Taste The Dream [on KS Friday]

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I just finished reading The Hundred Year House by Rebecca Makkai. There is an image in the book that I adore. A fish dreaming of a root beer float. In fact, the root beer float is the fish’s greatest dream, a seemingly impossible one to achieve. A little girl offers a solution. The fish should be in the root beer float, eating the dream from the inside.

Living inside the dream rather than chasing it. Language matters. Dreams are notoriously ethereal, very difficult to grasp. Impossible to chase. Wrap your fingers around a dream and it changes shape.

But, to stand within the dream, to live inside it, savoring each moment lived as a bite from life. A taste of the dream. No chase necessary. A fish in a root beer float. Each new day a bite to be relished. Each new day a taste of the dream.

 

EACH NEW DAY on the album RIGHT NOW is available on iTunes & CDBaby

 

read Kerri’s blog post about EACH NEW DAY

 

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each new day/right now ©️ 2010 kerri sherwood

Hold It Lightly [on Merely A Thought Monday]

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Roll this description around in your thought-bowl:

“The Spoon River Anthology, a sequence of free verse epitaphs spoken from [the occupants of] the cemetery of the town of Spoon River. When the collection first saw publication in 1915, it caused a great sensation because of its forthrightness about sex, moral decay, and hypocrisy…”

We saw a snippet of Spoon River performed last week at our new artistic home, TPAC. It’s almost impossible to see even a bit of Spoon River and not realize how fragile and temporary is life. It’s a not-so-subtle poetry-reminder that most of what we think is sooooooo important is, in fact, a tilt at windmills. In its forthrightness, its perspective on hypocrisy and moral decay, we found Spoon River to be remarkably contemporary.

Tom told me that he always used Spoon River to teach his beginning actors. “It’s all there,” he said, “All of it!”

He read a piece from the anthology at his great aunt Bunty’s funeral. It takes life to love life. After Tom’s death, Kerri and I performed the same piece in my play THE LOST BOY, a script derived from interviews with Tom. Words that end the first act. Words that described Bunty. Words that Tom adored:

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It’s the best of paradoxes. Kerri and I remind each other everyday that our work, our artistry is not nearly as important as we think it is. We remind each other to hold it all lightly. And in holding it lightly, we open the door to experience it richly. To laugh rather than resist. To know, that we will, one day, populate a plot on the hill, and the only thing that will have mattered is that we paid attention and participated in our moment, that we loved the little bit of life that we had.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about DUST

 

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Live So Much [On Merely A Thought Monday]

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“So much life lived this week,” Heidi said to Kerri. Yes. So much.

It is, of course, true every week. Some weeks it is simply more apparent. The happenings seem bigger. A wedding. A graduation. A passing. A new job. A birth. A week of life.

Last week? A walk on the beach. Both children under the same roof; something that has not happened in years. Travel to another state. Staying present with my dad for those moments when he’d forgotten who I was. Staying present with my mom as a wave of fear washed over her. A job lost. Taking his keys and truck away. The deep gratitude of sleeping in my own bed, even for a night. So much life lived.

I have taught myself, in my waking moments, to think, “Make this day a discovery.” I have given too many weeks of my life away, too many days, too many hours, too many minutes, believing that I knew what was going to happen. Dulling myself. Blinding myself to so much life happening. ‘Discover the day’ is a much better approach than ‘Get through the day.’ The truth: none of us really know what is going to happen.

And this week?

 

read Kerri’s blog post about SO MUCH LIFE LIVED.

 

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Walk Off The Path [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

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This is a tale of two quotes. Both are from Jiddu Krishnamurti who is currently sourcing my start-of-the-day reading.

“To be religious is to be sensitive to reality.”

Kerri and I love to walk. In our first few years together we’d walk the streets and parks of our neighborhood, morning evening, midnight, sunrise. Each day, regardless of weather, we’d walk. Lately, we’ve gravitated to a few local trails. More nature. Less concrete. More quiet. Less noise.

When we walk we very intentionally leave behind all of the mind chatter, all the fearmongering of the day, the battles with abstractions. It’s as if we shift a gear and easily pay attention to the actual world around us. We look. We listen. We sense. We point out beautiful things. We stop and close our eyes and listen. “Did you hear it?” Kerri takes pictures of the extraordinary marvels that surround us. They are everywhere. Brilliant red berries in a winter landscape. A nurse log. The astounding color and texture of a strip of bark. Deer prints, like ballroom dance patterns, in the mud. A distant owl.

Our walks are my church.

“Truth is a pathless land, and you cannot approach it by any path whatsoever, by any religion or sect.”

I am living a life that is not going according to the plan. Some of my best decisions turned out to be my worst. Some of my worst decisions have turned out to be my best. Lately, I’ve been looking for jobs. This is new to me as I’ve been fortunate and capable most of my adult life of creating work. The gift of looking for work is the necessity of making a list of past experience. A life review called a resume.

I’m finding my work-life-review to be like our walks in the woods. Quiet. Sensitive to the realities. At this age-and-stage I am no longer what Kerri calls a strider. I am not climbing over bodies to get to the top office suite. My sword shattered some time ago. My armor is off and most likely by now covered in moss. Saving the world, becoming the next Picasso, finding the Northwest passage and all of the other battles of abstraction are no longer drivers for me. I have no desire to summit Everest. I have an endless desire to stand in this moment just as I am.

I have (for better or worse) walked a pathless path. And, I suspect that is true of all of us despite what topography we scribble on our resume maps. Truth is a personal path, the face behind the mask.

Master Marsh once asked me, “Why do you need to run at every edge and jump off?” When he asked the question I had witty replies but no real answer. Now, this is what I know: On my quest I’ve read a lot of books and had many, many brilliant mentors and guides. At the end of the day, they were/are pointers at best. The direction they pointed – always – was to the unknown. To the edges. The news from my life-review: It’s never found in a book or well worn path. It’s always found in a moment, in an experience, in a walk in the woods, holding hands.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about NURSE LOGS

 

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Fly Above The Clouds [on Two Artists Tuesday]

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I was eighteen years old the first time I was above the clouds. It was a revelation. Even then I was in awe that I live in a time that I can see above the clouds. In the history of humanity, that makes me one of the few. One of the fortunate.

Miracles become the new norm and so, routine. Unseen.

Last week I was once again above the clouds. The sun was rising and the colors magnificent. I was propelled back in time to my first flight, my first sight of the thing Leonardo da Vinci could only dream about, what Van Gogh could only touch through imagination. I was revisited by my eighteen year old self and was once again awash in awe.

The cloak of routine drops and the miraculous is revealed. It is merely a matter of seeing it.

As I sat buckled into my seat, I wondered how much of my life I lose to the notion of ‘routine’ and, so, miss the obvious crackling truth: I’ve never lived this day before. I’ve never experienced this moment before. I am flying above the clouds every day. I have no idea what is about to happen, what I am about to see.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about FLYING ABOVE THE CLOUDS

 

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Read The Calendar [on Two Artists Tuesday]

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Today we read the 2018 daily calendar and revisit the happenings of the past year. During the year, Kerri records in the calendar the events of each day. She tracks our experiences, big or small, and keeps her account nestled alongside the due date for bills, appointments, and birthday reminders. Astonishing sunsets. A special phone call. A remarkable meal with friends. It is our ritual on the first day of the new year, the inaugural of the new calendar, to read where we’ve gone, to revisit what we’ve encountered in the past 365 days.

I love this ritual. Inevitably, our review is punctuated with phrases like, “Wow! I’d totally forgotten that!” or “Can you believe that was just a few months ago?” It always reminds us how rich and full are our lives. It reminds us how much we forget in this fast moving river. It reminds us of the many challenges we’ve overcome, the troubles we’ve forded, and how much import and stress we gave to things that mattered little. It reminds us that the big events, the achievements, are rarely where the bounty is found.

It reminds us that there is nothing more important than sitting together at the end of  a cycle, the portal of the new year, and telling the story of us. We learn who we are by where we’ve been and how we’ve walked through our days. And, more to the point, telling this story of life-lived reminds us that, we will once again in a not-so-distant future, on the first day, review our year. So, to complete our ritual, we always ask ourselves, in the coming 365 days, amidst the unforeseen circumstances and uncontrollable events, what is the story that we will want to tell?

 

read Kerri’s blog post about THE NEW YEAR

 

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Catch The Small [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

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Chasing Dan and Craig through Copley Place in Boston I was amused by the ENORMOUS holiday ornaments either hanging from the rafters or well placed in the walkways by giant designer hands. We were cutting through the mall to avoid the cold. I felt as if I stepped into the movie,The Incredible Shrinking Man. Either that or Richard Serra had taken over the universe and large-scale was the rule-of-the-day.  I became the guy that people avoid, giggling my way through the vigorous sea of shoppers.

I delight in experiences that shock me into SEEING. Moments that take me out of my monkey mind, that jettison me beyond the veil of my incessant (and ridiculous) inner monologue are priceless. To marvel. To laugh. To see with clarity our investments in all the BIG things that do not really matter and catch the few precious small moments that do matter.

Later on the train out of the city, Kerri and I did not talk about the monster ornaments or the massive decorations and ubiquitous lights adorning everything. Selling the season with such gusto! We talked of the moment that Craig slowed down and put his arm around his mother. Just for a moment. Such a small priceless thing to happen amidst so many monumental lovely displays.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about BIG ORNAMENTS

 

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