A Legacy of Hope [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Tom was concerned with what would become of the ranch after he was gone. His concern was not the land so much as the family legacy. He felt as if he was the last, the keeper of the history. Who might carry the story forward? Who will re-member the steps walked by his ancestors?

I was moved to tears when the Balinese explained to me that, according to their belief, every child born was an ancestor returned. After seven generations, the ancestor comes back wearing the funny new face of the infant descendant. The important point is this: A community makes fundamentally different choices when they understand that the earth they leave behind is the earth that they will also inherit. The ancestor attends to the descendant because the descendant is the ancestor.

Through a translator, the Chinese master-acupuncturist explained to the students that the challenge he perceived in them was that they were rootless. The U.S. culture too easily plows under the sacred to erect a mall. We have very little connection to, understanding of, or respect for the past. He explained that eyes blinded by the shiny-new or obsessed with the algorithm will never access the ancient art of healing a human being. The whole being. With so little concern for what came before there is little awareness or care of the tracks made by marching forward. How is it possible to help balance the health of others when the healer is rootless and unaware of the impact of their actions?

“But what do we do?” It is the ubiquitous question asked by those who reject the malice and indecency that recently swept into power in the USA. The question thrust me back into the single challenge I faced as a DEI consultant: my clients were protected against the very thing that might help them. They wanted a solution – a fix – and saw no value in attending to relationships. The gods of efficiency and effectiveness had no time to waste. Eyes would roll when we suggested that they cease trying to fix problems. They’d panic when we proffered that a to-do list would never create the better culture they envisioned. In fact, it would prevent it. Cultivating “the space between,” paying attention to the quality of the relationships, would bring about the transformation they desired: a culture of mutual support grown from a history of ugly division.

This morning I was struggling to articulate my thought and Kerri stopped my mind-wander with this encapsulation: “What you are trying to say is that It’s not solution-based. It’s process-based.” Yes. Exactly.

“Solution-based” focuses exclusively on what-we-do. It is transactional and, after all, isn’t that the epicenter of what ails us as a nation? If the prevailing philosophy is the-ends-are-worth-the-means, then lying, cheating, grifting, demeaning, debasing, bullying are acceptable behaviors. We are currently witness to the amorality of attainment-of-power-by-any-means. It doesn’t matter who gets hurt or why. No one in power cares about the legacy, the traces left behind. Rootless. Unethical. Out of balance.

“Process-based” is concerned with who-we-are. Together. The opposite of transactional is transformational. Mutual support. Reinforcing connection. Paying attention to the growth of the whole as a means of attending to the growth of the individual. It’s a radically different philosophy in which the ends-are-the-means. Actions matter. Words matter. Choices matter. Roots matter. The legacy, the tracks we leave behind, matters.

And so we ask the question, “But what do we do?” We speak out. We use our voices for good. We begin by looking to the legacy of hope those who came before us left for us to follow. Perhaps we begin by linking arms, focusing on the space between, and continuing a legacy of hope and courage for future generations to follow.

from the archives: Doves

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read Kerri’s blogpost about THE TRACES WE LEAVE

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Upside Down and Wide Open [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Years ago I had a dream. It was visceral and has stuck with me. In my dream the world flipped upside-down. What was heavy was now light. What was difficult became easy. And vice-versa. What I once did effortlessly was suddenly impossible. I could move a mountain but I could not lift a paintbrush. I awoke from my dream both frightened and enthralled.

What is possible? What is impossible? These are good questions to ask on the threshold of a new year. Earlier this week I sat down to write some intentions for the new year and the page is still blank. I’ve decided it is best to leave the possibilities wide open. A blank page has become my intention.

This morning a quote by Noam Chomsky rolled across my screen: “If you assume that there is no hope, you guarantee that there will be no hope.”

I was entering 2025 with a sense of dread and then, in a matter of 24 hours, my picture for what’s possible completely flipped over. An unreachable opportunity sparked a series of heart-conversations. My heavy dread dissipated like fog meeting a warming sun. My eyes refocused on the essential instead of the periphery. I stepped across the dateline filled with hope.

Sometimes, when you least expect it, mountains move. Sometimes the world flips over. Sometimes dreams come true.

Riverstone 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 REFLECTIONS

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Plenty Of Time [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

Time with others. That’s the point, isn’t it?

From all of us at the headquarters of Smack-Dab International, we wish you plenty of time with those you love in 2025.

read Kerri’s blogpost about TIME WITH OTHERS

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The Seed Of Hope [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Years ago, after watching a workshop production of Romeo & Juliet performed by actors who were in their teens – the age of Romeo & Juliet – our post-play discussion touched on a truism: when you are young, everything seems eternal. If you are in pain, it is forever. If you are in bliss, it is all-consuming. The young lovers, once in pain, felt that they had no other path but to end their pain.

Long life teaches that nothing is forever. Just wait awhile and hope will come skipping around the bend.

In the cycle of the year, these dark winter days are made celebratory by the ever-so-slight return of the light. For generations, people have gathered to honor the promise of future warmth. Hope will soon have buds appear on barren branches.

Some folks-on-earth believe that their act of gathering, performing their ritual, invokes the return of light. They are participants and not mere observers. They are stewards of life rather than consumers of resource.

It’s an interesting exercise. Try it. Tonight, when you light your candles, imagine for a moment that your action matters. It is not merely beautiful.

Imagine, in the moment of touching match to wick, that you are a bringer of light. Imagine that the earth hears and responds to the songs that you sing or that the sun is listening to your heart. Imagine that you are a keeper-of-the-seed-of-hope and, with the magnifying power of family, friends, and community, together, you have to power to reawaken the spring.

read Kerri’s blogpost about WINTER

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Use The Discrepancy [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Every once in a while I flip open one of my well-loved-and-well-worn books to a random page and read a few paragraphs. It’s my way of giving this wise-old universe the opportunity to drop a pertinent message on me. What tidbit of wisdom might I need to hear today?

Yesterday I opened Robert Fritz’s book, The Path Of Least Resistance, and began reading about discrepancy: what is the difference between where you are right now and what you want to create? I read that most people try to remove or deny their discrepancies. They try to eliminate the tension. Artists, on the other hand, understand their discrepancies as fuel. Creative tension. Discrepancy ignites the imagination. The last thing an artist wants to do is blunt their imagination, deny the discrepancy. An artist uses it. It’s a “process focus” rather than an “achievement focus”.

At the stop sign she stopped just shy of the bumper of the car in front of us, pulled out her camera and snapped a photo of the sticker on the window: I hope something good happens to you today. “Now that’s refreshing,” she said. In our travels we see plenty of aggressive bumper messages. Almost daily Kerri asks, “Why would they put THAT on their car? Jeeeeez!”

A wish for something good to happen to you. Today. What is the distance between us-as-a-nation right now, in this very dark moment, and a community that actually hopes for something good to happen to and for everyone? Can you imagine it? Walking in the world with a hope in your heart for good things to happen to everyone you meet, to everyone whose path you cross?

It is an understatement to suggest that there’s quite a discrepancy between what-is and what-could-be. There is a veritable chasm between the incoming angry nightmare and those who voted for hope, decency and kindness. And so it’s a vital time to be an artist. There’s rarely been a time more in need of imagination to counter the backward-looking-conservative-fascist-fantasy.

There’s plenty of fuel for the imagination borne of our massive discrepancy. Hoping for something good to happen to you today – whoever you are – is a great place to start.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SOMETHING GOOD

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A Joining With [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

I had a minor revelation (again) while we were working on this cartoon. What’s the question we ask when we go to the dictionary to look up a word? We ask, “What does it mean?” The operative word is “it”.

English speakers are bound by the word “it.” “It” magically, unconsciously, turns everything into an object. A thing. A thing to be pursued, chased, grasped. Found. Possessed. Bought. Sold.

Hope. Happiness. Kindness. Aspiration. Desire. Yearning…Love.

And what if “it” can’t be found or bought? What if “it” can only be tended, nurtured, like a flame? What if “it” can only be shared. Felt. What if “it” wasn’t a “thing” – an object – at all? What if “it” isn’t a transaction?What if “it” is a warmth? What then?

Is it possible for me to give you hope? Or is it more likely that hope is how we experience the sunrise after a cold dark night? A dawning both inside and out. A joining with…

Regardless of what our language might lead us to believe, hope, like love, is a how, not a what.

I know this: if we could find “it” and wrap “it” and give “it”, we would. Our hope for this season? That “it” finds you.

read Kerri’s blogpost about BUYING HOPE

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Sit Down And Be Lost [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

It always happens this time of year. We jump on a trail in the early afternoon thinking we have plenty of time and are caught completely off guard when the sun sets. “What time is it?” we ask in our annual ritual of amazement. It is always earlier – much earlier – than we think. “It’s not even happy hour!” we declare, walking in the dark, as if the great-gods-of-daylight might not have fully considered the impact on happy hour before they magically turned the dial and made 4:30pm feel like midnight.

This fall we feel particularly out of sync with time. We lost the month of October to Covid. We feel as if Covid was a portal into the Twilight Zone: we entered the month with hope and health and by the time we emerged from our sickness, it was the middle of November and the world was completely changed. Darker. It feels a bit Rip-Van-Winkle-ish.

Rob once told me when I felt lost in the woods, that the best thing to do was sit down and be still. Not to panic or walk in circles. To surrender trying-to-be-found. “Sit down and be lost. Relax and pay attention,” he wrote, “then maybe a direction will reveal itself to you.”

It was sage advice and even more so in the current darkness descending on our nation. On one level, we are preparing for the storm of chaos and indecency coming down the pike. On another level, feeling lost and confused with the national inversion of dignity and civility, we are choosing to sit down. We are choosing to be lost. It is more useful, now that the initial disgust and disbelief is past, to relax and pay attention.

For all of us who value the promise of the ideal beating at the heart of our Constitution, now threatened by thuggery and incompetence, it is our belief that a direction will reveal itself.

In the meantime, we surrender trying to be found. In the meantime, we hold firmly to each other and our hope…

read Kerri’s blogpost about LOST IN THE WOODS

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Something To Hold Onto [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Like this wisp, I thought, when she said, “We are all looking for something to hold onto.” We were walking the trail, still trying to process the results of the election. Reeling. The wisp was an apt image. We are at the mercy of the wind. She added, “Maybe that is what we need to offer in what we write. Something to hold onto.”

Something to hold onto. Yes. But not just anything. I suspect the people who latched onto maga were looking for something to hold onto. Their anger made them grasp the grifter. They coalesced around a petty swindler who preys on their frailty, spins their blind rage into misplaced hatred. Even though he makes them promises, they will find that there is no salvation on this path. There is no magic potion. He will empty their pockets – ours, too – and vanish from sight, blaming everything under the sun except for himself for the wreckage he leaves behind.

Something to hold onto. I’ve been heartened by those in our circle, like us, unplugging from media, detaching from family and friends who voted for the felon and fascism. Detaching from what can no longer be trusted. Stepping away from what has become toxic, unsafe. There’s clarity in this sweeping discernment. An unambiguous line. A re-dedication to honoring and protecting simple verifiable truth and guarding decency as our common ground.

This week I’ve had multiple conversations about the difference between purpose and filling time. We’re comparing strategies for staying healthy amidst the national dis-ease. From “Reading every book I’ve ever wanted to read,” to “Completing every home improvement project I’ve been putting off,” it’s more than simply staying occupied to avoid the pull of the doom-scroll, the call of the train wreck; it’s strategies for staying mentally and spiritually healthy through the coming wasteland. In each conversation there is this: a renewed focus on relationships. Reaching out with hope and support to the others who refuse to relinquish the unambiguous line.

Something to hold onto. We’ve spent the past few weeks, like King Lear, raging at the sky, shaking our heads in utter disbelief. A necessary phase I will call grief. So, as our nation wrestles with its ugly shadow, we hold onto the slim hope that this is how, like a snake, we shed our ugly-too-small-skin. We hope that, after the coming storm, we survive and step back into the sun, survey the wreckage, and ask, “How can we rebuild so that this never-ever happens again?”

It is something to hold onto.

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE WISP

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Let It Sit [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Over thirty five years ago, people I loved, people who loved me, bought me an easel. It was a gift for my very first solo show. All these years later, it is the only easel I’ve ever had, the only easel I use. The only easel I will use. If the canvas is too big, if I can’t put it on my easel, I tack it to the wall.

My easel is well traveled. It moved up and down the west coast. It moved into and out of studio spaces. It rode in the truck to the midwest. It has hosted hundreds of canvases. It has become the Velveteen Rabbit of easels. It is no longer shiny and new. It is covered with layers of acrylic drips and splashes, the support stabilizer is bowed, I must be vigilant to keep it square. It is, I recently realized, my mirror image, my double-walker: I, too, am covered with drips and splashes, my stabilizer is bowing, and I am constantly vigilant about keeping myself grounded and square.

A few days ago, during a studio clean, I decided it was time to do a bit of easel excavation and repair. The build up of acrylic paint on the bottom canvas holder is…prodigious. I wasn’t prepared for what I was about to experience. As I peeled back the layers of acrylic, I unearthed the layers of my creative life. The layers of my life. I could literally associate the colors of the acrylic strata with specific paintings, with specific eras, with foibles and triumphs, despair and new hope. There were many many layers. It was like reading a diary, a life review in spatter.

Tom McKenzie taught me that in order to invite in new energy it is sometimes necessary to close the shop. Lock the door and let it sit. Make space. Time and patience will loosen the grip of old ideas, stale patterns – and open pathways to fresh possibilities. I’ve followed his sage advice twice before. Once I stopped painting for a full year. I not only closed the building but I burned the paintings. In both cases, locking the door was followed by a renaissance, a surge of new and surprising work.

I saw the story of my twice-artistic rebirth as I slowly peeled the history from my easel.

And, as I stripped back the layers of my life, the full understanding of what I was doing settled in. I am cleaning my easel in preparation for my third closing of the building. I am cleaning it so it will be ready for that day-in-the-future when I unlock the door. Spacious and rejuvenated. I have been fighting it. I have been angry about it because I feared it – I always fear that the muse will leave and never come back even though I know in my bones that the muse is the wise-voice asking me to breathe, to make space. Now, as is always the case after a few years of fighting a losing battle, I am accepting it. It’s time to lock the door. Empty the glass. Let it sit.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SPACE

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Look Around [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Strolling on the path through the park, we followed the shoreline. Just at the spot where the path meets the marina, we found an appeal chalked on the walkway: be good people. As Kerri snapped a photo, I wondered who wrote it. Who felt compelled to bring their chalk to the park and petition goodness from passers-by? I wondered if they’d had their fill of bad examples of humanity, snapped-up their chalk, and headed to the original location of social media, the public square.

Or, perhaps it was not a plea but was their wish for us. “My wish for you is to be good people.” Why, on this day, did they feel compelled to make their wish visible?

There are many ideas, definitions and word associations of goodness yet they are bound together by a single notion-thread: consider first the needs of others. Brothers/Sisters keeper. “Good people” reach their hand to assist others.

I gathered a few words used to characterize “good people”: Empathy. Consideration. Accountability. Compassion. Kindness. Each word, each characteristic, is other-people-focused. “How can I help?” Share, because there is plenty-enough for all.

As Kerri took a picture of the message I jumped into a memory, a time of desperation. Some thought-angel dinged my noggin and sent me out into the city to witness acts of kindness. As I have previously written, I saw generosity everywhere I looked. People being good in small ways and large. Opening doors. Paying for a stranger’s cup of coffee. Holding up traffic so a senior could safely cross the street. Asking the bus driver to “Wait a second!” – someone was racing to catch the bus. A second made all the difference for someone.

Those good people, everyday people doing everyday things, buoyed me, filled me with hope and light. If I’d had chalk in my pocket on that day I might have scribbled on the sidewalk, “Good people are everywhere! Look around!” I saw them because I decided to look for them.

If I’d had chalk in my pocket, after Kerri was finished with her photograph, I’d have written a message for the “Be good people” writer: “Thanks for the reminder. See good people”.

They are everywhere.

read Kerri’s blogpost about BE GOOD PEOPLE

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