Wandered [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

“Help me if you can I’ve got to get back the house at Pooh corner by one.” ~ Loggins & Messina, House at Pooh Corner

It is the height of irony that under the banner of going back to some fantasy greatness we hurtle forward into a fascist future. Those in my info-bubble, woke progressives, yearn for a time when adults were at the wheel of the nation.

Escapism is one of our coping mechanism. A favorite escape is The Chicago Botanic Garden. We’d live there if they let us. Passing through the gates we leave the chaos and corruption behind and enter a world of peaceful calm. It inspires slow walking. It is a playground for the senses: rich colors and interesting shapes. Many of the flowers beckon the nose to savor a deep fragrant inhale. It is nearly impossible to pass the vibrant plants without reaching out to touch them.

It never fails that I round a corner and am met by an image that is straight out of a children’s book. In those moments I am immediately stepping through the wardrobe into Narnia or jumping down the rabbit hole with Alice. The rabbit with the pocket watch must surely have passed this way! If I were a writer of children’s books I’d wander the garden each day for inspiration.

In our last visit to the garden a few weeks ago, wandering through the Japanese garden, I was taken by “the inaccessible Horaijima,” the Island of Everlasting Happiness. It symbolizes paradise. It is purposefully inaccessible, an island of beauty that humans beings cannot reach. Its purpose is for meditation. In the garden of our lives we are meant to focus our minds and hearts on a place of beauty. We are meant to reach for beauty, strive for serene beauty. Place our minds there.

I was overwhelmed. How far has our poor sad nation wandered from its focus on anything serene or beautiful? We currently focus on the opposite, our minds steeped in images from the Island of Devastating Ugliness.

Standing at the water’s edge, Horaijima seemed so close yet so far away.

The children’s book: The adults are inundated with darkness and spiraling down the well of hatred. The Island of Everlasting Happiness is shrouded from view. In desperation, the young girl or boy – or both – set out on a journey to lift the fog, to bring the Island back into view, to return beauty to their elders. Their path is fraught with ogres and trolls determined to stop them. Will they make it in time?

“But I’ve wandered much further today than I should
And I can’t seem to find my way back to the wood.”

Eve, 48″x48″ acrylic on panel

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE GARDEN

likesharesupportcommentthankyou

The Very Least [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

“Positive cultural change today (as it has always been) is about leveraging your life where you are: by doing small, possible, measurable daily acts of decency, of protest, of advocacy, of collaboration.” ~ John Pavlovitz, The Beautiful Mess, 2.27.25

Red dianthus symbolizes deep love and affection. We’ve ringed our deck with pots of dianthus. It seems like such a small thing yet every time we step onto the deck, we smile. They invoke our affection. They magnify our deep love.

Symbols might seem like a small thing but they reach to the very core of our being. Who in the USA can see a bald eagle and not be taken by the majesty of the symbol? Who in the world can see a swastika and not be horrified by what it represents?

Language is constructed of symbols. We line our streets with universal symbols: stop, walk, yield, green-means-go. We think in symbols. We dream in symbols. We are naive to ignore or underestimate the power of symbols.

The Texas Democrats breaking quorum was a symbolic act. They understand that single-party-rule, as is now being legislated in Texas, is authoritarianism. Their symbolic act has sent a ripple of courage through an otherwise paralyzed Democratic party.

Yesterday I wrote that in the midst of our national horror, each and every day, we ask ourselves, “What can we do?” If I could I would go to the Texas legislature and stand with the Democrats who are now essentially being held hostage. I wish every lover of democracy could show up this morning on the floor of the Texas legislature and say with their presence, “We will not stand for this.” I wish every lover of democracy could show up on the floor of the nation’s legislature with the same message. Enough.

Protests are symbolic acts. So is delivering donations to a food pantry. John Pavlovitz reminded us this morning that the answer to our question, “What can we do?” need not be grand. In fact, we need only look around our community and, as Ann used to tell me, “Find a need and fill it.” Offering a helping hand is a symbolic act.

Calling out the national guard without reason is a symbolic act. Signing meaningless executive orders to do away with mail-in-voting is a symbolic act. Both are in direct opposition to these symbols: The Declaration of Independence, The Constitution of the United States, The Statue of Liberty, The Liberty Bell, The Boston Tea Party…the vote in free and fair elections.

Our vote is now all that stands between us and the loss of our democracy. By-the-way, that has always been true.

Our vote is under assault by a president and republican congress. They are rigging the system to eliminate democracy in favor of one party rule. They assault nothing less than our foundational symbolic action. The Right to Vote.

Our vote, until now, has been the sacred central symbol – the single symbolic act – of our experiment in democracy: rule of, by, and for the people. According to our symbol, our leaders serve at our pleasure. We choose them. If we do not like their actions, we vote them out.

Until now.

Voting seems like such a small thing. Yet, it is everything.

What can we do? Protect your right and mine, protect the right of every citizen without regard of color or gender, to vote in free and fair elections. It is no small act of decency to protect the single, central action, the primary symbol of our democracy, the one thing that you can DO that actually makes the whole country great: protect your right to vote. And then, when the day comes, exercise your right, perform your symbolic act. Vote. It is the very least – and the utmost – you can do.

detail of a work in progress

read Kerri’s blogpost on DIANTHUS

likesharecommentsupportsubscribethankyou

Hummingbird Hope [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Hummingbirds bring to mind my great aunt Dorothy. Outside the door of her tiny mountain home, precariously perched – and tilting slightly – on the hill above the Central City Opera House, she maintained a festival of brightly colored hummingbird feeders. She was a no-nonsense woman who cooked her meals on a cast iron wood burning stove. She loved her hummingbirds.

I felt Dorothy hanging out with me when I planted the cardinal flower in the huge rusty-ancient-fire-pit that we placed near the hummingbird feeder to help attract more hummingbirds. Kerri loves her hummingbirds.

For weeks the cardinal flower was flowerless. It did a fine Jack-and-the-Beanstalk imitation, growing tall, reaching for the sky. “Where are the blossoms?” she asked. I shrugged. This was my first cardinal flower so I was clueless. I was, however, mightily impressed that it had grown taller than me.

Hummingbirds, like us, are not fans of very hot and incessantly humid weather so they abandoned our region and sought fairer climes. Their absence has been palpable. There were so many zipping about earlier in the summer that their disappearance is magnified.

Unusually, because of the heat-smoke-and-humidity-combo-platter, we’ve mostly been inside, staying close to “the cold box”. We’ve abandoned our usual outdoor living and make only quick forays into the yard to water plants, pull weeds, and harvest basil or jalapeño peppers. As the weeks passed we’d mostly forgotten about the flowerless cardinal plant. We stopped refreshing the hummingbird feeder.

The first pop of color nearly knocked us over. The red was electric against the viridian ivy slowly covering our neighbor’s garage. Within a few days, despite the persistent heat and humidity, a single hardy hummingbird visited and drank deeply from the blossoms. Kerri quickly whipped up a new batch of sugar water and refilled the feeder.

We’ve not yet seen another. I imagine the lone hummingbird was a scout for the hummingbird clan and reported that although it found a brilliant cardinal plant and a fresh batch of sugar water, the conditions remained unfavorable. The smokey heavy air was not ideal for flight.

And so we wait.

Dorothy used to stand at her kitchen door, watching the hummingbird feeders in her tiny mountain yard. “They give me hope,” she’d say.

We watch our feeder and towering cardinal plant from the kitchen window. “Do you think they’ll come back?” she asks.

“Of course,” I say. “We can only hope.”

read Kerri’s blog about THE CARDINAL PLANT

likesharesupportsubscribethankyou

Smoke And Truth [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

I was not prepared for the number. In fact, I double checked it because it seemed so outlandish. Because our skies have been filled with smoke for many days – our air quality is “unhealthy” – from the fires burning in Canada – and because we are avoiding most sources of news, I thought it would be a good idea to check in on the fires burning in our northern neighbor. I was not prepared for what I read: there are 742 fires burning in Canada; 201 are considered out of control. 16 million acres have so far burned. It is a record-breaking fire season.

I was heartened to read that the USA has deployed firefighters and equipment to help fight the wildfires just as earlier this year the Canadians sent firefighters to help with the fires in Los Angeles. In some essential ways, our longstanding and cherished partnership with Canada is still intact. I will not bore you with the fire-and-renewal metaphors currently swirling around my brain-pan.

A few days ago I watched Bryan Tyler Cohen’s interview with Elex Michaelson and appreciated this exchange on the economy: in this era of rampant misinformation, in our media universe in which “we pretend that there are no objective truths, [but] there are objective truths! If you go to the grocery store, that number is a number. It is either higher or lower…” The insistence of baseline fact gave me some small measure of hope amidst our national delusion.

No matter the spin, the numbers are the numbers. It is the reason that the current president fired Erika McEntarfer, commissioner of the Bureau of Labor Statistics (BLS) after the BLS released the current job data. He didn’t like the numbers so he did as he always does: he assaulted the objective truth. He wrapped a victim-tale around the numbers and whipped up a conspiracy theory to deflect from the baseline fact. He lit a fire to create a blanket of smoke in the hope of obscuring the data.

None of his shenanigans change the objective truth. Objective truth exists regardless of individual beliefs or opinions or tweets or the nonsense that he or fox news feeds its followers.

We are about to have a not-so-blind-date with objective truth. Medicaid will disappear for many millions after the midterms. As will SNAP. In the next year healthcare will become unaffordable for millions. Since tariffs are taxes that consumers pay, our prices are certain to escalate (they are already rising). The value of the dollar is dropping. The economy is shrinking. There is nothing mysterious or subversive about the numbers. There is no conspiracy. There is cause and effect.

Climate change is objective truth. 742 is the number of fires in Canada. It’s a record. The numbers are the numbers.

Yesterday Dogga woke us just as the sun was rising. I stood on the deck and watched in awe: through the smoke the sun was fuchsia. The sky was luminous yet an eerie yellow. Both were shades of color I’d never before seen. As it turns out I have to bore you with the obvious analogy: despite appearances to the contrary, the sun is not changed by the smoke. It’s not really fuchsia. The objective truth will remain long after the winds of change clear the smoke from our eyes.

Here’s an objective truth to pin our hopes on: even in the midst of all the posturing and bullying, in our hour of need, Canada sent help. In their hour of need, we sent help. When the smoke clears, perhaps the firefighters will help us re-member the objective truth of our relationship.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE SUN

likesharesupportcommentthankyou

Walk Lightly [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

I believe Dr. Seuss found inspiration in teasel thistles. How could he not! They are quirky, whimsical and overflowing with personality. They populate our trail like a fanciful reception line of fantastic beings.

I imagine that they freeze as we approach, pretending to be plants. After we pass by they relax and talk about how weird human-bipeds are. From their vantage point we must seem droll. I agree with the teasels: from my vantage point, human beings seem zany. I wish they’d include me in their conversation.

Kerri thinks that some look like playful layer cakes. The others are like characters from the Despicable Me movies – only fastened to a stem. In any case, they radiate mischief.

Sometimes Kerri and I talk when we walk our trail. Sometimes we are quiet, listening to the birds or our thoughts. When listening to my thoughts I try to remember a universal truism that I most appreciated when stated this way: what you think is the mother lode of comedy. Don Miguel Ruiz wrote as his 5th Agreement: “Doubt everything you think.” I am guilty of taking myself too seriously. I could use a dose of doubt.

I keep on my desktop a piece of advice by Aldous Huxley: “It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly…”

I imagine that Aldous Huxley and Dr. Seuss are hidden among the mischievous teasels and whisper to us as we pass by: “There are quicksands all about you, sucking at your feet, trying to suck you down into fear and self-pity and despair. That’s why you must walk so lightly…”

Looking for Light (sketch), tissue, charcoal and medium on board

read Kerri’s blogpost about TEASELS

likesharesupportthankyou

Be Like Boo [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

The hydrangea seemed like an odd character, sagging from the weight of the hot heavy air, like a reclusive Boo Radley watching the world from behind a curtain of tall grasses.

Much of the day we are like Boo. The heat and humidity keep us – and Dogga – huddled close to the air conditioner, appreciating the whirl of the fans. We would wilt otherwise. We emerge from the house in the early mornings. We walk in the cool of the evenings. We move slowly through air that’s the consistency of soup. Nature is helping us to abandon our hurry.

It is morning as I write this. The sky is growing dark. The phone pinged an alert: lightning is in our area. Thunderclouds blot out the sun and I am glad that I did not water the grass this morning. For me, this summer’s prevalence of storms have become metaphoric of the nation. Heavy. Dark. Threatening. A good time to take cover. A good time to stay inside. A good time to reread To Kill A Mockingbird. Its themes are suddenly current and vital. Tolerance. Empathy. Understanding.

I am an introvert and understand Boo’s preference to seclude. When I saw the hydrangea peeking through the curtain I said to no one listening, “I get it! Me, too.”

***

we are trying to regroup, rethink and refocus our melange blogpost writing a bit. we – like you – know what is really happening in our world and do not need one more person – including ourselves – telling us the details of this saddest of descents destroying democracy and humanity. though we know our effort will not be 100% – for there is sooo much to bemoan in these everydays – we have decided to try and lean into another way – to instead write about WHAT ELSE IS REAL. this will not negate negativity, but we hope that it will help prescribe presence as antidote and balm for our collective weariness. ~ xoxo kerri & david

an illustration from SHAYNE by Beaky © 2015 David Robinson & Kerri Sherwood

read Kerri’s blogpost about HYDRANGEA

likesharesupportcomment…thankyou!

Don’t We? [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

In Japan the clematis is a symbol of moral beauty. Consider it.

There are very few adequate synonyms for the word ‘beauty’ yet we know without doubt what it means. It’s a word of the senses. It is felt in the heart. It is a cup overflowing with awe and appreciation.

On the other hand, the word ‘moral’ has many, many synonyms. Virtue. Doing the right thing. Honest. Decent. Truthful. Upright. Right-minded. Just plain good. And from these adjectives – descriptions of a quality of being – we experience the undefinable: beauty.

Moral beauty. The clematis climbs. It aspires to reach new heights. Things that climb are often associated with gaining broader perspective and, therefore, wisdom attained from the experience of climbing, of overcoming obstacles, of persevering. From the heights – and the journey to get there – we see the landscape and our inner landscape more clearly. We are more capable of discerning between what is important and what is not, what has value and what does not, what is honest and what is not.

The clematis blossoms. Our blossom is called moral beauty.

It is why many of us shudder watching the ugly amorality goosestepping across this nation. It is a descent into darkness. Indecent. Dishonest. Wrong-minded. Synonyms of ‘ugly’ include perilous, dangerous, hostile, menacing, ominous. Are these not perfect descriptors of ICE?

The clematis climbs.

The nation falls.

Rather than beauty our nation reveres an alligator infested swamp. It champions a liar. Narrow minds threaten and erase greater perspectives. This nation, once a beacon of hope is now afraid of the light. Rather than overcome real obstacles, our leaders manufacture them to fuel outrage and circumvent and/or undermine the Constitution. Ignorance bellows over wisdom. History is whitewashed. The truth is hidden away in the files.

I return to the question, “What do we do?” The clematis climbs. It overcomes. It perseveres. We need not fall into the muddy pit.

It occurs to me that we have in our tradition a Golden Rule. It begins with the word “do”. It provides guidance for what we might do as a first step: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

It is a wisdom that comes from standing upon the heights after a difficult climb. That is why it is so simple. Do Empathy. Do Reciprocity. Do Consideration. Do Generosity. Do Kindness. Isn’t that what we want done unto us?

We know what to do, don’t we? We know where to start, don’t we?

Surrender Now, 24″x24″ mixed media

read Kerri’s blogpost about CLEMATIS

likesharesupportsubscribethankyou.

Our Natural Tendency [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

This sedum is a volunteer. It somehow took root beneath the deck and yet has found a way to reach the sun. It’s funny. Each day I check on this little plant because its resilience gives me some small measure of hope: good things can take root in dark places and through natural tenacity, find a way to the light.

When I step back from our national horror story and take in the whole picture, I am overwhelmed at the abundance of light. People showing up for other people. People expressing outrage at the treatment of others. The shadow spaces are small in comparison.

In this way people are no different than plants. Our tendency – our need – is to seek and find the light and the light is found in the community and what it values. A community can only stay in the dark for so long before it – like a plant – begins to perish.

“They have no respect for human life,” she said, showing me the latest video of an ICE arrest. And then came her list of disrespect: “Decimating USAID, cuts to Medicaid and SNAP…” It was a very, very long list.

I responded, “They have no respect for others because they have no respect for themselves.” It would be impossible to vote for that Big Bloated Bill and be able to look at yourself in the mirror.

They crawl into dark places to flee the light. The assault on the free press. The prevention of congressional oversight – and the nation – from seeing into their “deportation detention centers”. The restrictions (elimination) of due process and habeas corpus…This, too, is a very, very long list. Dark hearts creating dark places.

Here’s the thing: in dark places people lose track of where they are. Disoriented, they also lose track of where others are. In panic, they lose track of how important others are. They become physically, mentally and morally confused. They default into “every man for himself”. In survival-mode, people push others underwater in an attempt to elevate themselves. In the end, all drown.

In the dark we lose track of who we are because we can only know ourselves in relationship to others. Societies collapse in shadowy amorality and the dim fantasy land of every-man-for-himself (obviously).

It is the way of fascist regimes to drag the people of their nation into the dark. Our current leadership in these un-United States is following the Nazi playbook exactly. To perpetuate their dark intention they need to manufacture enemies; the trail of enemy creation will eventually lead back to themselves. They will eventually have to eat each other in their dog-eat-dog fascism. Even though it doesn’t look like it at this moment in time, dragging us into the dark will bring them to perish in an inky bunker.

Like the sedum rooted beneath the deck, it is our natural tendency is to reach for the light.

The only real question that remains is how much dark-malfeasance will we tolerate before we-as-a-nation say, “Enough,” break free and turn toward the light?

And, if we make it, if we survive this dark time and stumble back into the sun, I hope we will have the courage to look at what the light reveals to us – about us. I hope we have the capacity to see fully the totality of our history – all of it. I hope we are capable of asking why so many of us drank from a fox-fire hose of lies and so willingly embraced fantastic falsehoods. I hope we might once and for all align our actions with our rhetoric and put to rest the ugly idea that We-The-People only applies to a privileged few, but applies equally to all of us – a wildly diverse community dedicated to keeping the experiment of democracy vibrant and in the light.

Face the Sun, 18″x24″ mixed media

read Kerri’s blogpost about SEDUM

likesharesupportthankyou.

An Oasis of Comfort [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Don’t be surprised if you find us in the store, eyes closed, delighting in the scent of the Warmies – those cute cuddly stuffed animals filled with lavender. My favorite is the sloth. Kerri is fond of the bear. They provide a dose of instant calming. They are serenity found in an unlikely place, an oasis of comfort in aisle 9.

Tranquility is hard to come by these days. Each day, inundated as we are in the politics of hate, I search for tranquility in words and sometimes find it – momentarily – in a poem or the heart-touching-story of a fortuitous puppy adoption. I am buoyed by writers from Rumi to James Baldwin, keepers of our conscience, sirens to kindness.

But for lasting peace of mind it is necessary to break beyond words. Nothing beats the senses for a call into the immediate, the only place where contentment can be found: the smell of basil, the cooling evening breeze after a blistering hot day. The delightful chirp of a hummingbird as it zips overhead. The distant foghorn underscoring the cry of seagulls. The vibrant colors of the sky transitioning into night. Lavender. Rosemary. Onions and garlic sauteing. The first sip of bold red wine. The Warmies on the grocery store shelf.

I used to lead an exercise in which people would face a partner. Standing a few feet apart, the instruction was to be present-with-the-other. No words were allowed – so no fortress of distraction could be erected. Simply see and be seen. A few minutes would feel like an eternity as the impulse to hide and deflect and control slowly surrendered to the scary vulnerability of presence. The fortification, the hyper-management of image fell away. Only then could the beauty break through the mask. Unprotected, the partners would either weep or laugh or both. Seen. Seeing. In presence the tide turned. Serenity was discovered in a most unlikely place. An oasis of comfort found in the eyes of the other.

Only then could the real conversation begin.

a detail of a work in progress

read Kerri’s blogpost about LAVENDER

likesharesupportcommentsubscribethankyou!

Cycles Of Change [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

“Wars and temper tantrums are the makeshifts of ignorance; regrets are illuminations come too late.” ~ Joseph Campbell, The Hero With A Thousand Faces

It is a warm evening. The breeze has shifted and comes off the lake, blessed cool. The bird alights on the pinnacle of our roof. Like us it pauses in the refreshing breeze. It drinks it in and rests. This image, this moment, is ancient and I am taken by it.

In the midst of the chaos of the country, the seeming unprecedented circumstances we now face, it is somehow comforting (to me) to remember that no one escapes the cycles of mythology. Mythology is a universal growth pattern, cutting across culture, delivered through story. It is a human-life-map. It is unwise to confuse mythology with make-believe.

Our collapse of moral authority in leadership is not unique in history. Neither is the rise of our tyrant. Neither is the corruption of our court Supremes or the silent cowardice of Congress. We follow a historical pattern just as we perform a mythological cycle.

The Roman Empire fell for much the same reasons that the American Experiment is now wobbling: political corruption, the widening gap between the haves and have-nots eroding social cohesion (maga, the impact of inanity like “trickle-down-economics”, unfair taxation, granting “personhood” to corporations…), the exploitation of division, overspending on the military, limits imposed on innovation and education (the impact of DOGE and the decimation of research among other things).

When servant leadership is upended by self-serving-leadership, the path becomes explicit. It doesn’t happen all it once. It is gradual, this erosion of the foundation takes time. This is a mythological death.

Of course, each death signals the birth of something new. As Joseph Campbell wrote of times like these, it is wrongheaded and naive to try and go back in time to capture some imaginary heyday. It is equally misguided to try to force the fulfillment of some imagined ideal. Both facilitate dismemberment.

Our protests of autocracy, our resistance to brutality, plant the seeds of our transfiguration. We will never restore our democratic republic as we’ve known it. Neither will we fulfill it as first conceived: exclusive; democracy for the few. Fire transforms and what will emerge from this hot collapse is anybody’s guess. I will probably not live long enough to see it. Gestation like this takes time, too.

However, I take heart knowing that the cycle will eventually present us with a new generation of servant leaders, people who rise from the wreckage and sacrifice personal gain for the common good. People who were transformed by this current fire. They will carry in their hearts the pain of their ancestors’ regret.

The bird on the pinnacle served as a herald of that distant day. The wind shifts, cutting through the heat, bringing with it sweet relief and the promise of the cycles of change.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE BIRD

likesharesupportcommentsubscribe…thankyou.