Maple Dreams [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Posted on March 27, 2024 by davidrobinsoncreative

Tiny helicopters capable of catching the wind and carrying the seeds of a maple, each a pod of wild-tree-possibility.

They require something more than luck to let-go and launch into space. With no control over the direction or force of the breezes, once aloft, they twirl to their seemingly random destiny. Some will find fertile soil and ample light. Most will not. The strategy of the mother tree is nothing more or less than to freely scatter potential, to litter the area with maple-dreams. The evolution of hope.

Some pods never launch just as some ideas never take hold. No matter. Creativity in all its permutations is an infinite game. The idea that lands in just the right spot at just the right moment may, in time, grow into a mighty tree. It may not. The perfection is in the process of plenty, not in the illusion of a single flawless ideal. “Throw many pots.”

On her piano is a notebook of songs and compositions. Hieroglyphs to me but she need only open her burgeoning notebook, decipher the magic writing, and play a song or composition capable of making me weep. Or smile. Or feel something so deeply that I lack words to express it. Her compositions are pods waiting to launch. Pages of plenty, ideas-in-sound, waiting for the force of the unpredictable wind to carry them…somewhere.

She is like the might-maple-mom. Freely scattering potential, littering our lives and those around us with ideas in word and music and paint. She’s so abundant – her idea-pods so ever-present – that we take them for granted. Each carrying the pip of a mighty potential, the germ of a forest of possibility. They are everywhere.

Some have found her intimidating and tried to constrain her promise, to lasso her imagination. Too bad.

Today she completes another spin around the sun. I can already see the next generation of magic seed pods forming. I can’t wait to see what wonder-of-her-spirit will take root and reach for the sky.

[happy birthday]

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Pull The Thorns [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Posted on March 25, 2024 by davidrobinsoncreative

Matthew and Rumi agree: “You hypocrite! First take the beam out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye.”

 The Buddha is purported to have said: “The faults of others are easier to see than one’s own.”

The message is ubiquitous. The teaching is universal. If you wish to wander in the fields of flowers, pull the thorns from your heart. And, like all simple truths, it’s easier said than done.

History is riddled with the greatest persecutors loudly proclaiming themselves victims. It’s a pattern. Sometimes the odor of hypocrisy is faint. Sometimes it stinks to high heaven. Currently, we are watching this age old drama play out on our political stage. No-self-awareness. Not-an-iota-of-personal-responsibility.

It’s worthy of Aeschylus. It’s a theme that runs through the greatest works of Shakespeare. Othello. Hamlet. MacBeth. Lear. Tortured thorny hearts with split intentions. It’s ever-present because it’s a bear-topic that every human has wrangled. Psychologists call it “projection.”

There is no path to inner peace that does not begin with dedicated self-reflection, self-revelation, and a subsequent healthy course of eye-beam-removal. A good honest look at the thorns carried within the heart before the plucking. What’s true of an individual is also true of a community.

And, if we are lucky and brave and honest, “…at length, truth will out.” A good test of truth is the flood of peace that ensues. A wander through the fields of flowers.

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A New Day [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Posted on March 21, 2024 by davidrobinsoncreative

A new day.

Sometimes it takes a storm blowing through to make you realize what has value and what does not. The tornado takes the house, scatters the possessions, but the family is safe. No one is harmed. The wind takes the clutter and leaves a certain clarity.

I once knew an accomplished artist who lost his life’s work in a house fire. What I assumed would be tragic, for him was an opportunity: “I’m alive,” he said, elated. “Now I have a completely clean slate and can discover my work all over again.”

The storm comes. The veil falls. The Great and Powerful Oz is nothing more than a man with levers and illusions of grandeur hiding his real face behind a curtain. Dorothy suddenly knows without doubt what is true and what is fabrication. It’s quietly liberating.

She watches The Great and Powerful drift away in his hot air balloon and clumsy illusion. Dorothy realizes that no one can give her what she already possesses, an integrity of purpose, a vibrant spirit, surrounded by honest people who love her in a place she calls “home.”

A new day.

Nap with DogDog & BabyCat, 36″x48″, mixed media

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Take Heart! [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Posted on March 20, 2024 by davidrobinsoncreative

Look carefully at the top of this photograph and the story will become clear. There is a giant pursuing this caterpillar.

The fuzzy critter must have taken something from the giant. A golden goose or magic potion for transformation. And then, in the dead of night, made a run for it. I’m not sure how but the caterpillar climbed down the bean stalk or leapt the crevasse or…navigated whatever obstacle separates the land of giants from the land of future butterflies.

It might seem hopeless for the racing caterpillar -as is true in all worthy stories. The fuzzy hero seems doomed. The giant might in a single stride catch it and reclaim the stolen treasure.

But take heart! Carefully note that the giant is standing still! It has yet to spy the fleeing larva. Just beyond the photo-frame is a field of tall grasses! A meadow without end! A chance of escape, though not yet visible to us, is within reach!

Imagine it! The giant catches sight of the caterpillar as it rushes for the cover of the meadow. He steps, his foot thundering just behind the caterpillar, bouncing the vulnerable critter off its feet. The giant reaches! The caterpillar rolls and in a miracle of impossibility, regains its footing and in a desperate leap disappears into the grasses, wriggles into the shrubbery.

The giant howls and thrashes at the tall grasses, pulling apart the Milkweed, tearing up the Wild Carrot, to no avail. The caterpillar, against all odds, escapes.

And now that it has safely absconded with the magic potion, the golden goose, what will it do with the power of this great unknown? What possible future does it imagine this adventure will bring?

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Enter And Listen [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Posted on March 18, 2024 by davidrobinsoncreative

A Haiku for You

A forest critter,

Gnome, Leprechaun or Spirit,

Tree Dweller, Heart Door.

Sometimes I want to believe in magic. I want to think there is an angel at my side. I want to sit in the certainty of Rumi, knowing without doubt that the entire universe, the whole of infinity, is tipping in my favor.

Sometimes I want to know what tomorrow will bring. No surprises. I want to know that the good people will win over the rage-mongers and truth-spinners. Just like in the movies. I want to know that perseverance will inevitably meet ideal circumstance and all will be well in the end. I want to be at the other end of the week so I can tell the story of what happened, the story of stamina and fortitude fulfilled.

Sometimes I want to know that the eagle flying by at just the right moment or the hovering hawk or the owl hooting outside my window at midnight is bringing me a message: we’ve got your back. Fear not. Take another step. From our height we can see the meadow, the sun and tall grasses. We can feel the hope, breathe the calm.

Sometimes when she spies a heart-shape and kneels to capture it for her collection, I want the gentle spirit, the gnome or sprite living in the tree or residing in the leaf shaped like the symbol, to make themself visible to us and affirm that there is meaning in the mystery, that in this life there is more sense than we can possibly imagine. There is reason. A reason. Yet, I already know what it would avow if it allowed us to see it: the meaning of the mystery is always found right where we knew it would be, where we know it to be: in the heart. Our vast open hearts. We do not need to seek it or wish for it. We need only enter and listen – more than just sometimes.

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Filed under: Love, Merely A Thought Monday, Metaphor | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment »

Pluck The Symbol [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Posted on March 14, 2024 by davidrobinsoncreative

Tonight, as we near the day of clover, the celebration of St. Patrick’s snake dance, we will make corned beef and cabbage for our weekly dinner with 20. There will be Guinness, too. The snakes in the story, by-the-way, are symbolic. There were no actual snakes in the region. Remember, as I will when tipping my Guinness, it’s a religious holiday though, through the advent of Guinness, pagans like me can play, too.

One of my favorite things about human beings is how blind they are to their natural curiosity. For instance, read the wikipedia entry for four-leaf clover! There’s layers and layers of data on the odds of finding a four-leaf clover. Sometimes curiosity looks like study. Sometimes it looks like science. Or engineering. It’s one of my least favorite things about human beings: we can kill the spark, snuff the magic of the curious story-telling-mind, by how we tell the story.

Believe the snakes are literal and you miss the point of the story and misunderstand the reason for the holiday. The same is true with arks filled with animals and the Red Sea parting. Metaphors made literal: the apple remains uneaten. Knowledge dies on the vine.

Symbols open stories. Symbols make the story universal which is impressive if you stop and think about it. How can two people, living in two different cultures, who don’t share a common language, understand in-a-flash the same idea? Symbol. Metaphor. Heart openers. Mind expanders. Experience joiners.

In the epic of Saint Patrick, as a pagan I’d be one of the metaphoric snakes driven into the sea.

And remember, the data suggests that for every ten thousand three-leaf clover that you spy, you’ll find one stem with four. A symbol of good luck, no matter what the data suggests.

Train Through Trees, 51″x46″, mixed media

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Pass Through [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Posted on March 12, 2024 by davidrobinsoncreative

“Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does.” ~ James Baldwin

We watched each day as the pink tulips passed through their many phases of life, each beautiful and surprising. As they neared the last chapter, I thought they echoed orchids. The subtle pinks ran to the edges of the wrinkling petals, heads bowed, devotees in quiet prayer.

Initially, the tulips brought hope and light into our house. For weeks the table had been stacked with so-much-paper, a mammoth project. We cleared the table of its heavy burden and replaced the weighty paper with a row of delicate tulips. We’d catch ourselves staring into the dining room; inevitably one of us would say, “I love this.”

20 would call it the contrast principle. The delicate lightness of the tulips were made more pronounced because of the heaps of paper that preceded it. Perhaps. All I know is that the tulips lifted my spirit like few other things have in these winter months. They became a celebration of love. A symbol that joins daisies in our canon of symbols and will forever signify a step into love. A new chapter. A next chapter.

As it bowed its petals, as they began to fall, we found ourselves more rapt in their beauty, not less. Their age made them translucent. Fragile. Their impermanence somehow made them eternal. As it should be. Passing through transformation.

“I love this, she said, squeezing my hand.

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Take The Back Road [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Posted on March 8, 2024 by davidrobinsoncreative

Even in our race to Milwaukee to meet a deadline, we decided to take the back roads. We’ve learned that the time difference between the freeway and the less-stressful-backroads is often only 15 minutes. I’m finding that getting-there-faster is generally an illusion that always produces heightened stress. We have enough stress as it is so we look for ways to feed-the-calm. To reinforce presence. 15 minutes seems like a fair trade for less angst. Even in a race.

We’re regularly passed on the road by a car-in-a-hurry. We inevitably catch them at the next light. All the aggression, all of the get-out-of-my-way, achieves a car length of advantage. I try and keep that in mind in our age of more/faster, a by-product of information inundation. Aggressive drivers have become something of a metaphor. It takes time to process information. It takes time to suss out relevance. Very little is actually gained by going faster to go faster. Except more stress. It is an un-win-able race.

On our back road drive to Milwaukee we marveled at the clarity of the storm cloud’s line of demarcation. It was as if a giant X-Acto knife cut the clouds exposing a swatch of blue-blue that extended to the horizon. We literally drove under the line. In a moment we moved from shadow to sun. In a moment, the gloom and weight of the stormy day transformed to warmth and rejuvenation. In a moment.

I wondered if the angry driver swerving through traffic, speeding toward a destination, even noticed the line. I wondered if the warmth and rejuvenation we experienced was available amidst the dedicated hurry-hurry. I wonder at the ubiquitous story of needing-to-get-there-faster, getting there first. What is actually gained? What is actually lost?

It takes time to suss out relevance. It takes time to notice the warmth and welcome rejuvenation when it becomes available. It takes time to actually see – to see – another human being on the road to somewhere. It takes time – and taking time, as it turns out, is nothing more or less than a choice, something as simple as taking the back road.

Holding Steadfast/Blueprint for My Soul © 1997 Kerri Sherwood

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Balance [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Posted on March 6, 2024 by davidrobinsoncreative

It looks like Persephone is back from the underworld. Or at least she is on her way. Demeter, her mother, goddess of all things that grow in nature, is starting to celebrate.

Persephone is early and, although Demeter, like all mothers, is over-the-moon with excitement with the early return of her daughter, the rest of us should be wondering “What’s up?” When those fickle gods change pattern this dramatically there’s good reason to wonder when the storm will arrive. Balance is off; things are about to tilt.

This morning I opened the back door to let the Dogga out and was completely captivated by the bird song. The full chorus was singing and they were glorious. In truth, the full chorus has been singing the sun up every morning for the past several weeks. Spring arrived in February. I am often awake when the first bird, the early soloist, takes the stage. I wonder if they know. Listening to the birds, looking at my untouched snow shovel resting by the back door, I thought about my dear friend in Reno who wrote, “We never get this much snow…”

Balance. Persephone ate six pomegranate seeds, the fruit of the underworld, so a bargain was struck: for each seed consumed she must spend a month in the underworld. Six months in the underworld. And, six months in the light with her mother, the earth celebrating their reunion. Six and six. This year, the bargain must have collapsed since we are three and nine. What about the other three seeds?

What about the balance?

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Animate! [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Posted on March 4, 2024 by davidrobinsoncreative

Hydro: relating to water.

Hydra: a problematic many-headed serpent in Greek mythology. The problem: every time some hero tried to cut off one of its heads, the old head was replaced by two. The original myth behind compounding interest. Hercules finally rid the world of the monster. You’ll have to read the myth to find out how. I don’t want to spoil it for you.

Hydra lived in Hydro. Water serpent. In the 18th century Linnaeus named a water critter after the mythic serpent because, when severed, the critter regenerates a new part. Language is an amazing thing, drawing connections in many directions across eons of time. All words, like all people, have origin stories.

And this brings me to the flask. My first flask, pocket-sized, was a gift for participation in a wedding. It was often filled with spirits. To be clear, the spirits my flask contained were distilled and not ghost-ish or soul-like, though both the distilled and the ethereal notions are capable of the same outcome: animation.

This flask, my Hydro Flask, is reserved for coffee exclusively. Coffee is also a source of animation. It brings me to consciousness each morning.

Anima. From the latin: life or soul.

Coffee. From the pot: life-giving. Soul restoring.

My flask keeps my morning soul-juice hot for a long, long time. It’s small but it’s mighty. Herculean, one might say.

read Kerri’s blogpost about HYDRO FLASK

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