Seeing Brown

“Everything’s brown.”  I heard my own mind saying it, repeating what I’ve heard from others innumerable times since childhood.  The phrase comes naturally enough to those who live with midwestern winters. Brown trees, brown stubs of grass, lots of brown brick buildings.  Add a gray sky, which is pretty common in January and February, and you’ll hear it more.

But, as I sat in the back seat of a Lyft crawling along the freeway on the morning I left Chicago, my eyes opened and declared that everything is not brown, and brown is not one thing.  Pay attention, I was told, and suddenly could discern at least eight types of “brown” brick, ranging from deep almost-red to beige, from a hundred years old to — I’m guessing — twenty years young.  Add the multiplicity of wooden browns and a rare “brownstone,” and the scene became a panoply of colors.

Trees were more difficult at this range, as they stretched up before the sky and their different browns faded against the background of clouds lightly dripping rain. Still, as we passed them, I could make out subtle differences among light and dark and medium brown trunks. In my own garden, I remembered, I could tell just by a shade of color the branches that were dead and needed pruning, from those that would blossom again in spring. Sure enough, when I touched them they were brittle and yielded quickly to a snip.

Grass in the midwestern winter seems uniform but, like the desert undergrowth, yields its secrets to close inspection. It takes only a couple of days thaw, earth softening and sun shining, temperatures still barely reaching 40 degrees fahrenheit, before tiny green tips test the new environment. Covered by snow and ice again, they retreat, but not for long.  And grass rarely darkens completely. Compared to the trees, it can look almost yellow, but it lacks its glisten which would tell us that dormancy is ending.

Brown is about sleep and rest, and the long winters, in a town that loves business, busy-ness, and bustle, unnerve us.   We feel we have overslept, that sluggishness is overtaking the world.  Our pulse of energy is not reflected in our environment, we miss the resonance and feel “grumpy.”  When will winter be over?

Perhaps brown, the color of yielding into earth, makes us think of death, also bringing ancient echoes of unease. Brown can become a pressure, a weight.  Like our ancestors beyond memory, we look around the corner for warmth, brightness, signs of life to reassure us:  we’re not just going “downhill from here.”

But none of that is brown’s fault. Listen to brown once in a while, it has its own song.




A World for Our Grandchildren

People who know me would likely describe me as a “no drama” person.  Relatively cool-headed, thoughtful, inclined to turn the dial down on conflict and confrontation and find “some other way.”  In a tug-of-war, I sometimes just drop my end of the rope and wait to see what happens.

But Roger Cohen got to me yesterday. I did manage to sleep on it overnight, but I couldn’t get away from it.  He wrote that his fifth grandchild had just been born on February 1, and he didn’t know what kind of world these children would find when they come of age.

Our twelfth grandchild was born on February 2, and I have tears in my eyes when I think of the world that may be awaiting these dozen precious beings.

It could be a beautiful world – one where the natural environment is moving in a healthful direction, blossoming with possibility. One where nations have abjured war, and where their representatives share their desires and interests with an intent to find a win-win instead of zero-sum outcomes. One where people of diverse backgrounds gather in creative endeavors to brighten all our lives, where those who have more resources find helpful ways to share with and encourage those who have less.

But our world now is agitated by emotions that are unhelpful –  fear, anxiety, and anger, energized by a desire to blame others.  When a country like the United States, a beacon of light for so many,  starts to nurture that hateful, constricted morphic field of emotion, the effects are far more damaging than they might be from other places. When they come from the elected leader of this country, and are supported by many in a major party – not just an extremist group – the effect is like standing behind a jet plane as it takes off.

When I let it in, I feel as though I can barely stand on my feet.  That’s how I felt after reading Cohen’s op-ed.

It’s true: this administration is slowly “getting people to shrug.” After so much hot air, so much emotional coercion, I’ve developed an avoidance reaction, turning my shoulder to the onslaught, a “shrug” that combines disdain, self-protection, and helplessness.   It isn’t a shrug of not-caring, or it-doesn’t-matter.  I know it matters and I care – but how can I stand up to it?  I don’t see a way.

It does not escape me that there is resonance with some aspects of the #MeToo movement.  As Uma Thurman said, one can become more compliant or less compliant. Partly it depends on how much pain one can stand, whether one can persuade oneself to redefine cruelty as misguided attachment, and whether to decide to fight or to spend one’s limited energy on other things that seem much more beneficial and creative.

Here too:   How much pain are we experiencing?  Some people more than others – some not at all right now.  How much do we empathize? How bad does it have to get?

Are we persuading ourselves that cruelty, contempt, and grandiosity are merely misguided patriotism, pride, and insecurity?

If we are we choosing to invest time in our own private, creative and beneficial endeavors in the belief that our energy is best spent that way, we had better investigate our beliefs.

If we hesitate because we “just don’t have the energy for it,” chalk that up to false belief. When we truly commit to the good, the true, the beautiful, the transcendent, the cosmos opens for us an unbelievable reservoir of energy.

The Greatest Generation had to face some choice like that in their Darkest Hour.  I don’t know if we’re there, but we – I – should face reality instead of turning away with a shrug.

I’m looking at my grandchildren’s pictures. I wonder if my dad, when he flew thirty missions over Germany, was thinking of his adored nieces and nephews, and his own yet-unborn children – one of which was me.







Full Moon, Blue Moon, Blood Moon, Eclipse


And the State of the Union.

Just sayin’.

Not that I believe in omens or anything.

But the second full moon in a solar month seems a worthy occasion to start up this blog again. I’ve been taking a break to work on other projects; and I’ve been reflecting on why I am writing here.

One thing is clear. I’m not blogging to persuade, convince, change minds, achieve leverage, gain a following, or make an impact.  In the overpopulated jungle of the internet, the belief that a lone individual can do that is near-delusional.

It’s more like sending a signal into the far reaches of (cyber)space to say “Life here!”  Mmm… a little more than that:  “Intelligent Life Here!”  If anyone happens to pick up the signal and respond, great.

Intelligent life is important, by which I mean, it’s the way we are importing the creative dynamics of the universe around us.  Intelligence is our receptivity, our sensitivity, our ability to accept what is in-formation.

Sadly, in our collective life much energy is being expended in battles.  Outrage, however justified, takes us out of ourselves, damages our receptive intelligence. All the more, we need to attend to what is deeper, to our inner dimensions.

That’s my purpose. Now some reflections on this remarkable day, January 30-31, 2018.

The coincidental occurrences of the full lunar eclipse visible in America, the State of the Union message, and the Jewish holiday of the New Year of the Trees (Tu b’Shevat) offer us a way of imagining “As Above, So Below”  — and its transformation, “As Inside, So Outside.”

Lunar eclipse:  the earth, sun, and moon are aligned so precisely that the earth blocks the sunlight from reaching the moon. An inner question: are we ourselves blocking the light that makes our particular placement in space so beautiful? The dynamic dance of sun, moon and earth seems to slow, almost stop, to hold our attention, to ask, What does this mean to you?  This planet, this space, this light?  

 The State of the Union:  “The Union” of diverse perspectives, an American ideal, seems blocked as well. We are perhaps too concerned with “The State,” with nation-states. The “blood moon,” referring to the color of the moon in eclipse as we see it from earth, has traditionally been an omen – we might say the overheated “blood” of ethnicity, identity politics, nationalism. And yet it may appear to us as orange, the color of compassionate wisdom, or in another perspective as creativity, exploration.  How can we creatively, wisely reimagine our Union?

Tu b’Shevat:  From this date, the 15th of Shevat on the Jewish (lunar) calendar, we count the age of fruit trees, so we know when they are mature enough for us to take their fruit (the fourth year).  A New Year for Trees calls us to look at renewal in a different way. From this time in the year the earth is warming, the sap begins to run. We begin to thaw from whatever has frozen us. This reminds me of the great movement afoot to deal with trauma. If we look over the past couple of decades, from our deeper attention to PTSD among veterans to our growing awareness of abuse and harassment, sexual and otherwise, we can perhaps sense the beginnings of a thaw.  Painful, difficult, full of personal upheaval and gyrations in social dynamics, but it has the potential to un-freeze us from patterns that have blocked human potential for millennia.  How are we participating in this process?

Letting the sap flow by opening slowly, our skin receiving the warmth of the sun, a little more each day, like sweet amber-orange maple syrup appearing in droplets on tree bark, earth responding to sun. . . . Coming full circle, like the full moon, to new intelligence and compassion.  You can think of more ways to activate these inner dimensions. It does make a difference.

Omen.  Amen.


Maybe Something Doesn’t Love a Wall

“To show we’re great, we’ll build a wall!”
He shouted, “Long and big and tall!”

Does God define those out and in
By race or creed or next of kin?
If that’s the purpose of your wall
May all your bills in Congress stall!

But a worse lesson you must learn
Before you take one more bad turn:
Your wall cannot change to a boat
When every house now has a moat.
Walls will not be thought of more
When men must now rebuild a shore.

Your surety you thought would keep
But even you must watch and weep
As walls and towers built to abide
Are strewn across the countryside.

And now will the jeweled isles cry
While you continue to deny
The changes come upon our land?
We can all see the stronger Hand.

We know pride goes before a fall.
Do you think God cares for your wall?

The Meeting of Sun and Moon

This coming Monday, August 21, a solar eclipse will be visible, partly or in its totality, over much of North America. The next day, we will celebrate the New Moon of the Jewish month of Elul, the last month of the year 5777.  Are these two astronomical events connected? And if so, what does it mean?

Yes, they are connected. The moon, in its dance with the sun through a month, always has a dark time when we cannot see it at all.  That followed by the “new moon” when a sliver of the moon’s sunlit side appears in the sky, shortly after sunset.  But the dark moon does not usually result in an eclipse; that only happens when the sun and moon are aligned from a certain earthly point of view (the “path” of the eclipse).  That unique alignment is happening just before Elul’s new moon.

What does it mean?  We are told that in ancient times people were awed by eclipses and feared them as omens. Not so in Judaism — our priests and rabbis knew that this was an astronomical phenomenon. Nevertheless, they also knew that the world is a divine creation, and that the connection between our own lives and the phenomena of nature can inspire us.  For example, the Torah tells us to set up our calendar by the moon. Our Sages then used the moon’s waxing and waning to help us understand the cycles of good and bad times for the Jewish people.

Our tradition also describes each lunar month as having its own unique character within the annual round of moons. The month of Elul is cherished as a time of teshuvah, “return.,” in preparation for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. As we begin to look back on the past year and prepare for the new one, it is a time conducive to reflection and introspection.

Elul is also the month when “the King is in the field,” as a traditional parable puts it. Rather than having to approach God in the palace amid pomp and ceremony, one can experience God out in the fields, among the people, open to prayers in a different way, recognizing our trouble and pain outside the restraints of the great system of halls and chambers that organizes cosmic energy.  For us, it is a time of repentance because we are asked to be humble too, and step out of the frameworks that we use to organize our lives, to meet the king in the fields.

The word Elul is spelled alef-lamed-vav-lamed.  These letters also make an acronym for a famous verse in the Song of Songs (6:3):  Ani L’dodi V’dodi Li, which means “I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine.” The relationship between God and us is like that of lover and beloved in that beautiful biblical poem, where also the two sometimes celebrate their coming together and sometimes are apart, yearning for one another.

This resonates with the traditional symbolism where the sun represents the divine and the moon the Jewish people. Astrologically speaking, sun and moon move in ways that are sometimes close, sometimes far.  They are closest together at the dark of the moon, but we cannot see it. Metaphorically, our relationship to God in this darkness is largely behind the scenes, even unconscious.

But in a total eclipse, where the sun is covered by the moon during the daytime, their relationship is out in the open, so to speak.  Yet the sky will darken, because the moon hides the sun’s light. In an uncanny shift of roles, the brilliant sun retreats, highlighting the moon and the darkness.

We can see, though, that the moon even in her “darkest” moment has within her the greatness that can cover the sun.  So with us: when the “light of day” is hidden, this is when we as human beings must become more aware of our potential, to bring forth what must be born from the darkness.

The month of Elul asks us to look back at the past year –  our personal lives, our communities, Israel, the world.  Certainly public life has been stunning for those of us living in the USA, where the eclipse will largely be seen; a dramatic eclipse is in many ways a fitting metaphor for the past year.

At the same time, Elul reminds us to look forward, to remember and anticipate our connection with God.  As the New Moon emerges we can ask how we can increase the light.  But also, remembering the eclipse, we can ask how to be shown the potential of the dark times, consciously encountering the hidden parts of ourselves, and liberating those resources for good.

Good Chodesh!  May you have a good month!





For Emma Lazarus and the Mother of Exiles

in reply to Mr Stephen Miller:


Not like the silver tongues of ancient times

Who taught with wisdom in the city gate —

Today a brazen youth steps forth with hate

To twist the meaning of an honored sign!

Our mild-eyed lady need not yield a line

Of meaning from her poem. O let him prate

With facts and figures all drawn up to mate

His pompous thoughts. But we will not resign.

When we refuse the despots in their tower,

Resolving to undo their secret schemes,

Heart’s knowledge reveals to us a different power:

The race is won by courage, love, and dreams.

The golden door will long outlast this hour —

The torch remains aloft, undimmed its beams!

–A Cosmopolitan

On Not Being Alone

If it’s true that we each have to do our own “work on ourselves” – our psychological and spiritual work – how then do we deal with the flip side of that coin, that we have become a highly individualistic and even narcissistic society?

With that question, I feel a fear of loneliness and of eternal separation from others – each “just workin’ on ourselves.”  Then one of my internal voices waxes nostalgic over the days when family and neighborhood were closer – people who cared about you were close at hand.  If not in the same neighborhood, then a short drive away – an hour or two at most.  My parents moved back to their home state because a four-hour drive to their parents, from the next state over, was just too much!

But that is nostalgia. Nostalgia is a prod to imagination but also colors reality in false shades.

As I look at my own life and my children’s, I realize that today we form different networks of support. We probably have more separate networks where one set of friends doesn’t know another set. But still the close circle, the people you would call when you’re having a major personal problem, is a small one. Possibly more friends and less family – but it was always true that there was a special aunt or cousin you could turn to, or on the other hand someone you would never turn to even in your own family.

So with spiritual work: It’s not necessarily the case that we are alone in our individual search for meaning and purpose. In fact, I would suggest we can’t be alone for long.  The reality today is that, as with our family and neighbors, we aren’t required or expected to have the same group (e.g. the same church or even religion throughout our lives), the same teacher or mentor, the same personal companions on the journey, .  And that’s good.  When a group expectation is present, it’s difficult to avoid the traps of the collective ego, the voices that warn you are going “out of bounds,” that you’ve “crossed a line,” that you’ll make others feel uncomfortable.

But our fear of being alone often drives us to seek security in some kind of lasting commitment.  So what do I mean when I reassure you that we can’t be alone for long?

We have a fundamental need to be seen, acknowledged, by someone else.  We cease to exist unless we can look into the face of another and feel “seen.”  My son told me yesterday that his four-month-old gets fussy if, when awake, he is left too long separate from the goings-on of the household. “He needs to be seen,” he said.  Yes.  From infant development, to achievement in school, to the discoveries we make, all throughout life, of who we really are, a blessing comes with each moment of being seen.

Depending on our temperament and how strongly and healthfully we are seen when we are young, we may feel more or less independent.  Many of us need to be in the presence of a personal teacher; the Face gazing on us must be a flesh-and-blood person.  Yet some can feel the presence of a teacher through words, through a voice or even through books. Some do not need an authority or expert so much as a friend, someone who sees us and gives us honest and loving responses.  Some have teachers who are not living persons – they are guided by ancestors, angels, souls, or supernal guides conceived in different ways.  Some can be in the presence of angels through art – sculpture, music, light and color.  We often think we are seeing; but when the experience is deep, we are also being seen.

I like the teaching that each of us has an Angel Out Ahead.*   This Angel is a force in the Imaginal world which we also inhabit (remember: imaginal is not imaginary; it is a real existence in a different form).  When my children lived at home, I could sometimes perceive their angels.  I learned that when one of them was having a difficult time, about to explode in anger or tears at the dinner table, I would focus on the faint luminous presence that was just in front of them, just above their forehead.  Time stopped for a moment, long enough for the child to collect him/herself and move forward with more confidence.

So we are never alone. That light is always shining, just ahead, mysteriously seeing, absorbing who we are at that moment and illuminating the path forward.

That angel may be experienced in many forms.  As a guardian angel that warns us, like the voice that told my husband, “Move!” just before a car hit him, so he was moving with instead of resisting the energy; it probably saved his life. Or as inner angels of kindness that remind us to slow down, relax, soften our prickles.

Is it one angel, or many?  I suspect the latter – angelic dimensions of those around us in visible form, and invisible helpers, teachers and guides by the multitude.  And we can now see camps of angels among whom we move on a daily basis, communities we chose or landed in, with whom we now share an interdependence.  With good fortune, we may be in communities of people who agree to a rule of law, to basic respect for the bodily integrity and property of others, people who greet you pleasantly and serve you with a reasonable amount of grace at the market or the coffee shop, and whom you greet and serve in your turn.  These fundamental forms of civilized behavior are also graces, from the Angels Out Ahead in harmonic vibration together.

When we encounter the dark, we often feel alone because darkness is the thickening veil of separation from others. But when we begin to see the light at the edges, when we see through the clouds, then we also learn to “see through” the opaqueness of the world and of other people.  We can even see their angels.   I learned that when we see a person coming down the street, we should imagine him or her accompanied by angels, chanting “Baruch Ha-Ba!  Blessed is the one coming forth, made in the image of God!”

Bruchim ha-Baim!  Blessed are the Angels in this world and in all their forms, who ensure that we will not be alone.






* The phrase “Angel Out Ahead” comes from the work of Tom Cheetham on Henry Corbin, who was adapting the Zoroastrian idea of the celestial “twin.” See Cheetham, All the World an Icon, chapter 4, section 4.  The Talmud has a similar idea in the idea of guardian angels (which the Jewish Encyclopedia relates to the Persian idea also). The Midrash (Bereishis Rabba 10:6) extends this to the world in the saying from Rabbi Simon, “There isn’t one blade of grass that doesn’t have an angel in heaven who strikes it and says ‘Grow!”  (Most internet sources incorrectly attribute this to the Talmud and change it to the angel “bending over and whispering” to the grass. The actual quote is a little more striking.) The word used for heavenly angel is mazal rakia, which would usually mean an astronomical constellation or star, which would have its unique quality.  The word “strike,” while it at first sounds harsh, could be read as like striking a tuning fork, so the grass would vibrate in sympathy with its heavenly counterpart.

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