Sharp Love [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Someone once told me that love need not be a soft thing; it can be a sword that cuts or a flower with thorns. In fact, sometimes love needs to be sharp to cut through the noise.

Recently I’ve recognized outrage as a form of sharp love. We are now, each day, inundated with images that outrage us. If you are like me, you were outraged when you saw the photograph from Chicago: a burly ICE agent zip-tying the hands of a crying toddler.

Our outrage is not only warranted, it is deeply human. Our outrage is sharp love cutting through.

Now, when I see people protesting these outrages, gathering in the streets, showing up at immigration courts to bear witness, when I see independent media calling out the falsehoods and refusing to normalize the atrocities… I see people who love the promise of democracy, people who love others – strangers – enough to show up, to stand up and to call out the disgraceful action of authority run amok.

It is the same kind of sharp love that sends firefighters running into burning buildings. It is the same fiery love that makes a soldier fight for an abstract idea, like democracy, like freedom for all. It is the same sharp love that requires us to step away from those we know and love who continue to champion the outrageous.

Speaking about the recent cowardice of corporate law firms, media organizations and universities in the face of governmental pressure, Mark Elias said that “Courage begets courage. Capitulation begets capitulation.” In the courage of ordinary citizens, people taking to the streets, people showing up for their neighbors, people who are demanding decency of their government, I am seeing sharp love. Love begets love even when – especially when – it looks like people outraged at the treatment of other people, people standing up for the rights of their fellow human beings.

read Kerri’s blogpost about ROSES

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When It’s All Said And Done [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

I discarded another post this morning. Aghast at the latest lies and childish memes I wrote yet another political rant. It was harsh. It was too much. It led us into a lengthy conversation about how we might live and write in this toxic environment and yet not let the toxins poison us. How do we remain healthy while not denying the reality – the horrors – of our democracy’s collapse at the hands of those who swore to protect it?

In truth, I have not been happy with my recent posts. So many years ago I began writing for a specific audience – and myself – to make the distinction between unhealthy control and generative power. The shorthand is this: Control over/Power with.

Control is wielded over others while power is created with others. Control is self-absorbed. Power is other-focused. Control is the product of duality: us/them, black/white, winner/loser…It is oppositional. It can only lead to discord.

Power is created in a dynamic triad. It is relational. It is complementary and reciprocal. It always gives rise to harmony.

I realized in our conversation this morning that I had myself slipped into a duality. My writing has become oppositional. As our nation grows more violent and ugly by the day, my impulse has been to push back, to sound an alarm. I want to scream, “I am not that! WE are not that!”

Ronald Reagan famously said that “Government is the problem.” He was wrong. Government is neither a problem nor is it a solution (a duality). Government is a service (a triad). It is made of elected representatives in service to their constituents relative to serving the greater needs of the whole. It is dynamic. When functional and fair, it is complementary. Symbiotic.

Government becomes dysfunctional when it tries to run like a business and pretends it is subject to a bottom line (profit or loss). It is death for any service organization that forgets its reason-for-being and attempts to be something that it is not: government is not a business. It’s a no-brainer: privatization of government services places the emphasis on the bottom line – not on serving the people. For instance, privatize prisons and the bottom line of profitability will require the creation of more and more prisoners. Businesses need to grow. The same levers are true when applied to healthcare (as we are seeing) or education.

I believe most of the people of this nation are well intended. I believe the endgame of this administration is control so it must necessarily define everything as Us-and-Them. Demagogues need to demonize vulnerable communities and blame them for the ills of the nation. Demagogues need enemies-from-within since pitting us against each other is the route to ultimate control over…Demagogues need a Them.

People who are not steeped in blaming others for their pain are more likely to take responsibility for their destiny – which means they seek opportunity – which means that they are more apt the reach out to help and for help. Opportunity is a triad. Blame is a duality.

You might rightly ask me, “How on earth could a prompt featuring Sesame Street characters lead to a post so toxic that you had to toss it?” The answer is simple: in a control strategy like the one raging across our nation, in a forced duality designed to appear as angels and devils, good guys and bad guys, the bad guys will always get the focus. That’s the point of a control game: to see bad guys everywhere. To become reactive, suspicious, and angry. To reduce an otherwise complex, diverse thriving nation into a simplistic monotone. We are angels. They are devils. Happy and sad, grouchy and glad.

As someone once said to me, “It’s like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.”

I drank the poison. I’m so glad that our conversation this morning opened my eyes and left me asking, “How do I not bury my head in the sand but deal with the reality and still remain healthy?”

Triads, baby. Focus on the dynamic relationships and set about creating some real power with others. When it’s all said and done isn’t that the point of a democracy?

read Kerri’s blogpost about SESAME STREET

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It Is The Time [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Yesterday I painted the rail on the front porch. I sanded the small windows upstairs; they need repainting. One of the window sills in our bedroom has water damage. It is next on my list to fix before the snow returns.

I realized what I was doing; what we are doing. Since we cannot control or impact in any way the rapid destruction of our democracy – at the hands of those sworn to preserve it, no less – then I will do my best to attend to what I can control. I will be a good steward of our home. I will fix what I can.

She said, “We have to do something to pull our heads out of this madness. At least for a little while.” Yes. We bumped into them on our walk around the neighborhood, a couple who we admire. We shared our concerns and dismay. We have to do something to remind us of goodness, that people of good intention are all around, even when it feels hopeless. Our brief sidewalk chat gave us hope. We are not alone in our worry. We are not alone in our belief in goodness.

We harvested the last of the peppers. This summer our garden was prolific. The basil exploded. The tomato plant is still producing. The garden, the yard, the pond, the appearance of the frog…the exercise of intentionally coming into the moment, the place were common sense can be found when it is otherwise absent.

I had a revelation, the release of a judgment. David Neiwert told a story of the German people, living in villages just outside of the concentration camps, each morning sweeping the ash from their sidewalks and window sills. After the liberation the villagers claimed that they had no idea what was happening in the camps. How could they not know? Sweeping their steps, picking their peppers, painting the rail on their front porch…doing anything possible to pull their heads out of the madness.

This is not the time to look the other way. This is not the time to normalize the obscenity that is erasing our nation. People are already disappearing into camps. Due process and habeas corpus are gone. The Supremes ruled that racial profiling is lawful: it’s no different than sewing yellow stars on clothes. Now, we hear from the dictator wannabe that “the enemy is within”: the enemy is anyone who disagrees with the fascist fire raging across the nation. Anyone who protests or questions. My revelation? I do not want to someday sweep ash from my walk while telling myself that I have no idea what’s happening.

We know. So do the republicans.

This is not the time to normalize the obscenity. This is not the time to look the other way. It is the time for all people of goodness to join hands in the commons, to stand together, to call out the lies, to push our elected leaders to push back against this corruption, this out-of-control authoritarian regime.

It is the time, our time, to be good stewards of our nation-home.

BRIDGE on the album AS IT IS © 2004 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE LAST PEPPERS

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The Right Season [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

The color of petals at the end of the season. An earthier shade of yellow made more vibrant relative to the purple-black. A kind of beauty that’s possible only in the right season.

I’ve been noodling on a composition-idea for years. Drawings of the theme pock my sketchbooks. I’ve started and erased canvases dozens of times. I don’t know why I’ve been so fixated on it for so long, though now it seems like it was prophetic. The time was not right until now. Polynices and Eteocles. The sons of Oedipus. As the story goes, after Oedipus abdicates his throne, his sons go to war for control of the kingdom. In their lust for power, they kill each other. Both lose. All lose.

How did we get here? Democrats and Republicans. Brothers, forgetting that they are servants of the people, go to war for power over the republic. Both lose. All lose.

It’s the right time to paint this painting. A kind of beauty, if you can call it that, possible only in the right season.

read Kerri’s blogpost about AUTUMN YELLOW

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A Resurgence [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

In a surprise move, the mint-gone-fallow has made a resurgence – just in time for the latest batch of sun tea. It is a sign of the season that Kerri had to chase the sun, moving the tea jug a few times from the fast approaching shadows.

I wrote a post yesterday and tried to stay away from current events. I was mostly successful though I felt remiss all day. It was as though I was ignoring the most important thing. And, I was. A few years ago a car caught fire in our elderly neighbor’s driveway. Even though I was in the middle of a zoom work call, I ran downstairs and across the street and pounded on her door. She didn’t want to leave her house until I explained the fire was near the gas line to her home. My post yesterday felt like I was turning my back on the driveway fire.

A few times I’ve heard others say, “There’s nothing we can do.”

I’ve asked the same question more than a few times myself: but, what can we do?

The corporate news seems hellbent on normalizing the monstrous. I wonder why some reporter hasn’t asked Mike Johnson why he’s being derelict in his duty to impeach a president who’s regularly declaring war on the cities of this country, who is using the justice department to prosecute people he doesn’t like. The unhinged speech at the UN would have been enough to evoke the 25th amendment for any past president. Are you seeing footage of the protests happening all around this nation? Neither am I.

Someone asked Mark Elias if we were crossing the river into authoritarianism and he responded that we crossed that river a long time ago. “Our shoes are already dry,” he said.

The fire is raging near the gas line of the national house. The very least we could do is care enough to bang on doors to wake our neighbors. Democracy is not dead – not yet. If we act, if we wake up a few neighbors, who knows, there might still be a resurgence.

read Kerri’s blogpost about MINT

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It’s Only Natural [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

This is a photograph of diversity: thriving tomato plants, basil, rosemary, cilantro, parsley, peppers, and autumn clematis. Look closer and you will spot bees, caterpillars and garden spiders. The chipmunk trail runs directly behind the bench. It is a tale of interconnectivity. Biodiversity is nature’s secret of success. Symbiotic relationships make the garden flourish.

Monoculture, on the other hand, all but guarantees a system’s collapse. It is true in nature. It is true of us as well; as human beings have learned again and again when soiling the nest, we are not separate from nature. We are not above it all. We are one thin ozone away from annihilation.

The word “symbiotic” comes from the Greek word for “living together.” Our democratic experiment is a test of human cultural symbiosis. For those of us who value actual history over made-up dross, it is undeniable that innovation has always thrived at the crossroads of cultures and the USA is an intentional crossroads.

White supremacy has been an ugly thorn in our democratic saddle since the nation’s inception but thankfully, until now, has never held the reins of power. As we watch the ICE horror story of racial profiling – astonishingly permitted by the Supreme Court, the assault on DEI, the erasure of people of color from our history, the vilification of Democrats (the party of diversity), we are witness to the insane attempt to force a monoculture into existence. And, as the insane – and inane – attempt at whitewashing our very colorful nation progresses, we step ever closer to our system’s collapse.

White fragility is at the epicenter of white supremacy. It claims to be a master race but fundamentally fears looking at its face in the mirror. It flees criticism. It touts being atop a pyramid built upon the labor and innovation of everyone else. It purports to represent the average citizen while embracing the economics of oligarchy (neoliberalism) and the politics of division. It knows how to pillage and rape and rig the game but understands almost nothing of building true strength, power, community and unity. It doesn’t have the first idea of the reality of symbiosis; it swirls in the fantasy-strut of mythical cowboy independence.

It is not a mystery that our democratic garden is in danger of dying. Perhaps, if we survive this race to destruction, we will at last be able to look in the mirror, see-embrace-and-deal with our full history. We will insist on building our home on the truth. All of it. Perhaps we will rise from the ashes without the idiotic idea that any race is superior to any other and truly, fully embrace the beating heart of our democratic union: that all people are created equal, that all people are protected equally under the law, that it is our experiment in diversity that makes – and has made – this nation great all along.

Symbiosis. Diversity. The same relationships that make our garden thrive will make our nation thrive. It’s only natural.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE GARDEN BENCH

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Ho-Ho-Ho [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Evidently the elves had a bit too much nog and crashed the Wishing Palace into a tree. They must have been flying without a license since they seem to have crashed-and-run, leaving the Palace wedged into a tree with one runner missing. Will Santa be pissed? I’m not sure. Is jolly ole St. Nick capable of being cross? I imagine the sudden loss of The Wishing Palace during an drunken-elfen-joy-ride might raise his ire. In any event, I’d love to hear the whopper the elves tell Santa to explain the crash. Ho-Ho-Ho!

On second thought, instead of fleeing the scene, I’m not sure why the elves didn’t rush into the Palace and make a wish for an immediate full-Palace-repair. I mean, what good is a Wishing Palace if the wishes made in the Palace – especially wishes made by the elves that drive it – aren’t certain to come true? At the very least they could wish to keep the wreckage a secret from Santa – at least until they sober up and figure out how to repair the damage and return the Palace to its parking spot at the North Pole.

Apollo’s son, Phaeton, took the sun-chariot out for a spin and, like the elves, it was too much for him to handle. He couldn’t control the horses. Zeus had to strike Phaeton with a lightning bolt before the lad drove the chariot into the ground, scorching the earth in the process. If Apollo could enter the Wishing Palace he’d certainly wish to go back in time so he might prevent his son from taking his fatal joy ride.

The annals of time are filled with stories of incompetence at the helm.

The current administration, like Phaeton or the elves, have the reigns of the nation and have taken it out for a wild ride. Despite their bravado, despite the tale that they spin, it is increasingly clear that they are either too full of nog to hold democracy’s course or they do not have the fortitude to drive a constitutional republic.

In either case, we will very soon find ourselves lodged in a tree or can expect a lightning bolt that will end the joy ride. We can only hope that it’s merely a runner that we lose and that the crash sobers us. We can only hope that we have the wherewithal to repair what is broken. Since wishes seem empty at this point, we can at least hope for a republican party that remembers that governance begins with communicating with the other side. The art of compromise – the epicenter of democracy – begins with coming to the table willing to discuss solutions.

In any event, it’s not much fun listening to the whoppers that the republicans are telling, the fomenting of violence and division, their dedication to flying blind by hiding the economic indicators and jobs numbers. One thing is certain: to explain the crash they’ll no-doubt blame Obama or Biden or democrats. Taking responsibility for their actions is not in their wheelhouse. They’ll crash the Palace and run amok blaming everything under the sun but themselves. In response to their grand sham, I suggest we be like Santa and meet their reckless incompetence with a sober vote and a hearty Ho-Ho-Ho!

read Kerri’s blog about THE WISHING PALACE

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So Here It Is [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

Well, you’ve cracked the sky, scrapers fill the air
But will you keep on building higher
‘Til there’s no more room up there
Will you make us laugh, will you make us cry?
Will you tell us when to live, will you tell us when to die?

I know we’ve come a long way
We’re changing day to day
But tell me, where do the children play?

~ Cat Stevens, Where Do The Children Play

Kerri regularly tells me to “gear down.” She’s asking me to simplify my thoughts so they are more accessible. It’s the reason I nodded knowingly when I read this in Thom Hartmann’s newsletter:

“The reason we’re at a pivotal moment in America is because most people don’t know how to answer this question: “How do you know when you’re really no longer living in a democracy?”

He makes a great point. Even though we have tanks rolling down civilian streets, masked thugs plucking people without warrant or due process, concentration camps popping up in swamps, the collapse of checks-and-balances, the intentional scrubbing of our history, an all-out assault on diversity and civil rights, a Supreme Court regularly ruling against the Constitution in support of a single man consolidating power… “Up until the last few days, most Americans didn’t think we’d lost our freedoms or are about to.”

He continues: “But everybody knows Jimmy Kimmel. So the new understanding is: ‘You know you don’t live in a free country any more when comedians can no longer criticize the president.‘”

So, here it is. Geared down so all can understand. We don’t live in a free country anymore. We can either mumble our way into autocracy or we can open our mouths and regain our freedoms. As Stephen Colbert said, “We’re all Jimmy Kimmel now.”

read Kerri’s blogpost about FREE SPEECH

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Black and White [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“Despair is a narcotic. It lulls the mind into indifference.” ~ Charlie Chaplin

It turns out that there are some things that are black or white. For instance, we either have free speech or we don’t. We either have the protections of due process and habeas corpus or we don’t. We either adhere to the Constitution or we don’t. We either have a free press or we don’t. We either champion the truth or we don’t.

We either have a democracy or we don’t.

Right now, in this moment, where all of the above are concerned, we don’t.

I’m still shaking my head at the 90 million voters who did not turn out to vote in the last election. Were they indifferent? There is certainly enough despair to go around given the sucking of wealth from the many into the hands of the few. We either exercise our power in democracy by voting or we don’t.

The system is either built for all of us or it is tilted toward the privileged few. And that seems to be the line of discord in our short history, the rope that we perpetually tug in our incessant internal war: who do we mean when we say, “We the people”? It either includes all of us in the promise or it doesn’t.

We either protect the dream or we don’t.

Lately, in a mass capitulation of courage by corporate America, the legal profession, universities…we’ve learned that despair is not the only narcotic that lulls the mind into indifference. Profit might be mightier than despair in producing indifference. We’re literally seeing our nation sell its soul. It’s become abundantly clear what is valued and what is not.

Democracy, for the morbidly wealthy, seems no match for private gain. It’s up to the rest of us to wake up, shake off indifference and loudly remind the gluttonous few that fascism has no place in a democratic republic, that our rights and protected freedoms are not for sale or to be used as leverage for the corporate merger.

We either protect the dream now or we lose it. We’re standing at the line. All of us. It makes no difference if you are on the blue team or the red. The orchestrated collapse of our democracy, the loss of protected freedoms, of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, the erasure of our nation of laws and not men…applies equally to all of us.

It turns out that somethings are not black or white, they are black and white.

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

read Kerri’s blogpost on BLACK AND WHITE

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No Space. No Time. [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Our saturday-morning-smack-dab-cartoon was about feeling wistful in the fall. We very intentionally prompted something non-political, non-news-of-the-day-ish, so we might give our hearts and minds a break from railing against the incessant assault on our democratic way of life. And then I read something that deeply upset me. Instead of writing about wistfulness, I wrote about our national incapacity of dealing with the truth.

And then, at the end of my post, I wrote an apology for once again shaking my metaphoric fists and railing at the lies.

And then, I erased my apology. I did not want to lie. In truth, I was not sorry for railing at the lies and misinformation and abuse of the public trust. I call myself an artist and the very epicenter of that role is to hold a mirror up to my community. Sometimes the image in the mirror is ugly.

We were walking on the Des Plaines river trail, just north of Chicago, when two fighter jets ripped across the sky just above the tree line. The earth shook. It was the same day that the authoritarian wanna-be, in a meme no less…, declared war on Chicago. I made the assumption that the fighter jets were an opening salvo, a demonstration of power by a weak little man meant to shake the populace.

“Can you believe it?” she asked.

Isn’t it sad that my first assumption was that the president of the united states sent war planes over the region to startle the populace? Isn’t it sad that, in these times, even though my assumption was wrong, it was not an outlandish proposition, not a sci-fi-speculation, but actually within the realm of possibility?

Many of her recent photographs capture fading flowers. I am drawn to them. The brittle shapes. The muting colors. Life energy pulling away from the blossom and retreating to the root to rest and re-energize. It produces a different kind of beauty.

It is this waning beauty, this retreat into the root that has always evoked my wistfulness. I realized that this autumn I will probably not feel my usual wistfulness. The yearning of fall is made delicious because of the promise of spring emerging from dark winter. Wistfulness is letting go to open space for renewal. I realized, watching the fighter jets, aghast that a president would resort to such a childish meme to declare his ugliest of intentions, to turn the military on its citizens, that I do not know if our democratic nation will be here in the spring.

There is no space for wistfulness. There is no time for apologies. There is no longer any doubt that a fascist dark winter is descending. We are fools to think that it will lead to a democratic spring.

read Kerri’s blogpost about WANING FLOWERS

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