The Naked Truth [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Watching a time-lapse of the vine you’d swear it was a conscious creature. Tendril arms search for supports, stretching. seeking and grasping, it knots itself around leaves and stems of competitors, twisting to strengthen its grip, competing to secure its place in the sun. It begs the question, how might we humans be in the world if we understood that plants were conscious, like us, awake and aware of their surroundings? Would we be more awake and aware of our surroundings? Or would we fear green consciousness and fill our mythos-minds with a Little Shop of Horrors? Feed Me!

This vine evokes The Gordian Knot. It is a tale in three parts. The first is the existence of an impossible problem. The second is the ease of the unforeseen solution. The third is the fulfillment of promise and prophesy. It seems in these times we have in these un-United States a substantial Gordian Knot. I am anxiously awaiting the unforeseen solution.

A Gordian Knot suggests that bold action is necessary to cut through a complex problem. In our case bold action is not a sword but the voices of innocence: in the story an innocent punched through the chorus of enablers by telling the emperor the truth. He is, in fact, naked. His majesty is make-believe. Our emperor already knows he is naked but surrounds himself with loud sycophants and bullies his fear-driven court to sing the praises of his imaginary cloak. The decades-long rape of innocents, the recent bombing of innocents, is a sharp sword cutting through the illusion.

Truth-telling in the face of rampant pathological lies is a bold action. It fits the bill. Truth-telling is, after all, surprisingly easy and, in time, always slices the hard knot of misinformation. It is now the only way for us to protect and fulfill the promise of our democracy against the would-be-fascists (republicans). The sharp truth, the voice of the innocents, calling out and cutting through the Gordian Knot of the Epstein Class and those who are afraid of shining light on the naked truth.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE VINE

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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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Making and Unmaking [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Barney-the-backyard-piano is disintegrating. His shiny facade has long since faded and now peels away, revealing the underlying layers. Those, too, are fragmenting. The textures of a lifetime exposed and made beautiful in contrast. The story of his making fully revealed in his unmaking.

We spread birdseed on Barney’s lid so he plays host to the black-capped chickadees and cardinals. The squirrels sun themselves on his disintegrating keyboard. His keys are almost unrecognizable, a comment my grandmother once made about her hands. “Almost unrecognizable,” she said and laughed, holding her hands to the light. She marveled at her translucence.

On a rare day of warmth, we sat in front of Barney in black plastic Adirondack chairs soaking in the winter sun. Dogga circled the yard barking at the gusts of wind. “This will carry us a long way,” I said, feeling the warmth reach all the way to my bones. She nodded. There is certainly more winter to come.

I closed my eyes and was suddenly lost in thought about the tears-in the-rain monologue: “I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe…All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain.” Someday I will hold my hand up to the light and marvel at the story of my making revealed in my unmaking.

PEACE on the album AS IT IS © 2004 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about BARNEY

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Join The Work [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

We’ve had more snow in the past two months than in the past three years. I am getting reacquainted with my snow shovel who, I imagine, is delighted to finally have some actual purpose in life. My shovel is not old enough for retirement and would rather work than play golf.

I just personified my snow shovel.

I also just betrayed a bit of insight into myself. I would rather work than retire so I’ve projected that onto my shovel. That is how projection works.

It’s an easy leap for my brain to make and I know the same is true for all of you out there. Personifying a snow shovel is only slightly different than investing in a conspiracy theory or embracing a big lie despite an overabundance of facts. Personifying my snow shovel is less destructive than storming the Capitol.

Personifying my snow shovel is all for fun and is far less ruinous than gulping an obvious misdirection narrative that claims poor-Black-women-are-taking-your-tax-dollars, all the while the wealth of the nation is actually, factually, picked out of the pockets of the middle and lower classes and stuffed into fewer and fewer morbidly wealthy pockets. Robbing Medicaid to fund a massive tax break for the already-wealthy is how an oligarchy is created.

I know I am personifying my snow shovel, I know I am projecting and playing make-believe. Can the same be said for maga-nation or all the AWOL republicans out there? And, of course, their projection onto we-the-woke is that we are trying to destroy democracy. They betray a bit of themselves. That’s the way projection works.

It’s also worth noting that my newly personified snow shovel is equally adept at clearing paths through heaps of bullsh*t as it is mounds of snow. I know the same is true for most of you out there. Every time you clear a path through the lies or shovel out the inanity, you give me hope. It’s how a democracy is restored. You inspire me to grab my shovel and join the work.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SNOW

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Under The Wet Moon [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Astrologically, we are in the sun sign of Aquarius. The water bearer. I was surprised to read that the corresponding moon cycle is known as the wet-moon, a reference drawn from Hawaiian mythology. This cycle “…corresponds with Kaelo the Water Bearer in Hawaiian astrology and makes the Moon known as the “dripping wet moon”.

It shouldn’t be a surprise that the zodiac of the west aligns so perfectly with the symbology of the Pacific Islanders. In Hindu astrology, “Aquarius is known as Kumbha Rāśi representing the symbol of the water pot.” The cultural traditions on Earth are drawn beneath the same constellations.

During the opening ceremony of the Olympics, a commentator referenced The Pale Blue Dot, a photograph taken of Earth in 1990 from the Voyager 1 space probe. “In the photograph, Earth’s apparent size is less than a pixel; the planet appears as a tiny dot against the vastness of space…” Incidentally, the photograph was taken on February 14 – according to the 12 month Julian calendar – a solar calendar created by humans on Earth, during the period of the wet-moon.

I suppose our definition of “belonging” depends on the parameters we choose. And, make no mistake, it is a choice. We can choose to identify ourselves according to divisions, something like the color line. We can choose to identify ourselves according to imaginary lines on a map. We can choose our tribes according to cultural differences.

Or, we can choose to identify ourselves according the unities. We can choose to recognize that we live under the same stars and orient to the same constellations. We can step back, deep into space, and look at ourselves, a dot no larger than a pixel. Our differences are not nearly so vast as our sameness. No amount of rhetoric or propaganda or white supremacy or religious extremism can alter the fact of our sameness.

The word February comes from februa, a Roman purification festival held during the period of the wet-moon. Under the wet-moon, athletes from all over the world, athletes representing 92 different cultures, 92 shapes drawn on a map of Earth but not visible anywhere from space, marched into a stadium in Milan, Italy, waving flags, symbols of their home nation. Their competition made possible only by the existence of others who also dream of gold, silver and bronze, a shared dream beneath the same constellation of stars.

It has all the makings of an ancient purification festival. And, just in time.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE MOON

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A Run On The Wheel [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

One of our first FLAWED cartoons features a gerbil running hard on a gerbil wheel while his supervisor-gerbil watches, smokes a cigarette, and says, “This work thing sucks.”

I found a revisioned truth in that original cartoon drawn over a decade ago. Kerri calls it “The Oligarchy versus The People. There is a class of gerbil that works hard on the wheel. There is a class of gerbil that profits from the work.

This morning while making breakfast I had another revelation about the cartoon. With the latest release of Epstein File documents, with the number of rich and powerful white men named in the files, with the damning accusations and implications running rampant through the files, I was struck by the blaring absence of investigations into those men. There is a class of gerbil that is subject to the law. There is a class of gerbil that the law refuses to touch.

The department of deception (formerly known as the department of justice) is refusing to release at least 50% of the documents. Given the picture painted in the latest batch of releases and the 100% certainty that they are covering-up for the worst-of the-worst, one can only wonder if there is a bottom to the depravity. Actually, we already know the answer to that question.

Though, there is a subtle reversal of roles happening on the ol’ gerbil wheel. We-the-gerbils-that-do-the-work are witnessing the power-gerbils running scared – and running faster and faster to escape the truth of their twisted lives. They will find, as we have, that a run on the wheel goes nowhere. They can run ever-faster but they cannot escape the truth of the wheel. And while they run they can be certain that we are watching them sweat.

There may be some justice after all.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE WHEEL

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And Why? [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

High in the offices of KerriandDavid International headquarters, we stare at photos during our Melange selection process. Sometimes words appear in the image. In this photo the word, “Why” appeared. It’s akin to “Some Pig” showing up in Charlotte’s Web. “Whoa!” we whispered in unison.

“And why wouldn’t nature ask us, “Why?” Kerri added.

It may be that we have stared too long at photographs. It also might be the impact of too much coffee. In any case, we both saw the word in the bramble. It is an excellent and very appropriate question for nature to be asking of humanity. Why?

If we are learning anything these days it is that humanity is largely insane. This will not be the first time that humans have exhausted their resources and thoroughly soiled their nest en route to societal extinction all to make a buck or for the few to stand atop the pyramid.

Never doubt the power of story. Denial is, after all, a powerful form of story.

My WTF headline of the day, a perfect example of denial, is from US NEWS. It’s a report on the Womanosphere’s* continued and rabid support of ICE. The headline? Don’t Let Compassion Cloud You. I kid you not. It’s madness cut from the same cloth that brings us Stephen Miller insisting that Alex Pretti was a terrorist. No, don’t believe your eyes. Don’t let compassion cloud you. Keep your head in the gaslight. Ignore your heart. Gobble the propaganda.

Swear the ship is unsinkable even as it meets the obvious iceberg.

Since the early 1980’s we’ve known – through this magical thing called “science” – that carbon emissions were greatly impacting climate. The predictions from those early warnings were dire and we are, not surprisingly, living those dire predictions today.

The debate we are having is not about what is best for our survival but what is good for business. Don’t let science get in the way.

We are, whether we want to admit it or not, a part of nature. We are not above it even if we like to story ourselves as superior. Here is the lesson of societies long past that waved their superiority from atop the pyramid: nature is not really concerned with our story. Hurricanes are indiscriminate. As are mudslides and earthquakes. Drought does not care who it kills.

People, on the other hand are capable of discernment. People are capable of compassion. People are capable of knowing better. People are capable of learning from their past and their mistakes. In other words, people are more than capable of asking, “Why?” And, if they don’t, they end up making ridiculous statements from the top of their imagined pyramid like “Don’t Let Your Compassion Cloud You” or “Climate Change Is A Hoax,” or “He Was Brandishing A Gun.”

Whatever. Close your eyes if you must. Close your heart if you are capable.

I think I’ll listen to my heart while I pay attention to science. I’ll continue to ask, “Why?” My eyes and heart and brain are not in opposition to each other – and, even more to the point – while fully open and engaged, they are great at keeping me attuned to reality and off of some imaginary pyramid.

*I’d ordinarily provide a link as proof that such inanity exits but I refuse to support the algorithm that makes stupidity and cruelty popular.

read Kerri’s blogpost about WHY

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Who Is Watching Whom? [Kerri’s blog on KS Friday]

To begin, let’s start with the term “Ant Farm”. It’s otherwise known as a formicarium, a container habitat that “approximates” a natural environment. It’s made of clear plastic or glass allowing us to watch the behavior of the ants, the social hierarchies, physical structures (like tunneling and chamber making), dynamics with the queen, the life cycles of the ant colony.

I wonder if the ants know that their farm is the approximation of a natural environment or if they carry on as they would in any old environment without witnesses and walls? Are we watching the ant adaptation to a thin-world-construct? Are we watching an ant performance?

I imagine we place ourselves much higher on the critter hierarchy pyramid than the ants. It brings to mind a quote from E.O. Wilson, a brilliant man who studied ants: “If all mankind were to disappear, the world would regenerate back to the rich state of equilibrium that existed ten thousand years ago. If insects were to vanish, the environment would collapse into chaos.”

We are unique in our hubris. We are startling in our blindness.

These days it makes me wonder what larger consciousness plays witness to our behavior in our approximation of a natural environment. Doesn’t it sometimes feel like we are in a the subjects of an experiment? How many freedoms will we surrender, how many horrors will we tolerate before we challenge the unnatural delusion of supremacy? Would we rather erase ourselves than to recognize our natural interdependence? In the past 75 years in our ant farm, in an evolutionary step in consciousness, we’ve acknowledged our need for each other and created societal structures like NATO.

250 years ago an evolutionary idea took one giant step forward. It is called democracy in diversity, a society – an ideal – where the many participate together as one.

Will we step backwards into the fallacy of supremacy and collapse our farm? Will we thump our chests and erase ourselves? Or will we root out the diseased minds and delusional leaders, dismantle the false hierarchy and recognize our utter need for each other and our interdependence with our environment?

Who is watching whom?

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE ANT FARM


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Our Way Home [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

I bought the chair in the early 1980’s in a mountain town. It was the very first piece of furniture I purchased. I don’t remember the details except how odd it was that I was buying a chair. I was more-or-less a gypsy and moving a chair to-and-fro was out of character. It was an antique, mission style with a cane back though the caning had an imperfection, a slight tear. Even though it made no sense I had to have it.

It became my studio rocking chair. It was a fixture in every studio I’ve occupied – and there have been many – positioned directly across from my easel. I’ve spent countless hours of my life rocking in that chair, staring at works-in-progress.

It was the only piece of furniture in the truck when we closed my studio in Seattle for the move to Wisconsin. Paintings. Clothes. My easel. The chair. I had another rocker in my Seattle studio but gave it to PaTan. Her studio was across the hall from mine.

In Kenosha, my studio is in the basement of our nearly 100 year old house. One night last year, in the middle of the night, a water pipe broke directly above my chair. My hardcover sketchbook was on the seat of my rocker. By the time we heard the waterfall in the basement, the next morning, the sketchbook was literally mush. The original straw stuffing in the seat, older than our house, was sodden and ruined. The force of the water blew out the caning in the back.

At first it felt like a gut punch. We salvaged the pieces, storing them in a corner so we could clean up the mess and decide what to do. The chair sat in the corner for a year before I knew it was time to let it go. Someone out there, with the right skills, could properly repair it and bring it back to life. They would love it back into existence. I would open space, let go of the old and welcome in a new era.

When we brought the pieces upstairs to photograph, Kerri found the stamp from the original maker. It stopped us in our tracks. The chair was was made in Wisconsin, just up the road from where we live. It had traveled with me all of my adult life from Colorado to California to Seattle and places in between. And, in the end I was startled to discover that I’d brought it home – just as now I believe – it brought me home.

It makes sense why that younger version of myself had to have it. That chair understood my destiny and somehow knew that sooner or later, together, we’d rock our way across the country and, someday, find our way home.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE CHAIR

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Hold Up The Light [David’s blog on KS Friday]

about this week: there is a peril, it seems, to writing ahead these days. we had decided that this week – the first full week of a new year – we wished to use images of light as our prompts, we wished to linger on the possibility of light, of hope, of goodness. though our blogposts might stray from that as we pen them, it was without constant nod to the constant updating of current events – a mass of indefensible, unconscionable acts. we pondered what to do about these blogposts we had written and decided to keep them. we hope that – whether or not any absence of the happenings of the day, whether or not the chance these written words seem somewhat inane at this moment – you might know that those events – of corruption, illegality, immorality, and now murder – do not distill or distort our intention – to bring light and hope to this new year – the first days of which bring more insanity and unnerving instability. we are still holding space for light.

I learned something new about the Statue of Liberty. There are broken chains and shackles at her feet. “Sculptor Frédéric-Auguste Bartholdi incorporated these elements to represent liberty breaking free from servitude, a powerful message about emancipation.”  (Statue of Liberty/Ellis Island Foundation) The name of the statue standing in NY Harbor is “Liberty Enlightening the World”.

We are witness to what happens when a nation, when a people, grow so accustomed to their symbols that they forget – or take for granted – their meaning. It’s times like these that the symbol is either reinvigorated or emptied.

Especially during the dark winter months, we light candles every evening. They are comforting, calming. If you asked me what they symbolize to me I’d answer, “Hope”. I used to meditate every day and I’d begin my meditation with lighting a candle: a beacon for concentration and connection. Peace. We light candles on days that significant people in our lives have passed. The flame is a call to memory, to gratitude and, again, connection.

Light that calls to us to peace. Light that evokes hope within us. Light that encourages us and connects us. Light that guides us home.

In the past I kept a candle burning in my studio while I was working. It was a companion or perhaps a signal to the muse that I was ready. Now I have a salt lamp that serves the same purpose.

Lady Liberty holds a torch. She has broken chains and shackles at her feet. Truly, it’s times like these that our symbol is either reinvigorated or reversed, made to mean the exact opposite of what it originally represented. Will it serve to evoke in us a call to create/defend freedom and justice for all or will we turn our backs on our symbol and allow it to descend into a curiosity, a bit of bygone americana. In this historical moment we have the choice of embodying the symbol as it was originally intended, holding up the light of liberty to guide ourselves through this dark night – or to flip it over, plunge the torch into the harbor and step willingly into the shackles of authoritarianism.

[I wrote this on the morning that the current occupant of the white house, without participation or knowledge of Congress, invaded Venezuela, a resource grab not unlike Putin’s unlawful invasion of Ukraine. I’m editing this on the morning after an ICE agent murdered Renee Good in Minneapolis. It seems we have arrived at our moment of choice: to fully embody our symbols and defend our dedication to freedom and justice for all – or not. This is not an abstraction. It is not hyperbole. It is immediate.]

HOPE on the album THIS SEASON © 2005 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE CANDLE

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