A Perspective Giver [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

I could have sat all day on the porch and stared at the sculpted landscape, the fingers of Lake Powell reaching into the canyon. My artist’s soul rejuvenates in the southwest. It excites my imagination while quieting my mind. Just as the high desert sun warms me to the core of my being, the geography invigorates the core of my artistry.

It’s been two weeks since I sat on that porch and looked with awe at the horizon and watched the colors transform from hot orange to dusty purple as the sun progressed across the sky. It was akin to looking at the ocean surf, a rolling touch of the eternal. A perspective-giver.

While sitting on the porch I pondered our nation’s inability to fully reconcile with its past. It’s impossible to drive through tribal lands and not consider the full history of our nation. It’s been much on my mind recently since it is a central theme of my latest play, Diorama.

Think about it: just this week the maga-candidate-for-president suggested he would stop funding schools that taught about slavery. Nikki Haley, while running for the Republican nomination for president, said that there’d never been racism in the United States of America.

I sometimes wonder in these divisive times if the USA is like an alcoholic that refuses to admit that it has a problem. Why so much denial? Why so many blatant lies? In fact, it’s not new. Take a gander at the Lost Cause narrative propagated throughout the south (and the nation) following the civil war, a tale of happy slaves and benevolent slave owners. You might recognize it as it has resurged as the official curriculum in the state of Florida (and other states) in 2024. Twelve generations of brutality white washed and to what end?

Of course, it is the white-washed America that the reds aspire to inhabit – and to achieve their fantasy they necessarily need to ignore the full scope of our history. There’s no responsibility in a white washed history. In cowboy brain there are only good guys and bad guys so the good guys need never question their actions or confront their shadows. It’s an infantile narrative, not only unworthy of a maturing nation, but crippling to its growth.

The fourth step in the AA twelve step program suggests that, in order to restore our sanity – in order to grow up – we must be willing to make a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves. We must not be afraid to admit when we are wrong or recognize when we have strayed from our ideals.

A fearless moral inventory. An honest look at our complete history, the good, the bad and everything in between. As Aldous Huxley wrote, we are in a race between education and destruction. An educated populace would never tolerate the lies of the would-be-autocrat and would easily see through the crazy revisionist history that he manufactures and spews. Perhaps that is why he vows to dismantle the Department of Education.

The question before us in November is whether or not our democracy will prevail and mature or will the white nationalist monster, in a celebration of ignorance, eat our collective freedoms and send us swirling into the immoral (and infantile) fascist nightmare outlined in Project 2025? A fearless moral inventory or the path of the Lost Cause cowards?

The choice is ours to make. The story is ours to tell.

Waiting & Knowing, 48″x48″ mixed media

read Kerri’s blog about PERSPECTIVE

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Enter The Sanctuary [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

“To accept one’s past – one’s history – is not the same thing as drowning in it; it is learning how to use it. An invented past can never be used; it cracks and crumbles under the pressures of life like clay in a season of drought.” ~ James Baldwin

It was the end of a blistering hot day and my brains were baking. We walked the path in the afternoon sun to see one more arch. Turning into the shade we squeezed through a narrow passage way and stepped into a sandy sanctuary. It was easily 20 degrees cooler. It was ancient. People had been coming to this place to escape the heat for centuries.

I thought of the sanctuary when I watched the clips from the faux-interview. I wish I was surprised but I was not. During his interview with Kamala Harris, the absurd lengths Bret Baier went to protect his fox-audience from basic information should have been astounding. It was not. To twist a phrase from Forrest Gump, “Propaganda is as propaganda does.” Sad. And consistent.

And dangerous. Fox News is not like a box of chocolates because you always know what you are going to get. Hatred. Fearmongering. Victim TV. Brain-baking. Division, division, division.

I realized that all of my eye-rolling, my utter disbelief that fox-viewers will swallow without question such large chunks of tripe, can be boiled down into one single question: “What are they afraid of?”

The answer is as old as our nation. Perhaps they are afraid of losing their made-up history. Perhaps they are afraid of losing their place in the caste?

According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the first appearance in print of the adjective white in reference to “a white man, a person of a race distinguished by a light complexion” was in 1671. Colonial charters and other official documents written in the 1600s and early 1700s rarely refer to European colonists as white.

As the status of people of African descent in the British colonies was challenged and attacked, and as white indentured servants were given new rights and status, the word white continued to be more widely used in public documents and private papers to describe the European colonists. People of European descent were considered white, and those of African descent were labeled black. Historian Robin D. G. Kelley explains:

“‘Many of the European-descended poor whites began to identify themselves, if not directly with the rich whites, certainly with being white. And here you get the emergence of this idea of a white race as a way to distinguish themselves from those dark-skinned people who they associate with perpetual slavery.‘”(facinghistory.org – inventing black and white)

Inventing white and black, dividing black and white. Colonists, always greatly outnumbered by the people they colonized – therefore deeply afraid of the people they colonized – relied on one highly useful trick: divide the people so they will fight amongst themselves.”

Fox News, as yesterday demonstrated by Bret Baier, works to carry on the colonial tradition.

After Bacon’s Rebellion, Virginia’s lawmakers began to make legal distinctions between “white” and “black” inhabitants. By permanently enslaving Virginians of African descent and giving poor white indentured servants and farmers some new rights and status, they hoped to separate the two groups and make it less likely that they would unite again in rebellion.

What they are afraid of is insidious: the fox is afraid that we will unite. They are afraid that we will fulfill the great promise of these United States of America. They are afraid that we will stop demonizing each other according to made-up lines of division and treat each other with the respect and divine promise of our nation: that all people are created equal. That all people deserve to be treated fairly, taxed equally, afforded an equal playing field…

The fox fears that we will come together, cooperate, and finally see through the manufactured division, the if-you-gain-I-lose fantasy. They fear we will see-through and transcend the colonial-control-game, that we will step out of the brain-baking heat of division, and enter the ancient place, the sanctuary known as rule by the people and for the people. For all people.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE SANCTUARY

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Scratches On The Wall [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Scratches on the wall. Petroglyphs, the only evidence that remains of a people who once lived in these canyons, who lived by the river we’ve named Fremont. We do not know if they had a name for the river. We do not know if they had a name for themselves. We call them the Fremont, after the river. A location name.

The Fremont River is named for an American explorer, John Charles Fremont, so the people who scratched pictures into the rock over 1,000 years ago also carry his name. As is the nature of history, we locate them from our point of view. We build an identity-structure and civilization-story about them based upon our story of them. We’ve placed them in our narrative timeline, 1 – 1300 CE. We have no idea how they thought of or marked their time.

We have no idea what became of them. They disappeared into time. We have no idea what the petroglyphs mean or why they scratched them into the canyon walls. We wonder at the semiotics, the inner symbolic life that produced such strange (to us) images that remain on the red rock walls.

This morning, through my COVID aches and chills, I watched the news. I would like to say that I am mystified by the civilization-story currently being spun and supported by half of my nation but I am not. I would like to say that the hatred and fear-mongering of the red hat tribe is as much a mystery to me as the way of the Fremont, but it is not. The concurrent xenophobia and wild-eyed-creation of an internal enemy (anyone not in a red hat) has roots that are all too easy to see. It’s a fascist popcorn trail, a page from Hitler’s handbook. The language is identical. The images, scratched into the red-fox-walls of our time are all too easy to interpret. A frightened and misinformed populace is easily manipulated. Fooled.

What is a mystery to me is the inner symbolic life of my nation’s conservatives that seem so ready to trade our sacred democracy for a populist authoritarian. What scratches on the walls of their minds are so easily storied into hatred. What has so hardened their hearts that they embrace with cheers the repulsive bile spewed by their candidate? It is as incomprehensible to me as the petroglyphs of the Fremont.

All societies disappear into time. Ours, relative to the Fremont, is still in its infancy. We can only hope that an explorer in some distant future finds our petroglyphs – and although a mystery to them, we will have known that we transcended the authoritarian threat and overcame the fox-fear-fantasy, manufactured hatred and dark lies. And, over the next thousand years, our scratches on the wall tell the tale of how we matured to fulfill the promise of our sacred ideals. Out of many, one.

read Kerri’s blogpost about PETROGLYPHS

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Look In The Mirror [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“…the Impressionists took seriously what we now often fear: that when life changes outwardly, culture must change inwardly.” ~ Jason Farago, How the Impressionists Became the World’s Favorite Painters, and the Most Misunderstood

If the word zion means “a holy place”, then Zion National Park is aptly named. Even overrun with tourists crammed in shuttles, it remains sacred. Beyond us. We are, after all, a mere blip in its history.

“Imagine how long it took to sculpt these canyons!” Charlie exclaimed. Eons. I overheard a woman on the path to the Narrows say, “It invites awe.” It is good to occasionally put our lives in proper perspective, to glimpse our smallness. Invite awe. That is one of the roles of the sacred.

While the world’s first democracy was being formed in the 5th century BCE in Athens, Greece, the grand walls of Zion were already much as they are today. Both were sacred: the new idea of “rule by the people” and the impossible grandeur of the ancient canyons.

In our present day democracy we are meant to be in service to something bigger than ourselves. The people across generations. That, too, is one of the meanings and roles of the “sacred”. To give us perspective relative to the higher ideal of our constitution as it matures in the future.

The maga-clan would have us flip the equation and dismantle the sacred. The outward changes are visible everywhere. Lies replace truth, self-service erodes the constitution, the higher ideal. The red candidate claims to have all the answers, fundamentally misunderstanding and undermining rule-by-the-people. We are, after all, a democratic republic not an authoritarian cesspool.

At one time in our history, being found liable for rape would have disqualified a candidate. Multiple felony convictions would have immediately ended a presidential campaign. Outlandish and persistent lies, inflicting real harm on people in the nation, would have horrified the electorate. A campaign driven by thuggery and grift would have burst into flames and disappeared from the public stage. An insurrectionist would once have been jailed and forgotten. And yet, here we are. Outward changes.

“…when life changes outwardly, culture must change inwardly.

Ethics, moral decency, service to a higher ideal are completely absent in the maga-canon and the Project 2025 playbook. That so many in our nation, despite all we know, are willing to vote for a rapist, a liar, a grifter, a felon, a misogynist, a racist, a fear-mongerer…gives us a mirror with which we might glimpse our inward changes. The loss of the sacred. To fifty percent of our nation (it seems by the polling) our system of governance has been reduced from a sacred ideal to a superficial transaction. There is an unholy price to pay for winning-at-all-cost.

We have a choice in November. We can continue to create and protect our Zion, our rule-by-the-people, or we can take it down, throw it away and give the reins of power, not to the people, but to an angry narcissist who threatens to seek retribution and eliminate his political rivals.

Luckily, the choice is not his. It is ours. Look in the mirror while there is still time. Take a good hard look. Help others to look in the mirror and then vote to sustain rather than scrap our sacred democracy.

read Kerri’s blogpost about ZION

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Take It Back [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Last evening, watching the sky transform from brilliant pink to deep purple and orange, we ate an entire bag of Lays Wavy potato chips. Kerri called it, “political angst eating”.

20 told us that he had to stop watching The Handmaid’s Tale because it was too close to the reality we currently face in the nation.

This morning two relevant-to-the-moment pieces of art rolled across our screens and collided. The first is Lighthouse, a new song by Stevie Nicks. In this mind-boggling time that women’s rights are under attack – that women are under attack – it is a call to action. “Is it a nightmare?” she asks. “It is unless you save it/ and that’s that/Unless you stand up/And take it back…”

The second, ROED, a short 10 minute documentary film by Dawn Lambing. It takes a page from Project 2025 and imagines what the nation will look like for women if the authoritarian maga get their wish. While watching it I realized that it is already the present reality for women in many red states. Watch it. This is no longer an exercise of “what if”. It’s here.

The Atlantic recently published an article, The Republican Freak Show: Like the man who leads it, the GOP is not just incidentally grotesque. It is grotesque at its core. In the article, Peter Wehner writes, “Since 2016 they have been at war with reality, delighting in their dime-store nihilism, creating “alternative facts” and tortured explanations to justify lawlessness and moral depravity and derangement of their leader…None of this is hidden…No one who supports the Republican party, who casts a vote for Trump and for his MAGA acolytes, can say they don’t know. They know.”

They know. It is the answer to the question we ask each day after our daily horror-troll of the news: “How can they not know.” It’s time to ask a better question. It’s time to stop pretending that they are ignorant or continually justifying their unwavering support of their depraved candidate with generous excuses like,” They just don’t see it”. They do see it.

They know. It is what they want for our nation. Women stripped of their fundamental rights. Mass deportations. The suspension of the Constitution. Book bans. The gutting of Medicare and Social Security. The elimination of the Department of Education. It goes on and on. Dangerous stuff worthy of a dystopian novel. Yet here we are. If you believe the polls, nearly 50% of our nation think the freak show is the way to go.

They know.

It is what makes Kerri and me eat entire bags of Lays Wavy potato chips. It’s why 20 stopped watching The Handmaid’s Tale.

“Is it a nightmare?” Stevie Nicks asks. Yes. Yes it is. “And that’s that/Unless you stand up/And take it back…”

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about PINK

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Ponder Pure Action [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“Raise your words, not voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder.” ~ Rumi

Although now it’s ubiquitous in the social media sphere, to be an “influencer” is a relatively new term of in the canon of aspirations. To affect, to sway, to direct, to shape, to guide… Someone recently suggested that Kerri and I should attempt to become influencers and we both cringed. For us, there’s something shallow about that word that makes us recoil. We write everyday because we enjoy writing and are very aware that our love of writing does not necessarily mean that we have anything new or of value to say. We like to write together. We like to share what we write.

I recently read a Taoist tenet: cease trying to influence others or to be influenced by others. It’s a notion meant to speak to the pursuit of happiness. Essentially it recommends stopping the pursuit. Happiness is not a thing to be caught. It is not something to be attained. The tenet is a suggestion to stand still, to act purely according to what presents itself in the moment. To act without thought or desire of any imagined gain. Happiness is bubbling in the present moment, expressed through pure action. Taoists – as I understand it – call this non-action (as opposed to inaction). Wu Wei.

Pure action. Effortless.

When Kamala Harris became the Democrat nominee, we wondered what we could do to help. Previous to her entrance into the race, the ugly-red-tide seemed impossible to stop. She brought light and new energy. We read – somewhere – that in order to help her, people should do what they already do, do what they do best. And so, in this present moment, we write. I cannot claim to be pure in my action since I hold the hope of influencing a few hearts and minds out there, somewhere in the nation, to fully understand the power of their vote and the need to know what they are voting for.

Yesterday on our walk we crossed paths and had a chat with a friend and, of course, talked about politics. As a professor, he said each day, regardless of the topic or the lesson, now more than ever, he is trying to teach his students critical thinking skills. “They no longer know what is fact and what is made-up. They have to learn to question,” he said, “They have to learn to think for themselves, beyond what they are hearing in social media.”

Pure action. I told him that the imperative to teach critical thinking places him on the frontlines. A thinking person could not – would not – vote for the maga-candidate. There is plenty of desire in the red-tide to remove critical thinking from higher education – from all forms of education. To narrow rather than expand minds.

After we went on our way I realized that Kerri and I are doing in our writing exactly what our professor friend is doing in his classroom: attempting to inspire critical thinking. Pointing the direction to questions and to discernment, challenging those swallowing whole-cloth the dangerous-maga-fox-misinformation to open their eyes, to pop the info-bubble.

“I tell my students that it’s easy to find the truth,” the professor said. “You just have to want to see it.”

Nurture Me on the album Released from the Heart © 1995 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE RAIN

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Right Before Our Eyes [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

If you are like me, this image took a moment to grok. All the elements are apparent yet, at first, my brain couldn’t pull the pieces together. Kerri, standing outside the front door, took the photo of Dogga on the inside staring out. What is reflection? What is image-through-the glass? It reminds me of those famous drawings that can be seen in completely different ways, the old crone and the young woman. One drawing, two possible images. An optical illusion.

After the image of Dogga-in-the-glass came into focus for me, Kerri exclaimed, “I can’t believe it took you so long to see it!”

MC Escher made a career of creating optical illusions. Stairways to nowhere. Hands drawing hands. The mathematics of art and design. We are rarely aware that our brains assign rather than discover meaning, selecting and assembling pieces in order to sense-make. Like well-worn paths through the woods, our sense-making carves default channels: we see what we expect to see. We see it because we believe it, not the other way around. That is to say, we rarely see beyond what we think. Thinking paths-of-least-resistance render us blind.

The pursuit of truth is to see beyond our well-worn paths. Escher knew that. His images play with our expectations. His images, for a moment, shock us into seeing beyond our expectation.

Factors like age or cultural orientation create biases in the making of meaning, in the assembly of the illusion. For instance, in the drawing of the old/young woman, older people will more often see the old woman while younger people will almost always see the young woman. If you happen to come from a culture that is not inundated with images (there are a few remaining on the planet), it is likely that you would only see scribbles on a page. You would see neither the old or the young woman.

Your normal is not my normal. Your well-worn thought-paths are different than mine.

Given identical experiences, your sense-making will differ from mine. It is the genius behind our system of governance. That two opposing points of view might come together, discuss what they think-they-see and compromise on a best path forward, is the foundation-stone of our democratic system. The genius begins when allowing that one party sees an old woman while the other sees a woman who is young. Both can be valid. Both can exist on the same page.

Allowing for and valuing differences of perspective leads to common ground, shared action.

On the other hand, the same system collapses when what is immediately apparent to both parties is summarily denied by one side of the aisle. It’s another type of illusion altogether: the negation of the obvious. For instance, our last presidential election endured 65 challenges in court and all were summarily thrown out for lack of evidence. Both sides knew – and know – without doubt that the election was valid, free and fair yet the red-hat team continues to fearmonger, pounding the drum of corruption, wearing another kind of thought-path in the minds of their constituents, rendering them blind.

There is a clear distinction between sorting out differences and creating them to exploit fear.

Coming together, in an attempt to see beyond expectations, respecting differing perspectives, valuing the multiple perceptions of a diverse nation in order to stand on common ground is democracy at its best. Creating division, whipping up disunity, negating and devaluing the perspectives and values of others spells the end of democracy. It intentionally pulls the nation apart.

Democracies pursue truth. Autocracies thrive on falsehoods. The choice we face is abundantly clear and right before our eyes. As a nation, all we need do is step off our well-worn thought-paths and open our eyes.

read Kerri’s blog about ILLUSIONS

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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

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As Clear As The Pollen [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Although Dogga adamantly denies rooting around in the ragweed next to our neighbor’s fence, the evidence is as clear as the pollen on his face. Some things are just undeniable.

Of course, as we are experiencing, the overabundance of evidence, unassailable facts, do not stop deniers from denying, liars from lying. Crowd size comes to mind. Elections lost.

Against her better judgment Kerri responded to an acquaintance’s post. It was riddled with misinformation. She supplied a fact-check. “I can’t take it!” she sighed. And, as she experienced (again), present a denier with evidence and they will double-down. In this case, a tsunami of conspiracy theory rushed back her way. I counted layers of cultish nonsense.

“How is this possible?” she asked.

Cultish. Number one on the list of cultish characteristics is that the members exist in a bubble, cut off from verifiable reality. The cult serves as the only source of truth and community; an echo chamber of gibberish. Other cult characteristics include an Us-versus-Them mentality, gaslighting, apocalyptic thinking…thought control.

The cult provides a sense of belonging.

Facts and data are threatening to a cult. It threatens the fabricated-story inside the bubble. If the bubble pops then the members face untenable questions: To what do I actually belong? How could I not see it?

And so, as bubble-protection, every response to irrefutable facts must always be a conspiracy. It’s the pat answer for everything, the fortress for gobbledygook. Non-sense. Drivel. Bilge. No evidence required. Apocalyptic thinking is all that is necessary to keep the gaslight glowing and the fear-fury burning. The more outlandish the accusation – the more apocalyptic the hot air – the better. Erasing the boundaries of reason makes room for greater and greater rubbish.

Of course, I am not unique in making the observation that maga is a cult.

“What do we do?” Kerri asked, astounded at the rush of nonsense that came back her way when she contradicted the ridiculous with evidence and reason.

We vote. We get out the vote. We give up speaking sense or fact to hooey-worshippers. And then we prepare for another tsunami of lies and unnecessary violence unleashed when their sore-loser-leader cries “Foul” yet again. He’s already started. Just like the last time. And, just like last time, no amount of evidence will mollify the cult-faithful. No amount of fact or data will open their eyes. Nothing will penetrate their childlike devotion to their big daddy – yet another characteristic of a sad, dangerous cult. Who exactly is “the enemy within”?

The evidence is as clear as the pollen on Dogga’s face.

read Kerri’s blogpost about POLLEN NOSE

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Give Over [David’s blog on KS Friday]

In the pontoon boat I give over. I do not drive so I make no significant decisions. I sit in a sunny spot. I laugh with good friends or am quiet. There are snacks. I open myself to whatever comes my way. I give-over.

It seems so easy on the pontoon boat. To relax. To go with the flow. To forget the all-important-lists. To drop the illusion that I am more than I am. No need to achieve, to prove, to strive, to become. On the pontoon boat I am just this. I am with friends. We move slowly. We chase nothing. We circumnavigate the lake. On the pontoon boat I am enough – and I know because I do not think about it at all. I measure nothing. No need to measure up.

I wonder why I reserve this kind of living to time on the pontoon boat.

Yesterday was an exceedingly hard day. I filled my cup with discord and self-loathing. I was a wasteland.

The boat is not magic. The peace I feel is not given to me by the boat. I give it to myself. My friends are with me whether we ride the boat or not. The reasons for my discord existed only in my mind. A very dark cloud. In my mind I did not measure up. I withheld peace and chose inner-enmity. Why?

You would think the grace I afford myself when riding in the pontoon boat would be available when riding on the earth as we circle and circle the sun. Why is my ride on this earth any different than my ride on the pontoon boat? Why would I choose anything other than grace?

When not on the pontoon boat am I not capable of opening myself to whatever comes my way? What – other than myself – prevents me from giving-over?

I measure illusions against illusions to fully achieve my misery.

The illusions and incessant measurement are what I drop when climbing onto the pontoon boat. They are what I easily-give-over when taking my seat in the sun with friends. How much more important is it to give-over the illusions with the same ease while inhabiting this seat as I circle and circle the sun?

Time Together on the album This Part of the Journey © 1998 Kerri Sherwood

The music Kerri has recorded is available on iTunes and streaming on Pandora.

read Kerri’s blogpost about the PONTOON BOAT

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