A Simple Equation [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

“…to the degree that each of us is dedicated to wanting there to be peace in the world, then we have to take responsibility when our own hearts and minds harden and close.” Pema Chödrön, Practicing Peace

Inside, I am wrestling. This political era is challenging everything I believe, everything I believe about humanity, everything I believe about myself. For instance, as someone who spent years facilitating DEI workshops, I have found the hard wall of intolerance; my intolerance.

My intolerance reduces difference to a simple equation. An example: My wife is a survivor of sexual assault. The harm inflicted on her by her rapist ravages her to this day. The maga candidate has been found liable for sexual abuse. He has been accused of sexual assault by dozens of women. For me, a vote for the maga candidate is no more or no less than a vote for a serial rapist. It’s a simple bottom line. Support of the rapist bespeaks acceptance of rape. Never mind the the incessant racism, the misogyny, the lies, the grift…

Another simple equation: A person who votes for the maga candidate is complicit.

For the first time in my life I am finding it impossible to stand in the other’s shoes. I can’t understand it and, more to the point, I am no longer willing to try. And so, the growth begins. I have found my edge.

I’m finding that there are very good reasons to be intolerant. There should be – there need to be – hard lines drawn in the sand. We have laws for a reason. We have separation of powers for a reason. There is a line between moral and immoral, between right and wrong – for a reason.

We’ve been watching past seasons of Alone. Our pals got us hooked on it and I am finding it helpful as I stand on my edge. People left alone in the wilderness quickly learn about their basic needs. They learn about themselves. Although adept survivalists, most nearly starve to death in a matter of weeks, yet it’s not the lack of food that defeats them. It’s the lack of human contact. As they move through their ordeal of aloneness, they become increasingly grateful for the people in their lives. They become humble. They weep. These rugged outdoors-types speak openly about what they fear. When stripped down to the basics, they meet themselves as if for the first time.

They become effusive in their gratitude because they become clear about what matters and what does not.

I feel that I am – we are- learning about ourselves as a nation. We are certainly in the process of being stripped down. The basics of our beliefs – beyond the rhetoric – are being excavated and revealed. And, as I discover the inflexibility of my intolerance, clear about what matters, I am also plumbing the depths of a deeper well of gratitude.

It is not an exaggeration to say that I am thankful for people who ask questions en route to the truth – people who desire to be informed beyond their own comfortable belief. I am thankful for courageous people who can no longer stomach the rot – who place country over personal gain. I am thankful for people who honor and fight to hold the line of decency and democracy.

I am grateful for meeting my intolerance.

I am grateful for people who still think sexual assault is a crime and anyone who sexually assaults should be imprisoned rather than rewarded with the highest office in our land. A bottom line. A line drawn in the sand. A simple equation.

read Kerri’s blogpost about GRATITUDE

like. share. support. comment. subscribe…thank you.

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

like. share. support. subscribe. comment…thank you.

Look Around [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Strolling on the path through the park, we followed the shoreline. Just at the spot where the path meets the marina, we found an appeal chalked on the walkway: be good people. As Kerri snapped a photo, I wondered who wrote it. Who felt compelled to bring their chalk to the park and petition goodness from passers-by? I wondered if they’d had their fill of bad examples of humanity, snapped-up their chalk, and headed to the original location of social media, the public square.

Or, perhaps it was not a plea but was their wish for us. “My wish for you is to be good people.” Why, on this day, did they feel compelled to make their wish visible?

There are many ideas, definitions and word associations of goodness yet they are bound together by a single notion-thread: consider first the needs of others. Brothers/Sisters keeper. “Good people” reach their hand to assist others.

I gathered a few words used to characterize “good people”: Empathy. Consideration. Accountability. Compassion. Kindness. Each word, each characteristic, is other-people-focused. “How can I help?” Share, because there is plenty-enough for all.

As Kerri took a picture of the message I jumped into a memory, a time of desperation. Some thought-angel dinged my noggin and sent me out into the city to witness acts of kindness. As I have previously written, I saw generosity everywhere I looked. People being good in small ways and large. Opening doors. Paying for a stranger’s cup of coffee. Holding up traffic so a senior could safely cross the street. Asking the bus driver to “Wait a second!” – someone was racing to catch the bus. A second made all the difference for someone.

Those good people, everyday people doing everyday things, buoyed me, filled me with hope and light. If I’d had chalk in my pocket on that day I might have scribbled on the sidewalk, “Good people are everywhere! Look around!” I saw them because I decided to look for them.

If I’d had chalk in my pocket, after Kerri was finished with her photograph, I’d have written a message for the “Be good people” writer: “Thanks for the reminder. See good people”.

They are everywhere.

read Kerri’s blogpost about BE GOOD PEOPLE

like. support. share. subscribe. comment…thank you.

Simply Say, “Enough.” [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

She snapped. I watched it happen, the moment when there was no more room for tolerance, no more space for grace. Had she spoken she simply would have said, “Enough”.

You can’t make up this stuff.

A hot mic on the Access Hollywood bus should have ended it.

Being found liable for sexual assault (rape) by a jury of his peers should have ended it.

Being accused of sexual assault and misconduct by 25 women should have ended it.

His recent repost of repugnant tweets about Hillary Clinton and Kamala Harris should end it. But it won’t. As a survivor of sexual abuse she’d had enough. She snapped.

Misogyny in the United States is not only alive and well, it is being celebrated by at least half of the voting population. The man-who-would-be-king has no bottom to his baseness. How is it possible that so many are so willing to follow him into the pigswill? How is it possible that this miscreant* is the person the red hats have chosen to emulate, to support, to uphold as an example for their children, as the standard bearer to lead them into the future?

In a recent interview James Carville warned that this miscreant “under-polls” meaning that the people who support him are ashamed to admit that they support him and his reprehensible views. So they hide their support. They mask their truth. I suppose being so ashamed of your beliefs that you lie to conceal them implies at least some small shred of self-awareness. A gutted morality. Or perhaps it is plain cowardice.

Misogyny: the hatred of, contempt for, or prejudice against women or girls. It is a form of sexism that can keep women at a lower social status than men, thus maintaining the social roles of patriarchy.

Running a campaign on hatred. Contempt. Amplifying prejudice and sexism. In other words, the miscreant and his hate-party are empty of vision and ethics. This paucity of heart and thought leaves them with no recourse but to demean others – as it seems their single goal is to maintain at-all-cost the rusty social roles of a collapsing patriarchy.

Strumming the strings of those who fear equality, whipping up a crowd terrified that they will come up short on an even playing field.

This is what I wanted to tell her when she snapped: drowning men push all others underwater to elevate themselves.

Those who support the miscreant, like the miscreant himself, are drowning. It’s easy to see: working to restrict voters, gerrymandering maps, desperate to change voter laws and procedures so they can tilt the outcome in their favor no matter the result of the election. The miscreant has proclaimed that, once in office, he will “fix things” so we need never vote again. It’s the statement of a sad little man and his party swallowing water, afraid to compete, afraid to say, “This is what we believe.” (see Project 2025 and the lengths they now go to disavow it). It betrays a fundamental disregard – and disdain – for the system they proclaim to protect. If they truly believed in our system of governance, if they truly believed in the values they purport to conserve, they’d not fear an even playing field. They’d defend it. They’d welcome it. They’d arrive at the table with a fierce dedication to protect the right of all citizens to freely vote. They would not tolerate so crude and base a man as their leader.

If his party will not hold him accountable or at least condemn him, if the law -as it seems – is incapable of holding him accountable, then the voters must. We need to end it.

Never mind the impeachments, the felony convictions, the dozens of indictments awaiting trial, the evidence-free claims and incessant whining of an election he lost, the violent attempt to stop the transfer of power…with the once-stiff spine of the republican party now a swampy puddle on the floor, it’s time for this nation to snap and say “Enough.”

His repulsive rhetoric is not locker room talk. His party’s “boys will be boys” excuse needs once-and-for-all to be swept into the dustbin of history with the miscreant and his privileged-hate-speak.

There is no excuse for misogyny. It’s way past time for the old boys to man up and learn to play on an even and equal playing field. American woman are not stupid. And that’s exactly what the old boys are afraid of.

*miscreant (noun): a person who behaves badly or in a way that breaks the law.

read Kerri’s blogpost about MISOGYNY

like. share. support. comment. subscribe…thank you.

Sacred Voice [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

My niece said it perfectly: for the first time in eight years I can vote FOR someone rather than against someone. The direction of intention. Moving toward the light instead of reacting against the darkness. And now, with Kamala Harris and Tim Walz, there is at long last a brilliant sunrise.

Beneath every action is a reason. A purpose or desire.

A vote is an action. It is the single action at the epicenter of every democracy. If there is a sacred action in the idea of democracy, voting is it. It is how we-the-people choose our path forward. It is how we participate (take responsibility) in our development. It is how we give voice to our intentions. To date, the people in the United States have one of the lowest voter turnouts in the world. Only 62%.

Choosing not to vote is…a choice. An inaction.

Over and over again in my career I heard people decry their voice-less-ness. Sunk in the quicksand-belief that their actions did not matter, their voice did not matter, they simply ceased trying. “No matter what I do, nothing changes.” Somehow, the connection between action and impact is snapped. And, the space between the broken pieces fills with the anger of helplessness.

As my former business partner responded to a woman who claimed voicelessness, “If you had a voice, what would you say?”

You have a voice. It’s called a vote. If you choose to use it, what will you say? Will you speak with dark fear or proclaim joy-filled-light? Will you declare possibility or mean-spirited-pout?

Our actions in the next few months, our vote this November, is our voice. I choose the light. My vote, my voice, will speak to a world that serves and shines on the whole community, that reaches for the central ideal: the creation of a nation built on the notion Out-Of-Many–One. Service to all. It is the reason we have a sacred vote, a voice of We-The-People.

There’s never been a better time, a more necessary time, to stand up and speak loud and clear. There’s never been a more important time to help others who have become complacent to claim – to reclaim – their sacred voice.

read Kerri’s blogpost about ACTION

like. share. support. subscribe. comment…thank you.

Weather Beautifully [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

“…happiness, when pushed to an extreme, becomes calamity. Beauty, when overdone, becomes ugliness.” ~ Thomas Merton, The Way of Chuang Tzu

I am early in my slow-read of The Way of Chuang Tzu. I already love it. This morning I read these words by Thomas Merton slowly, again and again, tasting them like poetry: “…a system constructed on a theoretical and abstract principle of love ignores certain fundamental and mysterious realities, of which we cannot be fully conscious, and the price we pay for this inattention is that our ‘love’ in fact becomes hate.”

The abstract ideal contorts us. The “what is” always loses in a comparison to the “should be”. Thus, a world of nature’s beauty swirls down the drain.

Marketing ideals and mirrors reflect theoretical and abstract principles. Constructed systems. They readily twist our natural love of self into a hatred of our bodies and faces. Is beauty really the exclusive province of the young? Jessica Tandy and Hume Cronyn grew more and more beautiful, more and more brilliant with age. Aging is among the “fundamental and mysterious realities” of which Thomas Merton wrote. There is profound beauty in aging, a mysterious reality that is not accessible to the young.

On Saturday we published a Smack-Dab cartoon about aging. We poked fun at my discovery of new wrinkles when looking in the mirror. Poking fun at ourselves is a good strategy for embracing the “fundamental and mysterious reality” of this beautiful life. There’s so much pressure to do otherwise, to resist, to deny, to pretend. Laughter is a great eye-cleanser.

We live in a society slathered with memes and messages of self-love while, at the same moment, we drown in messages to be other-than-what-we-are. Is it any wonder we are conflicted and seem incapable of sorting out what is real and what is not?

I know with certainty, like every other human that walked before me, I will disappear into time. Why spend another moment of my precious limited time on this earth resisting the gorgeous life that I enjoy? Why try to hide my age to match a manufactured ideal?

There is a reason the clothes I wore a decade ago no longer fit. There is a reason my beard is grey and the light in my eyes is less fierce than it was twenty years ago. I am different now. No more or less beautiful.

I said, squeezing her hand, “Let’s become apple-dolls together.” Her eyes welled with tears. What could possibly be more beautiful?

read Kerri’s blogpost about WEATHERED BEAUTY

like. share. support. comment. subscribe…thank you.

Magic Is Found There [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Noah Lyles, in an interview after winning the gold medal in the 100m, asked a question meant to inspire all dreamers to ask of themselves, “Why not me?” He has worked hard to arrive at a place of confidence and self-belief.

I appreciate a sentiment shared by free-solo climber Alex Honnold when asked how he handles fear. He said that he never attempts to conquer fear, rather, he expands his comfort zone.

Expand your comfort zone. Ask, “Why not me?”

Like almost everyone I know, I have had my bouts with imposter syndrome. I’ve filled my cup with self-doubt. I’ve been certain of my unworthiness. I’ve run from the magic.

To ask, “Why not me?” is to let go of the comparison with others. It is to set down the never-win-self-measuring stick. It is to run your race, paint your painting, play your song…love your gift.

To expand your comfort zone rather than fight your fear is to shake hands with yourself. To stop the inner fight and work with your magic instead of running from it. It is to make a friend of fear, to understand its value, to retire the inner-foe so you might place it in the proper perspective. Fear dances in a made-up future. An ever-expanding comfort zone guarantees presence in the moment. Magic is found there. You are found there.

There have been many loud voices in my life (inside and outside my head) telling me that I can’t. They are the voices of mediocrity. The voices of fear. And then there are the few precious quiet voices that say, “Yes, you can,” or ask “Why not…?” Those voices, both inside and out, are the voices of magic. They are the voices of joy. Listen to those voices. Unlike the others, they will never lead you astray.

read Kerri’s blogpost about MAGIC

like. share. comment. support. subscribe…thank you.

For A Moment [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

“The distinctive human problem from time immemorial has been the need to spiritualize human life, to lift it onto a special immortal plane, beyond the cycles of life and death that characterize all other organisms.” ~ Ernest Becker, The Denial of Death

We waited until the oppressive heat of the day passed to take our walk. The air was thick and still but it felt good to be outside, moving. Because the humidity teases forward every former injury, we talked about our ubiquitous aches and pains. My back. Her wrists and fingers.

Kerri stopped and said, “I get it now.” We laughed at the memory:

One day, years ago, Beaky looked in the mirror and declared, “I look like an old woman!”

Kerri said, “Momma, you’re 93! You are old.”

Beaky stared at herself in the mirror and added, “But I don’t feel old!”

“I get it now.”

As we walked we talked about feeling young in a body that hurts when it’s humid. A new experience on our path through life, a growing dissonance between body and spirit. The spirit steps a few feet away and looks back at the body, declaring, “What the heck! That’s not what I look like!” It is certainly not what I feel like.

There’s a surprising gift in the dissonance. Perhaps, like all good paradoxes, within the discord, the first real harmony of life becomes available. The “supposed-to-be” drops off. The social face is less useful and set aside. The striving to be somewhere-else-in-some-imagined-future-achievement ceases, becomes so much dust. Suddenly, the miracle of life is not somewhere else. It is found in the here-and-now. Flexing achy fingers. The evening sky made pastel by humidity.

The growing realization that this ride is limited makes it all the more precious. Grounded.

Life – spirituality – becomes uncomplicated. Unapologetic. Authentic. Spirituality that requires no cathedral or book of rules. No incense or intermediary. No searching or appealing prayer. Spirituality that is borne of the simple appreciation of the moment. Feet firmly planted on the ground. In the Buddhist tradition: joyful participation in the sorrows of the world. Here and now.

In joyful participation, holding hands with achy bodies on a humid evening, for a moment at least, we get it. We arrive at uncomplicated, unapologetic, and authentic.*

(*thanks to the Heggies Pizza truck for the post inspiration!)

read Kerri’s blogpost about UNCOMPLICATED, UNAPOLOGETIC, AND AUTHENTIC

like. share. comment. support. subscribe…thank you.

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

like. share. comment. subscribe. support…thank you.

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

Master Marsh once asked me why I was compelled to run and jump off every edge I found. His question was rhetorical which was a good thing since I had no answer. I wasn’t really aware of the compulsion he was asking me to consider. I knew I was a restless soul. Most of my life I felt as if I was a suffocating man in a desperate search for air to breath. His question served to slap some consciousness into my wandering nature. His question introduced the idea that I might actually catch my breath if, instead of moving, moving, moving…, I sat down and took a breather.

Edges are invitations into the unknown.

Paintings, writing plays or this blog- any creative process – is an invitation into the unknown. To see what is as yet unseen. To open to something beyond. I’ve come to understand that opening-to-the-unknown is the essential practice of an artist. It is air-to-breathe. And the opportunity presents itself every single day, on the move or sitting still.

I thought of Master Marsh and his question the moment we stepped beyond the caution sign into the water. After so much rain the river spilled out of its banks and onto the floodplain, it overwhelmed portions of the trail. We could have turned around and returned to the car. We could have kept our feet dry. We’d walked this trail many times and could see that the water crossings were not dangerous. Calf deep with a smidge of current. And so we looked at each other, smiled a “why not” smile, and stepped.

I thought of Master Marsh and his question because this trail was known to us and, on this day, was completely unknown. We saw it again for the first time. Master Marsh is a great steward and studier of nature. His drawing of plants and trees and rivers and birds and…are first class. They’d make John Muir proud. For many years he cared for a stretch of the Calaveras River. Each day there was something new. Something previously unknown discovered.

The water crossings, I counted six of them, made us feel remote. Distant from civilization. We saw fish swim across the trail, heard sounds we’d never before encountered. The meadows exploded with color. A lone deer watched us and then disappeared like Merlin.

Edges come in many forms. On this day, it looked like water spilling over the trail. It was a welcome bonus to step beyond the sign, to spend some time in an unknown-known and have a quiet memory-walk with one of my favorite people.

read Kerri’s blogpsot about WATER ON THE TRAIL

like. share. comment. subscribe. support…thank you.