Eclipsatarian

Do I like daylight savings time or standard time better? Either one is fine; the switching back and forth is what bothers me. I have jet lag and I haven't even gone anywhere.

I do enjoy light in the morning. Rising when it's still pitch black can seem a little creepy, at least to me. This morning's light featured a partially eclipsed sun rising an hour earlier than it did yesterday. Quite dramatic. Of course the weather cooperated. It's blustery and partially cloudy. The clouds are gray, pink and gold. The trees, festooned in their beautiful mid-fall colors, are waving around, leaves are falling like gold or red snow from some of them. Others are still hanging on tight.

It feels eclipsish even though I didn't get to see it. I should know - I was born at a dark moon, four hours before a solar eclipse. I feel them especially, maybe because I entered life in the midst of this type of astronomy.

I followed the voices of the ancestors yesterday, went down to the Library of Congress to read the Yizkor memory book from my family's shtetl, but the Hebraic section is only open on weekdays. I'm going first thing tomorrow morning.

The only thing I know of these people, my father's ancestors, is exactly when and where and how they were killed. The incredible gift of the Yizkor book translation is that I'll be able to read memories of the living town before the Holocaust. I am so excited. L'chaim!

Now the overcast has blown out of the sky. I guess Brother Sun and the moon needed some privacy during their eclipse. Well, ok then. The sun is back at full illumination and the moon is brand new. It's a good feeling. Onwards into Sunday.

Shalom.

It wasn't bad.

Halloween turned out to be a really great day. At some point I realized I don't have to tune in to the lowest common denominator of the spirit world just because so many others are, and in fact, I am pretty good about avoiding most of it. I have to sip the energy a little bit since I'm swimming in it on East Capitol Street, but almost straightaway yesterday morning, I had clicked into a wave of great ancestral energy.

I knew I was on the right track first thing in the morning when I ran into the nerdy, braniac househusbands of Capitol Hill. I love those guys. They write books and conduct tours of haunted Georgetown, take school kids to the museums. Their wives are the careerists in the house, so they get their kids to school, then go for coffee. Their clatch is all about witty repartee and intellectual sparring. They don't sit there all day, though. They have to get home and do the laundry, or research their next book or lead a tour. They are adorable. Anyway, I saw them at the espresso bar, stopped to chat. One of them, someone I've never seen before, noticed my tattoo, asked about it. He directed me to the Library of Congress, Hebraic section, to the Holocaust Yizkor books.

When I did the research at the Holocaust Museum library a few years ago, they told me there was a Yizkor book for my family's shtetl, but it was in Yiddish. But the brainiac househusband said my ancestors' remembrances may be among the books that have recently been translated from Yiddish into English. I will definitely head down to the Library sometime next week to see what I can find.

I listen carefully at this time of year especially for the voices of my ancestors. How sweet to receive a tip on how to access the old stories - in English! Very cool that this happened on Halloween, from out of the blue, from someone I've never met. It was powerful. He would have never thought to steer me to the LOC except for the tattoo which, I believe, he found mildly offensive. It's interesting.

One of the brainiac househusbands took this picture of me in my urban shaman costume. I'm looking at my tattoo, sending love backwards in time to my ancestors.

After that, I went to see Damage Control at the Hirschhorn. It was provocative and disturbing - I'll be thinking about it for awhile. Last night I sought refuge, as always, at the house on Tennessee Avenue. We drank red wine, had a home cooked dinner and ignored the mayhem ongoing in front of the house. It began raining around 9:00 p.m., another blessing. The rain discourages trick or treaters.

The best thing is: Halloween is now 364 days in the future. Not my favorite day, no it is not. But I've learned in recent years how to dance to a different beat than the gross, gory, bloody, scary, greedy sugar high so many folks indulge in. This is great!

Onwards and upwards to T-day. Shalom.

Smithsonian Metro station yesterday. Nice and empty.

Starlight in the Heart

Life is good. Autumn in DC is spectacular this year including the finest breath-taking leaf display I've seen in years, plus perfect Colorado weather most days. There have also been just enough gray days to lend a cinematic mood to the season. The best part is, because I'm 60, I'm appreciating every day so much more fully than I could have even ten years ago.

Here are a few of the dozens of pictures I took yesterday. I hardly ever post multiple pics, but it's necessary in order to convey that, nearly everywhere I walk these days, the trees are bursting with color.

I think we humans could learn a thing or two from deciduous trees about taking in the light, being nourished by light. Trees drink sunlight. They are well fed.

I've been thinking lately about one of the truths in the Reyaverse - that love is abundant and always available. Yet, sometimes we can not access the great ocean of love. In the Reyaverse, the great ocean of love is the divine light. It's all around us, always available if we can remember. Why do we forget? Is it the struggling towards the light that helps us evolve? Theories?

Trees grow towards the light, they grow branches and put out as many leaves as they can manage in summer. They increase their surface exposure, they surely do, so as to catch as much light as they can. They make hay while the sun shines.

When Brother Sun takes his autumnal dive into the darkness that will be winter, the trees draw the light in, and down. The leaves turn color as the chlorophyll gathers in. Super bright leaves in fall is an indicator of a tree is good health. Then, during winter, they sleep.

When I'm able to notice the divine light and therefore have access the ocean of love, is there a way I can expand my surface exposure? When the light wanes, can I be brave enough to shake off the old leaves, without giving it a second thought, without hoping somehow to hang on to the best of the leaves?

This is the train of thought I've been traveling on lately. Why oh why is it so easy for humans to get sucked into the dark when there is so much light? Do you know?

The days are waning fast in the American midatlantic. It's 7:30 a.m. in DC. The sky is only slightly brighter than it was at midnight. The trees are drawing in, pulling the sunlight they gathered into their hearts where it will burn slowly, like an ember, until spring.

Can I do that? I should be able to, since in terms of the seasons of life I am somewhat past the pretty leaf aspect of aging. I should be shaking off the the leaves, I should. How does one do that? Do you know?

Onwards and upwards to the holiday season.

Autumn has come into its fullness in DC. The leaves are changing color, also starting to fall in heaps and piles. The leaves will continue to fall until New Year's Day, the last leaf collection date in the city. Can you believe it? Yeah! The Sweeping of the Leaves is a daily routine between October and January in this leafy, tree filled city. I love trees. Also I love sweeping leaves, so for me, it is well worth it.

Fall and spring are the big seasons in the midatlantic. Both go on and on. And on. And a bit longer still. Where I grew up, in the American midwest, summer and winter prevail with short but spectacular springs and falls. But here, spring is a gaudy parade that lasts for months. Fall is vivid, gorgeous, wrenching, and lengthy. This is one major reason why I live here. I love spring and fall!

Today was beautiful. I'm back to good health, hence I worked most of the day, but did pop out long enough to notice the sparkling air, the breathtaking blue of the sky. The light was incredible today, both gold and silver and pure as snow. Everything looks beautiful in that kind of light. I took several dozen pictures in a relatively short period of time.

Life is settling down in DC at last. The shutdown was a rift in time/space that was not only challenging as it was happening, but left a choppy energy in its wake. But I think we're back to what we call normal. What is normal? I've never been able to grasp the concept.

Whatever it is, I believe we have achieved it, just in time for the holiday season. Whew.

Life is good, and I am grateful. Shalom.

Flesh and Blood Again

It has been a long week. For most of it, I've been sick.

The Sufi acupuncturist says I am suffering from autumnal dry heat. Oh yeah. I surely am. Dry cough, a fever, but most notable: a heaviness that was not exhaustion. Exhaustion is a condition I think of as a vacuum, a nothing, no energy at all. Exhaustion is depletion. What I suffered from was quite different. This week's heaviness felt metallic. I felt as if I were made of iron. I felt like a large cube of rusty iron. It was not pleasant. If I'd had any energy, I would have worried. I did as little as possible during the days, slept hard and long at night, but woke up as heavy as the day before. Odd. At last I got in to see the Sufi acupuncturist, the only health care professional I know who would completely understand my symptoms.

Fortunately, the miracle of Chinese medicine has set me to rights, even though I had to drink a truly terrible tea in addition to the acupuncture. It was worth it. I am restored. Thank god for the Sufi acupuncturist! I am grateful.

The leaves are turning and the days have been alternately pewter, with roiling clouds and bitter winds, or bright and sunny with shocking blue skies. It's 6:23 in DC, almost dark already. It is autumn, alright.

In spite of the dry heat, my body's way of dancing in shamanic alignment with the shift in seasons, I love autumn.

Shalom.

Liquify

It didn't take long, after the end of the shutdown, for the machine of the District of Columbia to crank back into full gear. It was not gradual. We went from 0 to 60 in the blink of an eye. Or maybe, better than the pedal-to-the-metal metaphor: a blender, switched from OFF to VAPORIZE. Oh, and somebody forgot to put the lid on.

Splat. Energy flew everywhere for a couple of days, energy that had been hanging, growing more sour with each passing day, over the city. The night before last, Brother Wind came through, blasted the last bits of the shutdown out into the Atlantic. What a relief! Onwards and upwards.

During the days of flying energy bits, I attended several gatherings, things planned long before we knew there would be a shutdown, such as our village fete, the Literary Feast. The dinner I attended was based on the Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas. Our host used the recipes from her cookbook to inspire the menu. We were served an opulent, 20s style Parisian dinner. Between courses, a man in a beret and scarf stood up and recited Gertrude Stein poetry about food and dining. Needless to say the evening was fabulous. I love the Feast. It is Capitol Hill's thanksgiving. A blast!

There was no choice other than to twirl around in the blender of energy. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em, and there was no escape from the blender, nope. I'm glad I had plans to be at a noisy, boisterous, very fun gathering. It was my way of dancing in shamanic alignment with the reopening of the government. I drank a little too much, laughed a little too loudly. It was great.

Today feels calmer, as if someone remembered to put the top on the blender at last. Perhaps we'll now get back into a rhythm that feels normal, whatever that is.

I love the dazzling days of fall, the leaves, the shocking blue sky, the gold light. It is gorgeous out there, cold enough for a jacket. I don't think we saw temps in the 40s last year until February. I am happy!

Looking forward to a much less hectic week this week. Life goes on. Shalom.

That's the castle at the Smithsonian, and me, taking a pic of the fairy globes in the garden.

The Fine Art of Futzing

You would not believe how fast DC cranked back into gear. Even before the deal was signed into law, I saw people in suits streaming down East Capitol, headed to work, it appeared.

I have no doubt that the unexpected staycation was alarming to some federal workers, those whose lives are shaped around their work. But there were also a lot of people for whom the experience was a revelation. They had time, actual time, in the city. When these people take vacation, they travel. They get the hell out of DC. They never plan for days off, figuring they can jam every activity outside of work into the weekends. This is a city of seriously hard-working people.

But it was actually against the law for them to work during the shutdown. Instead, they caught up with household projects, gardened, took a run in the middle of the day when usually they would be bent over a computer screen in a hermetically sealed cubicle or office. They took leisurely walks with their dogs, picked up their kids from school, came for massage.

They relaxed. They goofed, chilled, chillaxed. (I love that "word.") They practiced the fine art of futzing. The time off was a gift to those who were comfortable enough to go with it - it surely was - and an eye opener, no doubt.

These are the days of our lives. That phrase has been running round and round my horn of plenty (my mind, I mean). These are the days of our lives. Every little thing we do or don't do is written into the saga that is the story of who we are and how we spend our time. A lifetime of crippling work, unless there is no other option, might not provide the most satisfying life story, some of these federal serfs are thinking.

Yesterday they were back at work, no doubt to rotting food in the break room fridge, and thousands of emails. While taking my walk through this sparkling fall day, I felt for my neighbors and clients who must now readjust to the dehumanizing and demoralizing environment of the office.

The architecture of the traditional office building is so wrong. It's efficient, but deadening to the body and spirit. At least this is my experience in office buildings. There are many lovely offices, too. Also many more people are working from home. Work environments are changing, thank god. But my sense of federal office space is that it's pretty grim, like something from out of the Cold War.

Alas, the precious time the furloughed workers had for two weeks has been whisked away again. It's back to the grind. I expect there will be a period of readjustment, but most citizens of the District are pretty tough and will put their noses to the grindstone with determination, even fervor.

I have nothing but admiration for the bad-ass, smart, hard working citizens of my city. And nothing but gratitude that even though I don't have money or security (whatever that means), I make my own schedule and do not work in a lifeless cubicle. Also I have time. It is so precious. Believe me.

Shalom.