Strive To Be One [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

“Love takes off the masks we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within.” ~ James Baldwin, The Fire Next Time.

Sometimes I pause and reread the previous few weeks of my blogposts. My first thought after my latest read was, “Good God! I’m bipolar!” I’ve learned not to listen to my first thoughts. They are not nearly as considered or considerate as the thoughts that follow. I am lately writing about love.

Love. This is the rest of James Baldwin’s quote: “I use the word “love” here not merely in the personal sense but as a state of being, or a state of grace – not in the infantile American sense of being made happy but in the tough and universal sense of quest and daring and growth.”

Love takes off the masks. The masks we fear we cannot live without. The masks we can no longer live within. It is a tug-of-war. It is vulnerable to be seen. Yet, to grow, old identities, like suits of armor, must be discarded. To grow up it is necessary to show up, to step-out-there.

Jonathan once told us that a tree must split its bark in order to grow. Snakes shed their skin. And people open their hearts and learn what it is to love.

“Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up.” ~ James Baldwin

I found some measure of comfort about my nation (and my latest writing) in James Baldwin’s guiding words. Perhaps we are in a struggle to remove an old and ugly mask, still in place. Racial division. Misogyny. We fear what we will see if we drop this patriarchal mask. Yet, our love of country is requiring us to grow. To take a hard look at who we are and where we’ve come from. To shed the mask we can no longer live within. We are bigger in heart and spirit than our original colonial notion. The mask of divide-and-conquer is suffocating to the world’s greatest democracy, a nation of immigrants come together under the banner e pluribus unum, out of many, one.

Love makes us dare to grow up. Love makes us strive to be one.

read Kerri’s blogpost about HEARTS

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Shadow Singular [David’s blog on KS Friday]

She began taking pictures of our feet when, early in our lives together, we traveled to The Netherlands, Belgium and France. The point was not to capture our feet, rather it was to record the variety of surfaces we walked upon. Cobblestones and ancient wood. Mosaic tile. The unusual and the seeming ordinary, though, when traveling, no surface is ordinary. For awhile we entertained assembling a collage of the many many surfaces were we found our feet standing. A quirky memory wall.

Adding to her series of traveling feet she began capturing our shadows. It’s now common for her to say, “Wait!” I know exactly what to do. No questions required. My job is to hold still until she snaps the latest edition to her shadow collection. I love them. To me, they are our version of the Balinese shadow puppets. Wayan Kulit. At best we are aware of the shadows we cast, the projections of our minds. Our lives a moving grand illusion.

Like the feet series, the shadow collection serves as markers of our life together. Trails we’ve hiked. Bridges we’ve crossed. Friends who entertain without question our odd request for a shadow portrait.

I just read a story about a man who tried to outrun his shadow. He was, as you might imagine, unsuccessful. It was a particularly poignant story for me since I spent many of my younger years trying to escape my shadow. I was, like the man in the story, unsuccessful. Though, unlike the man in the story, I stopped running. Some small grace whispered in my ear to stand still, to turn and look at it. To really look. To walk with it.

Isn’t it poetic that after all that time running, I now hold hands with a woman who regularly stops me on the trail, not only to look but to capture our shadow – singular – as it stretches out before us, leaning in, two people blending together as one?

Good Moments on the album This Part of the Journey © 1998/2000 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about SHADOWS

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Infinity Squeeze [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

When Dogga comes back into the house he always gets a “thanks for not running away” treat. It’s a serious sentiment. In this life he was strapped with herding two artists. We have not been the easiest to contain. Each day we are glad that he chooses love over the easier path.

Twenty four hours before we were to hit the road and travel to their house for a short visit, we wrote Kate and Jerry that we were so excited that “we were already sitting in the car waiting for morning.” It was only a small exaggeration. We were THAT excited. Kate suggested that we go back in the house because we were making the neighbors nervous. I assured her that we always make the neighbors nervous. “I would not have expected less of you…” she wrote. Banter is one of my favorite love languages.

I yelled at Braden. He was three years old and started running toward the busy street. When I yelled at him he stopped in his tracks and burst into tears. There was authority in my voice – more than I knew I possessed. Love sometimes sounds like an alarm. It booms.

We drive into the city late at night to find the club where Craig is performing. It is waaaay past our bedtime but we are giddy each time we go. We are the oldest people in the club and everyone affectionately makes fun of how we dance. Old bones do not move like young bones. The first time we saw him perform he gave us earplugs. “You’re gonna need these,” he said, smiling. Sometimes love looks like earplugs, funny dancing-delight and a foray into the unknown.

One of the greatest gifts Kerri has given me (and me to her) is the understanding of how to fight. I did not know how to do that before we met. Dogga hears the coming storm and slinks into the bathroom to get out of the way. Great love sometimes requires a mighty tempest. A heart-cleansing rain. Sometimes choosing love sounds like thunder.

It’s why we give Dogga a treat every-single-time he comes back in the house.

Our love-of-life is a full color palette, banter-filled, adventurous and many-textured. Life lessons: sometimes love is very loud. It rarely looks like a Hallmark card. Always it is a choice to support, to help, to nurture, to guide, to recognize, to acknowledge and appreciate this very complex infinity squeezed into a tiny four letter word. It’s worth the choice every single time.

[“Choose Love” flag is from Penzeys Spices, one of our favorite shops and Bill Penzey, a favorite positive voice trying to make the world a better place]

read Kerri’s blogpost about CHOOSE LOVE

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The Abdication of Answers [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

“Truth is a pathless land.” ~ Jiddu Krishnamurti

I confess. I’ve spent an inordinate amount of my life looking for answers. Mostly, the answers I sought concerned questions like “Who am I?” or “What’s my purpose?” I sought the answers as if they actually existed. Somewhere out there. I thought I’d find it if I kept looking.

“The whole of life, from the moment you are born until the moment you die, is a process of learning.” ~ Jiddu Krishnamurti

It took a while but one of the later versions of myself quite suddenly understood that there was no answer to find. There was a life to be lived. I might arrive at answers – if I still needed answers – on check-out day. And even in that passing moment, my answers would most likely be a learning experience. A discovery.

“Freedom from the desire for an answer is essential to the understanding of a problem.” ~ Jiddu Krishnamurti

On hot humid days we walk along the shore in hopes of finding a cool breeze. Our hot-day-walks are slow, ambling. Kerri stops periodically to take a photograph: the bamboo growing beside the marina, cornflowers in the community garden, a seagull atop a light post. We talk about what matters and what does not. The quiet river running beneath our conversation is the abdication of answer-seeking. We revel in the birds splashing in the birdbath, the first sip of coffee in the morning, the smell of onion and garlic sautéing…slow walks on hot days. Noticing a kindness. Answers are nowhere to be found. Presence is everywhere.

“When I understand myself, I understand you, and out of that understanding comes love.” ~ Jiddu Krishnamurti

Lately Kerri says, “I’m not all that. We’re not all that.” There is freedom found when perspective arrives, an undeniable truth in a vast, vast universe. We are passing through. Nothing more, nothing less. How we treat each other is on the list of what matters. Do we help or hurt others in the time we share together on our passage?

read Kerri’s blogpost about BAMBOO

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In All The World [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

There’s nothing better in all the world.

Love is like that. It’s the way it’s supposed to work.

And aren’t we beyond fortunate?

read Kerri’s blogpost about DOGGA

smack-dab © 2024 kerrianddavid.com

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Joy All The Way Around [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Although he is mostly black, our Australian Shepherd, like most Aussie’s, is tricolor. In addition to black, he sports rich copper and white fur patches. His eyes are auburn, lively and penetrating. Again, like most Aussies, he makes great eye contact because is always on the look-out to be one-step-ahead of our next move.

One step ahead.

I grew frustrated when he was a puppy and we were attempting to train him to walk with us. He could not, would not, walk by our side. Instead, he pulled-like-a-sled-dog to be in front of us. He seemed impossible to train. And then, one day, on a walk in a forest preserve, we let him off the leash and he raced ten paces ahead of us. He was delighted and kept exactly ten paces ahead of us. The penny dropped in my slow-on-the-uptake-mind. His job, his very reason for being, is to clear our way. To keep us safe. It’s not something he thinks about or intends, it’s in his DNA.

It has become a source of great joy to open the backdoor and watch his delight, racing out in front of me to clear the yard of potential marauders. Taking out the trash has become one of my favorite things. My Dogga has my back. He has our backs. Being one step ahead of us is his job, his purpose, his reason for being. Our well-being is his well-spring of joy.

It’s funny to me now, how he has become one of my great teachers in the art of non-resistance. I thought I was trying to teach him to walk-on-a-leash and, in truth, he was trying to teach me how to better walk in life. How to get off my leash and out of my tug-of-war. How much better is life once I ceased trying to bend him to my will and learned to listen to and lean into his gifts!

This is what I’ve learned from Dogga’s teaching: there is joy all the way around.

read Kerri’s blogpost about DOGGA PAW

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Very, Very [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Last night, sitting on the deck enjoying the waning light, I had a great idea for this post. I didn’t write it down so, of course, I have no idea what my great idea was. All morning I have tried to retrace my mental footsteps but alas, they, too, are lost in the mist.

It would be just like me to write about perception. This is a curtain separating the backstage V.I.P. area from the raucous dancing audience. Kerri tried to take a photo through the curtain. Cameras and purple permeable curtains might serve as metaphors for all manner of my blah-blah. Focus placement, assumptions, obstacles, yada-yada! But, none of that well-worn blather was my great idea.

I’m rarely in V.I.P areas since I am rarely a V.I.P. In fact, this particular V.I.P. area was my first and I have to admit I liked it. I didn’t get crushed in the crowd. I wandered freely. There were drinks had I wanted one. And chairs. Security didn’t blink when I walked up and stood at the apron of the stage. I adored watching the dancing furries and acrobats prepare to take the stage. To me, backstage is magic precisely because it’s behind the curtain: the furries take off their furry heads and sip drinks through straws; the acrobats smoke a joint, laugh and talk politics. Now, backstage magic might be a fun post but it wasn’t my great idea.

I did ponder the designation (of course). It wasn’t just an I.P, important person section, it was a very important person section. Wow. Very. More important than important. Since Craig was performing and we are his parents, I suppose we earned the adverb. Kerri did for sure. I didn’t give birth to Craig (thank goodness! I’ve heard stories…). She did so is most certainly a very. I’ve only moved his stuff a few dozen times but was happy to don the extra designation.

That we were fortunate enough – from a place of privilege – to watch our son perform on a BIG stage, and perform well, – also was not my big idea. He wanted us there and made it happen. There’s nothing better on earth than having a son who wants to share his artistry and successes with his parents. The V.I.P. was icing on the cake, an experience everyone should have once in their life.

That was big but it wasn’t my great idea.

I suppose half the fun of losing a great idea is the search-and-rescue effort to find it. I know it’s in there somewhere. As I grid my recent past in search of some great abstract idea, I couldn’t be happier to have found so much actual-beyond-greatness. Heart experiences. New experiences that resurface all the stages and backstages of my past. A son in his bliss. A mother in her bliss. A crowd of adoring people sharing their bliss.

Maybe writing about bliss was my big idea! If it wasn’t, it should have been. People who I love in their bliss. Nothing better. Very. Very, very.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE CURTAIN

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

The interviewer asked me to name three things I love and three things that piss me off. “Ah, here’s the trick question,” I thought. Tom Mck once told me that, when conducting interviews for teaching positions, he’d ask a trick question, “Tell me about your experiences with a bad student?” If the interviewee answered the question, he would not hire them. “There is no such thing as a bad student,” he said. I knew better than to answer the interviewer’s question but I did anyway: “I can’t see my dad anymore and sometimes that really pisses me off.” Of course, I did not get the job.

I read The Little Prince, first to myself and then aloud to Kerri. As I turned the last page I saw that she was silently crying. “I forgot how it ended,” she said. So had I. In the book, after the Little Prince is bitten by the yellow snake and dies, the narrator searches the sand but cannot find his body. The author, Antoine de Saint-Exupery, a year after he wrote the book, crashed his plane over the Mediterranean Sea. It was 1944. His plane was later found but not his body.

Neil Postman wrote Amusing Ourselves to Death in 1985. It is more relevant today than when it was written. He predicted our indifference to lies. It’s not that we cannot discern fact from fiction, it is that we do not care to. It’s much more entertaining to spew self-righteous bile and shared discord within the confines of the social-bubble. A free press, the mechanism meant to function as society’s lie-detector, has collapsed and become a terrific magnifier of falsehood. Entertainment. That which can be seen with the eyes but is nowhere detectable with the heart. Wild lies, outrageous claims and blame, blame, blame, blame, blame are much more captivating than essential truth. It’s about numbers: grotesque behavior attracts more audience than genuine discourse so completely dominates the info-stream.

The body politic fragments, like pieces of an airplane tumbling from the sky.

Lately, I hear often – and speak – this common refrain: “I just can’t understand how people don’t see it.”

“Oh, people do see it,” whispers The Little Prince, sweeping clean his volcano, adding, “With their eyes.”. He winks, “Closed hearts are not concerned with the essentials.”

The wind shifted so we sat outside and enjoyed the evening cool after a hot day. Just like my dad used to do. Now, when I close my eyes, I can see him. We made dinner with 20 and ate under the waning light in the sky. It was the solstice. The stars made their slow entrance. Gazing up, I wondered if perhaps Antoine de Saint-Exupery found a way to join The Little Prince on his planet so together they might attend to the vanity of the rose. I hope so. For a moment, we sat in silence and appreciated all that our open hearts could see.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SEEING CLEARLY

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Higher Than Ten! [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

The AccuLumen Brightness Index is low today. A solid two. It’s a cloudy day so the low number is not a surprise. On sunny days it soars to a full 10 points! In fact, the number is never a surprise. We tease each other with the Index. We don’t really need an instrument to tell us that the sun is bright today. “Whoa!” she says, dropping her shades over her eyes, “The AccuLumen Brightness Index is soaring!”

“We should have checked it before stepping out!” I quip.

The optometrist told her that, as she ages, her eyes will grow more sensitive to the light. “It’s your Scandinavian heritage,” he smiled, adjusting his instruments to look more deeply into the windows of her soul.

We wandered into the shop in Breckenridge. Magical Scraps. The towel immediately brought Simon & Garfunkel to mind. The 59th Street Bridge Song. Feelin’ Groovy. “Slow down, you move too fast/ You got to make this morning last…” The owner of the shop, Jess, explained that they make much of the merchandise in-house. It’s also a shop dedicated to local artists, a place to sell their work. “Artists have to have a place to sell what they create,” she said.

“Amen to that,” I thought, rubbing the ears of the shop dog, Stella. My AccuLumen Heart Index was registering a full ten. We were in the mountains in one of our favorite spots, the day was bright (at least a nine on the brightness index), the shop felt good, a perky song was wafting through my brain, I was on the floor with a happy dog…feelin’ groovy. I could have stayed there all day but we entered the store a few minutes before closing-time so courtesy – and Kerri’s polite nudge – required me to move on.

As we strolled down the street, breathing-in the sweet cool mountain air, I noted that my AccuLumen Happiness Index was in lockstep with my AccuLumen Heart Index, both registering a 10+! “I didn’t realize you could score higher than a ten,” I said.

“What?” she asked, clearly lost in her own AccuLumen Experience rating.

“Let the morningtime drop all its petals on me/ Life, I love you, all is groovy”.

read Kerri’s blogpost about FEELIN’ GROOVY

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Sing A Love Song [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“Watch for all that beauty reflecting from you and sing a love song to your existence.” ~ Rumi

Deep in the night the thunder rumbled and shook the house. The rain came in buckets and reached through the open window. She leapt out of slumber to close it and then retreated beneath the blankets. She was almost as quickly fast asleep. A leap both ways. I counted the space between the flash and the boom. One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand…Sky’s grumble.

Needless to say, I was awake and on a mind-wander. I remembered students who were invested in the belief that something was wrong with them. Young artists and visionaries desiring to fit in. When young, it’s hard not being one-of-the-crowd. My job at the time, I now believe, was to help them recognize that they were unique in all the world. To flip their perspective. To love in themselves that which made them stand out, that which they feared and rejected.

I understood them because I had walked their path. At this age, I continue to walk the path.

In my mind-wander I reviewed my day. Once, I thought a love song to my existence was somehow a product of achievement. I’m no longer confused about that. Twice today, the dogga came to find me and I was moved to tears. Kerri and I sat on the deck watching the cardinals and she took my hand and I knew to my core that I was the luckiest man alive. She showed me the photo of a daisy drinking in the sun. I am surrounded by generosity and friendship. Rob sends a daily pun in an attempt to keep our spirits high. Dan brought a plastic bin with all the fixings for Southern Comfort Old-Fashioneds – and seed for our lawn because he had extra.

Watch for the beauty.

The lightning flashed. The sky rumbled. I reveled in the sounds of my love song, marveled at my existence.

In A Split Second/As Sure As The Sun © 2002 Kerri Sherwood

Grateful/As It Is © 2004 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE DAISY

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