Posted on September 26, 2023 by davidrobinsoncreative
The sun had set. The pond lights aglow. The night was quiet with occasional bursts of the cicada chorus. We were exhausted from the day. I saw its silhouette when Dogga ran his usual circuit by the pond. It leapt across the light and plopped into the water. A frog.
“What are you doing?” Kerri asked as I jumped from my chair.
“But it’s late September!” I said. She narrowed her eyes, my reply too random for synapse connection. “I just saw a frog!” I announced and she was instantly by my side. We stayed by the water for several minutes, searching, but saw no further sign. “I didn’t imagine it,” I whispered. “I saw it. We have a frog.”
“I know.”
I’d like to say that we didn’t need some sign of hope, some whisper of encouragement, but it would be a lie. This unlikely frog, coming so late in the season, seemed like a sign or at least we decided to make it so. “Things are going to change for the better,” she said. I nodded. I was so tired I wanted to blubber with giddy-frog-inspired-relief.
“I’ll take my hope anyway I can get it,” I said.
“That’s what we should name it!” she replied. “Hope.”
Yes. Hope. A silhouette flashing across the light on an otherwise quiet dark night. A leap. A glimpse. And suddenly, anything is possible.
Posted on September 25, 2023 by davidrobinsoncreative
We open the garage, push the VW Bug out into the sunlight for its annual washing. It’s a yearly ritual. After cleaning the garage and scrubbing the Bug, we push it back into the garage and cover it like a sacred object (it is).
This was Kerri’s first car. Her parents bought it when they vacationed in Europe in the 70’s. They shipped it back to the states. After a time, they “sold” it to her. It was light blue then. Now, it is titanium white.
It hasn’t run in the decade that I’ve lived here but that is of no matter. It is filled with stories. It is filled with connection to her parents. She’s walked up to line a few times, thinking she should sell it to someone who’ll fix it up, get it running again. She steps back from the line, “Not yet. Not yet.” After all, it’s not simply a car that she’d be selling.
“Maybe I should take pictures of it, make it into a Shutterfly book. Then I’d have the memories,” she says, suds to her elbows, as she gives the VW Bug its yearly bath. This, too, is part of the ritual. Imagining it gone. Imagining letting it go.
“That’s a good idea,” I say, playing my part in the ritual.
She climbs in the driver’s seat, releases the brake. “Okay!” she says and waves to me. I put my shoulder into it and push the Bug back into the garage. Her connection to her mom and dad, their stories, her stories, safely tucked in for another year.
Posted on September 23, 2023 by davidrobinsoncreative
Training manual for an artist’s life: there are times of plenty. There are times of pain. In the times of plenty it is impossible not to know there will be times of pain. In times of pain, it is impossible not to believe that there will be times of plenty. The tide rolls in. The tide rolls out (just as in every other life).
The results? There are two that accompany both times of plenty and times of pain. 1) The ever-present weird comparison. This meal = a week’s groceries. The weird comparison is probably why we love to cook at home. And we do. We love it. 2) The unassailable hope. It’s an exercise in focus-placement. It’s never really about the cost; it’s about focusing on the experience. We regularly split a burger and a glass of wine whether in times of pain or times of plenty. We regularly love every minute.
Pain and plenty are both worthy experiences on the full palette of life. We are capable of savoring a side salad. We laugh all the way home because the tip is often the most expensive portion of our bill (our daughter and my mother did serious time as wait-staff and we know the value of a great tip).
Loving both ends of the spectrum simply means that we are fully loving life. And we are. It’s not really about the food anyway.
Posted on September 22, 2023 by davidrobinsoncreative
The sound of the tree cracking sent us scurrying. We didn’t know if the falling branch was above us so it was best to move until we could locate it. Fifty feet behind us and well off the trail, an enormous branch collapsed, snapped, fell, and broke into several pieces. “What are the odds that we’d be here to see it fall?” Kerri asked. “I wonder what it means when you see a limb or tree fall?”
We Googled the symbolism and, not surprising, it’s either a good omen or a bad omen. It depends on what you choose to believe. It might not mean anything at all. To re-use a favorite quote from Alan Watts,“The whole process of nature is an integrated process of immense complexity, and it’s really impossible to tell whether anything that happens in it is good or bad.” We decided the falling limb was a terrific sign of positive changes on the horizon.
There’s a sigh of relief that comes when you realize that meaning isn’t found, it is made. It is given. We are, all of us whacky humans, in every moment, giving meaning to our experiences. Is it good or bad? That depends on what we choose to see. The real magic happens when the measuring stick of meaning is not based on a polarity. There are infinite colors available between good and bad.
A chance meeting happens because of a missed plane. The loss of a job opens new avenues of possibility. A closed road leads to an amazing discovery. We found a lost puppy on the side of a county road because we made a detour to avoid road work. My heart blew wide open when that puppy leapt into my arms. “We were meant to come this way,” agreeing on the meaning we wanted to make.
Earlier on the trail we found a blue jay feather. The blue bird of happiness. A sign of abundance and healing. Of course, it might also signal the opposite. “I think I’ll go with abundance and healing,” I said.
“Me, too,” Kerri agreed. “Why not?”
[If you want your heart to blow open, listen to Kerri’s THE WAY HOME. It gets me every time]
Posted on September 21, 2023 by davidrobinsoncreative
20 calls me The Tetris Master because I can pack a lifetime of odd-shaped accumulation into the smallest moving van. I have an innate understanding of space. In other words, I am spatial; I feel space.
The first time I stepped into the silo I felt an immediate sense of peace. It was like a little round chapel with a soaring ceiling. Cool air on a hot day. The chair placed at the center of the circle was inviting but I knew I better not sit there. I’d want to stay. I’d fall into the peace. There were too many people moving through the barn. Falling into peace, like falling into a deep meditation, is internal and best done in private.
The silo reminded me of the faerie circle. Barney showed me where it was and told me, “This is your place.” He was right. I sat in the center of the circle of trees and was immediately transported.
It had been years since we visited the gardens and I’d forgotten about the silo. When we entered the barn to look at the antiques, soaps, and clothes on display, I felt the rush of remembrance. Stepping into the cool air, the carpet and single chair were just as I remembered. So was the peace of the circle.
There were less people so I lingered for a moment or two. “Someday I’m going to sit in that chair,” I said to no one listening. I smiled at the notion: and wouldn’t this world be better if we all had a place, a space, like a magnet, that pulled us into our peace?
Posted on September 20, 2023 by davidrobinsoncreative
“We are fragile creatures, and it is from this weakness, not despite it, that we discover the possibility of true joy.” ~ Desmond Tutu, The Book of Joy
The heart-leaf lay on its side. Light peaked through its cracking surface. I was afraid to touch it lest it crumble in my fingers.
Only a few short months ago it was vibrant green, connected, durable. It’s destiny was -and is – as certain as mine. My surface is beginning to crack. Only a short time ago I felt myself vibrant. I thought of myself as indestructible. I am, and always have been, on my way to brittle.
It is this very fact that reminds me to slow down, to turn and feel the sun on my face. It is my limited time on earth that prompts me to lay on my side on warm grass so I might see the full beauty of the delicate tilted heart. To feel the warm hand that squeezes mine.
Posted on September 19, 2023 by davidrobinsoncreative
I have thrown old journals into the fire. Letters from long lost friends have gone into the flames. Paintings, too. More than once, at a retreat, the facilitator asked us to write about fears or obstacles and ceremonially commit them to the flames. A statement of release. A marker in time: letting go.
When I was young I spent many nights in the mountains. The campfire was primal. Light and warmth against the cold dark of night. The fire was safety. In an experience that, to this day, makes me laugh and blush, camping with my brothers and dad, the fire having burned to soft embers, we climbed into our sleeping bags. Deep in the night a large animal crashed through the brush, sent us scared and scrambling to reignite the embers. We stoked a mighty roaring fire. The savage creature circled our camp for hours, snapping branches, staying just beyond the light. Running low on wood and still hours from dawn, we debated what to do. At the height of our anxiety, the peak of our fear, the imagined mountainous hungry bear moooooooo-ed. Our fire kept us safe from a wayward cow.
In our backyard we have a fire pit (a solo stove), a flame tower (propane), tiki torches of all sizes, and a chiminea. No matter the source, we light the flame and inevitably all conversation ceases. We stare, lost in thought, the flames having danced our monkey minds into quiet peace.
In the story, Prometheus steals the spark-of-life from Zeus. Fire. He wants to ignite the hearts of his creations, his humans, made from clay and sticks. He knows that Zeus will disapprove because he’s made his humans beautiful rather than the crude forms Zeus commanded him to make. That’s why he had to steal the fire. To ignite beautiful hearts, capable minds, generous souls. He was successful though Zeus, according to the story, has worked diligently to corrupt the beautiful humans and infuse them with ugliness, keeping them distant from their true nature.
Staring into the fire, with a quiet mind, it’s possible to hear Prometheus’ whisper. In the flame dances the possibility of safety, quiet mind, the capacity to let go the hurt, and for a moment, to re-realize the beauty, ignited by the spark, beating in the hearts of his humans.
This is the first painting in a triptych I created for my performance of The Creatures Of Prometheus – with The Portland Chamber Orchestra. This is “Prometheus:Creation.” 48 x 96IN
Posted on September 18, 2023 by davidrobinsoncreative
They are easy to miss. Glimmers. They appear and disappear so fast. The first sip of coffee in the morning. The hint of fall on the cool breeze. Dogga snuggles in for a pet.
At a dinner party with friends, Kerri and I caught each others eye. It’s good to be alive. Together. With these treasured friends. A tiny smile of a shared recognition.
We made Joan’s tomato soup recipe. Even before we tasted it, the soup wrapped us like a warm comforting blanket.
We set our chairs to catch the waning sun. Also, to see the hummingbird feeder. “I love them!” she exclaimed as the first tiny iridescent bird buzzed in for a drink.
We cursed Jay when we opened the party-size bag of Cape Cod chips. We cursed Frank for saying that Apothic was a very drinkable wine. “Now we can’t help ourselves!” we giggled, having fully divested ourselves of responsibility, diving headlong into our guilty pleasures.
After an exhausting day, we climb into bed with newly washed sheets. “Oh, god!” I sigh.
They are easy to miss. Glimmers. They appear and disappear so fast. They are abundant, like stars in the night. Too many to count. Perhaps that is why they are so easily overlooked.
It’s an odd quirk of human nature to focus almost entirely on the low hanging clouds, to ball our fists and curse our misfortune. Yet, with the smallest bit of intention, focusing on the glimmers is infinitely doable. It’s like a muscle. The more you exercise your glimmer-eyes, the easier it is to see the sparkles. Even through the clouds.
The unique sound of her fingers tap-tapping on the keys. The comfy anticipation of our morning ritual: sharing what we’ve just written.
[I LOVE this piece, Good Moments. If you never have, give it a listen. It will give you a sweet lift]
Posted on September 16, 2023 by davidrobinsoncreative
Yes. It’s true. I’ve been paying on my student loans for 22 years and I currently owe more now than the original loan. That little statistic is not an accident. I am not alone. There are so many of me, in fact, that our economy will teeter when payments resume.
The mechanism was set up in the Reagan years, a mechanism that has more recently been echoed in the Affordable Care Act. What seems like a good idea at the time, accessibility to education, accessibility to healthcare, is in actuality a shell game. The government provides a subsidy-or-loan-program for an industry yet places no cap on what the industry can charge. It places little regulation on how the loans are structured and serviced. It’s a money-making-machine in the guise of a social program. Tax dollars to corporate pockets. Compare the cost of an education in 1988 to what it is today. Compare the cost of healthcare in the USA relative to other developed nations. Once in the trap, it’s nigh-on impossible to escape it.
Do a bit of reading before you weigh in on student loan forgiveness. For extra credit, compare the amount of recent loan forgiveness granted to businesses (not to mention the amount given to large corporations when the economy melted down in the Bush years – due to bad corporate/market practices) relative to the amount proposed for student loan forgiveness by the Biden administration. Student loan forgiveness is peanuts in comparison though the impact on real people would be profound.
For extra-extra credit, keep in mind that humor is often the result of other people’s pain… it’s possible that this cartoon will strike your funny bone since the pain for us is real. We hope it strikes a slightly different bone.
Posted on September 15, 2023 by davidrobinsoncreative
“That men do not learn the lessons of history is the most important of all the lessons of history.” ~Aldous Huxley
You may be as amazed as I to learn that Dogwood is not Doll’s Eye. They have a similar creepy Seussian stare but are not kin. In this brave new world, all we need do is aim Google Lens at the question, “What is that?” and, voila! An answer!
I delight that I am living in the time of easy access to information. I could not write as I do without instant access to synonym and antonym, the lighting fast check-of-fact or spelling, the interesting variations-on-a-theme that pop up the minute I jump down a thought-rabbit-hole. Technology has made it possible for me to be a writer. Were I confined to pen and paper my output would be minimal and certainly impossible to read.
Easy information means easy misinformation. It means easy mass-misinformation. If I were the wizard of the universe I’d provide everyone with a Google Lens for information. All we’d need do is aim our magic lens at a pundit, news-bit or politician and, voila!” Accurate or Absurd or somewhere in between! It would make it fairly impossible to toss a lie into the commons and get away with it.
It’s not that I am enamored of just-the-facts. I’m not. I write stories so I prize a good dose of imagination. But in our time, knowing the difference – or caring about the difference – between fact and fantasy – is tantamount.
One of the great challenges of our brave new world is the intentional passing of fantasy for fact. For instance, Florida. If you are a student of history you’ll recognize in Florida (and, now, sadly, other states) the resurrection of the Lost Cause narrative, a history bending education initiative driven hard by the Daughters of the Confederacy at the conclusion of the Civil War. White supremacy sweeping its dark-side under the rug. Lipstick on a history pig.
I’m capable of imagining that my magic Google Info-Lens would put a stop to the cycle of non-sense but it’s starting to dawn on me that Aldous Huxley had it right: at this moment in history, we have the capacity to check every story, to look up every assertion, to scrutinize every source. It may not be as lightning fast as my imagined Lens but it’s close. We simply choose not to use it. It’s so much easier to believe without question than it is to question a belief.
Today on the trail I learned in a nanosecond that a Dogwood is different from a Doll’s Eye. I know it is possible to assert that slavery was on-the-job-training but it takes a dedicated-head-in-the-sand – and a heart full of ugly intention- to drown the truth of history in a sea of utter non-sense.
No lessons learned. No questions asked. Oops. Here we go again.
The Direction of Intention 