Sit In The Circle [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Somewhere in my past a teacher suggested that it is helpful for a writer to know to whom they are writing. Who is your audience? And more specifically, is there one person that your words are meant to reach?

The question came up for me on our trail. The snow dampens sound. Some people find a winter landscape bleak but I find it beautiful. Distinct. Thought provoking. Ideally suited for an introvert like me. Quiet life. Stands of warm sienna reeds sharp against the ice blue snow. The creaking-moan of tree limbs rubbing in the cold breeze. Perfect for inspiration and reflection.

Much is changing in the world broadly and in our world close-in. I am not writing as I once did. I am not painting like I used to. When I first began writing my audience was a community of international coaches, interculturalists, and diversity, equity and inclusion facilitators. I wrote broadly. I had points to make. A brain to flex.

Now I am bereft of answers and have only questions. Some days I write specifically – for Alex or Buffalo Bob. Some days I write for Horatio or Judy or Dwight or 20. Sometimes I write to members of my family though I know they don’t often read what I write. Sometimes I write for Kerri. Many days, probably most days, I write to myself. I reach in. I am asking myself questions about what I believe.

The people who populate my audience – my community – now and in the past – are bonded in their empathy. They care about others. They strive to make the world a better place for others. They are modest. Humble. The opposite of elitist. They are kind. They ask questions. They are thinkers who seek truth in all things; they are open hearts, open minds, with finely-tuned crap detectors. They care enough to fact-check what they hear. They are learners, curious about difference, unafraid of stepping beyond what they know. They are the people I want to hang out with.

On my walk in the snowy woods I realized that I need them now more than ever. A community that inspires hope, that fuels the creative fires burning inside of me and others. A bevy of goodhearted people I admire and believe in. A community of sanity – my community of sanity – in a country deliberately trying to lose its mind and sell its soul.

I write each day so I might sit for a few moments in the circle with these good people, whether they know it or not.

Instrument of Peace, 48″x91″ mixed media

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Ours Is Yours [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Nothing brings people together in these un-United States like a natural disaster. When the forest fires rage, when the hurricanes destroy, people – at least for a few days – forget their politics, reconnect with their essence, transcend their religious doctrine, forget their biases, and reach a hand to anyone in need. Anyone. People run into fires to help other people. The only other catalyst with the power to temporarily unify us is an attack on our nation*. September 11, 2001 made us remember that we are one, a community. People ran into tall buildings without a second thought to help other people.

It’s called community.

It’s easy to use a word. It’s far more difficult to fulfill the meaning of a word. To live it. Community.

Communities divide and dissolve when the attacks come from within. Currently, we are witness to the attempted dissolution of our nation, the power of misinformation at transforming neighbors into enemies. The demonization of the “other”. To date, it seems to be working.

I wonder when the devastation of the blazing fascist fire – currently consuming democracy – sweeps across the land, from sea to shining sea, burning all in its path – if it will bring us back together or drive us to total destruction? Will we run into the fire to help or turn our backs and say, “Not my problem.” I suppose we must first see through the lies and recognize that there’s an arsonist in the White House delighting in watching our democracy-house burn.

We had to pick up a few things at Kohl’s. The tagline printed on the shopping bag stopped us in our tracks. “Your community is our community.” There couldn’t be a more potent message – a more powerful wish – for our rapidly disintegrating nation.

Yours is ours. Ours is yours. It’s called community.

“I’m keeping the bag where I can see it,” she said.

*I wrote this post before the Peep and Vice Peep, in a festival of embarrassment, ambushed Volodymyr Zelensky in the White House. Their blatant alignment with Putin is an attack on this nation and I am heartened to witness so many of us come together in support of Ukraine – which is to come together in support of our democracy and all that we value. Theirs is Ours. Ours is Theirs.

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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.

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Become The Raft [David’s blog on Flawed Wednesday]

It was during Covid that we started calling it “The Raft”. Our warm bed. With two broken wrists, all jobs lost and no work to be found, the heat turned down to save a penny, we felt like we were hanging on for dear life, afloat in the turbulent waters of the spinning universe on our tiny refuge. With Dogga asleep at our feet, we searched the horizon for hope, we launched our messages-in-a-bottle.

Our raft. It was one of the few places we felt safe and warm. Comforted. It was, during those scary and chaotic times, with the world in isolation, a haven where we might approach making sense of the senselessness. And, we survived.

I feel as if we are now back on the raft. The adults have left the capitol and the feckless man, the same nincompoop who suggested that we ingest bleach as a cure for Covid is now shoving Project 2025 down our throats – the ultimate aim is a Christian Nationalist Authoritarian State, a fate for our democracy that is far worse than swallowing bleach. He has returned with his clown car of bad clowns. Incompetents all, picked for their dull loyalty rather than their knowledge, experience or expertise. They know nothing of governing, or of creating or of problem-solving; they are solely capable of destroying.

Afloat on the raft we know that this time there is no refuge. There is no bubble thick enough to protect us from the virus that now infects our nation. There is no vaccine capable of minimizing the damage. There is no shot of courage available to legislators who have lost their moral compass and abandoned their spines along with their oath to protect the Constitution.

The isolation that helped saved us from Covid will now harm us. Of course, we necessarily practice social distancing from those contaminated by maga and made stupid by the fox but for the rest of us, the vast majority of the nation, we will eventually need to step outside, find each other, lock arms and become the raft for one another.

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Remember The Ritual [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

One week from today is Boxing Day. The day after Christmas.

If you seek a symptom for the source of the troubles of our world, you need only look at Boxing Day. Boxing Day was once a day to donate gifts to those in need, but it has evolved to become a part of Christmas festivities, with many people choosing to shop for deals…” I’m not trying to be cynical. I’m trying to point out the obvious.

I’m re-reading Martin Prechtel’s book, Long Life Honey In The Heart. It’s a book about the Tzutujil initiation into maturity. “Initiation was mandatory in those days and constituted the beginning of adulthood. This rite of passage, however, was not what made you into an adult. This first initiation only made you ripe enough to continue on in a lifelong pursuit of turning yourself into an adult, on through the next three layers of service to the village.”

Can you imagine a community in which service to others is the very pursuit that defines the achievement of adulthood?

According to the Tzutujil ideal, very few of us in this nation turn ourselves into adults. In fact, if you look at the incoming administration, it’s easy to see the absence of adults – grown bodies stuck in adolescent minds and obsessed with self-increase. Service to the community – the point of governance – is nowhere to be found. They are – without exception – men and women of our time.

It is not an understatement or any great revelation to suggest that we have lost our way. We’ve confused money with morality and follow business gain as our north star. Business is a lousy organizing principle for a community. It has its place, certainly. The unbridled levers of business too easily lead to exploitation. Additionally, everything should not run like a business, especially service organizations like healthcare or education. Or religious institutions. Or the arts. Or government. Some things are sacred and business is not one of them. Personal gain at any cost – has a cost – and it is the unity of the community.

We see yard signs everywhere that read, “Keep Christ in Christmas,” to which Kerri responds, “How about keeping Christ in Christianity?”

It’s a pattern. Where the health of the community is involved there are two paths: one is service and the other is self-service. One way leads to cohesion and the other to disillusion. We should not be surprised that our leaders are infantile and our religious holidays subvert giving for gain.

Maybe the place to restart our journey toward a healthy nation is to begin the pursuit of turning ourselves into adults; reinforce in each other the development of a healthy inner life. Perhaps, since we are hellbent on turning back time, we should begin by remembering and practicing the original ritual of Boxing Day.

a work in progress

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The Great Gift Of Purpose [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

“In oneself lies the whole world and if you know how to look and learn, the door is there and the key is in your hand. Nobody on earth can give you either the key or the door to open, except yourself.” ~ Krishnamurti

In the United States of America, today is the day we give thanks. Imagine it! 364 days dedicated to dog-eat-dog grousing with one day set aside for thanks-giving. Envision for a moment a flip of our dedication: a single day devoted to complaining-and-selfish-taking with the entire rest of the year committed to gratefulness and appreciation.

Is it possible for gratitude and cherishing-others to be the norm?

Tom Mck’s grandfather told the story of two Civil War veterans who owned adjacent ranches. One vet fought for the north and the other fought for the south. They shot at each other every day creating a dangerous situation for the whole community since their ranches were on the road to town. Finally, no longer willing to dodge bullets just to go to the market, the community brought the two men together and negotiated an accord with them: the vets agreed to shoot at each other only one day a year, the same day each year. Their fellow citizens knew not to go to market on the auspicious day.

I thought about those two men this morning. Their entire reason-for-being was to hate each other. They gave to each other the great gift of purpose. An unspoken detail of the story, perhaps the most important aspect of the whole story, is this: none of the bullets they fired over many years ever hit the mark; they were either terrible shots or they didn’t really want to eliminate their reason-for-being. They intentionally missed. They loved to hate their neighbor.

It’s a complex game we play, is it not? The tale of the two Civil War vets is a story for our times.

Is the great-gift-of-purpose as easily given to loving, uplifting and supporting our neighbors? Is our capacity for generosity and consideration really so limited? Is there only enough for a single 24 hour period?

Is aggression and hate really more magnetic and satisfying than kindness and love?

Our nation chooses this day as Thanksgiving. Kerri’s and my wish for this troubled land on this day of laying down our weapons: a genuine flip of our dedication.

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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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No Basis For Real [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

An MSNBC opinion piece hit the nail on the head: the reason why so many of us find this presidential campaign so uniquely unsettling is that “…so many of our fellow citizens embrace a candidate and a message so fundamentally un-American.”

“This is fascist rhetoric. More specifically, it’s Nazi rhetoric. But the crowds at [his] rallies aren’t horrified by such language. They lap it up.”

And so, here we are. These “citizens” embracing a fascist intention are our sisters and brothers, mothers and fathers. They are people we know and love but no longer recognize. They are not abstractions.

Kerri has a theory. She calls it “the flat friends”, the relationships available online that win likes and strokes for agreement. These relationships are abstractions; they are not real. They are easy, uncomplicated, and come with instant gratification. No dialogue required. No real communication. No imperative to support assertions with facts or data or…reality. Hate bubbles filled with easy lies and even easier agreement amongst flat friends. An ugly meme is all the verification needed in flat-friend-land. No real thinking required.

It’s a convenient place to run and hide when the three dimensional world, the woke world, the world of evidence and reason and thinking and questioning and open minds, asks, “What the hell are you talking about?”

In the flat-friend-world it is possible to silence me with the click of a button. And, if you think about it, all of the rhetoric spewed by the hate candidate and magnified by the faux-news-fox pander to the same idea. Easy two dimensional solutions – fodder that is only palatable to a flat world dedicated to non-thinking. Mass deportations. Banning books. Eliminating the Department of Education. Blasting women back into the dark ages. Enemies abound! Snap! Easy-peasy. Big-Red-Daddy will solve it all for you. Click.

Eliminating those that disagree is not a solution outside of flat-friend-world. It is an illusion – and laughably childish – though Big-Red-Daddy has suggested that he will use the military to silence those who criticize him. Apparently, he believes he will be able with a click of the military to un-friend 50% of the nation, the congress, the justice system…the American system of governance.

In the three dimensional world it is not so easy to silence me or the rest of us that remember how to lift our eyes from the screen and fact check what we see in flatland, those of us who still understand that agreement is a lousy test of real information, that democracy is a complex ongoing idea that deserves responsible stewards and that an easy “like” is no basis for real community.

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What Remains [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“Only to the extent that we expose ourselves over and over to annihilation can that which is indestructible in us be found.” ~ Pema Chödrön

The super moon called us out into the night. We ran-walked to the grounds of the Anderson Art Center so we might get an unobstructed view of the giant moon perched just above the horizon. Later, we walked the streets and paths that followed the shore so we could watch the moon shrink as it journeyed higher into the sky. An illusion.

My favorite part of our stroll was finding that we weren’t the only people called into the night. People – many people – gathered along the shore, some quiet, some giddy – all attending the march of the moon. “This is just like the old days,” Kerri said. A community joining together to share a common experience. No one cared about the politics or issues of the day. There was a common agreement as we passed others: “Isn’t it beautiful!” Strangers so moved by the enormity of the moment, so connected to this ancient traveller, that they were compelled to speak to each other.

Think about it.

The little stuff disappears in the face of the transcendent moon. I felt as if we were participating in a ritual that is as old as humanity. And, more to the point, this ancient ritual, the awe of the moon, invoked our humanity. We were, to a person, benevolent. In the timeless moon there was no space for the petty. There wasn’t a hint of righteousness or prejudice to be found. We waned in the face of the eternal light of the moon. What remained was a basic impulse to share the moment. To join. Primordial generosity. Kindness sublime.

It’s a Long Story/ This Part of the Journey © 1998/2000 Kerri Sherwood

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

Humans 300 years from now will look on our times as the nadir of human expression. They will marvel at our creation of something so ingenious as social media and then wrinkle their noses at how we used it.

“Predictable,” they will sigh. “If anyone can say anything in a medium driven and magnified solely by popularity – then it should have come as no surprise that some people will-in-fact say anything to hoard popularity.” Likes. “They must not have known that people will do anything for attention,” they will roll their eyes.

“Our ancestors enjoyed free speech,” they will scribble in their notes, “but were a people with no sense of decorum.” Their discovery will spur a new field of research: when in human development did people evolve enough to place decency above their need for approval? When did people evolve enough to consider the impact of their words, to understand that that their actions affect the greater good?

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