It’s Fine [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Now most folks suffer in sorrow
Thinking they’re just no good
They don’t match the magazine model
As close as they think they should

They live just like the “paint by numbers”
The teacher would be impressed
A life-time of follow the lines
So it’s just like all of the rest

~David Wilcox, Leave It Like It Is

To be honest, I began writing a post about self-love and bagged it. I don’t really know anything about self-love, which is why I wanted to write about it. Luckily, I realized that it was way too big of a topic for my little, little post.

Tara Brach wrote about her mother’s deathbed confession: “All my life I thought something was wrong with me. What a waste!”

Recently Kerri and I had a conversation about how different we feel – how different our lives have been – from our friends and neighbors. We did not color within the lines. Younger versions of ourselves were split in two: one half following the imperative of our muse, the other half chastising because we didn’t fit in. I’m happy to report that we’ve made peace with the paths we’ve chosen.

We’ve been alive, not necessarily safe.

I used to tell groups I facilitated that “Nothing is broken, nothing needs to be fixed.” I believed it but didn’t necessarily live it. I was looking for what was missing.

It turns out that nothing was missing. My chosen path looked chaotic when compared to the template expectation. It’s a damn hard road when you are both trying to fit in and trying to follow your star. The road was only difficult because I expected pavement when I was a dedicated off road traveler.

What follows is the complete text of my imagined graduation speech to the class of 2025:

“Leave it like it is, it’s fine.” ~ David Wilcox.

Pax, 24″x24″, mixed media on panel

read Kerri’s blogpost about COMPARTMENTS

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Can You Imagine It? [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

I saw the photograph as a snippet of conversation. “You are beautiful,” he said.

“Stop,” she replied, turning away.

I can count on one hand the people that I’ve met in my life who understand that they are, by the good grace of being alive on this earth, beautiful. They need not deflect, deny or turn away. Beauty is embraced not as an attainment or a visual gift granted to the lucky few, not as a standard to be met or an image to be copied. It simply is. Tell them that they are beautiful and they will smile – their smile saying, “Back-at-you.”

When greeting someone in Bali – or in any Hindu culture – hands press together before the heart and “Namaste” is spoken. “Namaste”… is a word that is tied to the ultimate respect for another person that is based not upon who they are, and what they say or do, but their very presence in this life.”

Budi taught me that Namaste means, “The god in me recognizes the god in you.” Beauty. As a given.

Greeting the essence rather than the idea. Seeing beyond the superficial. Being seen beyond the magazine-model-expectation. Can you imagine it?

Stop. You are beautiful.

read Kerri’s blogpost about BEAUTY

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Be-Longing [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

“Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.” ~ Oscar Wilde

I am spiraling down a rabbit hole of thought. This morning I read that many Indigenous languages have no verb form of “to be”.

It might seem like a small thing but it is not. We make sense of our world – and ourselves – through the language we use.

“To be” is a verb of separation. It is a verb of identity, placing primary emphasis on the individual, emphasizing difference rather than similarity. It places the identity-accent on “I”. A present tense of “to be” is “I am”. To be is to be alone.

“To be” fosters “be-longing“; the longing to find and express the unique self, and then “to be” accepted, paradoxically through differentiation. Our “to be” imperative requires us “to be” removed, above it all, accenting the ego, so that the highest achievement, the most celebrated “being” is the one who rises above the crowd. The one who successfully separates.

Is it no wonder that the three “great” western religions place humans atop a hierarchy, high above and removed from nature? Our notion of original sin stories us as born bad to the bone; we kick ourselves out of the garden of our own nature so we might strive “to be” better than we are.

Our language, rooted in “I am”, is incapable of storying us as belonging to nature, being a part or expression of nature. We must strive to return to the garden in order to find the tree of everlasting life.

Our language requires us to story a god living remotely in the sky. The god promises an exclusive resort called heaven if-and-only-if we elevate ourselves above our original nature. Separate to belong.

To this day I ponder a conversation I heard again and again in graduate school: people, living in a city of 1.8 million, yearning for community, discussing over and over the need to create community. How is it possible for nearly two million people to live together in a city without feeling a sense of community? It was not community they yearned for, it was belonging. Connection. An identity of inclusion.

Recently Kerri asked me, “I wonder what it would feel like if…?” I carried her question into our hike. I wonder what it would feel like if I did not story myself as separate? What would it feel like if I knew belonging as a given? Not just belonging to a community of people but intrinsically belonging to all of creation.

“Lookit,” she said, showing me the photograph that she’d just taken of the dandelion. “Isn’t it perfect?”

Perfect (adjective): flawless. ideal. magnificent. A word of unity. Belonging.

“Yes,” I said, aware of the story-limits of my language. I wondered what it might take for us “to be-ers” to see ourselves as perfect – as a given- to be as perfect as the dandelion.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE DANDELION

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My Fleeting Moment [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Alone on the trail we heard a loud pop and then a crack – and then the tree fell. We felt the thud through the soles of our feet.

There was no wind. There was no apparent cause for it to fall. We were, somehow, witness to its final moment as “tree”.

If a tree falls in the woods and someone is around to hear it, it definitely makes a sound. If not? For some reason, in that majestic moment, the quotidian philosophical question popped into my mind and it bothered me. Is human observation really the only validation for existence? Philosopher George Berkeley wrote, “To be is to be perceived.” George didn’t mean perceived by squirrels or hawks or any other critter in the woods at that moment who also heard the sound and felt the fall of the old tree. For humans, philosophers, preachers and politicians alike, human perception is the requirement granting something so grand, something so profound, as existence. How many birds nested in this grand old tree during the course of its life span? How many plants will feed on its fibers now that it has joined the earth?

Hubris is our Achilles Heel.

On our drive to the trail we were rerouted. The road was shutdown in both directions. There was a terrible crash. A car was cleaved, barely recognizable. Certainly there were witnesses to this loud final moment of a human-being pass into non-being. I’m grateful I was not one of them. I do not need to have seen or heard the crash to know that it happened.

Perhaps that is why the question bothered me: “If a tree falls in the woods and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?” In a single day, in the space of an hour, I was witness to a tree falling in the woods and aware of a human life ending. I heard the tree so I have no need to imagine what happened. I saw the car, the evidence of the end of human life. I can only imagine.

Horatio wrote a beautiful poem about the death of a salmon after its struggle to return to its place of origin. It’s a poem about the impossibility of life and the cycle of constant renewal. The poem offers we-the-perceivers some rare perspective on the end of life.

I wondered how I could read the days news about starvation in Gaza, brutal raids and deportations without due process…and simply turn the page. That, too, must be uniquely human. To perceive and then tune out. To look the other way, to pretend not to perceive when human beings enact horror upon other human beings. It requires a dedicated lack of imagination.

We are not above it all.

“To be is to be perceived.” Perhaps. It begs an all important follow-up question: In my fleeting moment of human perception, who – or how – do I choose to be?

read Kerri’s blogpost about TINY NAILS

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Follow The Hummingbird [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

If you want to understand the power of story – if you care to discover how every cultural story is both universal and deeply personal, take the time to read and reread and reread Martín Prechtel’s small book, The Disobedience of the Daughter of the Sun. After telling the story, he peels back the layers of understanding, the story of the daughter’s disobedience is a roadmap to an intentional life. It is connective tissue to generational wisdom:

“…that though we as listeners have the illusion that we have jumped into the story, the story has actually jumped into us and uses our lives to tell out its story.”

Sitting in our backyard, the sun lowering in the sky, the hummingbird arrived. A hummingbird is featured prominently in the The Disobedience of the Daughter of the Sun and this little visitor brought the story to my mind. Like all deep-story-roots, it is a tale as relevant to us as it is to the Indigenous people who live it – to keep the story alive.

“This is a commentary on the inevitable human problem of tribalism and the tragic results of ethnocentricity. It reminds us that a preoccupation with purity is a sign that a people have lost their real stories, lost their place in history, lost their land and relationship with nature and in an effort to be “someone” they engineer mythologies that are rationalist inventions to corroborate a pure ancestry. This same rationalism probably killed their stories and their Indigenous relationship with the land to begin with.”

Have you ever read anything that so accurately describes our struggle in these un-United States? As we witness the scrubbing of DEI initiatives, the blatant and brutal whitewashing of our nation’s history in order to engineer and perpetuate a mythology of white male purity, a made-up tale planted in the shallow barren soil of nationalist Christianity…we see the undeniable sign that we have lost our real story.

As is true of all great storytellers, Martín guides us toward hope and renewal:

“The story of their cultural loss should be their story, and from that grief they could grow a new culture. If you go back far enough, all people are mixed no matter what they say, and that is no disgrace.”

There is a path. It begins with grieving our loss. Together. And then, there is this:

“The story also says that a peoples’ attachment to their homeland and customs is necessary, wonderful, and life-giving, but should never be allowed to fuel a destructive chauvinism that excludes the rest of the world’s love for its own life and land.”

These are just a few of the lessons carried within an ancient Mayan tale. They are relevant to us today. We need only care enough to open our hearts and listen. And listen again. And then simmer in the slow opportunity that avails itself in the land beyond “problem-solving”.

The promise of our crossroads nation: to grow a new culture. Isn’t that the heart of our matter? Out of many, one.

There’s a hummingbird that can show us the way.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE HUMMINGBIRD

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For As Long As It Takes [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Dogga lays in the doorway and snoozes. When he hears me coming his little Aussie-dog tail wags. It is a siren call, impossible to pass without kneeling and giving him a pet. And, in those few moments my world becomes a better place.

During the time that my life was coming apart, suddenly without a place to live or the resources to rent another apartment, Carol showed up. I hadn’t seen her in a few years. She found me. She tossed a set of keys to me. “You’re staying with me,” she said. “As long as it takes.” In that moment, my world became a better place.

I have hundreds of those stories. They are ubiquitous and happen every day. I see them all around me when I pay attention.

“I love the sunshine on the quilt,” she said a moment ago. A tiny thing. The warmth of the spring sun a welcome visitor after the cold days of winter. In the sensual beauty of sun on the quilt and her deep appreciation of the moment, my world was made a better place.

Yesterday I read Marion Milner’s words in The Marginalian about the narrow focus of reason and the wide focus of sensation. The narrow focus, purpose-driven, is always seeking happiness in some other place. The wide focus, sensory, is always present in the moment – where happiness is found. She wrote, “I did not know that I could only get the most out of life by giving myself up to it.” Her words made my world a better place. An affirmation.

Touch is a word of the senses. Touch a life and, in return, life with touch you. Touch with simple appreciation and the world becomes a better place.

In the wide focus of the sensation there is no end, no goal, no achievement, no measurement. It is end-less.

In the narrow focus of mind our clocks would have us believe that we are in a race to a deadline. It is a dedication to ends.

In the vast field beyond purpose and gain there is wonder. It is time-less. Touch life with appreciation, with eyes or ears or fingers or taste – and life will fill you with appreciation.

Someone once told me that the world does not need healing. We do. And the healing we need is right at our fingertips. It is the sun on our faces, it is to feel the pull of the wagging tale, to kneel down and fall into a rich loving pet of appreciation. It is to open our very narrow focus, feel deeply, and toss keys to someone in need, saying, “For as long as it takes.”

read Kerri’s blogpost about HEALING THE WORLD

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Prepare [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Lately everything seems to have extra significance. While we pulled all of the pots from the garage in preparation for planting the herb garden and flowers, it occurred to me that we are in preparation for the coming economic crumble. Empty pots brought to mind empty shelves.

When we go grocery shopping we are intentionally stocking up on products that we know will or are already going up in price. Basics like coffee and olive oil. The wave is coming so it feels foolish not to fortify the larder.

“Plan for what it is difficult while it is easy, do what is great while it is small.” ~ Sun Tzu

When I was a lost lad, one of the many books Quinn threw my way was The Art of War by Sun Tzu. His reason had nothing at all to do with war since he was – to his core – a peaceful man, a philosopher. In retrospect I think he was teaching me about preparation. He was guiding me on a path of self-knowledge.

Right now it is easy for us to stock up.

During his first chaotic term, it would have been easy for Mitch McConnell and the Republicans to have voted to convict the twice-impeached president. Their appropriate action, while it was still easy, would have stopped the autocratic impulse in our nation before it toppled our democracy. Now, it is not so easy. They refused to do what was great while it was small. They still could stop it – if they had the courage to do their jobs as prescribed in our Constitution. To date we are witness to their absence of courage. Either that or we are witness to their rejection of democracy and full embrace of fascism.

Perhaps it is not courage they lack but self-knowledge. It brought to mind another quote from Sun Tzu. The important sentiment is the third line in the following quote:

“If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.”

They succumb in every battle. So we must prepare.

read Kerri’s blogpost about POTS

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For All Humans [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

I read that Cinco de Mayo, in addition to being a celebration of Mexican heritage and culture, serves as a reminder of Mexican resistance and resilience in the face of adversity. That makes this Cinco de Mayo a uniquely potent and particularly relevant celebration. With Mexico demonized and under assault from this current administration, it is more important than ever to uplift and honor Mexican heritage. Honoring Mexico on this day serves as an act of resistance to the bully xenophobic Republican agenda.

It also serves as a reminder that this nation – in reality – is a celebration of many ethnicities. We are a cultural crossroads. That is precisely what makes America great. We need not go back to some imagined fantasy-past. Our strength in this democratic experiment is our capacity to reinvent ourselves, over and over again.

The bumper sticker reads, “Equality hurts no one.” Too true. Equality is the ideal, the guide star at the very center of the Declaration of Independence, the driving force behind our capacity to re-imagine ourselves. It is the promise that allows us to intend a nation comprised of many races and ethnicities, a people capable overcoming their small tribal imperatives to create a more perfect union. In the ideal, our differences are what unite us. Our differences are our strength. In our nation, as in nature, our diversity is – and always has been – our secret sauce. Our superpower. It is the unique source of our innovation and our capacity to adapt, change, and grow.

More importantly, equality-in-diversity is the magnetic north of our moral compass. It informs our national conscience. Human beings, regardless of race, gender, ethnicity or sexual orientation are afforded equal protection under the law. Equal rights. Human rights. An intention to foster equal opportunity for all. A celebration of humanity in all its rich multiplicity.

We can only hope that this current Republican attempt to scrub the nation of color, to force lock-step uniformity, is the last gasp of a dying white supremacy, the final whimper of Manifest Destiny. Change – real change – is always preceded by a frightened step backwards.

Today, more than ever, it is important to celebrate the resilience and resistance of Mexico, a day of triumph over a brutal suppressor. A day of recognition of the great spirit of Mexico, one of the many deep flowing currents of courage that forms the powerful river known as the United States of America, a nation of diversity that intends equity and inclusion – for all humans.

read Kerri’s blogpost about EQUALITY

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Our National ABOUT Page [David’s blog on KS Friday]

This quote by Reynolds Price has been on my ABOUT page since I began blogging:

“A need to tell and hear stories is essential to us – second in necessity after nourishment and before love and shelter.”

Since I already know what I am about (mostly) I rarely visit my ABOUT page. I’d all but forgotten this quote was a constant presence on my blog. It is the flag I planted, as much for myself as for others, so I might always have a north star, a way to locate and find my way HOME. I carried it in my pocket long before I enshrined it on my site. I remember typing it into the little “about” box – it felt like a declaration.

Lately the quote has been poking at me. It wants further consideration. It has renewed relevance in our current circumstance.

The disparate bubbles that we occupy, MAGA and WOKE, are stories. Although the characters are different in the respective bubbles, the overriding story is the same: there is a threat to our way of life and the threat is the other bubble.

Although I believe the MAGA bubble is filled with dangerous fascism, they believe the WOKE bubble is socialism run amok. Occupants of both bubbles follow their news-of-the-day as if it was essential, true. Both narratives fuel the division. Both bubbles tell the tale of a heroic fight for good over an evil villain.

This is the third time in our history that these bubbles have formed; irreconcilable narratives housed under a greater umbrella-story, ironically called The United States of America. Robin Diangelo wrote the story of white supremacy requires black inferiority. Conversely, the struggle of equality-for-all is pitted against the story of white supremacy. It is nearly impossible to reconcile the combating sub-narratives: the Manifest Destiny story of god-given superiority (MAGA) with the All Men and Women Are Created Equal (WOKE) story. Our national narrative, our essential umbrella story, is of this struggle for identity: superiority for the few or equality for all. So, here we are.

A need to tell and hear stories is essential to us because stories are the glue that hold us together. Stories are essential because they define “belonging”. In a nation of immigrants, with a long history of bloody fighting over this question of belonging, what might it take for us to recognize that this fight is the greater story that defines us? It is the legacy we perpetuate in our grappling; it is the trace we leave in time. When will we see that the loss of freedom, the collapse of love and shelter is the cost of our shared narrative of seeming irreconcilable difference?

We’ve built our house on a volatile fault line.

However, there is a greater narrative available. It has been on our national ABOUT page since the beginning of our nation. It is our motto, our north star that will guide us HOME. It is printed on our currency. What might it take for us to rise above the bubbles and embrace the story at the center of our rhetorical ideal? What might we need to reconcile to live fully the nourishing story of e pluribus unum?

[this may be my favorite piece by Kerri. If you’re feeling angst or overwhelmed, do yourself a favor: take a short life-break, close your eyes and listen]

PEACE on the album AS IT IS © 2004 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about TRACES IN THE SKY

The Storyteller emerges from the forest.
Lucy & The Waterfox

http://www.kerrianddavid.com

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Mutually [David’s blog on Flawed Wednesday]

“Objects are such only with respect to other objects, they are nodes where bridges meet. The world is a perspectival game, a play of mirrors that exist only as reflections of and in each other.” ~ Carlo Rovelli via The Marginalian, April 27, 2025

The tree stands beyond our back fence, its limbs spiral and twist, sculpted by time and the force of the winds roaring off the lake. Looking at her photograph, a silhouette against an evening blue sky, I remarked, “It’s a Jackson Pollock painting.” She looked again at her photograph through the lens of my remark, nodding.

Nature sculpts the tree that catches the photographer’s eye, her photograph invokes images of a drip painting. “…interaction is the fundamental reality of the universe, that there are no entities as such…”

We do ourselves a great disservice ignoring interconnection in service to our separation.

It’s human: we need to make sense of things so we compartmentalize. We object-ify, detaching tree from time and wind from photographer, assigning all to discrete little box-identities, placing emphasis on the noun rather than on the interplay, the intertwining verb. In our minds we stop the motion, sever interrelationship into distinct pieces, so that we might convince ourselves that we have a grasp on “reality”. In creating objective “reality” we blind ourselves to the greater mutuality.

Science dissected the world-body into parts which led to the smallest objective part, called a quantum, and discovered it’s a slippery devil, energy, that can only be described subjectively. It can only be known through its relationships. Mutuality.

I’ve yet to hear an adequate definition of the word “woke”. Maga world flings it liberally and with sharp derision to describe all manner of “progressive” ideals, yet stutters when asked what it means. It’s an umbrella term, a catch-all, like the grainy photograph of the Loch Ness monster, shaky proof of something to be feared but mostly unknown. In fox land, this Loch Ness monster is called “socialism”.

To Maga world I offer this definition of Woke: greater mutuality. Woke, like a quantum, cannot be objectified just as compassion cannot be fully defined. It can be experienced. It is an energy, connective tissue.

Woke flies the flag of equality. Woke understands that the suspension of due process for any single person is the suspension of due process for all people. Woke understands that prosperity reserved for the few means poverty for the many. Woke intends shared prosperity, an equal playing field, helping hands. “Float all boats” is a Woke ideology. Woke is not a hand-out, it is a help-up. A moral center – also known as mutuality – is Woke; we can be our brothers’ and sisters’ keeper or we can be their persecutor. Keeper or persecutor: both describe a kind of relationship.

Woke is what defines Maga just as Maga is now clarifying Woke. Maga desires separation. It strives for elevation above others; legislated privilege. Woke desires equality. It strives for a more perfect union: legislated inclusion. The promise of possibility.

We do ourselves a great disservice: we are neither red nor blue. We are not conservative nor progressive. We are not Woke or Maga. Those terms are boxes that ignore the fundamental truth of our – or any – nation. We are interconnected. We are a relationship.

Remove environmental protections and all of the air we breathe and the water we drink will be polluted. Remove election watchdogs and all of our elections will be corrupted. Remove a commitment to truth and lies will define us and pull us apart.

After all, Maga is a made-up-media term just as is Woke. They are boxes meant to give us an enemy, the illusion of separation.

Democracy is not a “thing”, an object. It is a movement, a quantum. We know it by our interactions as defined in our Constitution. We know it as a place where bridges meet. Where people from many places come together.

Whether Maga or Woke, we will feel the loss of democracy equally just as we feel the disintegration of our values, our shared narrative, our aspiration for justice-for-all; mutually.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE TREE

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