Our Natural Tendency [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

This sedum is a volunteer. It somehow took root beneath the deck and yet has found a way to reach the sun. It’s funny. Each day I check on this little plant because its resilience gives me some small measure of hope: good things can take root in dark places and through natural tenacity, find a way to the light.

When I step back from our national horror story and take in the whole picture, I am overwhelmed at the abundance of light. People showing up for other people. People expressing outrage at the treatment of others. The shadow spaces are small in comparison.

In this way people are no different than plants. Our tendency – our need – is to seek and find the light and the light is found in the community and what it values. A community can only stay in the dark for so long before it – like a plant – begins to perish.

“They have no respect for human life,” she said, showing me the latest video of an ICE arrest. And then came her list of disrespect: “Decimating USAID, cuts to Medicaid and SNAP…” It was a very, very long list.

I responded, “They have no respect for others because they have no respect for themselves.” It would be impossible to vote for that Big Bloated Bill and be able to look at yourself in the mirror.

They crawl into dark places to flee the light. The assault on the free press. The prevention of congressional oversight – and the nation – from seeing into their “deportation detention centers”. The restrictions (elimination) of due process and habeas corpus…This, too, is a very, very long list. Dark hearts creating dark places.

Here’s the thing: in dark places people lose track of where they are. Disoriented, they also lose track of where others are. In panic, they lose track of how important others are. They become physically, mentally and morally confused. They default into “every man for himself”. In survival-mode, people push others underwater in an attempt to elevate themselves. In the end, all drown.

In the dark we lose track of who we are because we can only know ourselves in relationship to others. Societies collapse in shadowy amorality and the dim fantasy land of every-man-for-himself (obviously).

It is the way of fascist regimes to drag the people of their nation into the dark. Our current leadership in these un-United States is following the Nazi playbook exactly. To perpetuate their dark intention they need to manufacture enemies; the trail of enemy creation will eventually lead back to themselves. They will eventually have to eat each other in their dog-eat-dog fascism. Even though it doesn’t look like it at this moment in time, dragging us into the dark will bring them to perish in an inky bunker.

Like the sedum rooted beneath the deck, it is our natural tendency is to reach for the light.

The only real question that remains is how much dark-malfeasance will we tolerate before we-as-a-nation say, “Enough,” break free and turn toward the light?

And, if we make it, if we survive this dark time and stumble back into the sun, I hope we will have the courage to look at what the light reveals to us – about us. I hope we have the capacity to see fully the totality of our history – all of it. I hope we are capable of asking why so many of us drank from a fox-fire hose of lies and so willingly embraced fantastic falsehoods. I hope we might once and for all align our actions with our rhetoric and put to rest the ugly idea that We-The-People only applies to a privileged few, but applies equally to all of us – a wildly diverse community dedicated to keeping the experiment of democracy vibrant and in the light.

Face the Sun, 18″x24″ mixed media

read Kerri’s blogpost about SEDUM

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Look Closely [David’s blog on Flawed Wednesday]

Look closely. The dill wilts under the heat dome. Unusually high temperatures and humidity leave it unprotected.

Look closely. Once upon a time we enjoyed an FCC policy called The Fairness Doctrine. It was also known as the “truth in media” regulation. It required broadcast media to present contrasting viewpoints on controversial issues. It was intended to promote public discourse while preventing biased media agendas. It was largely successful. Rupert Murdoch hated it. Ronald Reagan repealed it. “The demise of this FCC rule has been cited as a contributing factor in the rising level of party polarization in the United States.” The demise of The Fairness Doctrine stimulated the divisive info-bubbles that we now inhabit. It opened the door for the rise of the toxic Murdoch fox and his ultra-conservative copycats. It has left us unprotected.

Look closely. We did not arrive here by accident. Party polarization. Divisive echo chambers. Biased media agendas. The absence of civil public discourse. 24/7 commentary and opinion uprooted from reality and meant to foster outrage. It’s fertile ground for dark money purchasing politicians and supreme court justices.

Look closely: the celebration of media bias. The interruption – the dismantling – of public discourse. The unbridled magnification and normalization of lies. Polarization is great for profiteers but deadly to democracy.

Our media carries the story we tell ourselves about ourselves. Are we really hyper-biased, polarized liars so enraged that we’re incapable of public discourse? Is there truly no common ground?

Look closely. The regulation of traffic – the law – makes us capable of safe travel. The regulation does not inhibit us. It fosters necessary cooperation. Building codes are regulations ensuring that our dwellings and places of business are safely constructed. The regulations do not inhibit us – they protect us. They establish and maintain a high quality standard.

A regulation like The Fairness Doctrine was neither conservative nor progressive. It didn’t inhibit us. It ensured that we were not made victim to bad information. It established a standard for truth-in-media and engendered respect for differing perspectives.

We know how to exit our echo chambers. We know how to ensure that we are acting – and voting – on unbiased information. Healthy public discourse is the epicenter of our democracy. Healthy public discourse relies on truthful information and civil debate. We know how to foster a better field of discourse and it requires adequate regulation meant to prevent media exploitation and manipulation.

Regulation. The Constitution is a document of regulations. It is neither conservative nor progressive, it establishes simple rules for how we safeguard our values, how we live and thrive together. Breaching the boundaries, ignoring the law, like removing all traffic laws, serves to expedite our confusion and fiery demise.

Look closely. Granting presidential immunity from law is a breach. Eliminating due process and habeas corpus is a breach. Consolidating power in the executive branch is a breach. We are unprotected. ICE plucks innocent people from the streets. Congress intends to pass a bill – make a law – that impoverishes the many to enrich the few.

Integrity is the word that comes to mind. It has two relevant meanings. First, having strong moral principles. Moral principles are akin to regulations – they define shared values and provide the basis for society’s laws. They foster cooperation. The second meaning is unity. Wholeness is a result of a shared story based on common values and moral principles. The second meaning of Integrity – unity – is the blossom of the first. Division and discord are the blossoms of the collapse of shared values and breaches of communal moral principles.

It’s worth asking again: are we really hyper-biased, polarized liars so enraged that we’re incapable of public discourse? Do we really hold our democracy so lightly? Or have we been poisoned by the biased toxic fables we daily consume from the free-for-all media-stream? Are we intoxicated on the outrage daily pumped into our brains from a media the grows wealthy on our dysfunction?

Look closely. We are unprotected.

read Kerri’s blogpost about WILTED DILL

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The Glue That Binds [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

It’s such a small line of distinction yet the implications are profound. Our mechanic, Steve, believes that he is rendering a service to members of his community. His goal – his ethic – is to do good work for the people who trust him with their cars. Consequently, he has a loyal following and a solid, healthy business. Visit Steve’s shop and you’ll find an old guy sitting in an easy chair reading the paper. No one is in a hurry. Ask a question and Steve will stop what he’s doing and come look under your car. Then, he’ll chat with you about the weather or politics or swap stories about what the kids are up to. Steve won’t try to sell you what you don’t need. Leave your car with him and more often than not, after the repair, your car magically shows up in your driveway.

I always feel good after a visit with Steve.

Across the town is a specialty shop. They do work that Steve can’t do – or won’t do – in his small garage. He used to refer clients when they needed specialty work done on their cars. Not anymore. The owner of that shop is hyper-focused on how to maximize his business so, now, if you take your car to the specialty shop, you’ll be presented with a long list of repairs that your car may or may not need. The owner of this shop is no longer driven by a service ethic; he’s driven by a profit motive. He’s definitely maximizing his business.

There is a line of distinction and it is as simple as this:

I believe what we’ve lost, what we are now missing, is what Steve embodies: a genuine service motive. It’s an old world mentality, a small town ethic: work as service to others. Social cohesion is the result of people dedicated to serving other people. You can feel it at Steve’s shop. It’s personal. People gather there. Trust is a given.

On the other side of the line is the specialty shop. It’s a mill. Business is business and business is about making money rather than caring for the needs of the customer. You can feel it. It’s become impersonal. The lobby is like an elevator: no one talks. Trust is not a given: the work is hyper-efficient, factory-esque, so customers leave doubting the quality of the workmanship because the customer is no longer the center of the equation. Cha-ching is now the boss.

Social cohesion is the casualty of business dedicated to the bottom line above the people they serve.

And isn’t social cohesion what we are lacking?

We can serve each other – the very thing that makes a community and nation great. Or, we can exploit each other – the very thing that divides a community and erodes its trust. I believe that all of those angry red-hat-wearing-fox-news-watching folks want the same thing that I want: more Steves. They – like me – don’t want to be continually exploited, demeaned, and reduced by gorilla corporate interests who use us as a resource to be consumed and not a customer to be served. We want a government that serves the people rather than lines corporate pockets. More trust.

In the afterward of her book, Michelle Obama thanks the many, many people who supported her with the double entendre, “I am glad for you.” It is the encapsulation of a service motive. The first meaning of the double: For you I am glad. Your work made me a better writer, a better person. I could not have done this without you. Your service on my behalf matters more than I can express.

Meaning number two: I celebrate you. I serve your betterment just as you serve mine. We give generously to each other because Generosity – service – is the glue that binds us: social cohesion.

It’s a simple line of distinction. It is profound.

read Kerri’s blogpost about GLAD FOR YOU

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Cycles Of Change [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

“Wars and temper tantrums are the makeshifts of ignorance; regrets are illuminations come too late.” ~ Joseph Campbell, The Hero With A Thousand Faces

It is a warm evening. The breeze has shifted and comes off the lake, blessed cool. The bird alights on the pinnacle of our roof. Like us it pauses in the refreshing breeze. It drinks it in and rests. This image, this moment, is ancient and I am taken by it.

In the midst of the chaos of the country, the seeming unprecedented circumstances we now face, it is somehow comforting (to me) to remember that no one escapes the cycles of mythology. Mythology is a universal growth pattern, cutting across culture, delivered through story. It is a human-life-map. It is unwise to confuse mythology with make-believe.

Our collapse of moral authority in leadership is not unique in history. Neither is the rise of our tyrant. Neither is the corruption of our court Supremes or the silent cowardice of Congress. We follow a historical pattern just as we perform a mythological cycle.

The Roman Empire fell for much the same reasons that the American Experiment is now wobbling: political corruption, the widening gap between the haves and have-nots eroding social cohesion (maga, the impact of inanity like “trickle-down-economics”, unfair taxation, granting “personhood” to corporations…), the exploitation of division, overspending on the military, limits imposed on innovation and education (the impact of DOGE and the decimation of research among other things).

When servant leadership is upended by self-serving-leadership, the path becomes explicit. It doesn’t happen all it once. It is gradual, this erosion of the foundation takes time. This is a mythological death.

Of course, each death signals the birth of something new. As Joseph Campbell wrote of times like these, it is wrongheaded and naive to try and go back in time to capture some imaginary heyday. It is equally misguided to try to force the fulfillment of some imagined ideal. Both facilitate dismemberment.

Our protests of autocracy, our resistance to brutality, plant the seeds of our transfiguration. We will never restore our democratic republic as we’ve known it. Neither will we fulfill it as first conceived: exclusive; democracy for the few. Fire transforms and what will emerge from this hot collapse is anybody’s guess. I will probably not live long enough to see it. Gestation like this takes time, too.

However, I take heart knowing that the cycle will eventually present us with a new generation of servant leaders, people who rise from the wreckage and sacrifice personal gain for the common good. People who were transformed by this current fire. They will carry in their hearts the pain of their ancestors’ regret.

The bird on the pinnacle served as a herald of that distant day. The wind shifts, cutting through the heat, bringing with it sweet relief and the promise of the cycles of change.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE BIRD

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Unlock The Door [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Lodgepole pine cones require the heat of fire to open and release their seeds. Fire is necessary to unlock the door to the next generation of possibility. It is the reason our dear J, as part of her wedding gift, gave us a box filled with Lodgepole pine cones . She was encouraging us to light a fire in each other. And so we have.

As part of our solstice observance, as the sun set, we started a small fire in the fire pit, selected ten pine cones from J’s box, made wishes and set intentions for the seeds-of-opportunity that the fire would unlock, and committed our pine-cone-wishes to the flames. Moving into a new stage of life, we set targets for the next generation of our possibilities.

As I stared into the waning fire, I hoped that the hot authoritarian forest fire roaring through our nation might unlock the door to the next generation of democratic possibility. I hoped that the heat of the fire might once-and-for-all clear the tangle-weeds of white supremacy and hate, remove the undergrowth of thuggery and elitism and prepare the forest floor for new seedlings of fairness, equality and the fulfillment of democracy’s promise. I hoped that it might burn away the strangle-hold private money has on our government so we might trust that our elected officials are public servants and not greedy profiteers.

Rather than repeat the cycle, yet another go-round with oligarchy and near-authoritarianism, I wished for the nation to break the cycle of denial and dysfunction and move into a new, healthier stage of life, a democracy fully committed to democracy: a government of the people that follows a single north star: liberty and justice for all.

We hold within us the seeds.

[Since I wrote this post, we entered a war with Iran. The heat of the authoritarian forest fire just escalated and somehow…somehow…the Republican Congress remains silent. Complicit. One wonders if we must become a smoldering wreckage before they remember they are servants of a Constitution and not a political party or a pariah.]

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE PINE CONE

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The Antidote [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

This photo is of Apollo’s chariot arcing across the sky. It’s only visible because the clouds buffer the chariot’s brilliance.

Zeus is scheduled to come through later tonight. There is promise of thunderbolts. Dogga is not a fan of the flash-and-boom. Frankly, neither am I. Zeus is too showy for my tastes.

Persephone is back from her stay in the underworld and Demeter couldn’t be more pleased. The blossoming peonies are proof. The wild grasses and ferns are a-poppin’. The tomato plant promises to be as tall as I am!

Ares children have been let loose on the land. Phobos and Deimos – Fear and Terror; they wear masks and ambush immigrants. They bully because it makes them feel superior. They pull people from their homes and cars. They take children from schools. They tackle senators. They answer to a minor deity, Dolos. He is renowned for his orange color, his penchant for lying, his empty promises otherwise known as deception.

I, for one, am waiting for Hestia to fully show up on the scene. Welcoming, unifying, an ancient powerful goddess who exudes peace and quiet. She is the hearth, the warm center of “home”. She is formidable because she deals in simple honesty. You might recognize her: she is the force that pulled people into the streets, uniting them to rebuke Dolos and his nasty servants. It seems she might team up with Athena who brings a healthy dose of wisdom and strategy to the mix, capable of easily corralling Fear and Terror and sending the orange Dolos back to the swamps where he belongs.

No doubt the goddesses will provide the antidote for the toxic masculinity that ails us.

[Juneteenth! It is especially important to commemorate the emancipation of enslaved people in the USA – particularly in the face of an administration that whitewashes our nation’s history]

from the archive: Maenads

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE SUN

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The Smallest of Things [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

We’ve taught Dogga not to bark at the dachshunds next door. He stands vigil on our bed where he can see out the window and over the fence. He waits, knowing their morning routine. When the moment arrives, when the dachshunds come outside, Dogga groans and moans – like a character in a melodrama – to suppress his bark. He leaps off the bed, turns to look at us, and vigorously complains. His indignation is among our favorite morning rituals. We giggle at his yawling discord. We tell him to, “Go get candy cane!”, his favorite toy, useful in chewing away his dissatisfaction. He races into the next room returning with his plastic candy cane in his mouth, looking somewhat like Groucho Marx gnawing on a red and white striped cigar.

In those moments I couldn’t be more in love with my life. It’s the smallest of things.

We were like small children overrun with anticipation as we awaited the blossoming of the peonies. Last fall Loida gifted Kerri with two new peony roots. Elsa Sass and Amalia Olson. We planted them with great care, following the instructions to the letter. In the spring, little green adventurers broke through the soil. Soon there were leaves and then the tiniest buds. And then, one day, the buds began to swell; nature’s Jiffy Pop. Like Dogga peering out the window, we’d race outside each morning to hold our vigil. This week, the buds burst open, radiant flowers unfolded. Kerri was beside herself. The photo session has been ongoing for days. “I just love them!” she exclaims with each and every snap.

It’s the smallest of things.

This weekend, people left the comfort and safety of their homes to walk together in the streets. They showed up for each other. They showed up en masse to remind their elected leaders that they serve the public and not their party; they are meant to serve the needs of the public and not the whims of a criminal. People walked together to remind the absent/silent Republican members of Congress that they swore an oath to uphold The Constitution – and they are betraying their oath. Millions of people stepped out of their houses to walk together, to express their dissatisfaction with the brutality, the attempted authoritarian take-down of our democracy, to join together their voices to say, “We will not abdicate our responsibility to each other as you have abdicated your responsibility to us.”

It’s the smallest of things. To step out of the house. To walk with others. To speak truth to power, especially when power is a bully threatening violence.

Recently I’ve asked myself – as I’ve heard many others ask, “But what can I do?” This weekend we experienced an answer: Do the smallest of things. Step out of your house. Take a walk with your neighbors that sends a clear message to the cowards in Congress and the supremely corrupted court: The democracy that our ancestors planted here is precious and worth protecting.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE PEONY

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Special Crow Delivery [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

At the end of the epic poem, bees are Beowulf’s allies. They are his secret weapon. At the beginning of the story, they are his nemesis, stinging his face so badly that his eyesight is compromised.

If I follow this story template in my life, then crows will someday be my ally. During my years in Seattle they were definitely my nemesis. They attacked me on a daily basis. I learned that crows have facial recognition – and very long memories – so I can only assume that the crows mistook me for someone else. It was hard not to take their attacks personally.

There is another possibility. In many cultures crows are considered messengers from the spiritual realms. In this scenario, the crows were trying to wake me up, shake me up, open my eyes to something I was denying. They were ruthless. And, at the end of my time in Seattle, I definitely opened my eyes to something I did not want to see.

Or, I could combine both possibilities: the crows were messengers from another realm and delivered their message to the wrong person. I took delivery on someone else’s package, someone who looked like me.

I often think of the Seattle crows because there is a healthy crow population here in our neighborhood on the shores of Lake Michigan. They are everywhere. And, much to my delight, they’ve never given me a second look. Every day I walk the streets without crow fear, surprise swooping, or contact pain. They are messengers without a single message for me and I couldn’t be more pleased.

I know by their sounds what is happening in the neighborhood. I know when an owl or hawk is close. I know when a cat is creeping up on a nest (it is a distinctly different sound from the owl alert). I know by their silence that all is right in the neighborhood.

Beowulf sent his bees into the mouth of a dragon that was threatening his kingdom. Would-that-I-could send my ally crows into the mouth of the fascist dragon now threatening our democracy. I know from experience that crow-messages are not subtle or pleasant. They are very effective.

Crows are also symbolically associated with knowledge, intellect and wisdom. At the very least the crows might bring a special delivery of those attributes to the Republican leadership of this nation who seem to be running in short supply. Just like Beowulf’s dragon, they hoard mounds of gold with no idea what to do with it other than sit on it and breathe fire if their gilded seat is threatened. Just like Beowulf’s dragon, they terrorize the populace, whip up fear and discord, while feeding on the most vulnerable to satiate their gluttonous appetite.

If we follow the template of this ancient epic tale, the dragon’s days are numbered. Gold-hoarding bullies cannot long survive when the bees – or the crows – are unleashed, when the people decide that enough is enough.

read Kerri’s blogpost about the CROW FEATHER

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Either Way [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

At this time of year, sleeping as we do with the window open, I have the impression that the birds sing the sun to rise. In the evening, they sing it to rest beneath the horizon. What happens between those two songs is always a surprise.

I recently read a quote by Aldous Huxley that struck a deep chord: “It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly, child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly, even though you’re feeling deeply…”

Dogga has been a great teacher. He is highly sensitive, keenly keyed into us. He feels everything I feel, we feel. If we start to take ourselves too seriously, he runs for his safe haven in the bathroom. At first his retreat to the safety of the bathroom brought us up short. It was like being slapped into consciousness. “We’re upsetting the dog.” We’d breathe, step back and change our tone. We’d lighten up. He’s become a barometer of whether or not we’re taking ourselves too seriously and we’ve learned to lighten up before he feels the need to retreat.

It’s possible: walking lightly through life can be learned.

“Look at the color of the sky!” she said, aiming her camera.

“It’s a Colorado sky,” I mused. The blue was intense against the new spring-green leaves.

We were slow-walking on one of our favorite trails, talking about the past decade, the seeming-forced peeling back of layers, the necessity of letting go of grievances and disappointments when she suddenly pulled her camera from her pocket. “Look at the color of the sky!” I smiled: evidence of not taking anything – especially ourselves – too seriously.

“So throw away your baggage and go forward. There are quicksands all about you, sucking at your feet, trying to suck you down into fear and pity and despair. That’s why you must walk so lightly…”

It’s an ongoing life lesson. Feeling deeply need not be weighty. Especially now. There are, indeed, quicksands all around us, sucking at our feet. It’s always an option to disappear into the muck of fear and despair. As we have learned – and continue to learn – hopelessness is a heavy load. As is resentment. Regret is a guaranteed back-breaker. Denial is the heaviest bag of all. Our nation is currently learning this lesson.

The surprise between the birdsong? We can walk with the light astonishment of the new day or we can drag along yesterday’s heavy baggage. It’s our path, it’s our choice, either way.

[I just finished writing this post when Guitar Jim sent this gorgeous song by Darrell Scott. Serendipity, the song says it better than I ever will]:

read Kerri’s blogpost about TREES AND SKY

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The Fire That Sustains [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

It’s funny what a photo invokes. A contrail and the sun:

When he was young Beethoven wrote a ballet called The Creatures of Prometheus. It is too big for modern ballet companies to produce and symphonies have a difficult time adding it to their program because – well – it’s a ballet and the music needs something to tie it together. I had the great good fortune to develop a story based on original program notes and perform The Creatures of Prometheus with The Portland Chamber Orchestra, conducted by Yaki Bergman, in 2008.

It is a story of the creation of human beings. It is the story of jealous Zeus forcing the newly created humans to accept him as their god rather than their true creator, Prometheus. Zeus is an irrational bully. The other gods on Olympus go along with his brutality because they, like the humans, fear him. Apollo the sun god, the god of reason and light, despises Zeus and plants the seed of reason in the creatures in the hope that, one day, they would awaken to their true nature, they would recognize the old god Prometheus as their true creator.

At the height of the Black Lives Matter protests Yaki contacted me and asked me to rewrite the script to make it relevant to the events of the day. We were to perform the new piece, entitled The Last of the Old Gods, in the spring of 2023. There was a contract snag delay. Yaki was diagnosed with an aggressive cancer and passed before we could perform it. I grieve him. He was a great artist with a big vision and even bigger laughter.

Art is meant to carry the conscience of a community. It is meant to express and explore the values of society. And, since society is mostly blind to itself, It is meant to be a mirror, a mechanism for people to see themselves. Yes, it needs to entertain but entertainment is the warmth that draws the community to the hearth fire. Art is the fire that sustains.

It is enough to say that we are currently living in a time of a false bully who would-be god. He must lie and fearmonger to achieve his desire, just like Zeus in the ballet. In re-reading both of my versions of the script I was struck how they are now more relevant than when I wrote them. The Last of the Old Gods will live in my files. It will, I hope, someday, find its light-of-day.

Here is a segment of text from The Last of the Old Gods, the final bit of story that leads into the musical Finale:

In an instant, Apollo sent a tiny spark, a thread of sun that wove through the spell of Thalia’s masks, that opened a possibility of release. A chance at remembering. As the creatures circled each other in their dance, one reaching, the other rejecting, like a drowning man, one pressing the other down to elevate itself, Apollo whispered into their souls a possibility, a pathway home.

His thread of sun ignited the seed Prometheus planted.

If someday, they could turn and face their fear, see through the false division, let go of the lust for power and belief in dominance and division, if one day these creatures could take a chance and reach toward the other, it might remember itself. Thalia’s masks would fall. The seesaw game would collapse. And the creatures’ natural iridescence would be restored. 

It might, someday, look in the eyes of the other, and remember itself. Whole. Prometheus’ touch would finally reach them. The last old god, Prometheus, and his creation would be free.” 

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE SUN AND CONTRAIL

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