No Basis For Real [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

An MSNBC opinion piece hit the nail on the head: the reason why so many of us find this presidential campaign so uniquely unsettling is that “…so many of our fellow citizens embrace a candidate and a message so fundamentally un-American.”

“This is fascist rhetoric. More specifically, it’s Nazi rhetoric. But the crowds at [his] rallies aren’t horrified by such language. They lap it up.”

And so, here we are. These “citizens” embracing a fascist intention are our sisters and brothers, mothers and fathers. They are people we know and love but no longer recognize. They are not abstractions.

Kerri has a theory. She calls it “the flat friends”, the relationships available online that win likes and strokes for agreement. These relationships are abstractions; they are not real. They are easy, uncomplicated, and come with instant gratification. No dialogue required. No real communication. No imperative to support assertions with facts or data or…reality. Hate bubbles filled with easy lies and even easier agreement amongst flat friends. An ugly meme is all the verification needed in flat-friend-land. No real thinking required.

It’s a convenient place to run and hide when the three dimensional world, the woke world, the world of evidence and reason and thinking and questioning and open minds, asks, “What the hell are you talking about?”

In the flat-friend-world it is possible to silence me with the click of a button. And, if you think about it, all of the rhetoric spewed by the hate candidate and magnified by the faux-news-fox pander to the same idea. Easy two dimensional solutions – fodder that is only palatable to a flat world dedicated to non-thinking. Mass deportations. Banning books. Eliminating the Department of Education. Blasting women back into the dark ages. Enemies abound! Snap! Easy-peasy. Big-Red-Daddy will solve it all for you. Click.

Eliminating those that disagree is not a solution outside of flat-friend-world. It is an illusion – and laughably childish – though Big-Red-Daddy has suggested that he will use the military to silence those who criticize him. Apparently, he believes he will be able with a click of the military to un-friend 50% of the nation, the congress, the justice system…the American system of governance.

In the three dimensional world it is not so easy to silence me or the rest of us that remember how to lift our eyes from the screen and fact check what we see in flatland, those of us who still understand that agreement is a lousy test of real information, that democracy is a complex ongoing idea that deserves responsible stewards and that an easy “like” is no basis for real community.

read Kerri’s blogpost about FLAT FRIENDS

smack-dab © 2024 kerrianddavid.com

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Commune With The Sun [David’s blog on KS Friday]

I confess. For several days I’ve dreaded the sunset. My COVID symptoms seem to escalate in lock step with the march of the setting sun. Sundown; pain up. I’ve read that I am not making it up; apparently my circadian rhythms signal my immune system to be more active at night. That makes for some increased inflammation, fever spikes, and my favorite cough more active.

In the previous era, prior to the virus-that-seems-eternal, I was treated to some extraordinary sunrises and sunsets over the desert. I adore the wind that rises just before the sun breaks the horizon and the heat washes over me. I’m in awe the sense of peace I experience each time the sun dips beneath the sculpted red cliffs and how quickly the temperature drops. My rhythms are indistinct from the circadian rhythms of the earth. I suspect that recognition is the source of peace I feel. Adoration and awe. No separation.

Yesterday, for the first time since we’ve been home, the sun broke through the clouds. We bundled up and set our chairs in the sun. It was better than Advil, soaking the warmth into my aching bones. We sat for a long time in the sun, so intent on drinking in the goodness and heat, neither of us was able to speak. There was the occasional moan and an “Uh-huh,” of agreement. We moved our chairs across the backyard as the sun moved. Healer in the sky.

We are without doubt tuned to the rhythm and movement of the sun. Physically, emotionally, spiritually. Yesterday, with my eyes closed and face to the warmth, I thought, “I am no more or less than this.” I thought again of Gay, standing on the edge of the canyon, saying, “And I get to be here to see it.” There is no pleasure more sensual and reassuring than this: in the midst of feeling ill, to sit in communion with the sun. Drinking it in, so grateful to feel it reach deep and give comfort to the very center of my being.

Dawn At Crab Meadow on the album Blueprint For My Soul © 1997 Kerri Sherwood

Kerri’s albums are available on iTunes and streaming on Pandora

read Kerri’s blogpost about SUN

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Enter The Sanctuary [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

“To accept one’s past – one’s history – is not the same thing as drowning in it; it is learning how to use it. An invented past can never be used; it cracks and crumbles under the pressures of life like clay in a season of drought.” ~ James Baldwin

It was the end of a blistering hot day and my brains were baking. We walked the path in the afternoon sun to see one more arch. Turning into the shade we squeezed through a narrow passage way and stepped into a sandy sanctuary. It was easily 20 degrees cooler. It was ancient. People had been coming to this place to escape the heat for centuries.

I thought of the sanctuary when I watched the clips from the faux-interview. I wish I was surprised but I was not. During his interview with Kamala Harris, the absurd lengths Bret Baier went to protect his fox-audience from basic information should have been astounding. It was not. To twist a phrase from Forrest Gump, “Propaganda is as propaganda does.” Sad. And consistent.

And dangerous. Fox News is not like a box of chocolates because you always know what you are going to get. Hatred. Fearmongering. Victim TV. Brain-baking. Division, division, division.

I realized that all of my eye-rolling, my utter disbelief that fox-viewers will swallow without question such large chunks of tripe, can be boiled down into one single question: “What are they afraid of?”

The answer is as old as our nation. Perhaps they are afraid of losing their made-up history. Perhaps they are afraid of losing their place in the caste?

According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the first appearance in print of the adjective white in reference to “a white man, a person of a race distinguished by a light complexion” was in 1671. Colonial charters and other official documents written in the 1600s and early 1700s rarely refer to European colonists as white.

As the status of people of African descent in the British colonies was challenged and attacked, and as white indentured servants were given new rights and status, the word white continued to be more widely used in public documents and private papers to describe the European colonists. People of European descent were considered white, and those of African descent were labeled black. Historian Robin D. G. Kelley explains:

“‘Many of the European-descended poor whites began to identify themselves, if not directly with the rich whites, certainly with being white. And here you get the emergence of this idea of a white race as a way to distinguish themselves from those dark-skinned people who they associate with perpetual slavery.‘”(facinghistory.org – inventing black and white)

Inventing white and black, dividing black and white. Colonists, always greatly outnumbered by the people they colonized – therefore deeply afraid of the people they colonized – relied on one highly useful trick: divide the people so they will fight amongst themselves.”

Fox News, as yesterday demonstrated by Bret Baier, works to carry on the colonial tradition.

After Bacon’s Rebellion, Virginia’s lawmakers began to make legal distinctions between “white” and “black” inhabitants. By permanently enslaving Virginians of African descent and giving poor white indentured servants and farmers some new rights and status, they hoped to separate the two groups and make it less likely that they would unite again in rebellion.

What they are afraid of is insidious: the fox is afraid that we will unite. They are afraid that we will fulfill the great promise of these United States of America. They are afraid that we will stop demonizing each other according to made-up lines of division and treat each other with the respect and divine promise of our nation: that all people are created equal. That all people deserve to be treated fairly, taxed equally, afforded an equal playing field…

The fox fears that we will come together, cooperate, and finally see through the manufactured division, the if-you-gain-I-lose fantasy. They fear we will see-through and transcend the colonial-control-game, that we will step out of the brain-baking heat of division, and enter the ancient place, the sanctuary known as rule by the people and for the people. For all people.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE SANCTUARY

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Goblins After All [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

“To me, every hour of the day and night is an unspeakably perfect miracle.” ~Walt Whitman

It’s called Goblin Valley and for good reason. It’s a vast landscape of rock sprites of all shapes and sizes. They beckon. They are impossible to deny. We tried not to run down the hill but could not wait to frolic among them.

We tried but failed to maintain our adulthood in their midst. That is their magic. That is the power of their spell: unfettered playfulness. We giggled and rollicked as we explored their world. The goblins conjure an irresistible charm that prohibits all serious matters. Their enchantment provides an immediate return to childhood, a refreshing return to wild imagination. Time dissipates. Lists dissolve. Future fear and past regrets melt away; they are no match for the goblin’s mojo.

We were with them for a moment or an hour, I do not know. These mischievous beings restored our spirits, enlivened our fancy, and then released their hold on us. Having planted the seed of our return, they knew with certainty that we would someday be back. We will not be able to help ourselves from answering their summons. Their call to our better nature, their invocation of our artistic child-heart-enthusiasm, cannot be denied.

We are, like them, goblins after all.

read Kerri’s blogpost about GOBLINS

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Scratches On The Wall [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Scratches on the wall. Petroglyphs, the only evidence that remains of a people who once lived in these canyons, who lived by the river we’ve named Fremont. We do not know if they had a name for the river. We do not know if they had a name for themselves. We call them the Fremont, after the river. A location name.

The Fremont River is named for an American explorer, John Charles Fremont, so the people who scratched pictures into the rock over 1,000 years ago also carry his name. As is the nature of history, we locate them from our point of view. We build an identity-structure and civilization-story about them based upon our story of them. We’ve placed them in our narrative timeline, 1 – 1300 CE. We have no idea how they thought of or marked their time.

We have no idea what became of them. They disappeared into time. We have no idea what the petroglyphs mean or why they scratched them into the canyon walls. We wonder at the semiotics, the inner symbolic life that produced such strange (to us) images that remain on the red rock walls.

This morning, through my COVID aches and chills, I watched the news. I would like to say that I am mystified by the civilization-story currently being spun and supported by half of my nation but I am not. I would like to say that the hatred and fear-mongering of the red hat tribe is as much a mystery to me as the way of the Fremont, but it is not. The concurrent xenophobia and wild-eyed-creation of an internal enemy (anyone not in a red hat) has roots that are all too easy to see. It’s a fascist popcorn trail, a page from Hitler’s handbook. The language is identical. The images, scratched into the red-fox-walls of our time are all too easy to interpret. A frightened and misinformed populace is easily manipulated. Fooled.

What is a mystery to me is the inner symbolic life of my nation’s conservatives that seem so ready to trade our sacred democracy for a populist authoritarian. What scratches on the walls of their minds are so easily storied into hatred. What has so hardened their hearts that they embrace with cheers the repulsive bile spewed by their candidate? It is as incomprehensible to me as the petroglyphs of the Fremont.

All societies disappear into time. Ours, relative to the Fremont, is still in its infancy. We can only hope that an explorer in some distant future finds our petroglyphs – and although a mystery to them, we will have known that we transcended the authoritarian threat and overcame the fox-fear-fantasy, manufactured hatred and dark lies. And, over the next thousand years, our scratches on the wall tell the tale of how we matured to fulfill the promise of our sacred ideals. Out of many, one.

read Kerri’s blogpost about PETROGLYPHS

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Not Bad [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

In a fit of understatement, someone placed a yellow sticker on the railing overlooking the sweeping view of Bryce Canyon. It read, “Not bad”. The awe is visceral, “I feel it in the pit of my stomach,” Kerri said. Standing at the edge, as is often the case, words fall short. “Not bad” is as good a phrase of wonderment as any other.

For a moment Gay was overwhelmed. With tears in her eyes she said, “And I get to be here to see it.” There were moments in the past few years that she had every reason to believe that she would not be here.

I was struck by her acknowledgement. It is something that I hope to express every day for the rest of my life. Deep appreciation. “And I get to be here to see it.” Like most people, I let far too many days of this life slip by without realizing or recognizing the astonishing gift of being here to see it.

Every day is as awesome as a peek into Bryce Canyon. Not Bad.

read Kerri’s blogpost about NOT BAD

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Out Of The Question [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

I wrote to Horatio that COVID comes as advertised. It is no joke.

The prescription is to rest and get plenty of sleep. The resting part is easy since there is no energy for anything else. Walking is a chore. Sitting is a chore. Thinking is out of the question. What remains is called rest.

The sleeping part, on the other hand, is nigh-on-impossible. We both brought it home from our travels so our dueling coughs, hacks, and wheezes make sleep an impossibility. Moving to the couch to be alone with my hack-n-wheeze was a losing strategy. It’s hard to sleep when every atom aches. I didn’t know that atoms could ache. I have atoms I never knew I had.

The lemonade from so many lemons? In my pursuit of new experiences I can now say I have a visceral understanding of COVID. Perhaps in the future I should be more discerning about what I am and am not willing to learn. A consideration for later. Right now, thinking – and sleeping – are out of the question.

read Kerri’s blogpost about COVID

smack-dab © 2024 kerrianddavid.com

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Look In The Mirror [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“…the Impressionists took seriously what we now often fear: that when life changes outwardly, culture must change inwardly.” ~ Jason Farago, How the Impressionists Became the World’s Favorite Painters, and the Most Misunderstood

If the word zion means “a holy place”, then Zion National Park is aptly named. Even overrun with tourists crammed in shuttles, it remains sacred. Beyond us. We are, after all, a mere blip in its history.

“Imagine how long it took to sculpt these canyons!” Charlie exclaimed. Eons. I overheard a woman on the path to the Narrows say, “It invites awe.” It is good to occasionally put our lives in proper perspective, to glimpse our smallness. Invite awe. That is one of the roles of the sacred.

While the world’s first democracy was being formed in the 5th century BCE in Athens, Greece, the grand walls of Zion were already much as they are today. Both were sacred: the new idea of “rule by the people” and the impossible grandeur of the ancient canyons.

In our present day democracy we are meant to be in service to something bigger than ourselves. The people across generations. That, too, is one of the meanings and roles of the “sacred”. To give us perspective relative to the higher ideal of our constitution as it matures in the future.

The maga-clan would have us flip the equation and dismantle the sacred. The outward changes are visible everywhere. Lies replace truth, self-service erodes the constitution, the higher ideal. The red candidate claims to have all the answers, fundamentally misunderstanding and undermining rule-by-the-people. We are, after all, a democratic republic not an authoritarian cesspool.

At one time in our history, being found liable for rape would have disqualified a candidate. Multiple felony convictions would have immediately ended a presidential campaign. Outlandish and persistent lies, inflicting real harm on people in the nation, would have horrified the electorate. A campaign driven by thuggery and grift would have burst into flames and disappeared from the public stage. An insurrectionist would once have been jailed and forgotten. And yet, here we are. Outward changes.

“…when life changes outwardly, culture must change inwardly.

Ethics, moral decency, service to a higher ideal are completely absent in the maga-canon and the Project 2025 playbook. That so many in our nation, despite all we know, are willing to vote for a rapist, a liar, a grifter, a felon, a misogynist, a racist, a fear-mongerer…gives us a mirror with which we might glimpse our inward changes. The loss of the sacred. To fifty percent of our nation (it seems by the polling) our system of governance has been reduced from a sacred ideal to a superficial transaction. There is an unholy price to pay for winning-at-all-cost.

We have a choice in November. We can continue to create and protect our Zion, our rule-by-the-people, or we can take it down, throw it away and give the reins of power, not to the people, but to an angry narcissist who threatens to seek retribution and eliminate his political rivals.

Luckily, the choice is not his. It is ours. Look in the mirror while there is still time. Take a good hard look. Help others to look in the mirror and then vote to sustain rather than scrap our sacred democracy.

read Kerri’s blogpost about ZION

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Nine [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Just as no photo can adequately capture the scope and grandeur of Bryce Canyon, no words can adequately capture the story of these past years. Nine years ago today, 10.10.2015 at 11:11am, we stood before our community, we told the tale of Erle meeting Earl, we said, “I do”. We skipped out of the church just as we skipped out of the airport on the day we met.

10.10. at 11:11. Significant numbers. We are more numerologists than I realized.

I Googled the numerology of the number 9. A longer view. It represents completion – though not as finality – rather, the end of one chapter and the initiation of something new. It represents growth; a journey of learning. I read that 9 is a powerful, positive and significant number.

We are certainly on a journey of learning. Powerful and positive. And so, we celebrate the number nine. Completion and the initiation of something new. Appropriately, the portal to our initiation was the canyonlands, vast in scope and grandeur, impossible to capture.

read Kerri’s blogpost about BRYCE CANYON

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According To The Plan [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Sometimes things do not go according to plan. Some of the best things that have ever happened to me happened because my plan fell apart.

Today I sat on the rim with the love of my life and stared into the impossible. I couldn’t be happier that my life did not go according to plan.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SHADOW

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