There Is This [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Trees breathe. In the daylight hours they “inhale” carbon dioxide and release oxygen into the atmosphere. At night, they breathe in oxygen and release carbon dioxide. “…trees absorb vastly more carbon dioxide over their lifecycles than they emit.” (AI)

The leaves of our aspen tree, Breck, pull water up from the root and release it as vapor through her leaves. Transpiration.

It is everything that climate change deniers do not understand. The rain is not separate from the tree or the soil or the sun. It is a single dynamic breathing cycle of life. Human beings, no matter their opinions or hard-held-belief, are part of and not separate from this cycle.

Interconnectivity is a reality that we seem unwilling or unable to comprehend. Our resistance to this interplay, this relationship, this inhale and exhale, is recursive, a fractal that runs through and through our identity. It is our Achilles Heel, our greatest vulnerability. We story ourselves as superior, separate, above it all.

This morning I read this from Jame Baldwin: “It is so simple a fact and one that is, apparently, so hard to grasp: Whoever debases others is debasing himself.” What we do to others, what we do to our environment, we do to ourselves. Do we not see this simple fact demonstrated on our political stage and in our public discourse each and every day? We are witness to a debasement cycle that seems to have no bottom.

And, as I write, I realize it is also true, perhaps more obvious but somehow not as visible, that we are witness to a community coming together, working hard to upright itself, a community reaching to fulfill its ideals, even in the midst of the authoritarian ugliness, a community forged (again) in the fire set by those who desire to melt down our democracy.

There is this, perhaps the central promise of democracy: “If one cannot risk oneself, then one is simply incapable of giving. And, after all, one can give freedom only by setting someone free.” (Jame Baldwin, The Fire Next Time)

Isn’t it beautiful, this promise of democracy? We can be free only when we set others free. We can only prosper when we prosper others. This earth supports us when we support this earth. Is this simple truth capable of opening our eyes?

TRANSIENCE on the album RIGHT NOW © 2010 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE LEAF

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One Of A Kind [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

“When great trees fall, rocks on distant hills shudder, lions hunker down in tall grasses, and even elephants lumber after safety…” ~ Maya Angelou

The house shook. “What the hell was that?” she asked. Later, I noticed bits of plaster on the black couch, fine white dust on the hardwood floor, shaken loose from the ceiling. Our great old maple tree split and fell.

“Great souls die and our reality, bound to them, takes leave of us…”

It was the first blast of wind, the leading edge of a storm that lasted no more than a few minutes. It was enough. “My children climbed in that tree,” she told the crew boss sent to clear the mighty limbs from the road. The crew cut a piece for her to save. These burly men were kind.

She told me stories over the buzz-roar of many saws as we peered out the window, witness to the quick dismantling of her guardian. Heartbroken. The crew was methodical, efficient. The storm had taken more than a few of the old guard trees and they needed to beat the next wave of incoming storms. To them our great tree was one of many. To us, it was precious, one of a kind.

It is serendipitous. Maya Angelou wrote her poem, When A Great Tree Falls, to process the loss of her mentor and friend, James Baldwin. On the day our tree fell I was reading The Fire Next Time by James Baldwin; a book about our nation’s inability to deal with its history. He was a mighty voice, a giant tree. On the morning our tree fell, I read his prophetic words: “The subtle and deadly change of heart that might occur in you would be involved with the realization that a civilization is not destroyed by wicked people; it is not necessary that people be wicked but only that they be spineless.”

The end of an era. A methodical and efficient dismantling of our great nation made possible by the spineless. To them our great nation-tree is one of many, easily disassembled. To us, it is precious, one of a kind. Democracy.

Our tree shook the earth. “What the hell was that?” Plaster fell like snow from the ceiling.

“Our senses, restored, never to be the same, whisper to us. They existed. They existed. We can be. Be and be better. For they existed.” ~ Maya Angelou

“We can be. Be and be better.”

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE GREAT TREE

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A Butterfly On A Pin [David’s blog on KS Friday]

When you say “green,” what exactly do you mean? Each morning I stand in my backyard and marvel at the symphony of greens. The licorice plant, the tomatoes, the sweet potato vine, the ferns, the grasses, the aspen leaves…each wear a unique shade of green. Each green changes with the light. The greens are different in the morning than they are at noon and wildly different during the pre-sunset golden hour. Well…they are not different but the light changes what I perceive. The change is in me.

The change is in me.

My first line of contact with the world is my senses. Everything I know is a product of everything I have experienced and my experiences begin with my eyes, ears, nose, skin and taste buds. And then I make sense of it or at least try to makes sense of it. I build stories like, “Each green changes with the light.” In other words, the greens change while I remain unchanged. I am the center. This is the exact opposite of what happens. It’s a trick of language. I story myself as normal (Kerri will laugh hysterically when she reads that assertion!). I story myself as “right” though I also have great capacity to story myself as worthless or stupid or wishing I had kept my mouth closed.

I story other people as good or bad – a harsh and narrow measurement to be sure.

In my current story I have discovered the depths of my intolerance. I can’t understand how farmers voted again for their own demise. Since we are all suffering the impact of their support of autocracy, I have little compassion for the loss of their farms. They voted for it.

I find my intolerance necessary. And sad. These farmers are suffering accountability for their actions – for their votes – while the people who showered them with false promises and drown them in propaganda are profiting from the farmer’s loss.

I am like all others: I seek and find people and information that bolster my point of view. It feels good to feel affirmed in what I believe. Yet, what I believe – my opinions – are meritless unless grounded in fact. I have worked hard in my life to question my point of view because I was taught, as an artist who could impact the lives of others, I had a responsibility to deal in truth.

Even in writing this mind-wander about the senses and perception, it all sounds schizophrenic: seek support for what you believe and then challenge it. It’s called learning. The senses open and expand, the mind narrows and refines. It is like the tides. Open to the experience, sift it for veracity. It is how we make sense from senses.

The farmers and red-hatted others who voted for fascism would have been well served to ask a few questions before they calcified their belief and cast ballots for their own destruction. The information was readily available. They simple needed to open their eyes and exercise their minds. They only needed to take a moment – for that is all it would have taken – to challenge the gaslight.

Do you see the current scrubbing of our history? The white-washing of our national sense-making, the assault on education and educators? It’s akin to reducing all greens to a single dull shade. Do you hear the fear of the question, the fear of being questioned? Are you aware of the publication of an enemies list? Those who are exercising their first amendment rights are being branded as hostile. Do you smell the corruption? The acrid burn of our constitution? Do you taste the bitterness at the gas pump, the bitter frustration at the grocery store? Are questioning?

There is sense to be made.

Of our nation and our fear of facing our history, James Baldwin wrote: “People who imagine that history flatters them (as it does, indeed, since they wrote it) are impaled on their history like a butterfly on a pin and become incapable of seeing or changing themselves, or the world.”

EVERY BREATH on the album AS IT IS © 2004 Kerri Sherwood

TAKING STOCK on the album RIGHT NOW © 2010 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blog post about GREENS

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A Growing Up [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

“The role of the artist is exactly the same as the role of the lover. If I love you, I have to make you conscious of the things you don’t see.” ~ James Baldwin

It’s always been dangerous to be a jester. It’s akin to working on electrical lines in the rain. Rarely does power like to be contradicted or hear the truth or be the target of a joke – but it is never-the-less the role of the comedian, the artist, to strip away the illusion. To tease forward the truth. Throughout time despots have tried in vain to silence the voice of the jester, the song of the composer, the vision of the painter. Hitler. Pol Pot. Stalin. Kim Jong Un. And now? Sadly, we have produced one of our own. Take heart: artists are servants of love while despots are prisoners of rage, and, in the end, love is always bigger than hate. It is possible for a period of time to silence the individual artist but the love of truth always transcends the volcano of hate. “Truth will out.” (William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice)

Stephen Colbert and Jimmy Kimmel will be making us laugh long after this rage has burned itself out.

A truth? Our nation, my nation, refuses to grow up. It turns its back on its history. It runs from its shadow. It is like the spouse of an alcoholic pretending that all is good. It is akin to a parent who abuses a teacher who dared give their child a well-deserved failing grade. Appearance is all.

Love is substance.

Proof of our Peter Pan nation lives in the White House. He has surrounded himself with a band of lost boy pirates. The despot-wanna-be is not an aberration, he and his pirates are the ultimate expression of entrenched immaturity. They are boys who swear the dog ate their homework, responsible for nothing, responsible to no one. They do not care to compete, earn or work for betterment yet desire every trophy for their shelf. They gild themselves like the ballroom. They celebrate the vapid and court superficiality. They somehow believe 19th century nonsense that whiteness makes the man. They build their clubhouse high in a tree and post a sign: No Gurls Aloud! Their skins are thin, their intentions self-serving.

It is why artists are such a threat. They see the childishness and make fun of the lost boys vapid antics.

In such an immature playpen, there is no love, there is no capacity for love: only a competition for toys. “Mine, mine, mine!”

“Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up.” ~ James Baldwin

read Kerri’s blogpost about HEART LEAF

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Beautiful. Perhaps.[David’s blog on Flawed Wednesday]

“Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself.” ~ Leo Tolstoy

We have watched Barney-the-piano change over these many years. As he ages and falls apart we discuss how he has become more beautiful. It is a sentiment that we do not allow for ourselves as we have also aged and changed over these many years.

“Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.” ~ James Baldwin

There are days that I do not recognize myself. I look in the mirror and see my grandfather. I look in my heart and am surprised by what I see. In these past months I have discovered my intolerance and I am proud of my intolerance. I have discovered my hard lines of belief. I do not believe that masked men should be plucking people off the streets. I do not believe we should scrub history to make white supremacy palatable. Now, when I look in my heart, I know exactly what I believe. And I like what I see.

“Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world.” ~ Nelson Mandela

I recently wrote a play about this nation’s resistance to education. Educated people ask questions. Educated people are not easily drowned in propaganda. Educated people do not fear learning that they are wrong because the point of education has nothing to do with right or wrong answers and everything to do with expanding hearts and minds. Minds that expand reach toward the unknown. Minds that close stagnate in the safety of what is known. Entropy, the gradual decline to disorder.

“Change is the only constant.” ~ Heraclitus

Barney is beautiful. He has been home to chipmunks. He is a resting spot for squirrels. Birds revel where he once sported keys. He has dropped all illusions of grandeur and each day reveals his true nature. He makes progress toward earth. He does not resist his natural path. That is the secret of his beauty.

“Make every effort to change things you do not like. If you cannot make a change, change the way you have been thinking. You might find a new solution.” ~ Maya Angelou

Master Marsh once told me that when caught himself complaining about something that he had three choices. Shut up (stop complaining). Do something about it. Or leave. In the current reality of our nation I am not able shut up. In fact, I feel it is necessary to raise the volume. That is what I am doing. We write and write and write. We ask ourselves every day, “What more can we do?”

“The world as we have created it is a process of our thinking. It cannot be changed without changing our thinking.” ~ Albert Einstein

In their advanced age both Maya Angelou and Albert Einstein arrived at the same conclusion. They agree with Leo Tolstoy: to be better on this earth, we need to change our thinking. We need to think about changing ourselves. Looking at our nation (ourselves) doesn’t it beg the obvious questions: What are we thinking? Are we capable of changing our thinking?

Perhaps, as we dissolve, as we crumble like Barney, we will discover at the core of our national story the rot of exclusion. Then, perhaps, we can face our dysfunction, root it out, and change our thinking. Perhaps we can become the inclusive home that our nature – and our founding ideals – intended us to be. Beautiful. Perhaps.

read Kerri’s blogpost about BARNEY

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Harvest [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

“It is very nearly impossible to become an educated person in a country so distrustful of the independent mind.” ~ James Baldwin

The first tomato of the season. We plucked it and, after its photo shoot, we split it and ate it. It tasted of the sun. We delighted in the first harvest of what we sowed.

I just read a million quotes about harvests. They all boil down to essentially the same platitude: you reap what you sow.

My favorite quote of the week is by Brian Tyler Cohen: “All of these alpha republicans instantly become beta the minute Dear Leader tells them what to do. He tells them to jump. They jump.” They swagger around, talking tough, but their actions reveal lemmings in cowboy clothes. Currently, at Dear Leader’s behest, they protect the identity of wealthy pedophiles instead of the rights of the little girls they violated. They gut social programs to give tax cuts to the morbidly wealthy. They’ve fully funded a terror squad currently plucking people off the streets and disappearing them into concentration camps. Rather than protect the nation, they are moving in lockstep to turn the military on the citizens. Do they know what horror they sow? Do they understand or even consider the crop that we will reap from such a planting?

Of course they do. It is the reason they are dismantling the Department of Education. It’s the reason that universities across the nation are under assault. It’s the reason arts funding has disappeared. It’s the reason that the free press has been cowed. It’s the reason DEI is being scrubbed and history thoroughly whitewashed. “Authoritarians despise universities, journalists, experts, artists and free thinkers – because truth is their kryptonite. Lies are the scaffolding of tyranny. A tyrant’s power is directly proportional to the population’s ignorance.” [youtube.com/@theintellectualist] This quote, by-the-way, is not a platitude. It is a siren call, an all-hands-on-deck alarm to the dismantling of democracy.

The party that swaggers and follows-the-leader-who-excessively-boasts is currently fearful and hiding from their constituents. Their constituents are angry because their representatives have become the poster-children of group-think. Their representatives no longer represent them. Independent thought seems anathema to the republicans. They are all swagger and no substance. We-the-people would like to ask them if they know the corruption that they sow – but can’t because they are ashamed to face us.

Do they know? They do. That is the reason they no longer hold town hall meetings. They fear the will of the people, so rather than listen to the people they move to rig the next election. Blatant gerrymandering. Purging voter rolls. Legislating obstacles making it harder for people of color and women to vote. Sowing authoritarianism. “Authoritarians despise…free thinkers – because truth is their kryptonite.”

There is one thing we can all agree upon: the harvest of what they currently plant will taste like something other than the sun.

read Kerri’s blogpost about the FIRST TOMATO

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An Oasis of Comfort [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Don’t be surprised if you find us in the store, eyes closed, delighting in the scent of the Warmies – those cute cuddly stuffed animals filled with lavender. My favorite is the sloth. Kerri is fond of the bear. They provide a dose of instant calming. They are serenity found in an unlikely place, an oasis of comfort in aisle 9.

Tranquility is hard to come by these days. Each day, inundated as we are in the politics of hate, I search for tranquility in words and sometimes find it – momentarily – in a poem or the heart-touching-story of a fortuitous puppy adoption. I am buoyed by writers from Rumi to James Baldwin, keepers of our conscience, sirens to kindness.

But for lasting peace of mind it is necessary to break beyond words. Nothing beats the senses for a call into the immediate, the only place where contentment can be found: the smell of basil, the cooling evening breeze after a blistering hot day. The delightful chirp of a hummingbird as it zips overhead. The distant foghorn underscoring the cry of seagulls. The vibrant colors of the sky transitioning into night. Lavender. Rosemary. Onions and garlic sauteing. The first sip of bold red wine. The Warmies on the grocery store shelf.

I used to lead an exercise in which people would face a partner. Standing a few feet apart, the instruction was to be present-with-the-other. No words were allowed – so no fortress of distraction could be erected. Simply see and be seen. A few minutes would feel like an eternity as the impulse to hide and deflect and control slowly surrendered to the scary vulnerability of presence. The fortification, the hyper-management of image fell away. Only then could the beauty break through the mask. Unprotected, the partners would either weep or laugh or both. Seen. Seeing. In presence the tide turned. Serenity was discovered in a most unlikely place. An oasis of comfort found in the eyes of the other.

Only then could the real conversation begin.

a detail of a work in progress

read Kerri’s blogpost about LAVENDER

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Voices Of Clarity [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

“A society must assume that it is stable, but the artist must know, and he must let us know, that there is nothing stable under heaven.” ~ James Baldwin (via The Marginalian)

We picked our window of time perfectly. We needed to walk, to get out of the house and breathe yet it had rained much of the morning. Antsy, we took a chance when there was a small break in the weather and headed for the trail.

We walked slowly. We kept an eye on the sky. We watched the next band of storm clouds roll in. It was beautiful. It was ominous. The rain came a few moments after we completed our loop, just as we were getting into the car. We laughed at our good fortune.

Some people take photographs to record events. Kerri, like all artists, takes photographs to feed her spirit. She sees beauty and the photo is way to connect or harmonize with the beauty. It is akin to a hummingbird drinking nectar. I watched her take photos of the coming storm. There was a fierceness in her posture. There was joy in the face of the tumultuous clouds. As I watched I remembered a conversation I had with Brad about the reason artists create. There is a precise moment for the child-artist that a spark lights a soul-fire. In my moment I desperately wanted to see clearly what was happening behind peoples’ eyes; behind my own eyes.

“Tyrants always fear art because tyrants want to mystify while art tends to clarify.”~ Iris Murdoch (via The Marginalia)

Later I looked at her photograph of the rolling storm and thought it a perfect image for our times. The storm is coming. Lydia wrote a comment musing about the surprise rise in prices the maga-faithful (and the rest of us) will experience when the people who pick our crops are deported. I responded darkly that the artists and intellectuals will pick the crops from their place at the corporate farm detention camp. Despots always have to eliminate voices of reason, voices of criticism and opposition. Voices of clarity.

Today, now, more than ever, I want to understand what-on-earth is happening behind peoples’ eyes. As I understand it, this is exactly the time, when chaos and deception rule the day, that artists get-crackin’ to clarify.

Icarus. 30.5″x59.5″, acrylic on canvas

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE COMING STORM

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Strive To Be One [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

“Love takes off the masks we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within.” ~ James Baldwin, The Fire Next Time.

Sometimes I pause and reread the previous few weeks of my blogposts. My first thought after my latest read was, “Good God! I’m bipolar!” I’ve learned not to listen to my first thoughts. They are not nearly as considered or considerate as the thoughts that follow. I am lately writing about love.

Love. This is the rest of James Baldwin’s quote: “I use the word “love” here not merely in the personal sense but as a state of being, or a state of grace – not in the infantile American sense of being made happy but in the tough and universal sense of quest and daring and growth.”

Love takes off the masks. The masks we fear we cannot live without. The masks we can no longer live within. It is a tug-of-war. It is vulnerable to be seen. Yet, to grow, old identities, like suits of armor, must be discarded. To grow up it is necessary to show up, to step-out-there.

Jonathan once told us that a tree must split its bark in order to grow. Snakes shed their skin. And people open their hearts and learn what it is to love.

“Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up.” ~ James Baldwin

I found some measure of comfort about my nation (and my latest writing) in James Baldwin’s guiding words. Perhaps we are in a struggle to remove an old and ugly mask, still in place. Racial division. Misogyny. We fear what we will see if we drop this patriarchal mask. Yet, our love of country is requiring us to grow. To take a hard look at who we are and where we’ve come from. To shed the mask we can no longer live within. We are bigger in heart and spirit than our original colonial notion. The mask of divide-and-conquer is suffocating to the world’s greatest democracy, a nation of immigrants come together under the banner e pluribus unum, out of many, one.

Love makes us dare to grow up. Love makes us strive to be one.

read Kerri’s blogpost about HEARTS

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