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

In a confluence of wonderment, local celebrations for Juneteenth, the summer solstice, and Chicago Pride all landed on the same day. And it was a gorgeous day, ideal for uplifting and honoring the most marginalized people in our society. This merging of revelry had an air of push back: as the powers-that-be might try to scrub the rich color from our history, our diversity runs deeper than skin color or sexual orientation, our desire for equality dwarfs their white supremacy. The people took to the streets to parade and sing and dance.

We took the train to Chicago to see our son perform at Pride. It was a mass of humanity, packing the streets, surrounding the stage, pulsing together to the beat. It was impossible to stand still.

In a moment I was struck with a thought: looking across the crowd, bodies of every shape, size, color and preference, rejoicing together. There was no judgement, no emphasis on difference. There was complete support for and acceptance of individuality and unique expression. People proud of their bodies and their choices. A community that has – and still has to – fight for every inch of equal rights and recognition. My thought? “This is what morality looks like.” All of those who pull verses from a bible and claim moral superiority are, in fact, interested exclusively in superiority. As we are witness to again and again, there is no morality on their pedestal.

The people dancing and sweating and reveling and making way for each other to BE WHO THEY ARE, as they are, in a world with love enough to hold an ideal called equality – and live it – they are the keepers of the promise and the light. They are a community, forged by hot prejudice, that cares for each other, protects and serves each other. They are the change, dancing together in their own little corner of the world, hoping someday those living in fear and judgment on the false safety of their pedestals, step down, join the party and learn the dance of humanity.

read Kerri’s blogpost about BE THE CHANGE

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One Of A Kind [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

“When great trees fall, rocks on distant hills shudder, lions hunker down in tall grasses, and even elephants lumber after safety…” ~ Maya Angelou

The house shook. “What the hell was that?” she asked. Later, I noticed bits of plaster on the black couch, fine white dust on the hardwood floor, shaken loose from the ceiling. Our great old maple tree split and fell.

“Great souls die and our reality, bound to them, takes leave of us…”

It was the first blast of wind, the leading edge of a storm that lasted no more than a few minutes. It was enough. “My children climbed in that tree,” she told the crew boss sent to clear the mighty limbs from the road. The crew cut a piece for her to save. These burly men were kind.

She told me stories over the buzz-roar of many saws as we peered out the window, witness to the quick dismantling of her guardian. Heartbroken. The crew was methodical, efficient. The storm had taken more than a few of the old guard trees and they needed to beat the next wave of incoming storms. To them our great tree was one of many. To us, it was precious, one of a kind.

It is serendipitous. Maya Angelou wrote her poem, When A Great Tree Falls, to process the loss of her mentor and friend, James Baldwin. On the day our tree fell I was reading The Fire Next Time by James Baldwin; a book about our nation’s inability to deal with its history. He was a mighty voice, a giant tree. On the morning our tree fell, I read his prophetic words: “The subtle and deadly change of heart that might occur in you would be involved with the realization that a civilization is not destroyed by wicked people; it is not necessary that people be wicked but only that they be spineless.”

The end of an era. A methodical and efficient dismantling of our great nation made possible by the spineless. To them our great nation-tree is one of many, easily disassembled. To us, it is precious, one of a kind. Democracy.

Our tree shook the earth. “What the hell was that?” Plaster fell like snow from the ceiling.

“Our senses, restored, never to be the same, whisper to us. They existed. They existed. We can be. Be and be better. For they existed.” ~ Maya Angelou

“We can be. Be and be better.”

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE GREAT TREE

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

It’s hard not to sift everything through the lens of current events. I mean, we are alive in the time of an AI upheaval that is at least as revolutionary to society as Guternberg’s press, all the while white-knuckling it through an attempted autocratic takeover of our democracy that Timothy Snyder calls “superpower suicide”. And we mustn’t forget climate change. How could circumstance not shade almost every decision we make?

We are living in transformational times which means we are experiencing serious upheaval. The daily ups seem higher because the daily down is without bottom.

Through social media people are sharing the sounds made by newly built data processing centers. Isn’t it ironic that the infrastructure necessary to fuel this tsunami called AI, a technology that is meant to make our lives easier, roars and thrums and not only robs communities of their peace but requires them to pay the power company for their discomfort? The price of progress? Is this a down or an up or both?

Gutenberg’s press made books available to the masses and soon transformed an illiterate populace into a literate society. The Renaissance and the Reformation would not have been possible without the press making literature and education accessible to the masses.

In his book Technopoly, Neil Postman posited that our daily glut of information would ultimately make information a form of garbage: “Because it is severed from theory, meaning, or purpose, it is incapable of answering fundamental human questions or directing coherent solutions.”

In an act of irony I asked AI to describe Neil Postman’s warning about AI: “Neil Postman warned that making information effortlessly accessible severs it from human purpose and action. He famously argued that an overwhelming glut of data creates passivity, leaving us drowning in irrelevant “disinformation” while remaining hopelessly impotent to solve real-world problems.”

Neil Postman was prophetic. His warning accurately describes our current challenge. We are drowning in irrelevance and misinformation. I cite the ballroom. We seem hopelessly impotent to solve our real-world problems but infinitely capable of creating tax breaks for the ultra-wealthy. We have lost our free press and any attachment to fact or truth. I cite the current resident of the White House, the incessant gaslighting, the party that enables him and the propaganda mechanism that stuffs his lies with credence. We are easy marks since we seek information that confirms our bias rather than accurate information that might challenge our opinions and expand our knowledge.

We are told that what goes up must come down and vice versa. The question remains: Can we survive it?

read Kerri’s blogpost about IT WILL COME BACK

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

I am not a Gnostic nor do I identify as Christian but I very much appreciate a bit of text from the Gospel of Thomas: The Kingdom of the Father is spread upon the earth, and men do not see it. I pulled it up on my magic computer to find what comment the AI master might offer: “…divinity is staring us right in the face in our daily lives, but our earthly preoccupations, illusions, and dogmas make us blind to it.” 

It is right in front of us. We do not see it.

When I was younger I learned to meditate. I was chasing presence. More than once I came to the hysterical realization that my chase was in fact doing the opposite of what I intended. Presence is not something that can be chased. Rather, it is experienced when stopping the chase. Stand still and breathe. Feel. See.

I recently had a conversation about connection and control. It brought me around again to what I learned in the folly of my chase. There are so many things I thought I could control – many that I didn’t know that I was trying to control – and my efforts to control brought me a mountain of frustration and nothing more. I found it an exercise in futility, a seemingly impossible task, to try and control my illusion of controlling. Just as presence cannot be chased, controlling cannot be controlled. One day, in a flash of no-duh, I understood that all I need do is the opposite: connect to the moment instead of trying to control it.

It was right in front of me all along. Control is born of fear. It is to erect a barrier, to contract. Connection is the opposite. It expands. It releases. How many times have I learned that the heaven I seek is available and visible if I simply stop, let go, or turn around and look? How many times have I learned that what I sought was right in front of me, patiently waiting for me to open my eyes.

read Kerri’s blogpost about HIDDEN IN PLAIN SIGHT

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

Sometimes life gives you a second chance. My second chance met me at an airport. She was holding a daisy so that I would recognize her. Wouldn’t it be lovely if every time life opened a heart-door, a second chance, “the right path”, it was marked with a daisy so that we would recognize it? I saw the daisy. We skipped out of the airport.

That day was thirteen years ago. The daisy has lived on the dashboard of LittleBabyScion since the day she held it at the airport. She held it when we skipped to the car. She put it on the dashboard for the drive from the airport where it remains to this day. It is now a very fragile shadow of a daisy but no less of a talisman. It heals. It inspires. It connects. It reminds us how very lucky we are.

The quote at the bottom of my 1440 newsletter today was from Martha Washington: “The greater part of our happiness or misery depends upon our dispositions, and not upon our circumstances.” The daisy on the dashboard is both a thread that binds us to our origin story and a gratitude-marker reminding us each and every day that we have nothing to complain about, that his big ole universe extended an abundance to us that few people ever enjoy. We do not take that gift lightly. Our circumstance over these 13 years may have been rocky but our happiness continues to grow greater and greater because we never take the daisy-path for granted.

My sister-in-law once commented that Kerri and I work hard to keep the magic alive and it is true. We work hard but we also know a secret about the magic: the harder we work the easier it becomes. Cultivating wonder is a feedback loop; wonder cultivates us in return. Wonder is the hallmark of the daisy path and I am more than astounded that one day, thirteen years ago, I stepped off a plane and met my destiny holding a daisy.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THIRTEEN

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Everyday, Everyday [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Sometimes it feels as if this great big old universe pops us on the head. It wants our attention. It wants us to hear its music beyond the noisy ruckus. This is one of those times.

Many months ago, late at night while Kerri was sleeping, I came across a video called, The Life We Have. I wasn’t paying too much attention and thought it was a hiking video so I clicked on it. I was not prepared for what I saw. At the end I had to stifle my sobs so I didn’t wake Kerri. So, when last week it popped up again in our feed, I told her she had to see it: Rob Shaver, living with stage four cancer for over 20 years, squeezing every ounce of gratitude he can from the life he has. His story is raw. His telling is pure. We both sobbed.

The next day L sent us a video of a man, a friend and teacher, speaking of orienting his life toward gratitude.

The next day D told us of his dedication to live from a place of generosity: generosity in thought, in action, in spirit.

The next day, while sitting in the backyard, seven vultures dropped from the clouds – seven – riding the thermals, spiraling low, just over our heads, and then circling higher and higher until they disappeared again into the clouds. It was gorgeous. Symbolically they represent purification and transformation. “I guess we’d better start paying attention,” I said.

In this past decade, ours has been a path of fire. Layers of dross and armor have been burned away. Bags of life-garbage have been reduced to cinders. We have no illusion that we are garbage-free but we are certain that the junk no longer dominates our view. We are not nearly as invested in murky grievances as once we might have been. We’re more and more clear-eyed in appreciating the moment we’re in and less and less interested in being anywhere else. More and more we hear the music in all things.

“The best thing you can do for your lungs is sing,” Rob Shaver said. This from a man who runs miles a day, a man whose lungs are filled with tumors. ‘”Everyday, everyday, everyday, everyday, everyday…be grateful for the life you have.”

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE MUSIC

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See Number Five [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

How do I start this post?

Choice #1: Although it is a platitude, it is never-the-less accurate: where you place your focus grows. I have come to believe that one of the few choices we actually have is where we place our focus. (yawn).

Choice #2: Among my many flaws is a hyper-focus. Kerri just rolled her eyes. Okay, I can be…obsessive. Once I start a project it is nigh-on-impossible for me NOT to think about it. Shortly after we moved in together, we were carrying a desk from the upstairs to the basement. The doorbell interrupted our task and we left the desk standing on its end. After our visitor left I started for the stairs and Kerri said, “Let’s leave it until later.” I writhed all night and into the next day…

Choice #3: Combine choice #1 and choice #2 and call myself out on my hypocrisy. Do I have a choice of where I place my focus or not? Am I obsessive, meaning that I have no control over my focus OR am I the zen master I imagine myself to be and masterfully place my focus on the flow? The desk be damned! It will happen when it happens!

Choice #4: On social media I can be whoever I want to be! It is, after all one big viewfinder! I may not be able to control my focus but I can place your focus on my zen master identity and lead you to believe all manner of positive things about me! I can retract my story about moving the desk! I need never betray my obsessive focus dilemma. In my concocted self, I can claim to move through life obstacle-free!

Choice #5: The impact of a glass of wine on obsession.

Choice #6: The great truth of my collaboration with Kerri, my wife, my 24/7 companion, my creative copilot, is that I can’t get away with anything. If you happen to swallow my blather, if you fail to recognize that I am an obsessive gasbag fixated on moving a desk, she will set you straight. She will put your poor abused-and-confused focus placement aright! About me, she will mutter, “…teaching what he most needs to learn…”

Choice #7: If I was a magician I’d be a master of deception.

Choice #8: See #5.

read Kerri’s blog about THE VIEWFINDER

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The Blink Of An Eye [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

What the head makes cloudy/ The heart makes very clear” ~ Don Henley, In A New York Minute

“It’s as if last week never happened,” she said. We’d prepared for weeks for the trip and in a flash, in a New York minute, we were back home. “So much happened but now it seems like I dreamed it.”

We stayed in the same place that we stayed during our previous trip six months ago. Climbing the stairs into the small apartment it felt as if only a few days had passed. “Weird!” I said and she nodded. “It’s like we never left.”

Our recent undertaking has necessitated some serious life review. We’ve reached back decades to find details, we’ve driven the streets and neighborhoods where she rode her bike as a kid, we’ve stood in places that she stood nearly fifty years ago. “Has it changed?” I ask.

She shakes her head, “The trees are bigger.”

It’s a marvelous thing to have fifty years of life to revisit. It is a marvelous thing to be able to reach across decades and touch innocence. Sometimes this task has seemed nearly impossible. Sometimes fifty years of time, fifty years of life, seems like a flash. The blink of an eye. A New York minute.

We stood on the beach. It was an unseasonably hot day. The last time we stood on this beach we needed extra layers. The wind was brisk. This day there was no breeze. We were slightly disoriented because it had been months yet felt as if we’d stood on this beach yesterday. “Something is different,” I said. She agreed. “What is it?” I asked. What’s different?”

“It’s mine, again,” she said. “After so long. It’s mine.”

read Kerri’s blog about A NEW YORK MINUTE

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And Then What Happens? [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Once upon a time…

And then what happens?

It was sunny and bright at the beginning of our long drive. Little did we know that a few hours later we’d be stuck on the freeway, standing completely still in an endless construction delay, with tornado warnings blaring on our phone: “Get into the basement or a safe place now!” What do you do when there is no safe place? What happened next?

We have a good chuckle at the expense of Google Maps. It wants to be a soothsayer. It wants to tell us what’s coming, what’s in our future. “There are police ahead.” Or, “There’s road construction ahead.” Usually, GM tells us about the construction when we’re already in it. “There’s a lane closed ahead!” GM warns.

“No kidding,” we respond.

“It’s a 14 minute delay,” she chirps. An hour later, traffic at a standstill, Kerri says, “I don’t like the look of those clouds.” The sky darkens and bubbles. And then what happens?

In the little village we walked by the door of a psychic. The sign read, “Tarot Readings”. I admit that I was tempted to go in. I’m always tempted. Who doesn’t want to have some sense of what is about to happen?

On our long drive we talked about our careers. Artist’s careers are not like plumbers or lawyers. It is possible to be artistically successful and financially unsuccessful. The same cannot be said for accountants or electricians. When I was running theatre companies I regularly reminded hardworking-yet-disheartened actors that, according to the union that represented them, less than 2% of the membership actually made a living acting. The same cannot be said of the machinist’s union or the teamsters. Artistry is not a business, it’s more akin to a service-calling. It’s not for the weak of heart. It’s not for those who worship the idols of stability and consistency. “There’s a silver lining,” she said. “We’re probably better prepared than most people for dealing with uncertainty.”

We managed to get off the freeway before the storm hit. Sitting in the parking lot of a gas station we wondered what to do. We were still hours from our destination. The rain started gently but soon became a downpour, driven by gusts. Buckets of rain with attitude. The truck jolted with each blast. “Well?” she asked, “What now?

“Life’s like a novel with the end ripped out…” Lyric from STAND, sung by Rascal Flatts

read Kerri’s blogpost about UNCERTAINTY

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In The Form Of Food [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

“There is no sincerer love than the love of food.” ~ George Bernard Shaw

As you probably know by now we close-out our day by watching hiking videos, usually of people attempting long distance thru-hikes like the Pacific Crest Trail or the Appalachian Trail. Much of the time on trail the hikers dream of food. Hamburgers and pizza, burritos and pancakes. Hiker hunger fills their imaginations with Romanesque feasts. They ache to satisfy their deepest-food-yearning.

I used to delight visiting a bakery with Joe. He would press his nose to the glass and moan with delight at the prospect of eating pie. Making a choice was never easy and took considerable time. Patrons would come and go with bags full of goodies before Joe would at last settle on a selection. He reverently carried his wild berry or apple cinnamon pie to a table, his first taste was nothing short of adoration.

We delight in cooking together. I am the sous chef and Kerri the masterful Julia Child. We have favorite recipes which are supplanted by new favorites which help us rediscover the old favorites as if they were brand new. Like the hikers, when we plan our menu for the week be begin to dream of Wednesday’s dinner or “We can’t wait for Saturday!” Sometimes the anticipation is too much and we rearrange our plan to eliminate the delay in our gratification. We are not good at delayed gratification. It’s something we will have to work on if we actually attempt a thru-hike; we imagine a drone service bringing meals-on-demand to us on the trail. Or, perhaps, a chef hikes ahead of us with a mule train of supplies to make all that we yearn to eat.

Late in the night we heard the clang of the useless squirrel guard on the bird feeder. It sounds like someone dropped a metal garbage can lid. We flipped on the back porch light and peered through the blinds. A raccoon was feasting on the bird seed. He expertly worked the mechanism to deliver new seed to the tray. He snacked like an uninvited guest at a wedding buffet. We chuckled at his delight, his nonchalance. The bright light did not deter his dining. His worship was more gluttonous than Joe’s pie-idolatry but no less satisfying. I suspect he knows that we will refill the feeder and do nothing to deter his future food frenzy.

We believe that in these dark days it’s important to affirm in any way possible that there’s enough love to go around, especially if the love comes in the form of food.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE RACCOON

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