect to get their Green Rings this coming February. September is always the month when I start thinking about who's leaving next, and this time it's them, again (along with Jasimin, Nel, and Oak, from our group, and a few dozen novices, including Freydis, whom I've talked about here, Ebony's friend, Nutmeg, and Steve's friend, Edna). It's not as hard as the first time, as they won't be going into Absence, but I'm not entirely sure Rick won't simply drop off the face of the Earth.
I asked him about that the other day.
"Why, will you miss me, Kretzman?" he asked, a slightly mocking half-grin on his face.
"Frankly, yes I would," I told him. "I'd rather you not vanish."
"You--I don't get you. Why do you bother to like a guy who you think might just vanish on you? I'm not the kind of person who deserves your loyalty."
"I'm not loyal because you deserve it," I said. "Look at it this way, I'm Charlie's student. You can't be more prickly than he is."
"Yes, I can," he asserted. "But I'm not going anywhere, yet. I like this place, for what it's worth. I like you. Where else can I be the prickly, anti-social jack-ass I am and have people still be ok with it?"
"If you were that much of a jack-ass, why would you be so concerned about it? You're constantly warning people. You're like an ass walking on cat-feet." You know, how cats can walk among delicate china or glassware and never knock anything over? My simile made him laugh aloud.
"That's why I like you, Kretzman," he said.
"Speaking of which, how's loving Charlie going?"
As you may recall, his primary assignment as a candidate has been to learn to love one human being. When Rick expressed worry that he might accidentally hurt or confuse the object of such deliberate love, Charlie volunteered himself. I'm not sure how ethical that looks, since he's the one who gave Rick the assignment in the first place, but Charlie is often not what he looks like, so I think it's ok.
"Well, I don't feel any urge to ride off into the sunset with him."
"No, seriously, how's it going? You're expecting to get your Green Ring in a few months, so I assume something's happened with your assignment?"
"Nothing dramatic," Rick explained, with a little discomfort. He doesn't talk on a personal level easily. "Like, nothing's happened. I've had no big revelation, he hasn't tested me by almost dying, my feelings haven't changed. But I've been thinking about Charlie's welfare every day, all day, for months now. Everything I do, everything I find out about, everything I read in the damned newspaper, it's always how is that going to impact Charlie? Is it going to be good for him? Is there some way I can help for his sake? Nothing's changed, it's still just an exercise, but I'm used to it. I realized the other week that I don't resent doing all this for him. I never have. Isn't that odd? You'd think I'd feel...imposed on, interrupted, at least bored, but I don't. I'm ok with all Charlie, all the time. I can keep doing the exercise forever, and maybe I will, whether I get the ring or not." He shrugged, as though the statement weren't extraordinary. "I didn't even tell anyone about that realization, but two days later, Charlie told me I have his vote to graduate. Isn't that crazy?"
"No more than most things around here," I conceded.
I've been writing poetry for Charlie for over a year, now, and I've written about five hundred poems, mostly about my "spot" in the woods. That's probably more poems than I'd written in my entire life before this project, and I never thought I could be so productive, not that productivity alone is a good measure of poetry. It's just a lot, you know? We've decided to publish 180 of them in a little book, which is harder than it sounds because, first, only around a hundred so far are revised to the point where we're both happy with them, and, second, most of those hundred are clustered around the same season, spring, when I apparently had a burst of creativity or something. The idea is to follow the course of the year, so we need more poems for the other seasons. The book is therefore only about a third done.
Has my soul improved its condition? Charlie suggested we clarify my soul, back when I was protesting that poetry can't be edited because it is an expression of the artist's soul. How embarrassing, that kind of statement sounds so juvenile now....
Anyway, we never set about anything Charlie framed as "soul improvement," and I very quickly knuckled under and started rewriting my poems based on Charlie's editing. Sometimes I couldn't do it, I'd already forgotten the ideas and feelings that made me write the poem and I couldn't recapture that inspiration. But most of the time I found that answering Charlie's questions (usually some version of "what does this mean?) helped me clarify my intent and improve my communication so that the revised poem better expressed my thoughts and feelings than the original had.
But is my soul clarified?
You know, I think it may be. It's hard to tell. I've always been a man of few words, but the few words I speak are more likely to make sense, now. I stick my foot in my mouth less often. I'm more sure of what I want to say. I'm more sure, in general, of what I want. I'm less worried about it when I don't know. Is this clarity of soul? How am I supposed to know?
But poetry, along with therapy and the two courses the candidates' group takes, do seem to have something to do with the shift.
Speaking of shifts, both Ollie and Rick expect to get their Green Rings this coming February. September is always the month when I start thinking about who's leaving next, and this time it's them, again (along with Jasimin, Nel, and Oak, from our group, and a few dozen novices, including Freydis, whom I've talked about here, Ebony's friend, Nutmeg, and Steve's friend, Edna). It's not as hard as the first time, as they won't be going into Absence, but I'm not entirely sure Rick won't simply drop off the face of the Earth.
I asked him about that the other day.
"Why, will you miss me, Kretzman?" he asked, a slightly mocking half-grin on his face.
"Frankly, yes I would," I told him. "I'd rather you not vanish."
"You--I don't get you. Why do you bother to like a guy who you think might just vanish on you? I'm not the kind of person who deserves your loyalty."
"I'm not loyal because you deserve it," I said. "Look at it this way, I'm Charlie's student. You can't be more prickly than he is."
"Yes, I can," he asserted. "But I'm not going anywhere, yet. I like this place, for what it's worth. I like you. Where else can I be the prickly, anti-social jack-ass I am and have people still be ok with it?"
"If you were that much of a jack-ass, why would you be so concerned about it? You're constantly warning people. You're like an ass walking on cat-feet." You know, how cats can walk among delicate china or glassware and never knock anything over? My simile made him laugh aloud.
"That's why I like you, Kretzman," he said.
"Speaking of which, how's loving Charlie going?"
As you may recall, his primary assignment as a candidate has been to learn to love one human being. When Rick expressed worry that he might accidentally hurt or confuse the object of such deliberate love, Charlie volunteered himself. I'm not sure how ethical that looks, since he's the one who gave Rick the assignment in the first place, but Charlie is often not what he looks like, so I think it's ok.
"Well, I don't feel any urge to ride off into the sunset with him."
"No, seriously, how's it going? You're expecting to get your Green Ring in a few months, so I assume something's happened with your assignment?"
"Nothing dramatic," Rick explained, with a little discomfort. He doesn't talk on a personal level easily. "Like, nothing's happened. I've had no big revelation, he hasn't tested me by almost dying, my feelings haven't changed. But I've been thinking about Charlie's welfare every day, all day, for months now. Everything I do, everything I find out about, everything I read in the damned newspaper, it's always how is that going to impact Charlie? Is it going to be good for him? Is there some way I can help for his sake? Nothing's changed, it's still just an exercise, but I'm used to it. I realized the other week that I don't resent doing all this for him. I never have. Isn't that odd? You'd think I'd feel...imposed on, interrupted, at least bored, but I don't. I'm ok with all Charlie, all the time. I can keep doing the exercise forever, and maybe I will, whether I get the ring or not." He shrugged, as though the statement weren't extraordinary. "I didn't even tell anyone about that realization, but two days later, Charlie told me I have his vote to graduate. Isn't that crazy?"
"No more than most things around here," I conceded.
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