Nine [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Just as no photo can adequately capture the scope and grandeur of Bryce Canyon, no words can adequately capture the story of these past years. Nine years ago today, 10.10.2015 at 11:11am, we stood before our community, we told the tale of Erle meeting Earl, we said, “I do”. We skipped out of the church just as we skipped out of the airport on the day we met.

10.10. at 11:11. Significant numbers. We are more numerologists than I realized.

I Googled the numerology of the number 9. A longer view. It represents completion – though not as finality – rather, the end of one chapter and the initiation of something new. It represents growth; a journey of learning. I read that 9 is a powerful, positive and significant number.

We are certainly on a journey of learning. Powerful and positive. And so, we celebrate the number nine. Completion and the initiation of something new. Appropriately, the portal to our initiation was the canyonlands, vast in scope and grandeur, impossible to capture.

read Kerri’s blogpost about BRYCE CANYON

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Count Six [on KS Friday]

silent days 6 feet copy

“I am bound to everyone on this planet by a trail of six people.” ~John Guare, Six Degrees of Separation

Six degrees of separation: the notion that all people on earth are only six – or fewer – social connections away from each other. A swelling world population. A shrinking world. Has there ever been a time in which our interconnectivity was more apparent?

Six feet: the distance we are told is generally safe enough to keep my breath from entering your body and vice versa. Distance slows but in no way interrupts our interconnectivity.

The number six in numerology symbolizes the caretaker. It is also known as the motherhood number: caring, healing, sacrificing, protecting. I find it oddly comforting that distance and separation in measures of six are associated – at least symbolically – with caring, protecting, sacrificing for others. Six is other-focused. Six, I just read, is the glue that keeps a community together.

Last night we sat on the deck in silence. Listening. Earlier, during our walk, we spoke little. We mostly listened to the creaking of the trees, the sounds of the birds, the chorus of frogs. In a pandemic, we are learning, there is very little to say that isn’t rooted in  fear. So, we say very little. We hold silence, a vigil of sorts. The silence turns our minds toward listening, toward living. Caring.

This is the warm quiet ripple that rolls through Kerri’s SILENT DAYS: caring. The number of motherhood. A symbolic six. A turn toward living. Inextricably bound together.

 

SILENT DAYS on the album BLUEPRINT FOR MY SOUL is available in iTunes

 

read Kerri’s blog post about SILENT DAYS

 

 

luminaria website box copy

 

silent days/blueprint for my soul ©️ 1996 kerri sherwood