A Well Known Truth [David’s blog on KS Friday]

I’ve been thinking a lot about truth lately. What is true and what is not – and in this age of technology how do we know? A photograph is no longer proof that something happened. Neither is a film or a voice recording. All can be manufactured and manipulated. The legacy news outlets are partisan at best: narratives are manipulated for ratings or some other less palatable agenda…but only loosely related to truth.

How do we know what is factual when there is a concerted effort – from every direction – to spin the truth?

If truth is a coherence that emerges when facts are lined up and stitched together, then the best way to undermine the truth is to deny the facts. In this age of rampant gaslighting and cries of “fake news”, indisputable facts are daily obscured by clouds of deceit and tsunamis of nonsense.

How do we, as a nation, as a community, expect to debate best paths forward when we are incapable – or unwilling – to acknowledge facts? At the No Kings rally I had a conversation with a man who perfectly captured the challenge we face. Playing devil’s advocate, he said: “Who needs facts! If I believe it is true then it is true.”

These are facts:

~ Election fraud in our system is statistically zero.

~ In 2020 a mob incited by the current president attacked the Capitol.

~ He lost the 2020 election. He is a felon. He’s been found libel for sexual assault.

~ He’s a pathological liar.

~He wants us to believe that voter fraud is rampant in our elections.

Based on a plethora of facts, when stitched together, it is impossible to escape this truth: he is waging a war on our Constitution in order to install an authoritarian state. To do it he needs us to divorce ourselves from the facts. He needs us to be afraid.

Water freezes at 32 degrees. Fact.

Truth: The horizon calls us to the unknown. It invites us to ask, “What’s beyond?” It’s why we build ships, sail to the edge, seek religious freedom, play with fire, build roads, seek cures and imagine and strive for a nation governed by the people and not a king. It’s why we seek truth and rely on facts to get us there.

This is a well-known truth stitched together from facts: Democracy dies in darkness. “Without reliable information, the public cannot make informed choices, leading to the gradual erosion and collapse of democratic institutions.”

EVERY BREATHE on the album AS IT IS © 2004 Kerri Sherwood

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Simple Entanglements [David’s blog on KS Friday]

The leaves on a sweet potato vine are shaped like hearts. When barking at phantoms on the neighbor’s balcony, Dogga regularly gets tangled in the sweet potato vine that now stretches across our deck. It surprises him every time and his look of confusion gets tangled in my sweet potato heart.

I’m a believer in the small things. If, at the moment of death, life truly flashes before your eyes, my flash will include Dogga getting tangled in the vine, Kerri getting tangled in the vacuum cord and me getting tangled in the long orange extension cord. My life review will be full of entanglements, real and imagined.

Last week was our anniversary. Sitting at our small bistro table, enjoying our candlelight anniversary dinner of homemade pizza, I was overwhelmed with my good fortune and told Kerri that I loved being married to her. She asked, “Why?” I stammered because there were was no single answer. It’s hard to put tiny words on big-big feelings.

Were I to answer her question today I’d say, “Because of all the little things that will flash before my eyes the moment that my soul lifts off from my body.” There are more and more each day, every stop along the trail to photograph or take note of something beautiful. Midnight anticipation of morning coffee. Sun on our faces. Making marinara for the first time. Laughter with our friends. Standing still so as not to spook the deer.

Mine will be a very long life review, a long sweet potato vine with heart shaped memories. Simple entanglements. Barking at phantoms on the balcony. A spontaneous slow dance on the back patio. Yoga mats. A shock of vibrant green against a weathered deck.

YOU’RE THE WIND ©️ 2005 Kerri Sherwood

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The Gateway [David’s blog on KS Friday]

An unlikely heart. Or, a heart in an unlikely place. Or, a bit of bread crust that brings heart-to-mind.

Tomorrow is a very significant day. Eleven years ago, at exactly 11:11am, we stood before our friends and families, told our story, and said, “I do”.

1111 in numerology is “believed to mean that an energetic gateway has opened. Alignment. Amplification.”

Sometimes, for fun, we try and calculate the odds of our having met. Impossible. Impossible odds and yet, here we are. It is why we refuse to allow ourselves to take for granted our good fortune. It is why we refuse to relegate anything into the box of “impossible”.

Anything is possible. We are the proof. Every day.

Eleven years. 11:11. A celebration of the impossible. Unlikely hearts met in an unlikely place. In such a magic remembrance, even a bit of bread crust brings heart-to-mind. Each day, we mind our hearts, never taking for granted the impossible story that is us. Amplification of all that is good. Alignment as we walk this path together. The gateway opening anew each day.

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In My Latent Maturity [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human way of making life more bearable. Practicing an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven’s sake.” ~ Kurt Vonnegut

When I grow up I want to be Kurt Vonnegut. I used to want to be Leonardo da Vinci or perhaps Joseph Campbell but now I’m all in for the master of satire and dark humor. I could use some time taking myself less seriously and Kurt is a great model to follow. Laughing at the dark would be a refreshing character trait. I imagine Kurt cracked himself up all the time. Or rolled his eyes. Making myself laugh more would be good!

If you’ve noticed – or if you haven’t – I’ve almost made it through a week of posts without a rant about the politics-of-the-day. I swore off indignance last Sunday. At least for a week. I needed a break. It’s Friday and I will honor my swearing-off but have to mention politics to explain how I arrived at Kurt Vonnegut for my model of maturity. During this week of exile from righteous anger I’ve pondered a more healthy response to the cancer raging in the national body. My conclusion? Satire may be my savior. The times are dark so the humor must meet the occasion. I’d have gone with Mark Twain but wanted to shoot for someone whose lifespan crossed mine. So, Kurt Vonnegut it is! Plus, he knows what the arts are about. Soul growth. Making life more bearable. Shining light into dark places.

The sun poured through the blinds this morning. That might not sound miraculous but it has been a rare occurrence this summer. The shadow made stripes on the grasses. Kerri cooed and reached for her camera. That’s what soul growth looks like. Can you imagine being so moved by the sun-pattern cast upon the grasses in the tall basket that you coo and begin to compose? It’s a glorious thing to behold.

“Here we are, trapped in the amber of the moment. There is no why.” ~ Kurt Vonnegut

Soul growth is its own why. So is making life more bearable for people. All people. The previous two sentences are not political. They are a very human way to live if we so choose. I do. So does Kerri. The artist’s way. It’s why I believe to my core that all people – at their core – are artists. If only more people would listen to their cores!

“There is love enough in this world for everybody, if people will just look.” ~ Kurt Vonnegut

I mean, seriously! Who better to aspire to become in my latent maturity than Kurt Vonnegut?

AS IT IS on the album AS IT IS © 2004 Kerri Sherwood

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Keeping Vigil [David’s blog on KS Friday]

I’ve read that mourning doves are “strongly monogamous and often mate for life.” I’ve also read that, when one of the pair dies, “The survivor often sits in a nearby tree or roof and coos repeatedly, calling for a partner that will not answer.”

Lately, each afternoon, the mourning dove arrives to hold its vigil. It sits on the same wire in the same spot. Each day we watch for it and when it arrives, we hold vigil with it. We watch. We know that its partner will not appear. We wait for it to know. It is silent.

“It’s so sad,” Kerri whispers. I nod.

This dove reminds me of the last time I saw my great-aunt Dorothy. Del had died suddenly and she was heartbroken. It was the first and only time I saw this powerful mountain woman wearing a dress. Emerald green. I almost did not recognize her. As a boy I’d followed her up mountains, unable to keep up. In her grief she was barely standing. She passed a few months later; a broken heart.

I had my annual physical yesterday. The doctor asked me if I had a will. Then, she asked if there was someone who knew my wishes. I thought of Kerri waiting for me in the reception area. I answered easily, “Yes.” For a moment I was overcome with gratitude; I have not always been able to answer, “Yes,” so I repeated my answer, “Yes.”

Yes.

Sitting on the examination table, I shifted my weight, the paper crinkled. I thought of the mourning dove, the weight of grief sitting on the wire. Dorothy. Loneliness. Heart break. Gratitude. Kerri waiting for me. The paper crinkled. The doctor listened to my heart.

Today, the mourning dove did not return. We held our vigil for it none-the-less.

WRITTEN IN YOUR LIFE on the album AS SURE AS THE SUN © 2002 Kerri Sherwood

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Just A Few Feet [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Lessons from the garden, vol. 1, episode 11. Title: Every Plant Has It’s Place.

When you buy a plant the little tag stuck into the soil offers location advice and watering preferences. Sun part shade. Full sun. Keep soil damp. Water only when soil is dry. And, as helpful as the information is, it is generic at best. I’ve learned that plants are like people: thriving is based on individual preference. Not all sun-part-shade locations are the same.

For instance, we have a pot of Impatiens that was in the perfect spot according to its tag. 48 hours after coming home with us it was sad indeed. We moved it 3 feet to the left to a spot where it would have 6 more minutes of shade each day and a better view of the tomatoes and it boomed. It sings arias. It is a boastful Impatiens daily testing the limitations of its pot. Such a small change for such a mighty response.

I’ve already reported about moving of the very-depressed-sweet-potato-vine from the ladder to Barney-the-piano and how it perked up immediately. Last season the sweet potato vine adored the ladder but this sad character was not happy with its locale. The move to Barney was balm to its Gilead. The amount of sun-to-shade is the same, the amount of water has not changed. Only the view is different. And, I suppose, it sits on top of Barney’s lid as opposed to being suspended from a rung. Perhaps, like me, this sweet potato vine was afraid of heights? No matter. Now it is happy and wrapping Barney in vines of sweet potato love.

The sweet potato vine move left an empty space on the ladder. It was late in the season and we found an almost dying fern at the nursery. Half price. They wanted to sell it before it was in full demise. We brought it home, used shower curtain hooks to suspend it from the ladder. Attended to its obvious need and the next day it was radiant. It simply needed a new location called “home” and a bit of personal attention.

I learned the same lesson when I was working with the schools. Not all kids are desk-sitters. Kinesthetic kids need the freedom to move or to run a lesson through their fingers. For them, a desk is despair. Simply standing up and stretching their limbs transformed frustration into happy exploration.

I learned the same lesson in the theatre. The best stagemangers I worked with were previously unhappy actors. A simple move a few feet across an imaginary line made all the difference. Plus, they learned early in their new location/identity that the snacks are much better at the tech table.

Like their human counterparts, every plant has its place. The solution to the droop need not be dramatic or complicated. Thriving might be just a few feet away.

NURTURE ME on the album RELEASED FROM THE HEART © 1995 Kerri Sherwood

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Go To The River [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Siddhartha finds illumination sitting by the river. He realizes that it never stops moving. No two moments are the same. Just like life.

Narcissus and Goldmund seek the same thing. Illumination. One studies from the confines of a monastery. The other goes into the world and makes a mess of things. Which one do you suppose finds what he seeks?

I did not grow up around great bodies of water. I know the mountains so they do not intimidate me. The-lake-that-looks-like-an-ocean, on the other hand, is daunting. Alien. Each day we walk the path by the lake and I am taken by the mystery. I admire the sailors who seem so at home, so at peace and in their element, sailing on the mystery-water. I wonder if the power of the mountain seems unforgiving to them.

My dear Endless Enigma texted. His daughter is getting married. His son has already married but I could tell from his note that, for a dad, this passage is different. A father does not give his son away. Why is that? In our tradition, a father walks his daughter down the aisle to join her hands with her soon-to-be-husband. It is a ritual. He gives her away. For the father, the marriage of a daughter is a letting go. Has it always been this way with sons and daughters?

This water runs deep.

I cannot help but ask questions of tradition. For me, questioning tradition seems to be a tradition. It is perhaps why in my past life I needed to stir the pot. I needed to run at the edges and jump.

Time keeps moving.

Sometimes I wonder: did really I have a plan for my life? How did the path I walked compare with the clean-penciled-plan I once scribbled in the notebook? Have I at long last let go of my plan or am I making it up as I go?

I have at the very least learned that I control almost nothing. The river is so much bigger than I am.

I now see that I spent an inordinate amount of time swimming against the river. That was exhausting. I have discovered that it is so much better to give over and let the river carry me. Saul-the-Tai-Chi-master used to say, “Let the energy move you.” Kerri says, “Gear down”.

I do not really understand Narcissus and a life of study in a monastery. Goldmund, on the other hand, I know like the back of my hand. One can study the river from a book or one can go to the river.

ADRIFT on the album BLUEPRINT FOR MY SOUL © 1995 Kerri Sherwood

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An Aspiration [David’s blog on KS Friday]

One of the first things I noticed on the day I met Kerri, the day that I first stepped foot in the house, was the abundance of peace signs. There was a peace sign dangling from the rearview mirror of LittleBabyScion. There was a peace sign decal on the back of LBS. There were peace sign necklaces hanging from the bathroom mirror. Peace sign ornaments hung from doorknobs and in front of windows. Peace signs were integrated in the kitchen and the living room. She had surrounded herself with an aspiration, a dedication to peace. The house felt like a sanctuary.

We’ve added a few more since my arrival. Peace has found its way into the garden, prominent in winter while in the summer it peeks from behind the tall grasses.

I wondered about the origins of this ubiquitous-in-our-house symbol. I thought I’d find something ancient but instead learned that it reaches back less than a century. “..its very design was inspired by naval semaphore code. Semaphore is traditionally employed by seafarers who use flags held in different positions to communicate across distances…“ The peace sign is an integration of the “N” and the “D” of semaphore code. “N” and “D” signaled nuclear disarmament.

When I was in elementary school we practiced drills, crawling beneath our desks in case a nuke was dropped nearby. I’m certain the desk would not have protected us from annihilation but at least our last moments on earth would be an attempt to live. “In the United States, along with the underlying threat of the Cold War and nuclear disaster, additional tensions brought on by the Vietnam War and the fight for Civil Rights ramped up the movement for peace. Anti-War and Civil Rights activists took on the symbol for nuclear disarmament as a symbol for all peaceful causes.”

The peace symbols that surround us in our sanctuary home have taken on new import lately. Actually, it is not new import, it is renewed import. An aspiration for peace is much more than quaint. During the Cold War, when a little version of me was crawling beneath my desk, people took to the streets to protest very real threats. Nuclear holocaust in the world and racist inequity at home. It is ironic that the man currently pretending to be president has willy-nilly tossed us into a war with the excuse of preventing Iran from gaining a nuclear weapon. A made-up boogeyman. A non-existent threat. And, the children in Iran who perished died at our hands and had no time to crawl beneath their desks.

Masked men who objectively answer only to the pretender-in-chief (not the law) roam the streets, shooting citizens while snapping up black and brown women, men, children and old people, whisking them away to concentration camps. Right here in the USA. Here, in the land of the free and the home of the brave. We are in a war with ourselves, enacting horror on a daily basis to address problems that do not really exist but have been whipped up to divide us. To assault our peace.

Is there not an immediate need to reignite and rally behind the symbol of peace? “N” + “D”?

The elementary school children today practice a survival drill necessitated, not from a foreign enemy, but from an internal threat. A young man with a military grade weapon who has more protected rights than do the children and teachers he will kill. The desk, the door, the teacher will not protect the scrambling children from annihilation but at least their last moments on earth will be an attempt to live.

Not so long ago this nation prided itself as being a beacon of hope. We aspired to be “The shining city on the hill.” A place where people of all backgrounds might come to make a better life for themselves. A sanctuary. Although glacial, we’ve moved ever closer to the equality promised in our Declaration of Independence from a tyrant king.

Today, our national body hosts a fast-moving cancer, a tyrant-cult, that eats our guts from the inside. We have one remaining shot at survival and it is to use the only tool left to us, the primary tool of governance by the people: vote. Vote for the restoration of peace. Vote for the end of this corruption and abuse. Vote. Ducking beneath the desk and hoping that we will survive is, as it has always been, an illusion meant to distract the children, giving them something to occupy their minds before the end.

We cannot act like children. Vote. Protect your vote rather than hide beneath your desk. Is there not an immediate need to reignite and rally behind the symbol of peace? Are we not standing on deck waving our flags over and over again: “N” + “D”? Is there not an imperative to remember what we stand for, what ideals populate our founding documents? Isn’t it time to reclaim who we aspire to be?

BOUNDARIES on the album RIGHT NOW © 2010 Kerri Sherwood

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Our Roots [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Kerri snapped this morning. “How can they support this…cruelty!” she cried. “They” are among those we call family who adamantly embrace the inhumanity of the current administration; those who vote for the cowardice of the republican congress, the enablers of the ruthlessness and corruption. Those who consider themselves righteous.

“Clocks, for some reason or other, always seem to be marching, and armies never march to anything but doom.” ~ Alan Watts via The Marginalian

This was the sentence I was reading when she snapped. I admit that I grew irritated. This is a conversation we’ve now had a thousand times and I was not ready to have it yet again. It is a conversation that only marches to doom. Loss. I suppose it’s like grieving a death; it’s not one-and-done. We lose people in pieces, again and again and again. Sometimes the grief jumps out of the forest. An ambush. Kerri was waylaid this morning.

Every story needs an antagonist. How painful and confusing is it when the antagonist captures the heart and mind of someone you love? “How can they support this…cruelty!” she cried. In the previous nine hundred loops through this despair I’ve found flimsy justifications: “They are in the Fox News bubble,” I say, or, “They don’t really know what they are supporting because they are being told that you and I are the enemy.” I gave that up a hundred loops ago. I have no more excuses to make or rationales to offer. Those are the tools of the third child, the peacekeeper-at-all-cost.

There is no excuse. There is no rationale. There is no common ground here. The word “family” has crumbled. We distance ourselves because we want nothing to do with this level of depravity, this dedicated ignorance.

When I was in my twenties I placed the Rocky Mountains between me and my family. I had to know who I was separate from them. My mental, physical and spiritual health required distance and disconnection from dysfunction as the only route to know myself as healthy. My Rocky Mountain Rule was life-saving but required a great deal of grief. I spent hours staring into the ocean. I spent years walking the shores of The Puget Sound.

“I think this is why I love the ocean. It’s the most difficult part of nature to mess up with emblems and symptoms of man’s dissociated consciousness. It’s an environment in which the awareness of our roots can awaken, in which space (so real because of the light and color) can be seen to be joining things instead of separating them.” ~ Alan Watts

Kerri is experiencing her version of The Rocky Mountain Rule, as are many, many, many people across this nation. In separating themselves out, they are finding themselves, joining themselves. In distancing herself from this level of depravity, in placing a metaphoric mountain range between her and those who share ancestral blood, she is finding and affirming the very essence of what she believes.

In arriving unequivocally at, “I am not that,” one steps solidly onto unambiguous ground of self-actualization, “This is what I believe.” And there is no going back over the mountain. The cry, “How can they support this cruelty!” is not about “them” at all. It is a cry of love as a north star, a rejection of institutionalized hate. It is a cry of humanity refusing to enable the selfish inhumane. It is a cry filled with the grief of loss, and the utterly profound recognition of the inseparable nature of moral conscience. It is empathy that cannot ignore the pain currently being gleefully inflicted upon others. Their pain is her pain. Her pain is their pain. A joining, “…the awareness of our roots.”

LEGACY on the album RELEASED FROM THE HEART © 1995 Kerri Sherwood

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So We Might Endure [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“An aspen root system is a massive, interconnected underground network that links entire groves into a single living organism. Individual trees (called ramets) act as above-ground shoots, sharing identical genetics, water, and nutrients across roots that can endure for thousands of years.” ~ National Forest Foundation

Our aspen tree, Breck, has just revealed a baby Breck, a tiny tender shoot reaching through the soil at the edge of our pond. We couldn’t be more thrilled.

Knowing how aspen trees propagate, we’ve been keeping a careful eye in the backyard. We didn’t want to inadvertently step on or accidentally mow any new additions. This delicate shoot makes an appearance at the time, in the same summer, that Breck has broken all records for growth in a single season. Our little aspen tree easily added three feet to its height and now we know that the underground growth is as healthy as the visible tree above ground.

Literal interconnection. Even though the aspen groves appear as individual trees, they “endure” thanks to their underground network, the reality of many individual expressions growing as a single living organism.

Are we really so different from an aspen grove?

I have read that in indigenous communities banishment is a punishment worse than death. They are closer to the realities of nature and are not so lost in abstraction. Survival is a function of interconnection, of community. To be made separate, to be rendered individual, is a death sentence.

Are we really so different from indigenous communities?

Here is my revelation of the past week. It is actually a simple thought that arose amidst all the religious fundamentalism currently run amok in the sad politics of the USA: Hate is selective. Love is all inclusive. The worship of a god of love is a very different thing than the worship of a god that selects.

Democracy is by definition inclusive. Autocracy is by definition selective.

My hope: the truth of our democratic interconnection overwhelms this sad chapter, this invasive weed – and banishes it; that our literal interconnection chokes out and summarily removes the fascist invader. And then the grove can return to the business of sharing nutrients across our roots so we might endure in health for thousands of years.

CONNECTED on the album RELEASED FROM THE HEART © 1995 Kerri Sherwood

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