Beyond Measure [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Just as we had the first time we met thirty five years ago, we talked of intuition and prophesy, past lives and future hope. We discussed the politics of the day. We shared our appreciation for art, music and theatre. Our conversation ran amok over the geography of our lives, trying to catch up on all that transpired in the many years since we last saw each other. As always, there was not enough time.

For some reason her photograph of the water running across the airplane window made me think of ancestors. A protective web of well-wishers, a buffer of safe-keeping while hurtling through the air. Ever present. I imagined what Leonardo da Vinci would do if he were sitting in my seat. He made many, many drawings of contraptions that might someday allow humans to fly. A yearning; his mind fully immersed in the field of possibility. Stuffing ourselves in planes, we forget how much we take for granted. Leonardo, traveling in coach, would be beside himself.

We returned home a day early. A text from the airline warned of coming storms and travel disruption. It was a good decision. A few hours after we landed the snow came. On the drive home we shared stories of being stuck in airports. Our stories were populated by kind strangers. Angels who helped.

20 prepared hot soup for our return. Dogga met us at the door, bouncing with enthusiasm. Four bags of groceries arrived, a surprise welcome home gift from Jen and Brad. Supplies to get through the storm. We reviewed Kerri’s photos from the trip. We ate, sipped wine and regaled 20 with travel stories.

Later, exhausted, crawling beneath the quilts, she said, “The best part of travel is coming home”. My last thought drifting into sleep, Dogga gently snoring at our feet: “We are rich beyond all measure”.

read Kerri’s blogpost about TRAVEL

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Whisper A Prayer [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

It takes a lot these days to clear my mind and heart of the malfeasance and how it already impacts our daily life.

Malfeasance, (noun): wrongdoing; especially by a public official. Or many public officials.

We had to change concourses to catch our connecting flight. Kerri put on her mask before entering the crowded train. A man approached her and mock-coughed on her. He thought he was being funny.

Malevolent (adjective): having or showing a wish to do evil to others. From the Latin, a root meaning “violent wishing”.

“Can you believe he did that?” she asked as we exited the train.

“I think we better get used to it.” I said, “The a**holes have been given a green light.”

Our dear friends drove us over a snowy pass to the shores of Lake Tahoe. Kerri had always wanted to see it. As she does whenever she sees beauty, she cried. “It’s gorgeous,” she whispered again and again. She feels the beauty.

We stopped at a beach to take photos. A cool day, I stood in the sun, warming myself, a gentle breeze rippled the surface of the lake. Quiet mind. Open heart. There’s nothing like standing on the shores of a miracle of nature. Crystal clear water reflecting snow capped mountains. It’s an instant perspective giver:

We will come and go. This era of human folly will come and go. The beauty will remain no matter the wishes we make, evil or otherwise, vicious or virtuous. Relative to the life of the lake, we are a blip, barely a blink of the eye.

Within our blip I wonder at the mind and heart that finds humor in hurting others when they have the option to help. I wonder at the heart that fills itself with hostility rather than drinks from the well of kindness.

To hurt or to help? To persecute or to assist? They seem to be the questions of our nation, of our time.

Standing on the shore in my blip of time I was eternally grateful to have my heart and mind, and not to live inside the sad angry brain of the coughing man. For him – for me – and for all of us – I whispered the Buddhist prayer: May you dwell in your heart. May you be free from suffering. May you be healed. May you be at peace.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE LAKE

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Brimming [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

I’m writing a few days ahead because we have a week of travel. As you read this we will be on a flight home, full of stories, new memories, refreshed spirits brimming with gratitude.

Just as we are excited about the adventure ahead we know there will be a moment in our travels when our focus shifts and we will turn our attention toward home. It’s one of the great gifts of travel: renewed appreciation for the known, coming home with new eyes that see the sweet comfort of routine. No doubt, the gratitude we are feeling at this very moment runs through the great gift of new experiences, brimming with utter appreciation for stepping back onto our well-worn path.

read Kerri’s blogpost about NEW EYES

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Constant Companions [David’s blog on KS Friday]

It’s rapidly becoming folklore week at The Direction of Intention. I blame The Brothers Grimm for inciting a deeper dive into their collection of ancient tales. I somehow missed – or forgot – that the moral of the folk tales is to honor your commitments. Take responsibility for your actions. The stories are driven by transactions-gone-awry. The daughter makes a deal with Rumpelstiltskin: she will give him her first child if he will save her and spin straw into gold.

In another tale, The Pied Piper is hired by the people of Hamelin to save the town from an infestation of rats. He plays his magical flute leading the rats to the river where they drown. Since the town is no longer overrun with rats the leaders decide there is no reason to honor their commitment. They refuse to pay the piper. The Piper once again plays his magic flute and leads the town’s children away. The children are never to be seen again.

Honest dealing. Gratitude. Consequences of actions and choices. Morality tales are told – and have been told across cultures and generations – to instill in the young and affirm in the old the necessity of a moral center. When the moral center collapses, the consequences are far worse than imagined.

We’ve placed a coneflower sculpture in the garden. We can see it while doing dishes, looking out of our kitchen window. I’ve always loved our little coneflower but in the past month I’ve grown to appreciate it as a reminder, a daily nudge to stand closer to love than I do to fear. Coneflowers are symbols of resilience and strength.

The collapse of decency. The disregard for morality. So many toxic and ill-intended transactions swirling around us. It is only a matter of time before the Piper demands payment. Folklore meets the news of the day.

The coneflower reminds me that this too shall pass. Resilience. Out of the now-inevitable loss-of-our-children will someday arise a renewed commitment to responsibility to the common good. A moral center, after all, is nothing other than attentiveness and concern for the needs of others, and a dedication to ourselves to walk in this world with integrity decency, fairness, and an internal compass – reinforced by the stories and symbols we’ve inherited – that serve as constant companions showing us the way.

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE CONEFLOWER

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A Curious Silver Lining [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

She opened the back door and instead of the door pushing back the snow as it always does, the snow folded. It was like origami or an archivist gently turning the page of a book. To say our weather has been unusual would be an understatement – as is true everywhere. Folding snow is a curious silver lining to the fluxing cold necessary to produce it.

Yesterday I called up a bit of folklore in Rumpelstiltskin, an imp that weaves straw into gold. An illustration of the imp called to my mind Hungry Ghosts. In the canon of folkloric creations, Hungry Ghosts are currently among my favorite because I see them everywhere – especially now – in everyday life. “Desire, greed, anger and ignorance are all factors in causing a soul to be reborn as a hungry ghost because they are motives for people to perform evil deeds. The biggest factor is greed as hungry ghosts are ever discontent and anguished because they are unable to satisfy their feelings of greed.” Wikipedia

It helps me to think of the current batch of oligarchs and soul-less-politicians as Hungry Ghosts. It helps me to think that they are in anguish, unable to satisfy their feelings of greed. I see – we see – their vast ignorance, the insatiable greed that drives their inhumanity. If not now, soon they will pass on and discover that they are Hungry Ghosts. They will discover that they’ve arrived at the lowest of the low, the very rock bottom of the karmic inferno (forgive my mash-up of Buddhism and Dante). They’ve already arrived at the rock bottom of humanity (as revealed by their inhumanity), “…beings who are driven by intense emotional needs in an animalistic way.” No greater consciousness.

Folding snow. Hungry Ghosts. A curious silver lining, to be sure. We are surrounded by – or living through – a cautionary tale reminding us to keep intact our compassion, to hold the line of truth amidst a roaring forest fire of lies, to believe in the goodness of human spirits that understand service to others is the very thing that cultivates our greater humanity – keeping us from becoming Hungry Ghosts – and is the epicenter of a healthy community, nation, and world.

read Kerri’s blogpost about FOLDING SNOW

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Consequences [David’s blog on Flawed Wednesday]

The crescent moon. A sliver in the sky. A symbol of femininity and intuition, reflection as opposed to action. In alchemy, the crescent moon is the symbol for silver. Alchemy: the pursuit of the transformation of matter. Turning base straw into gold. Rumpelstilskin.

Rumpelstilskin, like Cinderella, is a tale that reaches back thousands of years. It pops up across many, many cultures. The Brothers Grimm did not invent it but like all their other tales, they caught it in their folklore net. It’s a story of transaction. It asks questions of value and worth. It begins with a father who wants to appear superior. He wants to be better than others, so he brags that his daughter can spin straw into gold. The king calls the father’s bluff. “Prove it or your daughter forfeits her life.” The father’s bragging has consequences. His daughter is locked in a room full of straw and to save her life has a single night to do something she has no capacity to do: spin straw into gold.

Today I’ve decided it is tale for our times. “The moral of the fairy tale Rumpelstiltskin is that people should not be consumed by greed, lying, or boasting. The story also teaches the importance of honesty, taking responsibility, and not making deals without understanding the consequences.” [A-I]

In a few short weeks we have seen the wreckage of the art-of-the-deal-made-with-a-complete-absence-of-understanding. Fools cutting off their noses to spite their faces. There are and will be consequences.

For years we have been subject to the lying, boasting and greed of the rapist-in-chief, his megaphone fox, and his party of hungry ghosts.

The Brothers Grimm were ethnographers, gathering ancient oral tales and committing them to the page before they were lost to time. Wisdom tales.

I considered sending a copy of Rumpelstiltskin to The White House but I understand no one there bothers to read. At any rate, a wisdom-story that teaches the importance of honesty and taking responsibility would most certainly bounce off, so thick is the fortress of ignorance, so wide is the moat of hubris.

Nevertheless, the moral of the story will find its way in to the halls of power. It always does. When the enchantment fails – as it always does – there will be – as there always has been – consequences.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE SLIVER MOON

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An Invitation [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

“Love opens the door of ancient recognition. You enter. You come home to each other at last. As Euripides said, ‘Two friends, one soul.‘” ~ John O’Donohue, Anam Cara

For months I’ve been wrestling with Act 2 of a play. I start to write. I get lost in it. Even though I have a plot map, I lose my way. Act 1 is in good shape. It has been ready-to-go for a year. Why do I keep getting lost? I’ve learned, when perpetually lost, to let it sit, walk away, and the path will find me.

Last night I had a dream: The tension between animal nature and human nature. We are both. We have the capacity to be conscious of our animal nature. It is the reason we have codes of ethics. Standards of decency*. In the dream I learned why I am perpetually lost in Act 2. I did not yet understand what I was writing about. The problem was not in Act 2. There was something in me that knew I was not yet understanding the full scope of my topic. My map led to the wrong place. I now have a clear grasp of Act 2.

This is the reason I love artistry; the messy conversation I am capable of having with myself and the greater…universe.

We have matching salt lamps in our studios. Some say there are health benefits to salt lamps but that is not why we have them in our studios. We love the light. It’s calming. Each morning I go down to my basement studio and turn on my lamp. Each night I go down again and turn it off. I’ve decided my daily trip down the stairs is a ritual of invitation. For me, painting, like all things sacred, is a “joining”. An opening for something bigger to come through. Turning on my salt lamp is saying to that-greater-something, “I’m here. I am ready.”

*Standards of ethics. Codes of decency. Isn’t this what we witness as missing in our leadership? The complete abdication of consciousness; the absence of ancient recognition. The door closed on Love.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE SALT LAMP

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

In an act of divine intervention, we removed the fallen “J” from the message on the ledge high above our kitchen sink. It now reads “OY”. It delights me each time I look up. I am in search of a matching exclamation point. The kitchen-statement-of-our-times won’t be complete without it.

Oy: an interjection to express exasperation or dismay. As in, “Oy, what a mess!”

Oy: the contraction of “OY VEY!”

Oy (noun): a type of harsh, aggressive punk music popular in the 1970’s and 80’s. “OY! OY! OY! BANG, BANG! CRASH! OY! The music of dismay.

A few months ago I told Kerri that to keep my sanity I might have to resort to draw cartoons of the news of the day. Making fun of the obviously-ridiculous is low hanging fruit but making myself laugh is a high priority these days. In keeping-with-the-wisdom-of-the-kitchen I will call my cartoon: OY! As in, “Oy, what a mess!” or “Oy, this ignorance is killing me!” Master Marsh tells me that he has a box-full-of-dumpster-fire-cartoon-ideas! OY! OY! OY! BANG, BANG! CRASH! OY!

I’m pestering Kerri to channel her discord-at-our-times into a new music of dismay. So far she’s rejecting my pester outright. I’ll keep at it. This world needs a good heart standing strong and singing into the storm. I hope one day to report the moment she shares her new music with me and asks, “What do you think?”

It will put the “J” back into my “Oy.”

read Kerri’s blogpost about OY

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Dedicate Quiet [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

It’s like taking a drink of water from a fire hose. And that’s their control-strategy. Gish gallop. Muzzle velocity. Insanity inundation.

When faced with a fire hose of malice, the best defense is a suggestion from Master Marsh: turn off all the devices for a day. Take a break. There’s plenty of generosity and beauty all around and it’s readily available when not being drowned out. Talk about that. Take a drink from the welcome spring of acts-of-kindness. Warm your heart with friendship. Laugh. Rejuvenate your spirit in dedicated quiet. Rest.

The ugliness will still be there tomorrow.

read Kerri’s blogpost about REST

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Focus [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Although it might not be immediately apparent, this is a photograph of a fork in the river. A junction of choice or perhaps, if caught in the current, a junction of chance.

Choice or chance?

We are witness to so many people selling their souls for fluffy stuff – like the retention of an elected seat. Or for fame. Or for money. People turning their backs on common decency and common sense and the common person. Their gain? More “likes” or followers or attention or control. 15 minutes of media focus. We are down the rabbit hole. The Mad Hatter, The Cheshire Cat and Tweedledum populate our current predicament.

We did not arrive here by chance.

In “Don’t Believe Him,” Ezra Klein’s brilliant encapsulation of the first two weeks of this train wreck presidency, he said, “Democracies need focus”. Chaos is the current administration’s strategy to keep us off balance and unfocused. It is an entertainment scheme, like a roller coaster or a horror movie or heroin.

We need not believe, become enthralled or distracted by a thing the Mad Hatter says or does. He is, after all, mad. Focus: this chaos masks (barely) a power grab by the executive branch.

Although he’s accumulated record-breaking wealth, The Cheshire Cat’s wisdom is sorely lacking. His agenda is personal gain. Public service is not in his purview. His agenda has nothing to do with you or with me. Focus: this is meant to neuter the legislative branch.

The Hatter and The Cat have surrounded themselves with a bevy of Tweedledums. Onomatopoeia. ‘Nuf said. Focus: no competence is necessary when demolition is the aim. The target of the demolition: our system of checks-and-balances.

As we will learn soon enough, the entertainment factor of mayhem will fade as the reality of the havoc knocks on our doors. As soon as the loss of income or benefits or services or protections or liberties becomes personal, some red-hats will no doubt rub their blurry eyes and ask, “What happened?” The rest of us will sigh and say, “You chose it.”

We will shake our heads and remind them that it was their choice to unleash the world’s richest man – at the behest of a billionaire despot – to close preschools, cut medicaid, reduce veteran services, etc., etc., etc.(it is a very lengthy list and quite deadly for many human beings here and around the world).

We did not arrive here by chance.

But that does not mean that we have no choice. The Mad Hatter squeaked the election with one of the lowest margins in our history. 90 million people – more people than voted for either candidate – chose to stay home. The pain we are experiencing – and are about to feel – is not red, blue or indifferent. Pain does not discriminate. It’s a great eye-opener. It is an even greater motivator for action and change.

We need not pretend that we are in a too-strong current getting swept into a fascist future. This is not happening by chance. We still have a choice because we have voices. Lots of voices. We are – for now – the power behind our representatives. We still have a vote. Let us hope we have the focus necessary to preserve it and use it.

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE RIVER

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