A Poet’s Revelation [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Some enlightened poet/scientist named this little flower Shooting Star. The flower evoked for the scientist streaks of light arcing across the night sky. The scientist must have had a profound experience one night, gazing into the stars when, suddenly, the stars seemed to go haywire, zipping across the sky.

My first ever meteor shower happened while I was a teenager. I was in the mountains. I lay in a meadow with my friends and watched the heavens dance. It made me understand how so many cultures on this earth believe that shooting stars are either souls returning to the earth to be reborn or the souls of the recently deceased leaping into the other world. Souls in transition leaving a brilliant, momentary trace of light behind them.

Still other cultures believe that shooting stars are messages from the gods. Affirmations.

The message I received from my night in the mountain meadow watching the stars arc across the sky? I am infinitesimally small in this vast universe. And, I am intimately connected to everything. It’s a poet’s revelation.

The scientist who named the flower Shooting Star must have had the exact same realization.

[Bonus hope: A poet’s thought in a world of oppression in which we are connected to everything]

I Look At The World ~ Langston Hughes

I look at the world
From awakening eyes in a black face—
And this is what I see:
This fenced-off narrow space
Assigned to me.

I look then at the silly walls
Through dark eyes in a dark face—
And this is what I know:
That all these walls oppression builds
Will have to go!

I look at my own body
With eyes no longer blind—
And I see that my own hands can make
The world that’s in my mind.
Then let us hurry, comrades,
The road to find.

Blueprint For My Soul on the album The Best So Far © 1996/9 Kerri Sherwood

Kerri’s albums – borne of her poet’s revelation – are available on iTunes and streaming on Pandora

read Kerri’s blogpost about SHOOTING STARS

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Follow The Lines [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

“In the art world, lines are a fundamental element used to create a wide variety of effects. They can define shapes, create movement, guide the viewer’s eye…” ~A-I Overview to my inquiry about lines in art

I confess that I am having a hard time. I’m in the middle of a mini-moral crisis.

I’ve written this blog since 2010. I set out to write about positive things, affirmations and stories of the best of us. At the time I began writing I was traveling around the nation, working with incredible people everywhere I went, so I had a bucketful of stories to share, celebrating the best of the human spirit. Kerri and I began writing our Melange 382 weeks ago. We had so much art and music in our folios and files and we wanted to bring them into the light of day. Sharing the best of us – another way of celebrating the human spirit.

After all of these years I enjoy a small but enormously appreciated (by me) audience.

Lately, I am aware, that my daily writing and my focus is not about celebrating the best of us but has almost exclusively become about ringing an alarm against the worst of us. I am sometimes snarky. I am mostly horrified at how dulled we as a nation have become to the outrageous. I am alarmed at our normalization of the monstrous, the disappearance of Congress, the collapse of the system of checks and balances.

Each day I have a chat with myself about staying focused on the positive but I am lately finding that to be naive to the point of dangerous; it is akin to sticking my head in the sand or plugging my ears so I hear no evil.

Each day, more and more people are being swept off our streets. Each day, they are denied due process. This morning I’ve been reading – and verifying – accounts about the unnecessary death of a Haitian woman in one of our many overcrowded detention centers. The conditions are appalling. She is not the first. She will not be the last. Her crime: trying to escape abject poverty and enter the land of the free and the home of the brave.

90% of the people – human beings – are being held without due process in privately run detention centers that are by many accounts no better than concentration camps. Think about it: “privately run” means that they are detention-for-profit; the more people swept up and crammed into these camps the more money they make. Inhumanity with a profit incentive.

Which brings me to my moral crisis. I am both a visual and theatre artist. I know how to create movement that guides a viewer’s eye. I know how to make an audience see in a story what I want them to see. I also know how to prevent them from seeing what I don’t want them to see. It’s akin to the magician’s trick. Create a distraction so the mechanics of the trick go unnoticed. Our national media are masters of distraction. They make rather than report news.

We-the-people are being distracted. We are being pitted against each other so we do not look at the magic trick that is making our rights – and the rights of others – disappear. We are not supposed to see what is happening in the detention centers – we are not supposed to know how our taxes are being used, what we are paying for, what we are creating: a police state.

Follow the lines. It is not so hard to see what we are not supposed to see. It’s ugly. A president ignoring the law, exploiting brutal immigration sweeps to incite violence, manufacture an “insurrection” in order to turn the military against citizens. The suspension of elections will surely follow. The sweeps will include voices of opposition.

It is morally irresponsible to look the other way. It’s morally reprehensible to say, “There’s nothing we can do about it,” or “I didn’t vote for this,” or “I had no idea what was happening,” or “This doesn’t impact me.” It is fundamentally immoral to pretend that this is something that we “Can’t talk about.” It is depraved to roll along as if the current course of this nation is anything other than ethically bankrupt. People are dying, being held without due process in deplorable circumstances. And we-the-people are paying for it. We don’t like where the lines lead so we change the channel. We look the other way or swallow whole-cloth the media spin.

What is my responsibility to write? To paint? To draw? How can I celebrate the human spirit, the best of us, when the leaders of the nation are every day grinning at, applauding and investing in brutality, taking delight in human misery? And our tax dollars are making it possible.

a detail of Weeping Man.

read Kerri’s blogpost about LINES

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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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The Freedom To Dance [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

The juxtaposition was startling. At the exact moment that we were packed in a raucous dancing and cheering crowd, watching our son Craig, an EDM artist, perform at PRIDE Milwaukee, the dictator wannabe was threatening martial law and sending National Guard troops to Los Angeles to quell what his toadies are trying to call “an insurrection”.

The celebration of individual freedoms meets the crushing of individual freedoms.

The language is important. By every account (except on fox news) the protests against the draconian ICE raids were mostly peaceful. The Los Angeles Police Department published a letter praising the protestors for peacefully exercising their First Amendment right. Even so, the word that the Republican administration wields is “Insurrection”. This is not an accident. It is laying groundwork for the invocation of The Insurrection Act, which “authorizes the president to deploy military forces inside the United States to suppress rebellion or domestic violence or to enforce the law…”

A protest is not an insurrection. What we witnessed on January 6, 2020 was an insurrection: a violent uprising against the government. What we are seeing in Los Angeles is a citizen’s right to protest.

The Republican administration has been paving the way for the final move in their authoritarian takeover for months, branding campus protests “illegal” and threatening to withhold funding from colleges and universities that allow “illegal” protests – meanwhile arresting and deporting international students. The arrests and deportations of noncitizen students and scholars for expressing their political views are creating a climate of fear on campuses across the country,” said John Raphling, associate US program director at Human Rights Watch. “The Trump administration’s actions are an attack on free speech and threaten the very foundations of a free society.” 

The music pulsing, the crowd reveling, I was suddenly overwhelmed. I stopped dancing and watched the people. PRIDE began as a commemoration of resistance: in The Stonewall riots and demonstrations the LGBTQ community “fought back against government sponsored persecution.” 55 years later, I recognized my privilege to stand with a community of people celebrating their individual freedom and triumph over government sponsored persecution.

What’s happening in Los Angeles and across this nation? It is the Republican-led government violently uprising against the fundamental rights of the people. It is – just like January 6th – an insurrection against our democratic institutions and ideals. Make no mistake: the people in LA are coming together to fight back against government persecution, the creation of a police state and authoritarian attack on our democracy.

I can only hope that 55 years from now, some proud father, dancing in a crowd of thousands to his son’s thunderous music in a commemoration-celebration of the people’s triumph over their government-run-amok, will, like me, be overwhelmed when he recognizes the profound meaning of the moment: the exercise of his privilege in a nation that, once, when faced with authoritarianism, vehemently defended individual freedoms, democracy and the right to protest. For a moment he will stand in awe and then, swept back into his son’s vibrant music, will give himself over to the pulse, the heartbeat, the freedom to dance.

read Kerri’s blogpost about PRIDE

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Be Yourself. Stand. [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

All you need to know about the right to be yourself – and the current assault on that fundamental right – is found in this opinion piece by David Brooks: I’m Normally A Mild Guy. Here’s What’s Pushed Me Over The Edge.

“Deneen’s and Vance’s comments about men in combat are part of a larger project at the core of Trumpism. It is to rebut the notion that America is not only a homeland, though it is that, but it is also an idea and a moral cause — that America stands for a set of universal principles: the principle that all men are created equal, that they are endowed with inalienable rights, that democracy is the form of government that best recognizes human dignity and best honors beings who are made in the image of God.

To reiterate his point – seriously – take a moment and consider: The United States of America is an idea and a moral cause (not just a place). It stands for a set of universal principles: All men (people) are created equal. All people are endowed with inalienable rights. Democracy is the a form of government that best recognizes human dignity.

It is our fundamental belief in the ideal of equality, our steadfast dedication to protecting the inalienable rights of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness…due process…that affords and uplifts the right to be yourself. Not everyone on this earth is bestowed with the right to be themselves.

Currently, we are poised to lose it.

“Trumpism can be seen as a giant attempt to amputate the highest aspirations of the human spirit and to reduce us to our most primitive, atavistic tendencies.” ~ David Brooks

We are witness to the amputation of our highest aspirations in the baseless attacks on transgender people, in the scrubbing of DEI initiatives, the assault on institutions of higher education, the gutting of government agencies, the whitewashing of our history, the attack on news and media outlets, the assault on women’s rights, the draconian deportation and incarceration of immigrants, the ignoring of due process, the blatant shift of wealth to the hands of the few at the expense of the many, the gross and unapologetic profiteering by the president and his family…

It is meant to make us fearful. It is meant to make us feel powerless. It is meant to make us numb. It is meant to bully us into silent compliance. It is meant to deprive all of us of our basic rights as human beings. John Pavlovitz wrote:

LGBTQ human beings in this country have never been more vulnerable or at risk than they are today. This Administration has built a platform upon their dehumanization. It is relentlessly targeting them with dangerous propaganda, willful disinformation, and predatory legislation, all designed to pander to the uneducated, ignorant, and fearful religious people who encompass their hateful base. Our trans brothers and sisters, in particular, have been fashioned into the monstrous enemy for them to aim their perverted theology toward.

A few weeks ago I used a quote attributed to Oscar Wilde: “Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.” If you are straight and white in the USA and find it hard to be yourself, just imagine what it takes to be gay and proudly (safely) be yourself. Imagine, if you can, what courage and fortitude it must take to be trans and be yourself.

The United States of America is an idea and a moral cause. It stands for a set of universal principles and inalienable rights. “Universal” means for all people, regardless of race, ethnicity, gender or sexual orientation. Democracy is the a form of government that best recognizes human dignity.

PRIDE cannot be a date on the calendar, it must be the calendar, a lifestyle that clearly declares that discrimination will not comfortably exist around us, no matter where it comes from.” ~ John Pavlovitz

This is PRIDE month. Be yourself. Stand for every human beings’ right to be themself. Do it now because your inalienable rights, your right to be yourself is rapidly disappearing.

[I wrote this post ahead of time, prior to the events now unfolding in Los Angeles. It is a historical moment, watching our inalienable rights disappear in this authoritarian take-down of democracy. I suppose we should not be surprised that the Republicans in Congress continue to mimic and support their standard bearer and chicken-out as history calls upon them to stand up, to speak truth, to honor their oath to serve and protect the Constitution. A sad moment for all of us.]

read Kerri’s blogpost about BE YOURSELF

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The Original Message [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

This is our first ever re-post of a smack-dab. We first posted it exactly 52 weeks ago at the beginning of PRIDE month 2024. Our nation is a much different place now than it was a year ago. Or, perhaps it is not so different. Perhaps the ugly face of our nation is now visible, unmasked. Homophobia is but one of the many phobias run amok in the meager minds of our Republican controlled courage-less capitol.

The problem with their collective yellow-belly is that it sanctions violence against all the colors of the rainbow. Wrapping a cloak of religious righteousness around prejudice and cruelty does not change it. It permits it.

The people participating in PRIDE events all across this nation this month are showing more courage, demonstrating more of the authentic American spirit of freedom-of-expression and inclusion – than the rigid right will ever understand. It is the celebration of difference that has always made our nation vital.

Given our current technical limitations we were going to use the same smack-dab images from last year and rewrite the dialogue – but decided against it. We liked the original message: love is love. Period.

read Kerri’s blogpost about PRIDE MONTH

smack-dab © 2024/5 kerrianddavid.com

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A Closer Look [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.” ~ Thomas Merton

A closer look at the dandelion reveals a fractal. Each level a repeat of the same or similar pattern at a progressively smaller scale.

Listen to your inner monologue. It is the story that you tell yourself about yourself. Listen to the stories in the news or racing across your social media screen. They are the stories that society is telling itself about itself. Any good novelist or playwright will tell you that conflict is the motor of story. Note: conflict need not be violent. Longing is a conflict. Unrequited love is a conflict. A search for meaning is a conflict. A closer look at humanity reveals a fractal. Each level a repeat of the same or similar pattern at a progressively smaller scale.

Robert Olen Butler defined story this way: “When a yearning meets an obstacle.” I believe words matter. I have always appreciated Robert Olen Butler’s definition of story because it does not use the word “conflict”. It is the fractal of the human experience.

The Buddhists teach that desire is the cause of suffering. I giggle every time I consider that marketing is essentially the creation of desire so it follows that it is the engine of suffering. The peace found in possession is fleeting. My Buddhist cartoon: retail therapy is but a single stop on a continuous cycle of suffering. If I was a teacher of story-writing I’d send my students to the outlet mall to study shoppers. My bet is that they’d eventually recognize themselves in the shoppers; then they’d have something essential to write about.

Picasso said, “Every painting is a self-portrait.” His sentiment is a fractal. We watch movies to see ourselves. We attend concerts to transcend ourselves – to lose and then find ourselves in the music.

A closer look at us reveals a fractal. We are both the yearning and the obstacle. A repeat of the same or similar pattern no matter the level or the scale.

Fistful of Dandelions © 1999 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE DANDELION

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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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On The Mystery Trail [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

It’s no secret that we watch hiking videos before turning out the light for the night. There’s something comforting about people unplugging from the national nonsense and thru-hiking The Pacific Crest Trail. There’s something reassuring about people reducing their needs to the simple basics only to discover that the real essential – as important as food – is companionship. Giving and receiving support. There’s genuine kindness to be found on the trail that is not found in our current national story.

Last night we veered off trail and clicked on a story about Bigfoot encounters. Beyond the curious tales, a few of which sounded more extraterrestrial than large-furry-creature, I was struck by the process each person went through to make sense of their encounter. In the absence of a sense-socket-to-plug-into, they defaulted to something recognizable: a religious explanation or contact with an other-world-alien, Hollywood style. One man has spent years searching for others who had a similar experience or for someone who might help him understand what he saw. He admitted that his story sounded insane – and, previous to his encounter, he said, “Had I heard someone tell a similar tale, I’d have rolled my eyes. Not anymore,” adding, “It opened me,” he said.

People do not easily stand alone in the unknown. It is not comfortable. Not-knowing is more doable with company.

Listening to their stories I recognized that the unknown, like life on the trail, has a way of stripping us back to basics. When all of the layers of our mind-armor – our “knowing” – are peeled away, we do the most human thing possible: we reach for others. Even if slamming the door on the encounter is the initial response, the second action is to reach. To corroborate or to find comfort. To have companionship on the mystery trail.

This morning we sat in bed sipping coffee and told the unexplainable stories from our lives. Our coming-together-story is full of the impossible-to-understand. Sometimes we ascribe it to chance and sometimes to kismet. Good guiding angels or happenstance, either way, for us, it is a kind of miracle.

Hamlet always jumps to my mind when I dance on the edge of these delicious questions of guidance or fate or coincidence: “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” Hamlet sees the ghost of his father and asks: “Be thou a spirit of health or a goblin damned?” Is this ghost from heaven or sent from hell? The rest of the play is a detective story, a young Hamlet trying to answer his question, trying to make sense of his ghost encounter. He pretends madness in order to investigate, to find the truth of what he has seen.

Ultimately, like all of us, Hamlet finds peace, not because he finds an answer, but because he makes peace with life as an unanswerable question. “There is special providence in the fall of a sparrow…”

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE SUN AND CLOUD

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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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