Meet Your Destiny [David’s blog on KS Friday]

I appreciate phrases like “As luck would have it.” The personification of Luck. It comforts me to imagine what Luck might look like. Somedays he dons a bowler hat and cane and wiggles his eyebrows when questioned. Sometimes Luck is a lady in an evening gown and Doc Martins; a swirling contradiction who laughs at our predictions.

And then there’s “Meet your destiny.” A place. A location in space and time. A spot on the road that you probably did not intend to visit..but there you are. A person as a destination. I feel that way about Kenosha, Wisconsin. Not in my wildest imagination did I think I would live anywhere in the midwest, especially a place called Kenosha. And then, as luck would have it, I met my destiny.

My destiny and I both love the fall. It is our favorite time of year. We like to take long walks. We lift snakes off the trail with sticks so bikes don’t run over them. We stop and stare back at the deer. We count the turtles that we spy. Yesterday there was a train of turtles sunning themselves on a single small rock. Four in a row. A hawk flew overhead. A heron high-stepped through the shallows. She stood guard over a fuzzy black caterpillar so the approaching hikers would see it. We laughed heartily as she stayed with the critter until it disappeared into the tall grasses. Caterpillar crossing guard.

I was not around when Kerri was on the road performing. I’ve seen her run rehearsals and play for services. I was her roadie for a house concert or two. I treasure the night she played the piano on an empty stage, in an empty theatre. It was enormous. It was heartbreaking. I’ve sat with her in her studio many nights while she played for me songs that are not yet recorded.

Time flies. Time as a bird or a plane. A rushing current of air.

As Luck would have it, Kerri stumbled onto some video from 1996. The release concert for her 2nd and 3rd albums. What a gift to see even a few minutes of her performance. Twenty five minutes of footage, early in her career. One thing was abundantly clear as I watched. She was doing exactly what she is on this earth to do. It’s visible. I could see it. Sitting at her piano, easy and sure, she was meeting her destiny.

I watched her watch the footage. Reaching back to move forward. Time flies. As luck would have it. A twist of fate. In the fall of our lives, she turned and gazed hard at the horizon.

Kerri’s music is available on iTunes and streaming on Pandora and iHeart Radio

read Kerri’s blogpost about SUN THROUGH AUTUMN TREES

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See The SISU [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Sisu is a word that is often used in Kerri’s family. With Finnish roots braided through strands of Norwegian, for them it is more than a word. It’s an inheritance. It’s DNA.

It was new to me when I entered the clan. Innate strength of will. Determination. Perseverance. I’m told the full meaning of the word doesn’t translate well to English.

It was an abstract concept for me until these past few years. I have now been witness to Sisu and it is awesome.

Keep in mind that Kerri is a pianist, a recording artist, a composer. She is a Yamaha artist which means she is considered an acknowledged master of her instrument by people who make performance pianos. When, just prior to the pandemic, she fell and broke both her wrists, when we lost our co-managing directorship to the virus, when she was nearly fully recovered and fell again on a wet floor, re-injuring her wrist beyond the capacity to recover, and then her day-job popped like a soap bubble and disappeared, when she lost motion in her left shoulder…I discovered the full meaning of Sisu as the force of DNA arose in my wife.

It’s true. The full meaning doesn’t translate well into English.

We have words like Fortitude or Pluck. Grit. Mettle. They are good words and go far in describing what I’ve been witness to in Kerri to these past three years. They simply do not go far enough. Most people I know, myself included, would have thrown in the towel, lapsed into parties of pity, or simply admitted it was all too much and given up the fight. Most people do not have Sisu in their DNA.

Recently, Rob wrote to ask us if we could see light at the end of our tunnel. The short answer is no. The long answer is that it really doesn’t matter whether or not we see light. We have Sisu in our camp. If we don’t find light we will either create it or blow a hole in the tunnel. Or both.

There’s no way to describe it but there is a caution or two: I wouldn’t bet against Kerri-full-of-Sisu. She is full to overflowing with her inheritance. And, it’s probably best to stay out of her way.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SISU

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Go With Abundance [David’s blog on KS Friday]

The sound of the tree cracking sent us scurrying. We didn’t know if the falling branch was above us so it was best to move until we could locate it. Fifty feet behind us and well off the trail, an enormous branch collapsed, snapped, fell, and broke into several pieces. “What are the odds that we’d be here to see it fall?” Kerri asked. “I wonder what it means when you see a limb or tree fall?”

We Googled the symbolism and, not surprising, it’s either a good omen or a bad omen. It depends on what you choose to believe. It might not mean anything at all. To re-use a favorite quote from Alan Watts, “The whole process of nature is an integrated process of immense complexity, and it’s really impossible to tell whether anything that happens in it is good or bad.” We decided the falling limb was a terrific sign of positive changes on the horizon.

There’s a sigh of relief that comes when you realize that meaning isn’t found, it is made. It is given. We are, all of us whacky humans, in every moment, giving meaning to our experiences. Is it good or bad? That depends on what we choose to see. The real magic happens when the measuring stick of meaning is not based on a polarity. There are infinite colors available between good and bad.

A chance meeting happens because of a missed plane. The loss of a job opens new avenues of possibility. A closed road leads to an amazing discovery. We found a lost puppy on the side of a county road because we made a detour to avoid road work. My heart blew wide open when that puppy leapt into my arms. “We were meant to come this way,” agreeing on the meaning we wanted to make.

Earlier on the trail we found a blue jay feather. The blue bird of happiness. A sign of abundance and healing. Of course, it might also signal the opposite. “I think I’ll go with abundance and healing,” I said.

“Me, too,” Kerri agreed. “Why not?”

[If you want your heart to blow open, listen to Kerri’s THE WAY HOME. It gets me every time]

the way home/this part of the journey © 1998 kerri sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost on BLUE JAY FEATHER

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See Green [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

If we call someone “green”, we mean that they are inexperienced. Innocent or new. The term “green-on-green” implies a team that has little experience. Young pilots. Mixed doubles swatting at tennis balls. Newly minted detectives. New growth. Immature. Seedlings.

A green issue is environmental. Renewable energy. Wind power. Green is the color of nature.

In street slang, green has two possible meanings. Money. Green is the color of currency. Or, weed. Green is the color of marijuana. A surprising twist on green-on-green!

I can be green with envy. Or green with jealousy. Green is the color of illness. Apparently coveting makes us sick. “Do you feel okay? You’re looking green.” The Romans thought so. Shakespeare, too.

Google the meaning of green and you’ll find it symbolizes peace, hope, and harmony. Optimism.

In spiritual circles, green refers to fruitfulness and fertility. New leaves. New growth. And so, a full-circle return to the first meaning of green, only “new” need not imply ineptitude as much as promise. Hope. A weave of the many meanings of green!

I’m left pondering why I rarely use green in my paintings. Van Gogh did not shy away from green. He was bold enough to smear his green adjacent to vibrant reds and orange. Opposites on the color wheel. A bang to the eyes. Perhaps there is some green in my future.

On our hike today I can say with all honesty that I was completely taken with the many shades of green.

read Kerri’s blogpost about GREEN

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Check Your Reaction [David’s blog on KS Friday]

I confess to being disconcerted. At lunch, Kerri asked me a question about my blog so I typed “the direction of intention” into Google. The top slots were a prayer, rather, a type of prayer originated by Saint Francis de Sales. “Oh, No!” I thought. I don’t want my blog to be associated in any way with any church or any religion. “I hope people know that I am not that,” I said, surprising myself with the vehemence of my sentiment.

We’d just finished reading and discussing a Washington Post opinion piece, I Left The Church And Now Long For ‘A Church For The Nones.’ “… I couldn’t ignore how the word Christian was becoming a synonym for rabidly pro-Trump White people who argued that his and their meanness and intolerance were somehow justified and in some ways required to defend our faith.” So Perry Bacon, Jr.’s very interesting opinion piece was fresh in my mind.

So, too, was a passage I’d read earlier in the day from Vāclav Havel‘s book, Disturbing The Peace. The interviewer asked him to define “absurd theatre” (Havel wrote absurdist plays). He responded that absurdist theatre “demonstrates humanity in a ‘state of crisis’…it shows man having lost his fundamental metaphysical certainty, the experience of the absolute, his relationship to eternity…, in other words, having lost the ground under his feet.” In my mind, he could not have written a more prophetic or accurate description of our times. We are untethered without a functioning moral compass. We are awash in a flood of content mostly bereft of shared context.

I attended a Catholic college. I am not Catholic. I have never identified as Christian or Buddhist or Hindu…Yet, I am not an atheist. One of my favorite memories of my college years are the many conversations I had with Father Lauren sitting on the stoop of the barracks, sipping tea, discussing his faith and my belief. We explored ideas. We compared and contrasted philosophies. We laughed. We asked questions. We considered and expanded each other’s point of view. We respected each other’s differences because we were both driven by a desire to do good for other people. We shared a common intention. A common direction of intention. We both believed in “something bigger” but did not share the same idea of what “something bigger” might be.

Suddenly, I yearned for that time of openness of thought and generosity of sharing opposing points of view. I imagined sitting again with Father Lauren. Eschewing any black-or-white opinion, attempting to practice what I preach – to practice what I believe – I clicked on a few of the links of Saint Francis de Sales. I read. I wanted to know rather than to judge.

I read that Saint Francis de Sales was noted for “…his deep faith and gentle approach to the religious divisions in his land…” We could use some gentle approaches to division in these rabidly discordant times…This also caught my attention: the direction of intention, the heart of Salesian spirituality, is a practice of prayer consciously directing to god what you are about to do… In other words, intending goodness of action.

My definition of the direction of intention: it’s not about what you get, it’s about what you bring. Saint Francis de Sales and I are not so far apart in our direction of intention. Other-focused. Purposive goodness. We both encourage consciousness of action in the world and awareness of the impact of our actions on others.

So, I amend my initial thought: I do not want to be associated with any church or religion, but there’s plenty of common ground to share when we’re driven – and united – by a conscious desire to do good for other people. 

grace/right now © 2010 kerri sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about HEART LEAF

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Create Ease [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Reading The Marginalian this morning I was taken by these two quotes:

“The whole process of nature is an integrated process of immense complexity, and it’s really impossible to tell whether anything that happens in it is good or bad.” (Alan Watts)

“…learning not to think in terms of gain or loss.” ~ The Marginalian, August 16, 2023.

It came at the right moment. There was a river of anxiety running through our house. I opened the newsletter because the title was Seneca on the Antidote to Anxiety. I needed an antidote. Actually, I needed to be reminded of what I already know.

Most of our monsters are invented. Most of our stresses are made-up. What we fear rarely happens. Such is the power of the human imagination. We are capable of making ourselves sick with make-believe, ill with assumptions, fearful by assigning meaning to an experience before it actually happens.

We fret. We worry. We brood. We lose sleep. We get worked up. We torture ourselves with our untethered thoughts and wild-imaginings. It’s the heart of my argument to all people who’ve labeled themselves as “not creative”. We are so abundantly creative that it hurts. Check your inner monologue. It is a riot of creativity! A stampede of wild-horses!

We are capable of imagining ease rather than angst. We are capable of creating love rather than hate. It’s true, but creating ease, creating love, first requires a complete surrender of black-and-white thinking. Good or bad, gain or loss, better or worse…control fantasies, all. Creating ease is borne of an understanding that every experience – every single experience – has many possible interpretations. And, fully comprehending that you are the creator of the meaning you make. And, most of all, recognizing that making meaning of an experience is best done after it happens, somewhere down the road. I guarantee, no matter the meaning made today, it will change again and again over time. Creating ease.

Side note: compassion for self and others lives on this non-binary road.

Reminders of what I already know.

I loved the sunflowers when we placed them on the table. They were a gift and were fresh from the farmer’s market. I thought I might like to paint them, which is unusual for me. A few days later, the sunflowers bowed their heads and I found them more compelling. They seemed like gentle beings in a posture of reverence (how’s that for imagination!). Both Kerri and I raced for our cameras.

Were they more beautiful or less? And, isn’t that the exact wrong question to ask?

read Kerri’s blogpost about SUNFLOWER BOW

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Learn A New Word [on Merely A Thought Monday]

I learned a new word today. Actually given the divisive climate in our current epoch, I’m surprised that I did not come across it sooner.

The word: Agnotology: the study of deliberate culturally induced ignorance or doubt, typically to sell a product, influence an opinion, or win favor, particularly through the publication of inaccurate or misleading scientific data.

Speak these words slowly so you might taste the sounds: deliberate culturally induced ignorance…Once you’ve tasted the sounds, think about the ramifications. Deliberate ignorance. Head in the sand. Deliberate ignorance is, of course, a necessity on the road to hate. And, not just any form of hate. Hate as a product. Hate meant to influence opinions. Hate that thrives on misleading information.

Deliberate ignorance eschews knowledge and refuses to ask questions. Non-curious, hard-edged-belief that refuses to check reality. Hard-edged-belief borne of purposeful misinformation. Hate is learned. Acquired.

My new word came across my path when a stream of transgender hate crossed my screen. A post on Facebook.

I’ll call them Sam. Sam was my student when I taught at an independent learning center. My appointments with Sam were scheduled after hours. Sam fled the main campus. Sam was transgender and Sam’s parents feared for their child’s life. Sam feared for their life, too.

Transgender (adjective): a person whose gender identity does not correspond to the sex registered to them at birth.

Start with the word “person”. A person. Now, roll around your mouth and mind the word “identity”. Speak the words slowly so you might taste the sounds.

I remember being a teenager. Do you? It was mostly a festival of confusion and an intense desire to fit in. To be accepted. About 5% of young adults are transgender. Sam, like all teenagers, was awash in a festival of confusion and wanted what every other student wanted: to fit in. To be accepted. And, the acceptance Sam sought most was… from Sam. Just like you and me.

Sam’s mountain-to-climb was significantly steeper than most. Sam’s walk toward wholeness demanded deep questioning, knowledge seeking, personal reflection, assumption challenges, fact checking, and a dedication of self-love that most of the populace, approximately 95%, can’t begin to imagine. I taught Sam geometry and world lit but I learned from Sam the great expanse of the human soul.

We vilify what we don’t understand, or more accurately, what we refuse to understand. Lemmings learn to hate en route to the ledge.

Lemming (noun): a person who follows the will of others, especially in a mass movement, and heads straight into a situation or circumstance that is dangerous, stupid, or destructive.

Lemming. Speak the word slowly so you can taste it…Now, think of the ramifications.

The path to love and understanding always begins with a step toward: Asking a question. Challenging a belief. Bursting the misinformation bubble. Fact-checking the information and especially checking the agenda of the source.

Love is a very old word yet it’s never too late to learn it anew.

read Kerri’s blogpost about LOVE

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Look Beneath The Brag [on DR Thursday]

“If I don’t brag I can’t complain,” she said, eyes sparkling. I howled with laughter. Wisdom from a soon-to-be 101 year old.

There’s nothing like a long life to strip the paint off an ego.

Her wisdom launched me into a thought-jag and made me wonder what a little time and maturity might bring to our yammering social media streams. Of LinkedIn a colleague recently said, “Everyone is selling. No one is buying.” Lots of bragging balanced by lots of complaining. Although it is moving fast, social media is still very, very young. A raucous kindergarten class. Me. Me. Me!

Kerri and I are not above it, of course. We are knee-deep in it. Each day we bemoan, “Oh, if only our readers would like or share our posts or music or cartoon or paintings…” The algorithm of “like” makes braggers and beggars of us all. It’s the road to increased attention which transmogrifies into words like “influencer” which promises dollars (with or without sense). (sorry. i couldn’t help myself;-) We don’t really want to be influencers but we do really want our work to support us – just like everyone else – so, a conundrum. In current reality, a full spectrum of bragging and complaining marks the road to increased notice.

Marshall McLuhan famously said, “The medium is the message.” Said another way, “…the content of any medium blinds us to the character of the medium.” Content need not have substance in a fast moving medium creating so many squeaky wheels seeking grease. Character (noun): mental and moral qualities… Through our current medium it is necessary to scream loud. No substance or moral quality is required to garner attention since garnering attention is the end-goal. Complain! Brag! Bang pots! Cry wolf! Blow whistles! Break news! Spread conspiracy! Lie loudly… Thumbs up. Angry face. Heart.

It brought again to my mind the question Susan asked last week, “When did kindness leave…” What I wish I’d said is, “It’s still there, it’s just runs deep beneath the noise.” Kindness has no need to compete with complaint for attention.

“How did it get to be the middle of August already?” Kerri asked, focusing her camera on the fading coneflowers. The day was hot. We were overwhelmed by our tasks so took a break and went for a walk.

“I don’t know,” I replied, trying to remember all that happened in June and July. There were so many life altering events for our friends and family. With no air in our sail, becalmed, time has lost much of its meaning.

Kerri showed me her photo. “I think I’ll call this one Waning Summer.” For us, there’s nothing to brag about so there’s nothing to complain about. Thank goodness. We sit solidly in the middle of the spectrum, knowing somewhere, running deep beneath the noise and moving very slowly, like kindness, runs a mighty river of gratitude.

“It’s beautiful.” I said.

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chasing bubbles, 33.25 x 48IN mixed media © david robinson

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read Kerri’s thoughts about END OF SEASON

Appreciate The Caper [on KS Friday]

Kerri’s photos serve as our writing prompts. Sometimes I know exactly what I want to write about. I lead. Sometimes, like today, I stare and follow the first thought that comes to mind, whether or not it makes sense. I let the thought lead me.

Sometimes I follow. Sometimes I lead. Inevitably, during the writing, the process flips. The follower takes charge and leads. The leader gives over and listens. It’s a nice description of a creative process, a tennis match between the intuitive and intentional.

Today’s first thought? It’s perfect design. A still shot masks the truth that this flower is designed for motion. Time-lapse photography reveals the pulse of life, opening and closing. Petals and sepals, pistils and stamen, folding and unfolding with the delicate movement of the planet spinning around the sun. And those tiny hairs on the stem and sepal? Trichome – absorbing life, protecting the dance.

It occurs to me that the word “design” implies a designer and there we go again bumbling into the morass of the godhead. How to explain such perfection? This miracle of life, utter interdependence, as seen in a purple coneflower.

Perhaps it’s enough to acknowledge that my mind is way too limited to grasp the enormity of the concert. I dabble in the power of imagination but will never grasp the infinite, contain the uncontainable, neither in word or way.

Perhaps my desire to affix a definition to the undefinable, to understand the boundless, is no different than staring at a writing prompt. Sometimes I know exactly what I want to write. Sometimes I have no idea. Sometimes I lead. Sometimes I follow. Intuition dances with intention yet neither are capable of explaining the boundless, of measuring the immeasurable, describing the indescribable.

It is enough to perform my part and fully appreciate the caper.

silent days/blueprint for my soul © 1997 kerri sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about CONEFLOWERS

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Make It Someday [on DR Thursday]

More than a few times, we’ve stood at the display of wind chimes in a store. We sound them. We compare the tones. We close our eyes and feel the vibration. Some we like immediately. Others we shrug, not-so-much. We give them a second try, ringing a few together to make mixed tones. We never buy the chimes but we always try them on for size. It’s a form of dreaming. We leave the display with the magic phrase, “Someday.” Yes, someday we’ll have to get those.

Someday. What a double-edged sword is this word!

A few years ago, when Kerri’s digestive system went awry, we dedicated ourselves to the Whole 30 diet so she might regain balance. There’s no sugar allowed in the Whole 30. We learned a valuable strategy for coping with the intense I-must-have-that desire. Walk past the plate of brownies and count to 5. In five seconds, without fail, the desire dissipated. We learned that what-we-must-have is a healthy system. The road to “someday” meant not biting the illusion of sugar-fulfillment.

Delayed gratification. Accelerated health.

Today we learned of Jonathan’s passing. The news floated by on the Facebook stream. We were stunned. In addition to being a very bright light in the world, a peer, he was one of the hardest working people I’ve ever known. He was stockpiling money for his retirement. He had vision. He had plans. “Someday,” he’d say, a twinkle-of-delight in his eye. We lost touch during the pandemic. This morning Kerri said, “I always thought we see him again. Someday…”

Delayed gratification. Accelerated health. Missed opportunities.

I’m given to looking up the words I’m batting around. The antonyms of “someday” are “immediately” and “never.” Two choices, polar opposites, both unforgiving.

Today we will celebrate the life of a friend. We’ll lift a glass in his honor. We’ll share a brownie bite. We might just go to the store and sound the chimes. And, who knows, maybe today will be someday. “Why wait?” I’ll ask.

surrender now, 24x24IN, mixed media © 2016 david robinson

my perpetual placeholder site

read Kerri’s blogpost about CHIMES

[dinner at Jonathan’s house]

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