Hold Up The Light [David’s blog on KS Friday]

about this week: there is a peril, it seems, to writing ahead these days. we had decided that this week – the first full week of a new year – we wished to use images of light as our prompts, we wished to linger on the possibility of light, of hope, of goodness. though our blogposts might stray from that as we pen them, it was without constant nod to the constant updating of current events – a mass of indefensible, unconscionable acts. we pondered what to do about these blogposts we had written and decided to keep them. we hope that – whether or not any absence of the happenings of the day, whether or not the chance these written words seem somewhat inane at this moment – you might know that those events – of corruption, illegality, immorality, and now murder – do not distill or distort our intention – to bring light and hope to this new year – the first days of which bring more insanity and unnerving instability. we are still holding space for light.

I learned something new about the Statue of Liberty. There are broken chains and shackles at her feet. “Sculptor Frédéric-Auguste Bartholdi incorporated these elements to represent liberty breaking free from servitude, a powerful message about emancipation.”  (Statue of Liberty/Ellis Island Foundation) The name of the statue standing in NY Harbor is “Liberty Enlightening the World”.

We are witness to what happens when a nation, when a people, grow so accustomed to their symbols that they forget – or take for granted – their meaning. It’s times like these that the symbol is either reinvigorated or emptied.

Especially during the dark winter months, we light candles every evening. They are comforting, calming. If you asked me what they symbolize to me I’d answer, “Hope”. I used to meditate every day and I’d begin my meditation with lighting a candle: a beacon for concentration and connection. Peace. We light candles on days that significant people in our lives have passed. The flame is a call to memory, to gratitude and, again, connection.

Light that calls to us to peace. Light that evokes hope within us. Light that encourages us and connects us. Light that guides us home.

In the past I kept a candle burning in my studio while I was working. It was a companion or perhaps a signal to the muse that I was ready. Now I have a salt lamp that serves the same purpose.

Lady Liberty holds a torch. She has broken chains and shackles at her feet. Truly, it’s times like these that our symbol is either reinvigorated or reversed, made to mean the exact opposite of what it originally represented. Will it serve to evoke in us a call to create/defend freedom and justice for all or will we turn our backs on our symbol and allow it to descend into a curiosity, a bit of bygone americana. In this historical moment we have the choice of embodying the symbol as it was originally intended, holding up the light of liberty to guide ourselves through this dark night – or to flip it over, plunge the torch into the harbor and step willingly into the shackles of authoritarianism.

[I wrote this on the morning that the current occupant of the white house, without participation or knowledge of Congress, invaded Venezuela, a resource grab not unlike Putin’s unlawful invasion of Ukraine. I’m editing this on the morning after an ICE agent murdered Renee Good in Minneapolis. It seems we have arrived at our moment of choice: to fully embody our symbols and defend our dedication to freedom and justice for all – or not. This is not an abstraction. It is not hyperbole. It is immediate.]

HOPE on the album THIS SEASON © 2005 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE CANDLE

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Come See This! [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

about this week: there is a peril, it seems, to writing ahead these days. we had decided that this week – the first full week of a new year – we wished to use images of light as our prompts, we wished to linger on the possibility of light, of hope, of goodness. though our blogposts might stray from that as we pen them, it was without constant nod to the constant updating of current events – a mass of indefensible, unconscionable acts. we pondered what to do about these blogposts we had written and decided to keep them. we hope that – whether or not any absence of the happenings of the day, whether or not the chance these written words seem somewhat inane at this moment – you might know that those events – of corruption, illegality, immorality – do not distill or distort our intention – to bring light and hope to this new year – the first days of which bring more insanity and unnerving instability. we are still holding space for light.

The theme uniting this week’s Melange photo-prompts is light. My response to the prompts are surprisingly (to me) amalgamated: the illumination discovered through differing points of view. A birds-eye-view versus the view from the ground; inviting the outside furniture inside the house, and vice-versa. We have a chiminea in our sunroom and a piano in our backyard.

What opens our eyes to new possibilities? What opens our eyes to what is unseen and right in front of us?

“You have to come see this!” she exclaimed. We stood on the front porch in the bitter cold and watched the full roll-call of winter sunset colors, from vivid to pastel. Warm-cold.

A new year. A year gone by. What do I hope will happen? What did I learn from what just happened? What do I think I can control that I cannot? What can I control that I do not?

What is important now that Dogga is growing old? What is he helping me to see?

What is important now that I am aging? What do I fundamentally understand about importance that I did not understand even three years ago? Has importance changed or have I? The smallest things now seem the most profound. They call me to life, fill me with light. Not so long ago I overlooked the small things in pursuit of lofty dreams. What a waste!

Can I share what calls me to life? Beyond reporting or narrating? Can I be like the sunset, calling others out of their locked doors to marvel at the roll-call of life’s colors?

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE SUNSET

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Shine The Light [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Impressions in the moment:

It’s a miserable day with freezing rain so bitter that Dogga does not want to go outside. He would leap with glee into a blizzard so it’s a potent statement that he, our snow-dog, chooses to stay warm and dry inside.

We are writing this post in the space between the press conference with the Epstein survivors and the House vote. By the time you read this the vote will have been taken. If I was a better writer, I’d narrate this story of this limbo moment, or perhaps the liminal space in our nation’s history, in which it became crystal clear how hard the patriarchy, the powerful male elite, will fight to maintain their privilege, their protected position above the law. This vote will pass the House. What comes next will reveal whether we are we witness to a tipping point or yet another act of avoidance facilitated by a system that grants immunity to the male gentry at the exclusion of the rights of women. What new obstacle will arise to prevent the release of the files and fail to expose the rot in the halls of power? What information will be scrubbed?

I watched the Epstein survivors holding photographs of themselves, taken at the age of their abuse. Children. I saw a picture of Kerri taken at the age when she was sexually assaulted. She looked barely a teenager. I couldn’t speak for several moments after looking at the photograph.

In Seattle I was summoned to jury duty. My pool of 50 citizens was called into voir dire, jury selection, for a case about sexual assault. It was unusual because we were the third group of 50 called before the judge. In the courtroom, the judge made a simple request: Raise your hands if you have been the victim of sexual abuse or if you know anyone who has been sexually abused? Every person in the pool raised their hands. The judge sighed, exasperated. He said, “I’ve now asked this question of three groups. That’s 150 people. Every single person has raised their hands. I believe I could go on like this all day and not find 12 people to seat a jury who have not been impacted by sexual abuse. What’s going on here?”

Indeed. What’s going on here.

She knelt on the trail to get a picture of the dandelion. The sun, low in the sky, made it luminous, gorgeous. This dandelion was scrappy, still hanging on even in the November cold. “I wouldn’t have seen it at all if the light hadn’t been just right,” she said, showing me the photo. “It’s amazing what you see, what emerges, when something finds its way into the light.”

66 & 19, mixed media on canvas

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE DANDELION AND LIGHT

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Golden Hour [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.” ~ Plato

We’ve planted tall grasses in both our front and back yards. This is our favorite time of year to watch the magic dance of the grasses. They put on their suits of warm autumn colors, yellow, orange and purple, and during golden hour, they literally glow while swaying in the breeze. It is sometimes shocking how beautiful they become in the golden hour.

I just learned that there are two meanings to the phrase “the golden hour.” The first refers to the quality of diffused warm light in the period shortly before sunset or just after sunrise. The second is new to me: “The term also has a separate, critical meaning in emergency medicine, referring to the first 60 minutes after a traumatic injury during which time is of the essence for surgical intervention.” (Wikipedia) The chances of survival are greater if treatment begins within the golden hour.

It was the phrase “willful ignorance” that stopped my scroll, landed me on Plato’s quote. It made me laugh. It is a phrase that, for me, now encapsulates the republican party, maga, and anyone who daily consumes fox news. It is one thing to be ignorant. It is another to choose ignorance. We are witness to the path of destruction wrought on our nation by people who are willfully ignorant, people who fear the light.

The results of the recent election read like both definitions of the golden hour. The injury to our nation has been substantial but our chances of survival just increased with a just-in-time intervention. And, what felt like a rapid descent into darkness just entered a golden hour. Time will tell if this period of warm, diffused light is a sunset or a new beginning: sunrise. My hope is for the latter, a new day guided by people who are not afraid and who welcome the light.

HOLDING ON/LETTING GO on the album RIGHT NOW © 2010 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE GRASSES

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Walk Lightly [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

I believe Dr. Seuss found inspiration in teasel thistles. How could he not! They are quirky, whimsical and overflowing with personality. They populate our trail like a fanciful reception line of fantastic beings.

I imagine that they freeze as we approach, pretending to be plants. After we pass by they relax and talk about how weird human-bipeds are. From their vantage point we must seem droll. I agree with the teasels: from my vantage point, human beings seem zany. I wish they’d include me in their conversation.

Kerri thinks that some look like playful layer cakes. The others are like characters from the Despicable Me movies – only fastened to a stem. In any case, they radiate mischief.

Sometimes Kerri and I talk when we walk our trail. Sometimes we are quiet, listening to the birds or our thoughts. When listening to my thoughts I try to remember a universal truism that I most appreciated when stated this way: what you think is the mother lode of comedy. Don Miguel Ruiz wrote as his 5th Agreement: “Doubt everything you think.” I am guilty of taking myself too seriously. I could use a dose of doubt.

I keep on my desktop a piece of advice by Aldous Huxley: “It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly…”

I imagine that Aldous Huxley and Dr. Seuss are hidden among the mischievous teasels and whisper to us as we pass by: “There are quicksands all about you, sucking at your feet, trying to suck you down into fear and self-pity and despair. That’s why you must walk so lightly…”

Looking for Light (sketch), tissue, charcoal and medium on board

read Kerri’s blogpost about TEASELS

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Sanctuary Creation [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

“I don’t think of all the misery, but of the beauty that still remains.” ~ Anne Frank

We began thinking of our backyard as a sanctuary during the early days of COVID. Since at the time sheltering in place was a necessity, why not create a space that evoked calm and inspired peace-of-mind? We planted tall grasses along the fence, hung happy lights and prayer flags, we made special seating areas and placed a table on the deck where we ate our meals, painted rocks and listened to records on a suitcase record player. We were gifted with a beautiful chime. We hung bird feeders and installed a bird bath.

Our sanctuary filled us with light and sustained us through a very dark chapter.

Now, finding ourselves once again in a very dark time – and getting darker by the day – we’ve returned to the original impulse. We are consciously reinvigorating our backyard sanctuary. We are amazed each day as the sweet potato plants spill out of their pots. Tending the herb garden grounds us and we delight that it thrives. The jalapeño harvest is eye-popping. We cook each night with basil or rosemary or cilantro or parsley that we clip from our garden. The tomato plant is almost as tall as I am.

For us, sanctuary-creation is more a process of finding than a design-and-installation game. We evolve as we go. We are not flush with resources – and, thankfully, our aesthetic leans to raw wood and peeling paint – so we wander through antique stores or restore discards that, to us, look like treasure. Half the fun is in the finding. It fills our sanctuary with serendipity stories.

We stopped at our favorite antique shop to pick up a piece of old ladder. The moment we stepped out of the truck, a small garden table called out to us. It was tucked into an unlikely spot, a few yards from the chicken coop. Kerri, always the master bargainer, asked the shopkeeper, “What’ll you take for it?” We bought it for half-price and loaded the little table into the truck with the piece of old ladder.

Both are now fixtures in our haven, our safe space. The ladder is adorned with a purple sweet potato plant that is already exploding out of its pot and draping toward the lower rungs. The little table is nestled on the end of deck and looks like it was made for that particular spot. It is home – and also provides a home to a licorice plant.

“I love it,” she said. Me, too.

Our sanctuary once again inspires quiet. It is like a magnet that pulls our minds and hearts out of the darkness. We sit in our safe haven, breathe deeply, filling ourselves with goodness that is as big as the sky itself, alive with growing things, grasses that wave in the breezes, an aspen tree that joy-quakes, cardinals that sing to us, and is now home to a little table that called our name.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE TABLE

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Our Natural Tendency [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

This sedum is a volunteer. It somehow took root beneath the deck and yet has found a way to reach the sun. It’s funny. Each day I check on this little plant because its resilience gives me some small measure of hope: good things can take root in dark places and through natural tenacity, find a way to the light.

When I step back from our national horror story and take in the whole picture, I am overwhelmed at the abundance of light. People showing up for other people. People expressing outrage at the treatment of others. The shadow spaces are small in comparison.

In this way people are no different than plants. Our tendency – our need – is to seek and find the light and the light is found in the community and what it values. A community can only stay in the dark for so long before it – like a plant – begins to perish.

“They have no respect for human life,” she said, showing me the latest video of an ICE arrest. And then came her list of disrespect: “Decimating USAID, cuts to Medicaid and SNAP…” It was a very, very long list.

I responded, “They have no respect for others because they have no respect for themselves.” It would be impossible to vote for that Big Bloated Bill and be able to look at yourself in the mirror.

They crawl into dark places to flee the light. The assault on the free press. The prevention of congressional oversight – and the nation – from seeing into their “deportation detention centers”. The restrictions (elimination) of due process and habeas corpus…This, too, is a very, very long list. Dark hearts creating dark places.

Here’s the thing: in dark places people lose track of where they are. Disoriented, they also lose track of where others are. In panic, they lose track of how important others are. They become physically, mentally and morally confused. They default into “every man for himself”. In survival-mode, people push others underwater in an attempt to elevate themselves. In the end, all drown.

In the dark we lose track of who we are because we can only know ourselves in relationship to others. Societies collapse in shadowy amorality and the dim fantasy land of every-man-for-himself (obviously).

It is the way of fascist regimes to drag the people of their nation into the dark. Our current leadership in these un-United States is following the Nazi playbook exactly. To perpetuate their dark intention they need to manufacture enemies; the trail of enemy creation will eventually lead back to themselves. They will eventually have to eat each other in their dog-eat-dog fascism. Even though it doesn’t look like it at this moment in time, dragging us into the dark will bring them to perish in an inky bunker.

Like the sedum rooted beneath the deck, it is our natural tendency is to reach for the light.

The only real question that remains is how much dark-malfeasance will we tolerate before we-as-a-nation say, “Enough,” break free and turn toward the light?

And, if we make it, if we survive this dark time and stumble back into the sun, I hope we will have the courage to look at what the light reveals to us – about us. I hope we have the capacity to see fully the totality of our history – all of it. I hope we are capable of asking why so many of us drank from a fox-fire hose of lies and so willingly embraced fantastic falsehoods. I hope we might once and for all align our actions with our rhetoric and put to rest the ugly idea that We-The-People only applies to a privileged few, but applies equally to all of us – a wildly diverse community dedicated to keeping the experiment of democracy vibrant and in the light.

Face the Sun, 18″x24″ mixed media

read Kerri’s blogpost about SEDUM

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The Fruit of Now [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

“But the Tzutujil, with no verb “to be,” spoke about their temple as a non-rigid, fluid thing to be added to and fed with offerings. These offerings kept the world alive, like the fertilizing and watering of a tree, an ancient tree that continually bears the fruit of “now”. “ ~ Martin Prechtel, Long Life Honey in the Heart

The fruit of now.

Sometimes I try to imagine living in a culture that believes their actions matter not only to the health of the world, but the very existence of the world. All the world a sanctuary. What must it feel like to live with the understanding that what we do and how we behave, what we honor and what we bring to the sanctuary more than sustains it? It recreates it. No action is insignificant. To be the collective stewards of an ancient relationship rather than pursuers of an individual abstract heaven. The fruit of now.

Day one of a new year. Yesterday I wrote about my resolution, to be careful what I pretend to be.

Yesterday Kerri wrote about being a source of light. A luminaria. Illumination. “A lamp kept burning before the sacrament.” To be a source of light in a dark time.

This morning I awoke thinking about kintsugi: the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with urushi lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. It was mentioned in the Hallmark movie we watched on Sunday night. A cherished angel, broken and repaired. Kintsugi is meant to take what is broken and make it more beautiful by highlighting rather than hiding the cracks.

Kintsugi is a nice compliment to my resolution of being careful about what I pretend to be. It is a worthy intention, rather than hide my broken bits, I might spend this year gluing them back together in such a way that I highlight rather than conceal them. To be an honestly messy human is to be a source of light in a dark time. In that way, might I become more beautiful?

Or, perhaps the becoming-more-beautiful never stops. Kintsugi is not an achievement, an end result. It is an ongoing process. I can imagine, as one of the many stewards of the ancient relationship, responsible for the health of the sanctuary, the ancient tree, becoming more beautiful is an intention, a daily practice. And, knowing that what I-and-we-do-and-say matters to the health of the whole, in this ritual passage into the new year, I-and-we might enjoy the fruit of now, taking this step across the threshold into the new year as if what we do matters to the health of the world, shining as a source of light in a dark time.

read Kerri’s blog about A Luminaria

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A Little Bit Of Light [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

The holiday around our house is like a daily treasure hunt. I never see her do it, I never catch her in the act, but each day, a bauble or bulb or ornament shows up on a windowsill or in a flower pot or hanging from a shelf in the kitchen. A little bit of light found in an unlikely place.

Today is the eve of Christ mass. It is also the eve of Hanukkhah. It is the eves-eve of Kwanzaa. A birth, the rededication of a temple of belief, a celebration of culture. Symbols and rituals of hope and renewal, showing up everywhere. A little bit of light popping up in kitchens and family rooms, places where people gather when they are seeking light and love.

A few years ago she wrote a song in what seemed to me only a minute or two. She needed another piece for a cantata she was rehearsing and couldn’t find anything that she liked. It’s called “You’re Here”. It exists only in the roughest of recordings. I caught it on my iPhone. This morning, while searching for another piece of music, we came across it and, as is true every time I hear it, I was saddened that this little bit of light is not known far and wide. A song of brokenness healed. A sunrise. A wish of hope.

I’ve posted it before – probably this time last year. But this morning, given the brokenness of our nation, the dedicated us-and-them-ness, the splintering of family, pundits and politicians fueling-rage-for-gain…I found it much more relevant now than when she wrote it.

If it is not of your faith tradition, you only need listen beneath the words to find the purity of her intention. A little bit of light found in an unlikely place.

Merry eve. Happy eves-eve.

You’re Here © 2018/2024 Kerri Sherwood

read Kerri’s blogpost about UNLIKELY PLACES

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Bitter Sweet [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

And isn’t that the point of a tradition? To connect the memories of the past to the celebration of today in order to pass them into the future? As Jean Houston once wrote: we are the burning point of the ancestral ship. In our ritual we honor the ancestors en route to joining them.

Conservation and progress need not be at odds.

Today is the Solstice. I just read that the Latin origin of the word “solstice” is “the sun stands still”. “This is because the sun’s apparent movement north or south stops before changing direction.”

In this moment, all of us, regardless of religious tradition or to which date we assign the light’s return, in lighting our candles, making our meals, singing our songs…we stand still with the sun. Just for a moment, in the pause between far and near, we acknowledge that we are the connective tissue between yesterday and tomorrow, bearers of the ritual, missing those we no longer see yet grateful beyond words for those we hug, hold close, and send into the future with leftovers from the feast. Bitter sweet.

read Kerri’s blogpost about BOTH/AND

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