Some wise people in this very diverse Jewish community shared these Yom Kippur thoughts; I don’t take any credit, though they resonate with me.

Yom Kippur is a dress rehearsal for our deaths; it challenges us to become better and make a difference working to bring healing to our community and world while we still have breath.

YK is not about begging to be forgiven for the harm we’ve done and the right to stay alive to do better; it’s about choosing.  We choose to show up, to live, to not choose death.  We will still fuck up and cause harm, being human, but the alternative is worse.  We write ourselves into the book of life.

OK, this one’s mine, not profound, but…maybe my symbolic Red Sea crossing into the promised land and a new life is the Mississippi River into STL and freedom.  It feels like that: as soon as I crossed over, I felt relief from the oppression and free to move and breathe and be myself.

Fasting is not some kind of religious credential, an end in itself; it’s to be used to become a better human practicing justice and compassion and feeding others in need in our communities.

Finally, “soil” and “soul” not only sound alike; there’s a parallel between plant roots interconnected in an underground network, all working together to heal the ecosystem, and human roots forming connections with the vulnerable in a community, bringing communal healing.  I wish I could paraphrase it as well as the originator of this thought, who gets all the credit.

Also, I confess I wasn’t physically present at this service; I watched it livestream, and managed to capture these photos.

I knew going into this new life in STL that one of my main challenges would be withdrawal from having my own garden or some form of nature.  My drive to restore my surroundings to a more natural, native habitat for wildlife to find sanctuary and thrive is so strong and imperative now, having nothing is as unnatural and stark as I imagined it.  I was willing to make that sacrifice for a more essential need, to reconnect with my son and family, and reset myself on a healthier track, and I don’t regret it one bit.

Of course I can walk over to my son’s and work on his garden (when I’m not sick with the ghastly cold from hell), which is always a good reminder that none of us actually owns or has exclusive rights to the piece of land we’re privileged to take care of at this moment.  Strictly historically speaking, it was all violently stolen and appropriated from its original inhabitants, who had a whole different approach to land and earth.  You get to borrow it and manage it properly so as to pass it on in better condition to the next generation, something white “americans” have mostly botched.  That’s why I’m so driven to restore and conserve whatever natural surroundings I’m privileged to borrow.  Earth literally depends on it to survive.

Still, you can’t stop a natural gardener from finding a way; it’s in the blood.  Wherever I am, there will be plants and propagation in some form, however minute.  If there’s no perennial cutting garden, I just find native “weeds” around the parking lot to make a bouquet.  Today I brought my few little herbs in for the season, and realized the area by the patio doors is going to become a plant sunroom.  I mean look at it–what else could it be?  It’s a perfect all-afternoon sun exposure.  Gotta start somewhere.  Hmm, I may need to appropriate someone else’s garden for all the overflow–watch out, Avdi!

[But wait, there’s more…please read on, if you dare.]

This was going to be an erev Yom Kippur ponder, but I’m never very good at those.  YK continues to boggle and obfuscate me.  I feel like I’m supposed to be groveling in self-criticism and begging others’ forgiveness for all the things, not sure what they are or if I groveled enough!  I’m slightly exaggerating, but it’s hard to break out of that old miserable, oppressive mindset.  I know it’s not really like that, but what exactly is it like?

I do feel genuinely sorry for ways I’ve been or things I have or haven’t done.  A couple of you kind, long-suffering readers may know of what I speak!  If you’re reading this, and I’ve harmed or mistreated or misjudged you in any way, please forgive me, I will try to be better!  As for g-d, no comment.  I’m already screwed, if it comes down to the judgey-type g-d.  You made us all human and imperfect, now deal with it!  I have a feeling they’re not around to listen, anyway.

So back to real world matters of consequence.  I’m here in my STL mind zen den, trying to get my head around YK, and imagining green, hopeful things.  Maybe this new year I can finally start to make a minuscule difference in the immediate world around me, grassroots up.  Why else are we here, if not to connect to other humans and help make their lives easier?  If you think it’s too late, then it is for you.  But I’m going to keep on truckin’ as long as I can, got a lot of ground to cover in whatever time is left.

I’ve been in STL for exactly one month!  I can’t even begin to list all the new people, experiences, and revelations I’ve had in one short month.  And I’m just getting started.  Maybe it was a good thing in disguise that I’ve been slowed down, first by the Mystery Vertigo, and now the Cold From Hell, or else I might overload on new stimuli!

It’s also coming up on Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish year, a time for inner reflection and soul-searching.  I recently heard that the word for “sin” actually means “missing the mark”.  I sucked at archery, so that’s a fitting metaphor for my life up until now.  Some of my arrows may have even made it to space, where they’re still wandering around lost with all the space junk.  I’d be out there with them, if people who love me hadn’t straightened me out and taken my bow and quiver away.  Sometimes it’s just time.  Maybe a rake and hoe are more my speed.  And of course my sacred pruners.  And that’s your YK homily for today.

Haha, and you thought I was about to sermonize you to tears, psych!  I’ll leave that to the experts.  Here’s another–you thought the title referred to the tropical houseplant I brought inside today for the season.  Or does it?  What you don’t know is that camouflaged by all the Tradescantia (“WJ”) is a pineapple plant!  When I rooted the cuttings for the basket, I also whimsically stuck a pineapple top in there, and it took!  Probably some metaphor for a tough, spiny core hidden inside a fragile exterior–or just a tropical plant medley.  You decide.

Today would have been the perfect B&B (Beer and Badminton) day.  The weather was gorgeous, and we all pitched in cleaning up the yard, K. mowing, Avdi trimming bushes, and me cultivating the veg garden a little.  I brought a cooler-full of ice from my insane spewing ice-maker, and we drank some beers.

Only, it was such a perfect fall day that everyone was tied up with other fall activities with their families, or away.  So we called it, and just spent a pleasant time talking around the patio table.  All the while, a very fat, tame chipmunk kept darting right past us, knowing we humans generally have food.  So I fed it some nuts, and it almost came up to me.  So adorable.

Speaking of weather, I was still feeling under it, so after getting some quick essential groceries with Avdi, I made an early afternoon of it and took the evening off.  Times like these, just hanging with The Family talking, and having my little apartment to retreat to, are what moving to STL is really all about.  All the rest is icing.

When do firsts start being seconds, i.e. I’m getting more acclimated to my new home?  Yet it’s all really firsts for me; everything seems new and optimistic for the first time in forever.  I actually look forward to waking up, without the usual storm surge of anxiety and existential despair!  I do not exaggerate!  Who knew an old fart like me could get a second chance?  I didn’t know if that was allowed.  So it’s firsts and seconds, all at once.

Here’s another first: taking my first photo on my new phone that my son had just set me up on (while having our drinks at my apartment).  The real point is I finally live within walking distance of my son and we take turns hanging out at each other’s homes.  (Not to mention my own personal tech support guy mwahaha!)  (He’s not amused.)

Ok, another first: I seem to be tentatively coming full circle back to my Jewish roots, thanks to my son doing same, at least on a cultural and social activism level.  I actually was able to sit through an entire livestream Shabbat service (granted much more lively and with a sense of humor than your average droning service).  And I got something meaningful out of it.  That’s on top of getting to be a part of a family Shabbat “tradition” again.  The fact that it’s casual and nonconventional makes it easier to reintegrate.

I’m also being exposed to new ideas and points of view, thanks to my son and friends, which I find intellectually and ethically challenging, something I crave.  I had almost shriveled up in resignation and just existing before I got here.  The exchange of viewpoints and new experiences (as well as books) is just as vital as water and food; it’s the difference between surviving and growing.  I have a lot of lost time to make up for.  You can teach an old fart new tricks.

I’ve been a little under the weather, but soon I’ll get back to the garden.