Some enlightened poet/scientist named this little flower Shooting Star. The flower evoked for the scientist streaks of light arcing across the night sky. The scientist must have had a profound experience one night, gazing into the stars when, suddenly, the stars seemed to go haywire, zipping across the sky.
My first ever meteor shower happened while I was a teenager. I was in the mountains. I lay in a meadow with my friends and watched the heavens dance. It made me understand how so many cultures on this earth believe that shooting stars are either souls returning to the earth to be reborn or the souls of the recently deceased leaping into the other world. Souls in transition leaving a brilliant, momentary trace of light behind them.
Still other cultures believe that shooting stars are messages from the gods. Affirmations.
The message I received from my night in the mountain meadow watching the stars arc across the sky? I am infinitesimally small in this vast universe. And, I am intimately connected to everything. It’s a poet’s revelation.
The scientist who named the flower Shooting Star must have had the exact same realization.
[Bonus hope: A poet’s thought in a world of oppression in which we are connected to everything]
I look at the world From awakening eyes in a black face— And this is what I see: This fenced-off narrow space Assigned to me.
I look then at the silly walls Through dark eyes in a dark face— And this is what I know: That all these walls oppression builds Will have to go!
I look at my own body With eyes no longer blind— And I see that my own hands can make The world that’s in my mind. Then let us hurry, comrades, The road to find.
We took a break and sat outside, soaking up the sun. Had we continued working we’d have missed the hummingbird, the first of the season. You’d have thought by our reaction to the hummingbird sighting that we just scored the winning goal in the World Cup finals. It’s what I love about how we are walking through the world. Small things are cause for big celebration.
We moved the bags of leaves to the curb for pick-up. The bags were sitting on the driveway beneath the bird feeder. After we removed the bags, Kerri spotted some wriggling worms. “It’s not a good thing to be a worm wriggling beneath a bird feeder,” she remarked, lifting them one-by-one and gently placing them in the grass away from the feeder. Small things. Big empathy.
It seems in a single day Breck’s many buds popped open as leaves. They are yet teeny-tiny but perfectly shaped aspen leaves, ready for quaking. They catch the evening light and literally glow. “You go, Breck!” we cheer our hardy aspen tree. For us, Breck is a symbol of perseverance. If at first you don’t succeed…Those new leaves are very small things but they invoke in us big, ancient hope.
We ask, “What we can possibly do in the face of the assault-from-within on our democracy?” Small things.
In the past two days I’ve seen pleas for support from several small arts organizations. The current administration has eliminated their grant money. Their survival is now tenuous at best. They are small things that could use our big support. “Theater, in particular, invites us to imagine another’s perspective, to reckon with injustice, and to practice compassion in real time. To defund it is to silence one of the sacred spaces where we learn to be human together.” ~ Chris Domig, Artistic Director, Sea Dog Theater.
Consider helping the many, many sacred art spaces in this country to survive – and perhaps thrive – in this time of silencing voices.* For them, our support is no small thing [My short list: Sea Dog Theater Company. Seven Devils New Play Foundary. Changing Faces Theater Company. Your local companies – museums, galleries, dance companies, writer’s retreats, symphonies…the storytellers, the tradition-keepers, the mirrors to power – all depend upon grants and donations. All are in danger of disappearing. Help them in any small way if you can].
We are very small things but no less capable than Breck, or the hummingbird, or the worms of inspiring hope, evoking empathy for otherness, of celebrating all that makes us human.
We are, by ourselves, small things but united we are capable of a big, loud, unified voice – we are capable to sending a potent message to those who fear and would silence the power of the arts, those who would shutter the spaces where we learn to be human together.
*non-profits, like your local food banks or social service organizations…are also under threat. Find them. Help them in any small way that you can.
There are some small cracks of light. Cory Booker’s marathon speech on the floor of the senate, the thousands attending Bernie Sanders and AOC’s rallies. And then recently, a possibility that finally – finally – carried an action-beyond-words, something that could impede this march to authoritarianism:
“The president of North America’s Building Trades Unions, Sean McGarvey, received a standing ovation when he said to a room full of his fellow union workers: “We need to make our voices heard. We’re not red, we’re not blue. We’re the building trades, the backbone of America. You want to build a $5 billion data center? Want more six-figure careers with health care, retirement, and no college debt? You don’t call Elon Musk, you call us!… And yeah, that means all of us. All of us. Including our brother [International Association of Sheet Metal, Air, Rail and Transportation Workers] apprentice Kilmar Abrego Garcia, who we demand to be returned to us and his family now! Bring him home!” ~ Heather Cox Richardson. Letters from an American, April 13, 2025
Kilmar Abrego Garcia, wrongfully deported to prison in El Salvador, is a union brother, a sheet metal apprentice. His brothers and sisters in the union want him home. They want due process respected and restored. For all of us.
“Let’s be very clear about exactly what’s happening here: President Donald J. Trump is claiming the power to ignore the due process of the law guaranteed by the U.S. Constitution, declare someone is a criminal, kidnap them, send them to prison in a third country, and then claim that there is no way to get that person back.” ~ Letters from an American, April 13, 2025
In case it’s not clear, we are experiencing a Constitutional crisis. The administration is ignoring the judicial branch. The elimination of due process is the straw that breaks democracy’s back.
As individuals we have no recourse beyond our vote – and it is currently not clear that we will have another chance to exercise that basic right. We can speak. We can gather and rally but have no leverage with an executive that refuses to acknowledge or adhere to the law. He is supported by a Congress that refuses to perform its duty as check-and-balance to the executive. His hand-picked Attorney General, in the midst of egregious and obvious crimes by this administration, is great at playing hear-no-evil, see-no-evil but is otherwise a useless toady. The Supremes rolled over and died when granting presidential immunity. Is anyone surprised that the executive is ignoring their ruling?
Keep in mind, due process is a basic right – as is voting in a free and fair election. Any administration that suspends due process under the law will need to either corrupt the election system (as is currently happening) or terminate voting altogether – by invoking the Insurrection Act (as is currently being discussed).
In the midst of so much darkness, union president Sean McGarvey opened a small crack of light. Unions leverage power by stopping work. They shut down the machinery of production until power is willing to listen.
I gave myself permission to dream: we could stop this nonsense now if we joined a nationwide union work-stoppage. If we made clear to our government that they should fear us; we should not fear them (as the elimination of due process is meant to achieve). As Sean McGarvey said, “We need to make our voices heard. We’re not red, we’re not blue…”
We are – all of us – the citizens of the United States, the backbone and beating heart of America, a democracy, guaranteed fundamental rights in our Constitution.
We need not be passive during the assault on our basic rights as guaranteed in The Constitution. We do, however, need to recognize that we are neither red nor blue; we all lose equally if Kilmar Abrego Garcia is not brought home. We lose all – if the basic rights guaranteed in the Constitution are not honored and extended equally to all people.
It is way past time for the backbone of America to step off the job and sit for a spell. If Congress and the courts cannot – or will not – do their jobs, perhaps the citizens should follow their lead and stop doing their jobs. Perhaps we should cease productivity – all of us – until the oligarchs and the authoritarian-wanna-be, the hapless Congress and kowtowing Supreme Court recognize that working people are the engine that fuels democracy – and capitalistic democracy is the system that feeds their out-of-proportion prosperity. And, more to the point, remind them that they work for us – all of us – and not the other way around.
“Yes, I’m bein’ followed by a moonshadow Moonshadow, moonshadow Leapin’ and hoppin’ on a moonshadow Moonshadow, moonshadow”Cat Stevens (Yusef), Moonshadow
All of my life I have been captivated by shadows. The ghost dancing grasses cast on the trail. The moving patterns of telephone poles and lines waving on the asphalt. The cloud shadows gliding over the hills. Kerri and I regularly stop and take photos of our shadows. “Look how long we stretch!” I adore the shadow puppets of Wayan Kulit. It is a ritual performance of universal stories meant to remind us that in this life we only see the shadows we cast upon the screen of our minds. What’s “real” is beyond our capacity.
“Everything we call real is made of things that cannot be regarded as real.” ~ Niels Bohr. The quantum physicist and the Balinese puppet master – a priest – agree. Reality is a shadow.
Yesterday we attended a Hands-Off rally. The number one statement most often uttered by people in the crowd (according to my count): “I can’t believe this is happening!” It doesn’t feel real. It doesn’t seem possible that our representatives have so easily rolled over rather than honor their oath to protect the Constitution. In their reality they play on team Republican. In our reality – we assumed in a crisis moment like this – that they would play on team United States.
Assume nothing. Reality is what we agree upon and at present there is no agreement.
Charlie is wise. Looking at the hundreds of people chanting and waving signs, he said, “When the rule of law collapses then there’s chaos. In chaos the people have no recourse but to take to the streets.”
The Constitution is the epicenter of our laws. It is the foundation stone upon which our democracy was and is constructed. When disregarded it is no more than a piece of parchment. A relic. “Everything that is real is made of things that cannot be regarded as real.” The Constitution has purpose and meaning only if we agree to honor it, to protect it – to adhere to the boundaries – the law – that it prescribes.
A woman in the crowd said, “It’s been less than 100 days and look at this.” The people have no recourse when our elected officials ignore their foundation stone. When they choose to serve a different reality.
About Moonshadow, Yusef wrote, “Whatever happens to you there’s always something good to look forward to.” Standing in the crowd, alive with concern and caring for the well-being of the nation, I thought, “This is good. There is hope. This is how a democracy survives.”
Posted on February 8, 2025 by davidrobinsoncreative
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.
Posted on January 29, 2025 by davidrobinsoncreative
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.
Posted on January 27, 2025 by davidrobinsoncreative
Wow. Siri so easily sent to us something that Kerri and I are struggling to send: good vibes. Warm little boosts of joy and confidence.
A few months ago I started writing a picture-book featuring Chicken Marsala, our imaginary child who pops in at inopportune moments. The struggle to send warm-boosts-of-joy in the midst of a national dumpster fire brought this Chicken-snippet to mind:
I confess. I am sometimes hard on myself. On a day that I was feeling particularly hopeless, Chicken appeared behind me, mimicking my gloomy face and sad posture. His arrival startled me. I was about to shout at him not to scare me like that, but then I recognized myself in his sullen rendition. It made me laugh. “I don’t look like that!” I protested. He giggled and I have to say, as a side note, that his giggle always kills me. He giggles like a chipmunk. At least that’s what it sounds like to me. “Adorable!” as K-Dot says.
Later I thanked him for helping me lift the dark cloud on my brain. “Everyone should have a Chicken that arrives just in the nick of time to the break the dark spell!” I said.
“What’s a spell?” he asked, not at all interested in my gratitude.
“Well, it’s a kind of magic,” I said.
“Magic?” he asked, alarmed and confused. “Magic made you feel bad?”
“A spell is magic made of words,” I tried to explain. “And sometimes words make people feel bad.”
“Who made spell-words on you?” he asked, alarmed.
I admitted, “I guess I did.”
There’s a distinction between the spell-words we cast on ourselves and the spell-words cast upon us by others. By media. How else do we explain maga-mind other than as a spell cast on otherwise good people by a pathological liar, magnified by a malicious fox? How else do we make sense of those who voted for the nation’s suicide all the while proclaiming themselves as the saviors of democracy?
I would love to send you warm little boosts of joy and confidence. Maybe someday. In the meantime, I will continue to ask my angry fearful brothers and sisters across this land to consider the question Chicken asked me: “Who made spell-words on you?”
Like Chicken, I am alarmed.
“Everyone should have a Chicken that arrives just in the nick of time to the break the dark spell!”
Posted on January 23, 2025 by davidrobinsoncreative
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.
Posted on January 3, 2025 by davidrobinsoncreative
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.
The Direction of Intention 