One Brief Moment [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“But time has many dimensions and in the end, time opens to timelessness.” ~ Peter Brook, The Quality of Mercy

One day I realized that I was like a sand painting: a bit of unique beauty created in the moment and meant to blow away with the winds. That is not a despairing thought. In fact, it was quite the opposite.

Late at night we watched a short documentary about the scale of time. It was eye-opening. The filmmaker was so overcome with realization of time that his model revealed that be broke down and cried. We are but a blip, a blink of the eye. The enormity of life. The impossibility of life.

Those who wish to have monuments erected for themselves are missing the point entirely.

Barney, the piano in our backyard, is slowly, over time, returning to dust. That is also true of Kerri’s Yamaha piano in her studio, only a fraction slower. Breck the aspen tree that came home with us from Colorado in the back seat of our car is now taller than our garage. If typical, Breck will live approximately 200 years. Twice as long as me, though the measure of time, the comparison, is arbitrary at best.

Breck and I each have our one brief moment in the sun.

GRATEFUL on the album AS IT IS © 2004 Kerri Sherwood

Kerri’s music is available on iTunes and streaming on Pandora

read Kerri’s blogpost about BRECK AND BARNEY

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A Reminder [David’s blog on KS Friday]

A free-spirit seed!

Wind and fate or luck? Who cares!

Nature finds a way.

This concludes one of the weirdest weeks on record. A good week or a bad week? We’ve decided to be like the seed. Nature is finding a way.

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about NATURE

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Popcorn Trail [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Late at night, standing on the platform awaiting the train to take us home, the moon and clouds gave us a spectacular show. I knew that the moon was a waxing gibbous and realized that, although I’d known and used the word since I was young, I had no idea what the word “gibbous” actually meant. It sounds like something related to gibbons, small apes that swing through trees. Is the moon gibbous because it swings through the sky? No! The moon is gibbous because it is greater than a semi-circle yet less than a circle. Gibbous describes the shape! Bulbous. Convex. Protruding.

Yesterday I unrolled many small canvases and pinned them to the wall in my studio. They are like a small flame I’ve kept for alive for over 35 years. They refer back to a large odd shaped canvas I stapled to the deck of my apartment on a sunny day, overlooking Hollywood. I had a very limited paint supply, a few cans of paint used for animation (computer animation was not yet possible so artists painted images on cells with acrylic paints), grey, blue, and white. I had a small jar of cadmium red. I taped a few housepainting brushes to long sticks and made myself a promise to “have fun and not think too much.” And I did. I had fun. I didn’t think too much. I played. In those few short hours, I painted the single piece that would influence my work for the rest of my life. I knew it was special. It was pure. It sold before I could adequately document it (remember the age before the ease of digital cameras?). It sold before I had the opportunity to install it in a gallery and show it.

I call the many small canvases my “narrative paintings”. They are a popcorn trail that I dropped as I wandered into the forest of my artistry. Some of the pieces are studied and lifeless. Some are playful and shallow. Some are raw and heart-full. I tacked them all to the wall to guide me back to the original impulse, that moment of artistic purity.

I am gibbous though, at this age, I am no longer waxing. I am greater than a semi-circle but have not yet completed my full life circle. In my time on earth I have been what Kerri calls a “strider”, someone trying-too-hard to climb the ladder of success. I have pursued my artistry like it was a wild animal, setting traps to capture what I could not easily understand. I have finally learned, or have lived long enough to realize, that I am and have always been what I chase. No traps necessary.

I follow the popcorn trail back to what I experienced that day in Los Angeles: the simple joy of being alive. A conscious moment enthusiastically expressed through a little grey, blue and white paint, punctuated with some surprise cadmium red.

IN THE NIGHT on the album THIS PART OF THE JOURNEY © 1998 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE MOON AND CLOUDS

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Be Yourself. Stand. [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

All you need to know about the right to be yourself – and the current assault on that fundamental right – is found in this opinion piece by David Brooks: I’m Normally A Mild Guy. Here’s What’s Pushed Me Over The Edge.

“Deneen’s and Vance’s comments about men in combat are part of a larger project at the core of Trumpism. It is to rebut the notion that America is not only a homeland, though it is that, but it is also an idea and a moral cause — that America stands for a set of universal principles: the principle that all men are created equal, that they are endowed with inalienable rights, that democracy is the form of government that best recognizes human dignity and best honors beings who are made in the image of God.

To reiterate his point – seriously – take a moment and consider: The United States of America is an idea and a moral cause (not just a place). It stands for a set of universal principles: All men (people) are created equal. All people are endowed with inalienable rights. Democracy is the a form of government that best recognizes human dignity.

It is our fundamental belief in the ideal of equality, our steadfast dedication to protecting the inalienable rights of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness…due process…that affords and uplifts the right to be yourself. Not everyone on this earth is bestowed with the right to be themselves.

Currently, we are poised to lose it.

“Trumpism can be seen as a giant attempt to amputate the highest aspirations of the human spirit and to reduce us to our most primitive, atavistic tendencies.” ~ David Brooks

We are witness to the amputation of our highest aspirations in the baseless attacks on transgender people, in the scrubbing of DEI initiatives, the assault on institutions of higher education, the gutting of government agencies, the whitewashing of our history, the attack on news and media outlets, the assault on women’s rights, the draconian deportation and incarceration of immigrants, the ignoring of due process, the blatant shift of wealth to the hands of the few at the expense of the many, the gross and unapologetic profiteering by the president and his family…

It is meant to make us fearful. It is meant to make us feel powerless. It is meant to make us numb. It is meant to bully us into silent compliance. It is meant to deprive all of us of our basic rights as human beings. John Pavlovitz wrote:

LGBTQ human beings in this country have never been more vulnerable or at risk than they are today. This Administration has built a platform upon their dehumanization. It is relentlessly targeting them with dangerous propaganda, willful disinformation, and predatory legislation, all designed to pander to the uneducated, ignorant, and fearful religious people who encompass their hateful base. Our trans brothers and sisters, in particular, have been fashioned into the monstrous enemy for them to aim their perverted theology toward.

A few weeks ago I used a quote attributed to Oscar Wilde: “Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.” If you are straight and white in the USA and find it hard to be yourself, just imagine what it takes to be gay and proudly (safely) be yourself. Imagine, if you can, what courage and fortitude it must take to be trans and be yourself.

The United States of America is an idea and a moral cause. It stands for a set of universal principles and inalienable rights. “Universal” means for all people, regardless of race, ethnicity, gender or sexual orientation. Democracy is the a form of government that best recognizes human dignity.

PRIDE cannot be a date on the calendar, it must be the calendar, a lifestyle that clearly declares that discrimination will not comfortably exist around us, no matter where it comes from.” ~ John Pavlovitz

This is PRIDE month. Be yourself. Stand for every human beings’ right to be themself. Do it now because your inalienable rights, your right to be yourself is rapidly disappearing.

[I wrote this post ahead of time, prior to the events now unfolding in Los Angeles. It is a historical moment, watching our inalienable rights disappear in this authoritarian take-down of democracy. I suppose we should not be surprised that the Republicans in Congress continue to mimic and support their standard bearer and chicken-out as history calls upon them to stand up, to speak truth, to honor their oath to serve and protect the Constitution. A sad moment for all of us.]

read Kerri’s blogpost about BE YOURSELF

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Everything There Is [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Sometimes she takes pictures when she is driving. “What are you doing?” I cry, my life flashing before my eyes.

“It looks like a feather!” she retorts.

“Oh, great” I say, reciting the last line of my obituary. “If only the cloud had not looked like a feather, he would be with us still.” She rolls her eyes. Apparently she survived the imaginary crash and went on to build an extensive catalogue of interesting cloud photographs. For all I know, having perished for a feather cloud, she gained world-wide fame for her interesting shots of condensed water vapor.

As I lay in bed last night, the window opened ever so slightly allowing the cold air to circulate above the warm-warm quilt where we lay pretzeled, Dogga sleeping at our feet, I had a single moment of presence. I know it because I was completely overwhelmed with intense gratitude. Falling out of the moment, I took a snapshot in my mind and heart so I would never forget how profound life is in each and every passing moment.

This was the thought that washed over me: Beyond the dance of giving and receiving, there is only this: being-with. That’s all there is. That’s everything there is.

read Kerri’s blogpost about the FEATHER CLOUD

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Witness The Impossible [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

We heard, in some locations this summer, people experienced a veritable plague of cicadas. They shoveled them off of their driveways like so much snow. Not here. We finally heard their song late in the season. We found a few empty shells floating in the pond or attached to fence, evidence that they’d emerged and transformed. They were present in vibrational rhythmic sound. They remained invisible to our eyes.

Sitting quietly on the deck one evening in August, enjoying the cicada symphony, Kerri said, “It’s not summer until I hear the cicadas.” Markers of our passage around the sun. Symbols of the cycle. The first color on the leaves. First snow. The first dandelion of spring. The first turtle emerging from the muddy river. Cicada song.

Last week we talked about stew and soups rather than watermelon and burgers on the grill. In this way, in old and new recipes, we chase the coming season. Anticipation and imagination.

We found the cicada on the driveway. It was in its last minutes of life. Crawling like a drunken sailor, it could no longer fly; one wing undamaged but seemingly useless. “It’s so sad,” she said as she knelt to take a photo.

Reverence overcame the sadness. “Look at the color! How beautiful!” she whispered, showing me the photo. We knelt again to witness the dying cicada.

Appreciation. Sometimes I think our only purpose on this earth is to cherish its treasures, to recognize something so small and impossibly grand as the movement of life.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE CICADA

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Give Over [David’s blog on KS Friday]

In the pontoon boat I give over. I do not drive so I make no significant decisions. I sit in a sunny spot. I laugh with good friends or am quiet. There are snacks. I open myself to whatever comes my way. I give-over.

It seems so easy on the pontoon boat. To relax. To go with the flow. To forget the all-important-lists. To drop the illusion that I am more than I am. No need to achieve, to prove, to strive, to become. On the pontoon boat I am just this. I am with friends. We move slowly. We chase nothing. We circumnavigate the lake. On the pontoon boat I am enough – and I know because I do not think about it at all. I measure nothing. No need to measure up.

I wonder why I reserve this kind of living to time on the pontoon boat.

Yesterday was an exceedingly hard day. I filled my cup with discord and self-loathing. I was a wasteland.

The boat is not magic. The peace I feel is not given to me by the boat. I give it to myself. My friends are with me whether we ride the boat or not. The reasons for my discord existed only in my mind. A very dark cloud. In my mind I did not measure up. I withheld peace and chose inner-enmity. Why?

You would think the grace I afford myself when riding in the pontoon boat would be available when riding on the earth as we circle and circle the sun. Why is my ride on this earth any different than my ride on the pontoon boat? Why would I choose anything other than grace?

When not on the pontoon boat am I not capable of opening myself to whatever comes my way? What – other than myself – prevents me from giving-over?

I measure illusions against illusions to fully achieve my misery.

The illusions and incessant measurement are what I drop when climbing onto the pontoon boat. They are what I easily-give-over when taking my seat in the sun with friends. How much more important is it to give-over the illusions with the same ease while inhabiting this seat as I circle and circle the sun?

Time Together on the album This Part of the Journey © 1998 Kerri Sherwood

The music Kerri has recorded is available on iTunes and streaming on Pandora.

read Kerri’s blogpost about the PONTOON BOAT

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Infinite Palette [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

A Green Haiku

I stare into space

Today. “Green on green,” she said.

Infinite palette.

At the very end of my life I imagine I will understand – perhaps for the first time, in my final moment – that each day was momentous. I will come to understand that every tick-on-the-tock held more import than I had capacity to conceive. To “just get through it” or to assign “good days” and “bad days” a mind-boggling misunderstanding of the opportunity-of-life.

How much of my perception is chemistry? Ventral vagus tugging-at-war with dorsal vagus for story dominance? Meaning made via neurotransmitter? Does my chemistry generally opt for connection or protection? Like most of us, I imagine myself as somehow independent of my environment, an individual, self-actualized. As it turns out, that is proof of delusion. Or human-specific-hubris. I cannot know myself without your reflection. You cannot know yourself without mine.

First we sense. And then we story. And then our stories wear paths in our mind meadow, chemical preferences.

Green on green. Not as simple as it seems. Boundless as this passing moment. Infinite.

[*special thanks to The Marginalian by Maria Popova – June 9, 2024 – for her reflections on polyvagal theory]

Surrender Now, 24″ x 24″ mixed media

read Kerri’s blogpost about GREEN

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Arrive [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“You must understand the whole of life, not just one part of it. That is why you must read, that is why you must look at the skies, why you must sing, dance and write poems, and suffer, and understand, for all that is life.” ~ Krishnamurti, Think On These Things

The amaryllis is making a reach for the sky. The first time I saw it – a bulb encased in pink wax – I wondered what alien life form just entered our house. We had to ask the same questions we’d need to ask if it was an alien creature: How do we take care of it? How do we feed it? The answer was simple. Leave it alone. That answer confirmed my suspicion. It was an alien after all!

There is so much in this life that I do not understand. In fact, if I am honest, I think most of this life is beyond my capacity to comprehend. Last night, not ready yet for sleep, I watched a nine-minute youtube teaching by Thich Nhat Hahn. Stop Running. The title caught my eye because so much of life feels like running. Running to explain, Running to justify. Running to judgment. Running from fear. Running toward gain. I wanted to hear some thoughts about standing still. In that way, I might understand why there is so much running. In the end, his answer was beautifully simple: rather than run, arrive. Be home.

Rob made us laugh. He’s one of several people who lately reminded Kerri and me that we are not normal. “I didn’t mean for that to sound like it did!” he exclaimed. He’s helping us sort out our plan B. It’s true. Our “normal” in comparison to others is alien like the amaryllis. Rob is attempting to help us see what is special about how we are doing life. And, like everyone, we are mostly blind to ourselves. To our unique choices. To our “one wild and precious life.”

Between the alien amaryllis growing in our sunroom, conversations with Rob and a brief teaching by Thich Nhat Hahn, I am fully confident that I need to cease all attempts at understanding anything at all. Maybe it is time to arrive. Maybe it is time to arrive, to stand still and fully breathe-in all the possible awe teeming in this mysterious ungraspable universe.

Connected from Released From The Heart, The Best So Far © 1995, 1999 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about AMARYLLIS

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It’s About Time [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

What more is there to say?

read Kerri’s blogpost about LOVE MORE NOW

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