What Of Kindness? [David’s blog on Flawed Wednesday]

Kindness is not difficult to share within a friend-group or inner-circle. Kindness is easy with the people that you know. It’s the reason I’ve never met a person that did not consider themself kind. It’s the reason I consider myself kind. I can point to examples.

But what of kindness to those outside of the circle-of-the-known?

Lately I wonder if we can consider ourselves kind when our kindness is reserved; selective; picky.

This morning I read of a farmer who voted for the despot. He is astonished. With the sudden loss of USAID, the elimination of his market, he is losing his family farm. My first thought was not compassionate. My first thought was not kind. “You’re the only one who’s surprised,” I spat. “Idiot”.

What of kindness?

The farmer has been the recipient of government subsidies. He has had FEMA support after natural disasters. He is a veteran with benefits. His parents are on social security and Medicare. He has friends receiving Medicaid. Now, he fears the loss of these programs. Before the election he wore his red hat, pumped his fist and voted for the end of government handouts. He saw no reason to support childcare for single mothers so they might go to work. He did not see himself as a receiver-of-help.

He didn’t want his taxes benefiting those who do not look like him. Those outside of his circle.

For years the farmer has been misled by the fox. And yet, I can’t help but acknowledge that he has participated in his ignorance. He could have asked a question. He could have changed the channel. The despot made no attempt to hide his plan. He was not a stealth candidate. Did the farmer not understand the word “tariff”? Did he not read Project 2025 and the cuts it promised? He lives in the age of readily available and easily accessed information.

Was he too lazy to care? Was he truly blinded by a campaign of foxy-lies? He’s certainly been steeped in an ugly boogeyman of US and THEM. He’s been choked on fear-tales, encouraged to paint himself as a victim of diversity-equity-inclusion. Might he have challenged what he was being force-fed? Yes. But he didn’t. He agreed with it.

Now, he will pay the piper for his choice. We all will. He voted for it. He chose it. Now he will experience it.

What of kindness?

As he discovers his folly, as he meets the stark truth of his choice, does he really deserve to lose his family farm?

What of taking responsibility for the consequences of his choices and actions? He voted for hatred. He voted for indecency and amorality. He voted for misogyny and bigotry. It was not hidden from him. He posted signs on his fence proclaiming his proud allegiance to the despot.

Now, he and his family must rely on the social safety net that he has demonized as socialist. He voted for the safety net to be removed. Now that he needs it he has changed his tune. Soon, he fears, there will be nothing to break his fall.

Hopefully, he will learn – as will we all – that THEM is US. Before we are conservative or progressive, we are citizens of this nation. Together. WE. And we are a diverse community.

Friendly. Generous. Considerate. Descriptors of kindness. Perhaps, through his revelation, when he understands he is – and has been – the recipient of kindness, when helping hands (again) reach and assist him to stand, to survive, he will be more willing and able to extend kindness to others, to people who do not look like him.

Perhaps he will understand that a government is capable of helping all people to rise just as it is now crippling the majority for the sake of a few.

Perhaps in the future he will vote for kindness and equity that extends beyond his inner-circle. Kindness, he will learn, is a crop that is planted and cultivated. To reap the harvest, to experience it, one must first vote for it. One must first choose it. And then pass it on.

read Kerri’s blogpost about KINDNESS

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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.

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Climb The Stairs [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

It was a rare treat to climb the stairs to the rooftop deck and gaze into the night sky, unobstructed by city lights. Years ago I worked with kids in Los Angeles, teenagers, who had never seen the stars. Standing on the roof, overwhelmed by the Milky Way, I thought about those children, now well into their adulthood, and hoped that they had, at long last, found a way to peer into the endless universe.

What else might adequately provide them the understanding of the impossibility of their existence, the enormity of their lives? What else might open their eyes and hearts to the necessity of community, the recognition that their lives only have meaning relative to the people who share this planet and this moment-in-time with them? Relationship is purpose.

We have seven days. In biblical terms that’s how long it took the metaphoric god to differentiate light from dark, land from sea, moon from sun, animals from humans. Rest from work. Humanity’s role in this story of creation is to appreciate the enormity of their unlikely existence. To steward. To name. To discern between merit and the meritless, between truth and lie. To distinguish good intention from ill-intention.

We have seven days until we vote. Although we might pretend this is normal, this election is like no other in our lifetimes. The issues have taken a back seat to the question of our existence as a democracy. We are determining whether or not we are still capable of distinguishing truth from lie, whether or not we are willing to toss away our freedoms and replace them with authoritarian rage, whether or not we will serve the needs of the greater community or the power-lust of an individual.

Seven days. We will either step forward as champions of light and truth or we will turn our backs on what we know to be true and fall backwards into the dark fascist promises of Project 2025.

Under the stars we have a choice: to continue our quest to realize the dream of a more perfect union, with liberty and justice for all – or to exchange our constitution for the autocratic craving of an angry despot. To honestly name what we know to be true.

There’s still time to climb the stairs, peer into the starry sky, and realize the power of our choices, what is at stake in this, our time, our moment.

read Kerri’s blogpost about STARS

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A Different Criteria [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

“The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness.” ~ John Muir

I once read that the word “wild” was only necessary to a people who’ve deluded themselves into thinking that they are somehow separate from or above nature, that wild is something that desperately needs to be tamed.

In a culture where many are predisposed to believe that one’s personal nature is fundamentally corrupt (sin-full) and, therefore, requires serious controlling, all of nature is destined to suffer the same fate. Rivers are dammed. Forests eradicated. Waterways and air polluted. It is inevitable. All of nature is reduced to the word “resource”. It is the ultimate expression of taming. A resource to be used and then discarded.

Human resources. We are not excluded from the reduction since we are the source and executors of the degradation. Is it no wonder that so many are so certain that their lives have little or no purpose, value, or meaning. Used and discarded. The magic and mystery of this enormous universe rendered inaccessible. Subdued. Tamed.

It’s never made sense to me.

There are other systems of belief on this earth that are not built upon separation-from-nature but upon relationship-with-nature. Wild and tame are not oppositional but part of the same whole.

In workshops – teaching what I most needed to learn – I used to tell people that “Nothing is broken and nothing needs to be fixed.” Start with a loving premise. And see what happens. It fosters a different view of the world. It fosters a foundational shift in the understanding of “self”.

Starting with appreciation-of-self leads naturally to appreciation-of-others. Inclusive.

People incessantly trying to fix themselves grow blind to others. It’s the path of self-absorption. Exclusive.

People who fundamentally love their nature…begin with love. In love, they are naturally connected to all of nature, through their nature. Interdependent. Unified. There is nothing to fix. There are expansive experiences. Rather than tame, there is caring for the health of the whole. From a grounding in love, there is an entirely different set of criteria for making choices.

In love, it is easy to see: what we do to nature, we do to ourselves. What we do to others, we do to ourselves.

read Kerri’s blogpost about NATURE

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Where [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Where to now? It’s the ever-present-topic of conversation.

On our recent trip to the mountain, we speculated. What was going to happen? What did we want to happen? What did we hope or fear would happen? Supposition is a kind of storytelling. Building a container for the unknown.

On the way home we recounted what happened. We discussed the gems, the surprises. We talked of the special moments that we anticipated and the hard moments that we predicted. We reveled in the fulfillment of intention, a visit to the sanctuary, a return to the stream. Narrating our experiences is a kind of storytelling. Sense-making. Building a container for the known.

Both types of container are too small. There is only so much anticipation that can be held. There is infinite sense to be made so story choices are necessary: what goes into the container and what must be let go? How will I make meaning of what just happened? And what does that mean for the next container of supposition that we must build?

They are connected questions. Where have I been? Where to now? Of necessity, despite all expectation, neither question ever arrives at an answer.

read Kerri’s blogpost about STORIES

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None. Nada. [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

It’s not that we are inept or anti-tech. We are not. We are mostly savvy and can generally figure things out. When we can’t, we have a 12 year-old cultural-informant on standby who can guide us through the maze of complexity.

One of the promises of technology is to make our lives easier. Often that is true. Often it is not. I have found that being inundated in a 24/7 firehose of information with multiple competing channels, services and choices and changes and updates, password-password-do-you-remember-the-password, resets, google searches for clues, revamps and rolling technological improvements…life is not easier. Too much is too much. Too fast is too fast. And, let’s face it, much of what is out there is noise. It’s impossible to fill the belly of a 24/7 hungry ghost with brain-or-heart-nutritional substance.

We don’t watch much tv. But, when we do, we don’t want to spend an hour scanning or searching or retrieving or updating the app. I confess to fondly recalling the days of three channels, an on-and-off switch and a remote with a single button. I also like the feel of turning pages in a book and have been eye-rolled a time or two for saying it.

Here’s the bottom line: I have limited time on this earth and don’t want to lose it looking for something to watch.

read Kerri’s blogpost about CHOICES

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Heed The Stone [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Stones are markers.

When we wander the cemetery at the end of our street I sometimes see the headstones, not as location stones, but as boundaries-marked-in-time. Before. After. The leaping place of souls.

There are stones placed to indicate a borderline. I imagine the stone with the spray-painted message is one of those: beyond this point is the land of love. Who wouldn’t want to cross this border? Who wouldn’t want to step over this divide and wander in the frontier of love?

People stack stones to mark the way. To help others. To help themselves find the way home. Ease of passage.

This stone quietly standing along the bike trail does not call attention to itself. In fact, we’ve passed it many times and only just saw its message. Like a pictograph left by the ancients, someone-in-time felt compelled to leave a message on the path for others to see. A boundary in time? A borderline? A passage marker? An aspiration for travelers along this route?

Good choices, all.

read Kerri’s blogpost about the LOVE STONE

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Take The Back Road [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Even in our race to Milwaukee to meet a deadline, we decided to take the back roads. We’ve learned that the time difference between the freeway and the less-stressful-backroads is often only 15 minutes. I’m finding that getting-there-faster is generally an illusion that always produces heightened stress. We have enough stress as it is so we look for ways to feed-the-calm. To reinforce presence. 15 minutes seems like a fair trade for less angst. Even in a race.

We’re regularly passed on the road by a car-in-a-hurry. We inevitably catch them at the next light. All the aggression, all of the get-out-of-my-way, achieves a car length of advantage. I try and keep that in mind in our age of more/faster, a by-product of information inundation. Aggressive drivers have become something of a metaphor. It takes time to process information. It takes time to suss out relevance. Very little is actually gained by going faster to go faster. Except more stress. It is an un-win-able race.

On our back road drive to Milwaukee we marveled at the clarity of the storm cloud’s line of demarcation. It was as if a giant X-Acto knife cut the clouds exposing a swatch of blue-blue that extended to the horizon. We literally drove under the line. In a moment we moved from shadow to sun. In a moment, the gloom and weight of the stormy day transformed to warmth and rejuvenation. In a moment.

I wondered if the angry driver swerving through traffic, speeding toward a destination, even noticed the line. I wondered if the warmth and rejuvenation we experienced was available amidst the dedicated hurry-hurry. I wonder at the ubiquitous story of needing-to-get-there-faster, getting there first. What is actually gained? What is actually lost?

It takes time to suss out relevance. It takes time to notice the warmth and welcome rejuvenation when it becomes available. It takes time to actually see – to see – another human being on the road to somewhere. It takes time – and taking time, as it turns out, is nothing more or less than a choice, something as simple as taking the back road.

Holding Steadfast/Blueprint for My Soul © 1997 Kerri Sherwood

Kerri’s albums are available on iTunes or streaming on Pandora and iHeart Radio

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE LINE

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buymeacoffee is a stop on the road to somewhere.

Choices?[David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Today we walked our trail and the frog symphony was in full swing. It stopped me in my tracks. They are about 3 months earlier than last year. Enough said, I suppose. Except for this: it’s not a surprise, is it?

Tom used to ask, “When does a story begin? When does it end?” He was struggling to find a logical place to begin his Lost Boy narrative. Did it begin when he found the box hidden in the wall? Did it begin when the boy died and his mother plastered his life possessions into the wall of the farmhouse? She told no one. Did the story begin with the mother, when she was a little girl crossing the prairie in a covered wagon, the day they buried her little brother on the trail, never to be found? All are good choices. None are right or wrong. They are choices.

The sunset illuminated the brick. Blonde cast with orange and pink. A shadow is cast in the low light. It’s February and feels like May. Tomorrow it will feel like February again…for a day. I told my friend in California that, this year, I’ve not yet touched my snow shovel.

When did this story begin? I can’t point to the moment since the story has been with us for so long. My college sociology teacher was the first person I heard utter the words, “Global warming.” Decades ago. He gave a lecture on choices. “At this point, we have choices.” Not an exact quote but close enough. It was lost on us, the future seemed so far away. Someone else will make the right choices.

It is certainly more present. The tulips are popping up. We are, as I write this, under a tornado watch. In Wisconsin. In February. “Weird!” we say.

A pertinent question: When does this story end?

read Kerri’s blogpost about SHADOWS

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buymeacoffee is a leap of faith, a choice to make, a cake to bake. A gratitude we shake.

Tell The Deeper Story [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Walking on our trail in the middle of December, we rounded a corner and stopped. The dramatic shadows of the trees made long and distinct by the low-to-the-horizon winter sun. “It’s mid-December,” she said, “And the grass is green…” Looking at the photograph I’d guess that it was taken on an early spring day. In the era of climate change, it’s not so hard to see the story behind the story of this green, green grass.

What’s the story behind the story? There’s always a deeper story to tell. Always.

On my easel is a canvas marked with a few charcoal lines. A bare-sketch of two people and a puppy. The story? On a rainy fall day, driving the back county roads, Kerri and I rescued a puppy. It was lost and scared.

The story behind the story? When we saw the puppy we had a long drive ahead of us. We were trying to get to Madison. We spotted it at a crossroads. Turn right and go to the puppy. Turn left and keep our appointment in Madison. We turned left. And then in one swirling circle motion, immediately turned around. The first impulse: we’re late! This is not ours to do. The second impulse: who cares! this is exactly ours to do. The moment the shivering-scared soaked puppy jumped into our arms, nothing else in the world mattered. Nothing. The superficial dropped away and the essential came roaring into focus.

We named him County Rainy Day. Rainy for short. We dried him off and fed him crackers. He didn’t have a collar so we called Jen and asked her what to do. We played and laughed and snuggled with him in the cab of the truck. Finally, after giving our hearts to the puppy, we took Rainy to a shelter. He was reunited with his family.

I confess, we’ve returned to the spot where we found him. Just in case. He stole our hearts but more importantly, he brought us to our hearts. There is always a moment of choice. Turn left. Turn right. The list or the life? Behind each act of kindness is a moment of choice. Behind each act – of any kind – is a moment of choice. The story behind the story.

a detail of a sketch. a work barely in-progress. county rainy day

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read Kerri’s blogpost about GREEN!

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buymeacoffee is a choice made at a crossroads. nothing more. nothing less.