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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Walk In Peace [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

I wanted to write about the day, long ago, that my Canadian friend questioned me about my country’s inability to deal with its black/white problem. His country does not have the history of slavery and Jim Crow that mine has. They have a different history of racial division. I was in Edmonton facilitating a diversity workshop and found that I had the most superficial of answer that amounted to “I don’t understand it either.”

I wish I was having that conversation with him now. I have a more complete grasp on my nation’s history. It’s not that we are incapable; it’s that we don’t want to. Our division is a strand of our national DNA. We’ve never settled the question, “Who do we mean when we say, We The People”? Right now, 26 years into the 21st century, one of our political parties is once again whitewashing our history while actively blaming people of color for our nation’s ills. The propaganda machine is working overtime to breath new life into the mad-mad-19th-century-notion of a master race. It continues to be profitable and manufactures dross easily swallowed for a populace largely ignorant of its history.

I wanted to write about my Canadian friend’s question but I found myself hoping that this latest loop around the racist velodrome would be the last. People who study change reassure me that significant growth follows a clear pattern: people revert before they progress, they step backward into the comfortable known, find it empty or ill-fitting, before stepping into the new. My nation is way overdo for a step forward.

I found myself staring at 20’s shoes. Converse Peace Signs. They were Kerri’s dad’s shoes and she gave them to 20 after her dad passed. Walking in peace. What would it take for us to embrace our diversity and flip our racism on its head? Diversity is, after all, in every situation in nature, a strength. Prosperity in all its forms is dependent upon rich diversity. Mono culture is death.

Photographer Angélica Dass believes our troubles stems from our “binary” color palette.* We’ve reduced each other to black and white. It inspired her to create a color wheel of humanity. Her project Humanae matches the full palette of beautiful human skin tones to their Pantone color. Her point (among many): race is a social construct. “Kids don’t describe themselves as black and white – we teach them black and white.”

We need not reduce each other. We need not exclude. We are capable of celebrating and supporting and appreciating. We are capable of embracing the science: there is no genetic or scientific basis for race. “It’s largely a made-up label, used to define and separate us.”*

I wanted to write about my Canadian friend’s question. I found myself staring at 20’s shoes. A symbol in black and white, an ideal beautiful and available to all the rich hues comprising humanity’s color wheel. A factual story capable of defining and uniting us.

*National Geographic, Special Issue: Black and White, April 2018

read Kerri’s blogpost about PEACE SHOES

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Vis-À-Vis The ♡ [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

In relation to the heart. In regard to the heart. Be careful! This heart of mine is made of soft tissue.

“Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves…” Advice from Rainer Maria Rilke. I find that it is much wiser to take the advice of poets rather than the counsel of politicians. Poets seek truth beyond words. Politicians often use words to obscure truth.

With so much unsolved in my heart I have spent my lifetime developing a love of questions. The same is probably true for you. I admit that there are days that I tire of loving the question and shake my fist at the sky, crying, “For once just give me a goddamn answer!”

Those fist-shaking moments always result in silence-from-the-sky, which inevitably leads to a question, “Is it so hard to give me an answer or guidance or direction?” You gotta love that question!

I’ve noticed that the sky never answers immediately. It takes its sweet time. However, in time, sometimes after years of holding a question, the symphony resolves. A path opens. Or closes. An answer arrives, usually following a surrender.

“Our heart always transcends us.” There he goes again. Rilke. And just what does it mean that our heart always transcends us? It’s a good question. I imagine it will remain unanswered so it’s best not to ponder it too much. Pick it up, give it some love and carry on.

read Kerri’s blog post about VISÀVIS

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Feigning Blindness [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

“Conscious avoidance, often termed “willful blindness,” is a legal doctrine where a person is held legally responsible as if they had actual knowledge of a fact because they deliberately avoided confirming it.” ~ AI

I was having some fun at the expense of the republicans-in-congress, imagining the endless fodder they inspire for cartoons. These self-proclaimed cowboys strut through the halls of government yet quake in their boots at the prospect of independent thought. They fear acting or speaking without first seeking permission from their authoritarian-wannabe. These pretend cowboys will not mount their horses without first seeking approval of El Taco.

It would be hysterical if it were not so destructive to our democracy.

Conscious avoidance is a term in criminal law: “It requires that the individual subjectively believed a high probability of illegal activity existed but took deliberate actions to avoid learning the truth.” If they were not protected by law it would be an easy-peasy no-brainer to prosecute the entire Grand Old Party for their conscious avoidance of the grift, their see-no-evil antics providing cover for The Epstein Class, for their “Deliberate Indifference” to the war crimes currently enacted by this administration.

There are many ways of defining conscious avoidance but my favorite is this: “Acting with “eyes wide shut” to avoid confirming a suspicious fact.” It’s yet another possible cartoon: the elephant , like an ostrich, buries its head in the sand.

And what about criminality beyond deliberate indifference? The sham otherwise known as The Save America Act is a prime example. They are doing more than willfully blinding themselves, they are holding the gun during the robbery. They are actively and specifically attempting to disenfranchise voters. They are no witnesses but are active participants. This is criminality beyond indifference. It is corruption. El Taco is in trouble and wants his coward-posse to stop the democracy train. Instead of rugged cowboys these republicans are cut from the same cloth as Barney Fife. Only, as Kerri just cautioned me, Barney Fife was harmless. These clowns are dangerous.

While they are busy feigning blindness to the obvious destruction, we will remind them with our votes and our protests that we see them clearly. As a democratic nation, as a community, we refuse to blind ourselves or look the other way.

read Kerri’s blogpost about CONSCIOUS AVOIDANCE

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Put It Into Practice [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

If you follow the lyric of Van Morrison’s song, Comfort You, all the way through, it works a perfect circle: when the weight on your shoulders is too much, I’ll be there. When the weight on my shoulders is too much, you’ll be there.

When the power went out on Friday morning, with temperatures falling, a blizzard on the way, and the power company nowhere in sight, we did something that reminded me (again and again) how extraordinarily lucky we are. We texted friends to tell them that we were in a possible untenable situation. Their responses? Come stay with us. Do you need anything? What can we do? Questions of comfort and offers of support. Throughout the dark night and into the next day they regularly checked-in with us. We never felt alone or without a safety net.

It matters. When you’re sitting in the dark wearing layers of clothes beneath your coat, a single candle lighting the room, the circumstance is not dire when there are friends offering a warm bed or making sure you have what you need to get through the cold night.

It matters. When the power company arrived just before the storm, when they told us that they couldn’t reconnect our house because the downed tree that snapped the power pole that yanked the power-mast on our house, bending it beyond repair – and we had only a few minutes to find an electrician who would come-right-now on a late Saturday afternoon in the snow and replace a power-mast before the power company left…an urgent call to friends produced three possibilities. The new mast was installed not a moment too soon.

We are lucky. We have extraordinary neighbors. We have extraordinary friends. We share the weight.

And it left me wondering what is so hard to grok. A storm that takes out the power reduces all complexities into obvious simplicities. We all do better when we share the weight. We can get through any adversity when we show up for each other. We recently witnessed it on a grand scale in Minneapolis. A nation is no different than a neighborhood, when we share the weight, when we show up for each other – rather than exploit each other – there is no hardship that we cannot endure. In fact, we thrive in difficult circumstances when we have helping hands at the ready, when we know that we can count on each other to show up for each other.

The challenge facing our nation is not red or blue, it is a manufactured divide. It is the powerful elite, The Epstein Class, exploiting the people for personal gain. They get a massive tax break and we lose our rights and our social safety net. They need us to believe that we exploit each other, rather than support each other, so we do not see how they exploit us. The guys who showed up in the snow to set a new pole and bring power back to the neighborhood were not concerned about who we voted for or where we worship or the color of our skin; they were concerned about whether or not we would freeze through another night. They made sure that we were taken care of. With our neighbors, we stood on our porch and applauded them when the lights came back on.

My thought on healing this sadly distracted and falsely divided nation? Listen to Van Morrison’s song. And then put it into practice.

read Kerri’s blogpost about COMFORT

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Tiny Yearning [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

An owl feather “…symbolizes wisdom, intuition, and the ability to see beyond deception or hidden truths.” ~ Mr. Google

We found an owl feather on our trail. I said, “It’s a good omen.” Even as I said it I knew that endowing the feather with the power of an omen is one way, my way, of giving meaning to my life. This grand old universe is winking at me and wants me to know that all is well. Or perhaps I am winking at this grand old universe in the hope that there is meaning beyond what I make.

Maria Popova wrote that omens “…are a conversation between consciousness and reality in the poetic language of belief.”

Some might scoff at my owl-feather-omen. I don’t mind. I see no difference between my conversation with something greater by finding a feather on a path – and the route others take by sitting in pews reciting prayers together. Although we find our feathers and hold our conversation in different ways they are, after all, the same conversation.

The language of belief is poetic. It is referential. An allusion.

We get into trouble when we believe that there is only one way of conversing with the universe. We miss the point. If you think about it, my owl omen and your whispered prayer have much in common. Your Bible, your Quran or your Vedas, the sutras and mantras and psalms, the I-Ching and astrology, astronomy and quantums…are matter and energy talking to each other. The tiny yearning reaches for communion with the greater whole.

We found an owl feather on the trail.

read Kerri’s blogpost about the OWL FEATHER

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