Open The Binder [on Merely A Thought Monday]

He was referred to me because he was failing. His English teacher told me that he was impossible, that he rarely came to class and he “just wasn’t interested in writing.” At the time I was working at the “alternative school” running an independent study program. My job was “to catch the students that were falling through the cracks” or “to retrieve the students who’d already fallen.” To this day, the language kills me.

We talked. We laughed. The assignments I gave him were about fun and breathing space. After three sessions, when he trusted me not to judge him, he came to our appointment with a thick black binder. It was very old. The seams were ripping. It was a sacred object. He tapped his fingers on the cover, still deciding whether or not to share it with me. He wriggled in his chair, vulnerable.

I will always remember the moment he asked, “Can I show you something?” I felt honored. It is what I always feel when an artist comes out of hiding and shares their work with me.

He gingerly opened the binder. It was literally bursting with stories that he’d written and alive with illustrations that he’d drawn. This young man was ditching English class so he could hide in the football stadium and write stories.

I asked him to read to me. As he read, he made marks on the page. “What are you doing?” I asked.

“Making changes.”

After a few sessions I asked questions about the characters. He shared his illustrations. One day, he came to our session with a new story complete with sketches that we placed in sequence across the floor. As he read, we stepped to the next drawing. And the next. He made more marks on his pages. He made notes on his sketches.

One day I asked if I could read one of his stories to him. As he listened to me read, he began to coach my reading. “Whoa! Did I write that?” he said, grabbing the pages from my hand. And then he asked, “How can I write that in a better way?”

“I don’t know,” I smiled. “What does it mean to be better?”

read Kerri’s blogpost about BE YOU

Sip The Hope [on Merely A Thought Monday]

I keep a Post-It note by my computer. It reads: Grace. Questions not answers. It’s there to remind me to write about possibilities rather than rants. There’s so much in this world that seems upside-down to me; it’s easy to get lost in the weeds. For instance, in preparation for this post I was doing a comparison of the percentage of GDP dedicated to the arts, to education, and to the military. What if we lived in a world in which the percentages were flipped? What might be possible?

And, then, I saw my note. Get out of the weeds! To embrace a world of possibili-teas begins with embracing the world as it is.

Possibilities. Wouldn’t it be lovely if a cup of tea opened hearts and minds to hope? In fact, I believe a hot cup of tea is capable of such a monumental feat. I warm my hands on the cup. I smell the comfort. I sip the hope. There are other, similar, small gestures capable of big-heart-opening: A smile. A hug. A helping hand.

I stared at the word “grace” on my Post-It note. Simple elegance. Refinement of movement. I like this definition: courteous goodwill. Or. combine both definitions: to move in the world with simple courteous goodwill. Intentional benevolence.

As I’ve learned, the flaw opens space for grace to enter. Wabi-sabi. Beauty in imperfection. Compassion in our world is possible, especially if we embrace it as more necessary than lobbing insults or bombs. Friendliness, thoughtfulness, decency…As my Post-It note suggests, I am left with a question: What if we lived in a world in which amity garnered more attention than aggression? What might be possible?

Just like a cup of hot tea: a wee-bit of warming hope.

read Kerri’s blogpost about POSSIBILI-TEAS

Drop In [on Merely A Thought Monday]

It happened again. Last night, sitting at the table with Dan and Charlie, sipping wine and talking about fatherhood and life lessons, I dropped into a hyper-focus. I was completely present and utterly cherished these two men. The moment was so full that I ached, a tree splitting its bark unable to contain the enormity. Trying to hide my tears tossed me back into the blur.

Presence is vulnerable!

As I write this I am aware that language is incapable of capturing the experience. Cherish. Dropped into.

It happened again deep in the night. Kerri and I pretzeled under the warm quilts, the window open to the cold night air, a gentle rain, Dogga asleep on my feet. It’s as if the past and future part like the Red Sea and there is nothing pulling me away from this moment, this breath. Any story or fear or regret or justification or…dissipates. Life comes into crisp focus. There are no edges to the savoring. No end to the vastness of love.

“Remember this,” I tell myself, and the act of trying to capture it, separates me again. The future/past rush over me and time’s return tumbles me back into the mind-flood.

Trying “to do” something with “it,” confuses “it.”

During our call I told Rebecca of Saul-the-Tai-Chi-Master’s wise instruction: stay on the root and let the energy move you. It’s been over a decade since I studied with Saul. At the time, his words seemed aspirational, an abstraction. An achievement to strive for. “The field of opportunity.” “Focus beyond the opponent and the opponent drops away.”

In stopping the chase, I’m only now beginning to understand.

read Kerri’s blogpost about BEING ALIVE

Face The Rain, 24x24IN, mixed media on panel

Ask A Useful Question [on Merely A Thought Monday]

“Answers are reassuring, but when you’re really on to something useful, it will probably take the form of a question.” ~ David Bayles & Ted Orland, Art & Fear

We read in the morning news about the exodus of teachers from the classroom. One paragraph in the story made me choke on my coffee. “In addition to having to deal with low pay, high student-to-teacher ratios, poor working conditions, post-pandemic learning loss, school shootings and social or emotional issues with students, teachers across the nation are also grappling with culture wars over what they can and cannot teach in the classroom.” (Rene Marsh, CNN, February 3)

If you’re like me, that short paragraph inspires a host of useful questions. To cite a “spurious”quote attributed to Thomas Jefferson, “An educated citizenry is a vital requisite for our survival as a free people.” One of my useful questions: why are we so fearful of an educated citizenry? The collapse of our public schools and teaching as a valued profession is not an accident. It takes a dedicated effort to undermine something so completely.

An educated citizenry asks good questions of its leaders. An educated citizenry would not be so easily duped by entertainment-posing-as-news. An educated citizenry would not fear its history or its future.

When we rounded the corner in the Milwaukee airport and saw the meditation room, it was like a magnet. It pulled me inside. An intentional place of peace! A quiet space for reflection. How rare in a place dedicated to hustle and bustle.

I was struck by the quote from the Talmud and carried it with me for days. To create peace, to experience peace, truth and justice must be not only be valued by the community, they must be lived by the community. Truth must be shared. Removing books from classrooms, gagging teachers from teaching the fullness of our history, does not change our history a whit. It does, however, soil our future, perpetuate the race to the bottom, and intentionally obfuscates truth. It creates discord by ignoring injustice.

As the Talmud quote instructs, in such a world, where truth is not valued, there can be no justice and, in the absence of justice, there is no capacity for peace.

Sustaining ourselves, surviving as a free people. Teachers are the stewards of our core values; theirs is a sacred obligation. And, the teachers are walking out of the schools. Here’s a useful question: Who could blame them?

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE MEDITATION ROOM

Be There [on Merely A Thought Monday]

“Most of us are frightened of dying because we don’t know what it meant to live. We don’t know how to live, therefore we don’t know how to die.” ~ Jiddu Krishnamurti

Today we took a walk in the swirling snow. The wind stung my face and I was grateful for the extra layer I’d put on before we set out. Our destination was the city civic building on the other side of downtown. The Sisu property tax bill was due. We could have mailed it or taken the car. “People must think we’re crazy,” Kerri said as we leaned into the wind and laughed.

On Monday we interred Beaky’s ashes. As I watched the attendant seal the niche, I thought of a famous quote by Helen Keller: “Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all.” And that quote brought to mind two more that I appreciate and stitch together as a single thought: Science may have found a cure for most evils; but it has found no remedy for the worst of them all—the apathy of human beings./Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it.”

The apathy of human beings. Security is mostly a superstition. Reach your hand and help another; a cure for both apathy and security-superstition.

I only knew Beaky for a brief time but she had an enormous impact on me. She was in a rehab facility the day I met her and I knew immediately that she was special. Every nurse, therapist or aide that came in to see her left feeling better. Beaky was a lifter of spirits. These dedicated people were her caregivers yet, in the midst of her pain, she gave care to them. Kindness was her north star and she followed it with a passion.

Yesterday I had an interview with Joe. His job is checking-in and coaching people on unemployment, mostly making certain they are on track seeking new work. We had a great conversation. We told stories and laughed. We swapped ideas. I left the conversation uplifted and I’m sure he felt the same way. People supporting people is a two-way street and is life-giving. Adventures are made of stepping into the unknown and the heart of another human being is always unknown territory. I was grateful for his kindness.

Kindness is also a potent cure for apathy. Like reaching your hand, kindness requires an outward focus.

It’s really not so difficult. Before sealing the niche, Kerri played the ukulele and we sang Irving Berlin’s Always: Days may not be fair, Always/That’s when I’ll be there, Always.

Being there. Especially in the moments when life is not fair. Plenty of people have taught me (again and again) the simple power of presence, giving me the assurance that I am not alone. Being there, it’s nothing more or less than knowing how to live.

read Kerri’s blogpost about ALWAYS

Embrace The Mix [on Merely A Thought Monday]

mirepoix: a mixture of sautéed chopped vegetables used in sauces.

mélange: a mixture; a medley.

“The purpose of life is to be defeated by greater and greater things.” ~ Rainier Maria Rilke

If Rainier were here right now I’d tell him to shut up. Who wants a buzz-kill poet spilling simple truth all over an otherwise good start to the day? The least he could do is wait until I’ve finished my coffee.

Yesterday was harsh. Well, okay, it was also good. And, okay, okay…sometimes great. I woke up stuck under a dark cloud. If I drew myself as a cartoon I’d have a raincloud pouring rain over my head in every panel. Well, until we took a long walk in the cold. My fingers started to sting. For reasons I can’t explain, stinging fingers made us laugh and laughter made the cartoon rain stop. The cartoon cloud was still there though the weather report improved. And then there was the 10pm concert with Barker. What a treat! We watched until the streaming was interrupted at 1:20am, but by that time I was thrilled and filled with music and with no hint of cloud-cover.

When we awoke this morning with a too-late-night-hang-over, Kerri called us, “Dirty stay-ups.”

“What’s a dirty stay-up?” I exclaimed (okay, I was too tired to exclaim. It was more of a croak or whine but that’s not the point).

“Us,” was her one-word answer that convinced me I’d better get some coffee going or it was going to be a day of one word answers.

Among humanity’s greatest achievements is denial. Denial is why we also invented poetry. If it hurts, at least make it sound pretty and pretend that it’s not as bad as you know it is.

Take that, Rainer!” A well-deserved early morning pre-coffee-poet-dis! I’m capable of spilling some hard truth even as I’m right in the middle of being defeated by greater and greater things! And, I have to say, as a recent dirty stay-up, with not yet enough caffeine in my veins, and with one word responses coming to my every question, I can say with conviction that this, too, will be a mirepoix of a day.

Thank goodness.

read Kerri’s blogpost about MIREPOIX

Remember This Vivid Moment [on Merely A Thought Monday]

When we first met, we sat on the living room carpet staring into the fire, and talked the night away. The sound of the birds at dawn surprised us. I remember the coming light and sweet birdsong like it was yesterday.

A few days ago we sat on the living room carpet in the sun, and talked the afternoon away. Our quiet conversation reminded me of that very first night. Our topic in the winter sun: letting go of too-tightly-held-ideals. “Truth will out,” wrote Master Shakespeare in his Merchant of Venice. Our truth was out in quiet voices that brought affirmations of better days.

A story I once loved to tell was The Crescent Moon Bear. The heroine, a young wife, must go on a journey. She must leave all that she knows in pursuit of her purpose. Leaving all that you know is easier said than done. It doesn’t happen in a moment; it requires some sweet visitation of the past. “What was” as launching pad to “What will be.”

Before I left my studio in Seattle, I had to touch the walls, run my fingers along the sill. I knew I would never be back. Even in that moment, all I could remember was the goodness I experienced in that space. The refuge. The sanctuary. The creative fulfillment. The hard times I’d known there dissipated like mist.

What was. Krishnamurti wrote, “You can only be afraid of what you think you know.” I marvel that the hardships of my past soften into pastel remembrance, translated into useful lessons, while my future fears are as sharp as broken glass, monsters around the corner. Acute imagination.

I marvel that the generosities heaped upon my life are vivid and bring tears to my eyes just as they did the day that I first experienced them. Keen remembrances.

Sitting on the carpet, the low afternoon sun warming us, I realize that I will always remember this vivid moment. The day we opened our hands and let fly illusions. We both took a deep breath. New air rushed into the open space, Not knowing where we might now go or what we might now do, we sat in the waning light, surprised that the sun was setting so soon.

read Kerri’s blogpost about REMEMBERING

Ask A Better Question [on Merely A Thought Monday]

I just erased the post I’d written for today. We often write a few days ahead so we have time to reflect on or edit what we’ve written. We’ve learned that it’s a good practice to consider what you are about to spill into the world.

It’s a good practice because it affords us the opportunity to ask, “Is this what I mean to say? Is this what I really want to say?” The post that I’d initially written was bothering me. A lot. Sipping coffee, I confessed my discomfort to my chief editor and life-collaborator (Kerri) and we followed the trail until we found the source of my chagrin.

There is a question, a much more important question, behind and beyond clarifying what I really want to say. It is this: “Is this who I want to be?” My post was making me uncomfortable because it was the opposite of what I profess to be. It was the opposite of who I understand myself to be. Of who I want to be.

I’ve often written and taught about “the spaces between.” Relationship. Intuition. Heart. Facts and data require interpretation and live on the spectrum at the farthest point away from wisdom. Focus on the spaces between, the movement rather than the noun, and an entirely different life opens. Wisdom is more like water than stone.

Most cliches touch a truth-root and today that is the case for me: We teach what we most need to learn. Thank goodness my editor was around to gently slap open my eyes and help me ask myself a better question.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE SPACES

Eat! [on Merely A Thought Monday]

Sitting at the dining room table late at night on xmas eve, in a lively post-dinner discussion, I suddenly remembered Ms. Brunell. I hadn’t thought of her in years.

She was in her eighties and lived alone in an apartment nearby. Ms. Brunell loved to cook. I was seventeen years old and would visit from time to time, to help her with odd jobs, cleaning her apartment or simply to sit at the table and chat. And eat. Chatting required food. Lots of food.

Thanksgiving day, after eating an enormous meal with my family, I was slipping into a food coma when the phone rang. It was Ms. Brunell wondering where I was. She’d made a Thanksgiving meal for me. She forgot to invite me.

I was desperate. I knew the meal she prepared would come in many courses. She was Italian, and rich, thick lasagna was most certainly on the menu. She was old-school so each bite would be replenished by another scoop of food. “Eat!” she’d chirp and smile, reloading your plate. Food was her love language.

As I drove to her apartment I pondered my-death-by-overindulgence. I was caught in the-good-boy-trap and wrestled mightily with my dilemma. Do I confess that I’d already eaten and disappoint her? Do I lie and tell her that I was starving and find some way to put down yet one more spoonful of food? Neither option seemed tenable. How do I reconcile my moral code of honesty-at-all-times with my third-child-need-to-please?

Ms. Brunell was excitedly waiting for me at her front door. Her shining face resolved my dilemma. I have little memory of that meal. I ate. And ate. And ate. I must have blacked-out somewhere after the second course. Death-by-over-indulgence seemed the only option. My honesty-code didn’t stand a chance when faced with the-need-to-please.

Listening to the laughter at our late-night table this xmas eve, a discussion of impossible dilemmas, I sat back in my chair awash in gratitude both for Ms. B., for surviving her generosity, and for the Thanksgiving meal that taught me that shining faces are sometimes more important that made-up-moral-codes. Real life is never as simple as it seems in the code reduction.

The best thing to do when faced with a genuine quandary; eat! And eat again.

read Kerri’s blogpost about FOOD

Spread The Warm Disobedience [on Merely A Thought Monday]

The roads around here are a mess. There’s a major road-widening construction project that’s in its second year. Orange barrels, heavy machinery, multiple lanes too quickly squeezed into a single pathway (“Zipper merge!” we mock-shout and laugh, borrowing a phrase from Kirsten), lines painted and repainted making a Jackson Pollock mess of the guide stripes. People in the midst the holiday rush are amped-up angry drivers, impatient with the mess, leaning on their horns, cutting off other drivers to get-there-first.

Get-out-of-my-way meets the-season-of-giving. Defensive driving morphs into aggressive driving. It brings back memories of life in Los Angeles and Dwights-survival-advice: “You have to force traffic if you want to get anywhere alive,” he said. Hesitation is deadly. L.A.-style dog-eat-dog-driving has come to Kenosha, Wisconsin.

And then, when you least expect it, in the middle of the snarl, a person slows, makes space for a car trying to enter the fray at an impossible junction, and gestures, “Come in.” Their simple act, considering the needs of another, is shocking. ‘You first,” seems revolutionary.

My favorite part: it sends a shock through the roadway and ignites a momentary ripple of kindness. Drivers make space for other drivers. Courtesy returns for the blink of an eye before disappearing back into the fury.

Kindness ripples. It happens every time some brave soul slows down in the violent storm and realizes that they are not alone on the planet and wonders, “How can I help right now?” Their act of warm disobedience spreads.

read Kerri’s blogpost about KINDNESS