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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No Faith Necessary [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

“And don’t think the garden loses its ecstasy in winter. It’s quiet, but the roots are down there riotous.” ~ Rumi

The fog is dense this morning. It feels otherworldly. Quiet.

I am delighted for the fog. The quiet is welcome.

When I opened the door this morning to let Dogga out, I expected to hear the mournful call of the foghorn. Instead I was met with a sweet bird song. A single singer. A lover of fog. I listened for a few moments, closed my eyes.

What a surprise to expect the distant dour call of the foghorn and instead be greeted by genuinely lighthearted chirping!

A day ago – one single day – the coneflower sculpture was covered in snow. We marveled at it as the snow transformed it, a fancy white umbrella. It has reemerged as a coneflower and, on this foggy, foggy morning, seemed to be listening. I imagined it was holding a vigil. Perhaps it was keeping watch for the spring. “Keep the faith,” I whispered.

“No faith necessary,” replied the coneflower. Or so I imagined. Saucy flower!

I remembered my first experience scuba diving. There was an entire world of color and vital life not visible on the surface. I was giddy with my discovery. Had I never learned to dive I would not know of the vibrant universe that existed beneath the waves, just out of my sight.

“No faith necessary,” I repeated as I closed the backdoor. Turning my attention to making coffee, I pondered what other wonders were bubbling all around me that I simply cannot see.

detail of a work in progress

read Kerri’s blogpost about FOG

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Steep! [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

“The beginning of love is the will to let those we love be perfectly themselves, the resolution not to twist them to fit our own image.” ~ Thomas Merton, The Way of Chuang Tzu

After I finish reading my latest book, The Denial of Death by Ernest Becker, I have decided to steep myself in life-affirming reading, the likes of John O’Donohue, Philip Gulley, Pema Chödrön, Mary Oliver, Krishnamurti, Rilke, Rumi, Thomas Merton…I meditate on what I read -whether I want to or not – and in our angry chaotic times I’m feeling the need to wrap myself in the warmth of poets and other lovers of life. People who’ve transcended their small lives and looked into deeper space. I will begin my steeping with Thomas Merton’s The Way of Chuang Tzu – a Catholic Monk translating the voice of the Tao.

I read the quote above and wanted to alter it slightly: “The beginning of self-love is the will to let ourselves be perfectly who we are, the resolution not to twist ourselves to fit into another’s image of who we are supposed-to-be.”

The real challenge in letting ourselves be perfectly who we are is that most of us have no idea who we are. Few of us fit into a box called “me.” Who we are is dynamic and ever-changing. Self-discovery is a life-long affair and we are most fortunate if it is a life-long love affair.

Kerri says that we don’t really-really change as we move through life, we just become more of who we are. The outer layers of illusion and social concoction drop off until the core is revealed. I don’t know if I agree but I love the image. And, I confess that these past few years have felt like a ferocious layer-stripping. If she is right then I have to be…we have to be…close to the core.

In the wake of the layer-stripping I’m finding that the simple things in this life bring me great satisfaction. We found the old sun-tea jug in the cupboard. With the mint growing in the yard and slice or two of lemon, each day we smile and drink the summer sun from a jelly jar. We tell stories of sun-tea from the past.

It’s the sensual things, like the taste of tea brewed from the sun. On a hot humid day, the sudden shift of cool wind off the lake. The sound of cicadas. Fireflies. Laughter at dinner. The taste of good wine. The stuff of poets. The witnesses of “the eternal now.”

It’s as simple as sun tea, this desire to steep my thoughts in the awe-of-life (as opposed to the awful). And, as the ancient saying goes, as I continue the quest to discover myself: where I place my thoughts my life-energy will follow.

read Kerri’s blog about SUN TEA

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Sing A Love Song [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“Watch for all that beauty reflecting from you and sing a love song to your existence.” ~ Rumi

Deep in the night the thunder rumbled and shook the house. The rain came in buckets and reached through the open window. She leapt out of slumber to close it and then retreated beneath the blankets. She was almost as quickly fast asleep. A leap both ways. I counted the space between the flash and the boom. One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand…Sky’s grumble.

Needless to say, I was awake and on a mind-wander. I remembered students who were invested in the belief that something was wrong with them. Young artists and visionaries desiring to fit in. When young, it’s hard not being one-of-the-crowd. My job at the time, I now believe, was to help them recognize that they were unique in all the world. To flip their perspective. To love in themselves that which made them stand out, that which they feared and rejected.

I understood them because I had walked their path. At this age, I continue to walk the path.

In my mind-wander I reviewed my day. Once, I thought a love song to my existence was somehow a product of achievement. I’m no longer confused about that. Twice today, the dogga came to find me and I was moved to tears. Kerri and I sat on the deck watching the cardinals and she took my hand and I knew to my core that I was the luckiest man alive. She showed me the photo of a daisy drinking in the sun. I am surrounded by generosity and friendship. Rob sends a daily pun in an attempt to keep our spirits high. Dan brought a plastic bin with all the fixings for Southern Comfort Old-Fashioneds – and seed for our lawn because he had extra.

Watch for the beauty.

The lightning flashed. The sky rumbled. I reveled in the sounds of my love song, marveled at my existence.

In A Split Second/As Sure As The Sun © 2002 Kerri Sherwood

Grateful/As It Is © 2004 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE DAISY

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Pull The Thorns [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Matthew and Rumi agree: “You hypocrite! First take the beam out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye.”

 The Buddha is purported to have said: “The faults of others are easier to see than one’s own.”

The message is ubiquitous. The teaching is universal. If you wish to wander in the fields of flowers, pull the thorns from your heart. And, like all simple truths, it’s easier said than done.

History is riddled with the greatest persecutors loudly proclaiming themselves victims. It’s a pattern. Sometimes the odor of hypocrisy is faint. Sometimes it stinks to high heaven. Currently, we are watching this age old drama play out on our political stage. No-self-awareness. Not-an-iota-of-personal-responsibility.

It’s worthy of Aeschylus. It’s a theme that runs through the greatest works of Shakespeare. Othello. Hamlet. MacBeth. Lear. Tortured thorny hearts with split intentions. It’s ever-present because it’s a bear-topic that every human has wrangled. Psychologists call it “projection.”

There is no path to inner peace that does not begin with dedicated self-reflection, self-revelation, and a subsequent healthy course of eye-beam-removal. A good honest look at the thorns carried within the heart before the plucking. What’s true of an individual is also true of a community.

And, if we are lucky and brave and honest, “…at length, truth will out.” A good test of truth is the flood of peace that ensues. A wander through the fields of flowers.

read Kerri’s blogpost about PULLING THORNS

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Enter And Listen [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

A Haiku for You

A forest critter,

Gnome, Leprechaun or Spirit,

Tree Dweller, Heart Door.

Sometimes I want to believe in magic. I want to think there is an angel at my side. I want to sit in the certainty of Rumi, knowing without doubt that the entire universe, the whole of infinity, is tipping in my favor.

Sometimes I want to know what tomorrow will bring. No surprises. I want to know that the good people will win over the rage-mongers and truth-spinners. Just like in the movies. I want to know that perseverance will inevitably meet ideal circumstance and all will be well in the end. I want to be at the other end of the week so I can tell the story of what happened, the story of stamina and fortitude fulfilled.

Sometimes I want to know that the eagle flying by at just the right moment or the hovering hawk or the owl hooting outside my window at midnight is bringing me a message: we’ve got your back. Fear not. Take another step. From our height we can see the meadow, the sun and tall grasses. We can feel the hope, breathe the calm.

Sometimes when she spies a heart-shape and kneels to capture it for her collection, I want the gentle spirit, the gnome or sprite living in the tree or residing in the leaf shaped like the symbol, to make themself visible to us and affirm that there is meaning in the mystery, that in this life there is more sense than we can possibly imagine. There is reason. A reason. Yet, I already know what it would avow if it allowed us to see it: the meaning of the mystery is always found right where we knew it would be, where we know it to be: in the heart. Our vast open hearts. We do not need to seek it or wish for it. We need only enter and listen – more than just sometimes.

read Kerri’s blog about HEART DOOR

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Stay Out Of It [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Guitar Jim told me that he didn’t trust a world where inspirational phrases and hope-filled reminders were posted everywhere. He had several reasons. The signage works as an excuse not to do what’s written on the sign, as if posting, PEACE or BE KIND or some wisdom from Rumi was enough. Do as I say, not as I do. One does not need to live the message; one only needs to post the message on the wall.

Or, he suggested, the sign works as a kind of pedantic-passive-aggressive message. Pedantic (noun): someone who annoys others by correcting small errors, emphasizing their own expertise. “I’m the epitome of kind so you should be, too.”

He went on, asking, “Why must we constantly remind ourselves to be kind? Why must we constantly trumpet and tell ourselves to, “Seize the day!'” What’s wrong with hugging the day, or perhaps simply living the day as it comes?

I laughed heartily at his rant. I’m guilty of being a self-generating sign maker. On the wall beside my desk is an old-school bulletin board that is filled with post-it-note messages to myself, many are phrases I’ve captured from wise friends: “Offer calm to those who are agitated.” Or, “I feel better when I’m not complaining.” Behind my desk is my favorite message-to-myself. I bought it when I waded into the land of software start-ups. It reads, “What the f**k?” It served (and serves) to remind me not to take anything too seriously. Many-a-day it comes in handy.

Although they are not related, I’d swear that Kerri and 20 are siblings. They spar like brother and sister. Her favorite term of endearment for him is Turd. “Don’t be a turd!” she declares, laughing. “Oh, my god!”

“I can’t help it!” he responds. “What does she want from me?” he turns and asks.

I sip my wine, saying, “Don’t look at me! I’m staying out of it.” That, too, is one of my sage self-generated-post-it-notes-on-the-wall: Stay out of it.

read Kerri’s blogpost about DON’T BE A TURD

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buymeacoffee is a sign from the ether-sphere posted on nothing tangible so it both does and does not exist.

Grok The Rule [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

“A good poem looks life straight in the face, unflinching, sincere, equal to revelation through loss or gain.” ~ David Whyte

A good rule of thumb in the visual arts: areas of high contrast, in color-or-value, come forward while areas of low contrast retreat. Landscape painters use this rule to create the illusion of foreground and distance. Abstract painters use this rule to move the eye around a composition.

Storytellers and poets use the same rule. High contrast creates interest. It grabs attention. Low contrast sets the environment, the mood. “Some kind of relaxed and beautiful thing/ kept flickering in with the tide/ and looking around./ Black as a fisherman’s boot, with a white belly…” Dogfish by Mary Oliver.

Misused, it’s the rule-behind-the-reason that most of our news is “Breaking News!” False contrast. Hype. It’s the reason our national portrait is continually painted as divisive. High contrast pulls focus. The money follows the ratings so attention-grabbing is highly prized. Low contrast – like agreement, collaboration, sameness, community…truth – doesn’t generate the same level of interest or income.

Like all rules, there are worthy reasons to wield them. In the arts, the contrast principle is used to illuminate unity. To break an individual through to the experience of something bigger. To open questions. In our news-of-the-day, the rule is used to whistle a song-and-dance of discord and distraction. To separate into tribes. To manufacture the illusion of depth while sitting in shallow water.

The reasons to wield the rule are diametrically opposed.

It was a sad day when the young man, standing in our living room, told me that he would educate his child at home. His reason? He didn’t want his son to be stuffed with ideas. “Just the facts,” he said. “Just the facts.”

“Poor souls,” I thought of this man and his young child. How will they ever stare into the fiery face of democracy – an ongoing idea born of high contrast and wild ideas – the artistic kind, meant to bring people together in one nation under every possible god – like a poem. They won’t recognize democracy’s death when without question it slips like ashes through the fact of their fingers.

As for me, I’ll stick with the high and low contrast of Rumi, MLK, Shakespeare, Kahlil Gibran, Mary Oliver, Maya Angelou…

“Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.” ~ Rumi

[another worthy rule of thumb: never read the headlines prior to writing a post. All the icky-mush rushes to the foreground and permeates my brain]

read Kerri’s blogpost about FOG

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buymeacoffee is a counterintuitive, highly appreciated, offering of support amidst a high contrast environment that keeps the artists among us hopping and hoping.

Locate The Center [on Two Artists Tuesday]

“The very center of your heart is where life begins. The most beautiful place on earth.” ~ Rumi

What, exactly, is the heart of the matter?

If you listen, what does your heart tell you?

What does it mean to “Follow your heart”?

Heart land? Heart song?

This weekend the question was asked, “Do you think there is an absolute truth?” I amused myself thinking of the oxymoron in the terms ‘absolute’ and ‘truth’. I am almost certain – but not absolute – that the question was really about the location of the center of heart. Is there a heart center? Where is the center of the universe? Here. And everywhere else.

Kerri pitched the small piece of chain onto the counter, saying, “This goes in the special box.” It landed in the shape of a heart.

“Hi, Pa!” I thought, and we laughed.

We wear pull chain as bracelets around our left wrists; the original pieces came from her father’s workbench. They are connective tissue to him and to each other. Heart chain. They periodically break so we are many generations from the original. The current chain is symbolic. This heart-piece was from my most recent chain break.

“What are the odds?” she asked.

Yes, indeed. What are the odds that a piece of pull-chain could so quickly bring us to the heart of the matter?

read Kerri’s blogpost about HEART

Play [on DR Thursday]

“Perhaps all the dragons of our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us once beautiful and brave.” ~ Rainier Maria Rilke

The poet would have us understand this: our dragons are waiting to see us. They do not transform once we are beautiful and brave. Dragons do not suddenly appear as princesses. No, we transform. What we see changes. Through beautiful and brave eyes, princesses no longer appear as dragons.

Waiting to be seen. Waiting to see. I think Rilke knows that we are all beautiful and brave but are convinced otherwise. So, we hide. Or pretend. We don armor. The view from inside a tank is not as clear or expansive as the view from the outside. The poet would have us feel safe enough to open the hatch and step outside. It is there, in the expansive outside, that dragons facades fall away revealing princesses.

Another poet, Rumi, wrote, “Live as if everything is rigged in your favor.” Even before you see them as princesses, know that the dragons are on your team. That’s why they are waiting to see us as we are. Knowing the game is rigged in our favor is the surest path to seeing them as they are.

We decided to take a day away from the grindstone. We lifted our noses from the stone and took a drive to a small town. There was a specific shop in the tiny town that we wanted to visit. We drove back roads and successfully lost all sense of time and direction.

Instead of the warm day we’d hoped for, it was cold and rainy. Our fingertips ached and the ends of our noses were crimson so rather than wander the streets as we planned, we spent our time inside, imagining outrageous purchases and talking with shopkeepers. In those shops, laughing with those warm-hearted-people, our dragons fell from our sight.

We remembered: beautiful and brave are qualities of playfulness. To be seen, to see the dragons transform, play. The poet would have us play! Why wait?

The town was alive with sparkling light. Colorful picnic tables, undaunted by the rain, waited patiently for warmer times. We played and everything tilted in our favor.

read Kerri’s blogpost about COLORFUL TABLES

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

a dragon’s tale illustration © david robinson

waiting/joy! a christmas album © 1998 kerri sherwood