Step Into The Light [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

The fear of speaking in public is consistently ranked number one above the fear of death. For the Epstein survivors, the two fears merge into one: for years they feared they would be harmed if they spoke out. Their fear is not unfounded. The most powerful men (people) in the world have conspired for decades to keep them silent. They still are. So, imagine the courage it has taken for them to stand in public and speak.

It is ironic that the entire Republican party, fearful of the light of truth, continue to believe that their silence-in-lock-step is strength. Although they feign support for the release of the Epstein files and pretend concern for the over-one-thousand victims, although they vomit words and words and more words… the noise they make is nothing more than cover for their complicity. It is loud silence. To misquote Shakespeare, Methinks thou doth protest too much.

Audre Lorde wrote, “Your silence will not protect you.” It is a truth that the Epstein survivors came to understand, a driving force behind their courage to step together into the public light and say, “This happened. It was wrong. It matters.” (Tarana Burke, Unbound)

Just as the survivors came to recognize that silence is not strength, we can only hope that the Republican party, the DOJ and the FBI soon arrive at the same conclusion: silence will not protect you. Obfuscating will not spare you. Silence, in this case, is nothing more or less than collusion with the perpetrators. Conspiracy inevitably arrives at a reckoning.

So, to the increasingly spine-free members, the sad remnants of the once Grand Old Party, we hope some among you address the elephant in the room, break the silence and find the courage to demand full disclosure of the files. Step into the light with the survivors. No matter how emphatic the noise you make, no matter how excessive the denial or empty declarations of concern you bellow, it might be prudent to arrive at the same conclusion as did the Epstein survivors: silence will no longer protect you.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SILENCE AND VOICE

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An Experience [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

“In the modern era, one of the most active metaphors for the spiritual project is “art.” ~ Susan Sontag (via The Marginalian)

It was within a meditation on silence that Susan Sontag wrote this thought. With planes and trains and automobiles, with cell phones and 24 hour news cycles, with weed whackers and garbage trucks and sirens, with podcasts to plug into and streaming on demand…opportunities for silence are rare, indeed.

All of my life I have retreated to my studio to “get quiet.” I’ve learned – and it seems to me a no-brainer -that there is a direct connection between silence-of-the-mind and presence. And, the experience of ‘something-bigger-than-me” can only happen in the present moment. It’s a direct experience, not an abstraction.

Marion Milner – under the pen name of Joanna Field – wrote that happiness cannot be found in the narrow focus of purpose because it lives “out there”, it promises fulfillment somewhere in a distant imagined future. It’s only in the broad focus of the senses that happiness can be found because it is immediate. Happiness is only possible/available/accessible in-the-here-and-now. It’s an experience, not an abstraction.

Art brings us into the present moment. Art has the power to break through isolating mental abstractions into the shared space of experience.

Joseph Campbell wrote that our endeavor in meaning-making is the opposite of our distant ancestors. For them, meaning was made (or found) through the group. We are tasked with finding it within ourselves.

“It” is never found in insistent preachers or rule-books or exhibitions of righteousness. These are the noisy aspects of the narrow focus erected on a platform of “should”.

If “it” is to be found, if “it” is to be experienced, inner silence is the threshold.

Take a walk in nature. Become captive to the color of the leaves. Entice the quiet found in the studio. These are the secrets of the composer whose music lifts your spirit, the poet who stirs your humanity, the dancer who challenges your idea of what’s possible…all bringing you into the dazzling present moment. It’s a place the artist knows well, an experience beyond words.

read Kerri’s blogpost about RED LEAVES

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Where Are You? [David’s blog on KS Friday]

For Congressman Bryan Steil:

The space on the card asks me to articulate my single, most pressing issue, so here it is: Please uphold your oath and protect the Constitution.

On the backside of the card I’m given space for more detail with the prompt, “Why this issue?” I confess to staring at the question with some minor disbelief. The answer should be obvious but just in case, here goes:

You swore an oath to protect and serve the Constitution of The United States, not a political party or a man. The Constitution prescribes the role and duties of Congress as it does the other two branches of our government. To date, you and your colleagues have abdicated your responsibilities and allowed the executive to both circumvent you and consolidate power, essentially stepping over the checks-and-balances built into our system to prevent the consolidation of power. Where are you?

For instance, the imposition of tariffs is under the purview of Congress. As is the creation and funding of the many programs and agencies that are currently being decimated and eliminated. DOGE has no authority to shut down programs or cancel federal funds. That is your job. Again, where are you?

I am aware, as are you, that the executive is manufacturing “crises” that grant him temporary authority to implement his tariffs. He has also manufactured a crisis that allows mass deportation of people without due process. Until now, ‘innocent until proven guilty’ has been a fundamental principle at the heart of our legal system. In fact, it is the basic right, the actual line between civilized society and barbarism. Where are you?

This brings me to my answer to the next question on the card, “Why now?” The executive is one-manufactured-crisis away from claiming the power to use the military against citizens. When invoking the Insurrection Act, he will complete his trifecta and we will officially be an authoritarian state. It is now – right now – that we need you and your colleagues to show up and honor your oath to protect and preserve our democracy. So, where are you?

I understand that you fear losing your seat in Congress. We are told that is the reason for Republican silence. I’d like to check your logic if, indeed, saving your seat is more important than saving democracy. First, you are already afraid to face your constituents. If our democracy survives to the midterm elections you will, more than likely, lose your seat because you have lost your voice (our voice). Second, if our democracy does not survive – as it now seems – you will most likely have job security since our elections will be shams (as they are in Russia or Hungary); you will have your seat but you will represent only one person. You, in fact, will be a servant to an authoritarian instead a servant of the people. In your silence, you lose either way. In your silence, we lose either way. Who are you?

Your logic is deeply flawed. In fact, it is not logic at all since it is based in fear. Your silence is testament to your cowardice.

The only way you retain your seat and our respect is to find your voice. You are our voice and you were sent to Congress to do the job of Congress and not the bidding of a dictator-wannabe. I understand that this will require that you muster some courage. There has never been a more pressing moment. You, Congress, are the only remaining wall between us and authoritarian take-over. It’s happening fast; finding your voice and your courage three months from now will be too late.

Finally, I’m composing this to you as my wife and I walk a beloved trail. The trees are just beginning to bud, a hopeful return of spring. Yesterday we attended a Hands Off rally. The consensus among the crowd is that you will remain silent and that we-the-people may never again have a free and fair election. In other words, no one believes that you have courage. No one believes that you will break from the party or take seriously your oath. Retention of your seat is all. You are awol.

It’s spring. The executive is already signaling his desire to invoke the Insurrection Act. By summer, unless you act, we will be under martial law. In case you think my assertions are exaggerated, may I remind you that he evoked the International Emergency Economic Powers Act in order to bypass Congress (you) and impose his tariffs. He manufactured a “crisis” at the southern border so he might invoke the National Emergencies Act and deport people without due process to El Salvador. In other words, he’s bypassing the judicial branch as well. He is, in effect, ignoring the Constitution. Where are you?

The final question on the card reads, “What would you like Representative Steil to do?” This one is easy: Show up. Honor your oath. Do your job. Our path to this historic moment is littered with shortsighted cowards. A few courageous Republican voices could make the difference. Where are you?

read Kerri’s blogpost about NEW BUD

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We See It [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

It’s rare but it happens. We write a post, read it aloud – and then throw it away. It’s too much, usually a rant, and we realize the point in writing it was to vent – so there’s no need to share. Bellowing rarely helps anyone.

Years ago, completely disgusted by the actions of a school administration, my wise friend suggested I write a letter to the superintendent. After I wrote my angry letter my wise friend read my words of discontent. He smiled and then gently suggested that I put my letter in a file. I was confused. “Sometimes the important point is to write it,” he said. “Beyond that, there’s nothing to be gained.”

He was right and I am grateful to this day that I took his advice. My wise friend taught me to discern between a vent of anger and an effective use of voice.

I fairly raged for weeks following the election. Some of my pals checked in, concerned at the dark turn of my posts. A few told me that they had to stop reading since my words only served to magnify rather than mend their own grief and rage. “It was too much.”

As I learned so long ago, sometimes it is necessary to file it and sometimes it is necessary to say it.

My words were intended to be too much. Our village commons is being torched and outrage is appropriate. Ringing the alarm is necessary. It does no good to turn away from the assault on our rights, to ignore the attack on many of our citizens. It does no good to normalize each successive outrage. There is nothing to be gained in pretending that there is merit to malfeasance. There is not.

In silence there is plenty to be lost. Each voice, demanding from our elected representatives to speak truth amidst an avalanche of lies, seems imperative. Asking our government, our courts, to uphold its values and honor its laws does not seem out of place. To look-the-other-way is too much.

It is not the time to put our letters into the file. There is nothing to be gained in silence.

Sometimes the point is to share it. Sometimes it is necessary to shout into the wind, “I see what is happening here.”

Perhaps, someday, if truth and good-intention reclaim the reins of the nation, there will be a time for mending. It is not now. Now is the time to magnify, to shout together, “We see what is happening here.”

from the archives: Pieta with Paparazzi

read Kerri’s blogpost about PRICKLY

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The Most Loving Thing [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

We are still recovering from covid. The progress is slow but certain. We’re finally -after a month – able to walk pieces of our usual trails. Each day we gauge what we can realistically do, we stop often, we turn around or cut short our regular loop when our bodies signal it’s time to stop. “My legs are shaking,” I say as we return to the car. We are not frustrated by our weakness, rather, we are inordinately grateful to be outside, in nature, marveling at the November sky. Especially now. In nature we find sanity in a nation that has lost its mind.

Within our information bubble there is an energetic discussion about self-care. There is encouragement to disconnect from the doom-scrolling and, instead, firmly focus on what brings joy, what invokes love. There is a concurrent ubiquitous conversation about feeling unsafe in a nation that put a rapist in the white house, a convicted felon and avowed fascist who daily promises violence to those who oppose him. Fully half of the nation opposes him so feelings of insecurity are warranted.

The third conversation strand is quieter, a question filled with inordinate sadness. It is the question of whether or not to disconnect from people – family and friends – who knowingly voted for fascism, who support the coming violence. These relationships, personal and familial, no longer feel safe. It’s a matter of trust – of being able to trust someone who either lacks a moral center or who is so enraged that they see themselves mirrored in the despot-elect. It’s impossible to trust people so completely unplugged from reality and so willing to justify thuggery.

It is confusing to love but not to trust. It is bewildering to feel threatened by those you love. It’s a question of vulnerability. It’s a question of honesty, “Do I pretend…” It is made more untenable when taking-a-break or disconnecting is understood as not-loving.

I understand the choice – either way – to be self-loving. We must now protect ourselves.

Also, there is this: a loving parent will not let their child run into the busy street. It is a loving act to shout, “You cannot do this!” It is not without love that we look at our maga-voting family and friends and say, “I cannot pretend that this is election was like all others; I cannot pretend that we are merely having a difference of opinion. We are not. Your vote was for an amoral grotesque who openly promises violence as an authoritarian dictator. Our difference runs much deeper than mere opinion.”

The most loving thing we can do for ourselves is nurture and attend to relationships with those we trust. The most loving thing we can do for our friends and family now hurtling toward the dangerous fascist road is to shout, with voice or with silence, “You cannot do this.”

read Kerri’s blogpost about NOVEMBER SKY

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Clean White Slate [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

The snow fell and the world grew quiet. It seemed that the universe was affording us a much needed pause, an opportunity to be still and reflect. The snow appeared to be our ally, a guardian made of ice crystals wearing a blanket of muted white.

And so, we rested. We agreed that no decisions needed to be made, no projects required completion, no questions needed to be answered, no horizons needed to be explored or ideas pursued. No experience needed defending. No choices required justification. We welcomed our exhaustion and sank into it like a soothing warm bath. Prior to rejuvenation, we recognized the utter imperative of emptying space, the necessity of draining the glass completely so it might someday be fully refilled.

Later I marveled how rare it is in my experience to rest. To truly rest. To just rest. To give myself permission to be. To hold no thoughts, to hold no grudges, to hold no importance, to hold no intention. To open hands and heart and let go. It is not in either of our natures to do nothing.

On a sunny day we would not have been capable of absolute rest. Had it been a sunny warm spring day, our empty tank, our need for rejuvenation, would likely have taken a different route. We would have walked. We would have recounted and debriefed. We would have puzzled. We would have made pictures. We would have turned our faces toward the warm sun piercing the cool breeze.

Instead, the snow-ally brought us a surprise gift. A rare and welcome opportunity. A noiseless mind. A quiet heart. A clean white slate made of a deep appreciation for the essential things.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SNOW

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Come Home [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

I don’t know why but this photograph reminds me of a song by Dan Fogelberg:

End of October
The sleepy brown woods seem to
Nod down their heads to the Winter.
Yellows and grays
Paint the sad skies today
And I wonder when
You’re coming home…

Old Tennessee from the album Captured Angel. I played this album – this song – over and over again when I was painting. I could sing loud in my studio because no one could hear me. So, permission to sing horribly and with gusto. My fantasy musician fulfilled!

Woke up one morning
The wind through the window
Reminded me Winter
Was just ’round the bend.
Somehow I just didn’t
See it was coming

It took me by surprise again.

It was present with me the moment she took the picture and showed it to me. “Lookit!” she said. “It looks like a glimmer wand!” A glimmer wand. A wish ready to be granted. And the lyrics began running through my mind. A song of loneliness. A song of yearning.

End of October
The sleepy brown woods seem to
Nod down their heads to the Winter.

Yellows and gray
Paint the sad skies today
And I wonder when
You’re coming home
I wonder when you’re coming home.

Later, looking at the photograph, I realized that we – Kerri and I – are singing a song of yearning. We are awaiting the glimmer wand, the wish to be granted. A coming home. A return to ourselves. Lost jobs, broken wrists, all wrapped up in a global pandemic…Artistry as we knew it went missing. The life that we knew was lost.

For awhile we waited in silence. And then we went looking. And now, we know better. There is and never will be a return to what was. It cannot be found. Rather than seek for what was lost, we realized that it’s time to get acquainted with what is. Not artistry as it was but as it is. As it will be. Learning anew who we are. Now.

This life! As Kerri would say (in her cartoon self): “Sheesh!”

Somehow I just didn’t
See it was coming

It took me by surprise again.

read Kerri’s blog post about GLIMMER WAND

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Learn About Silence [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Sometimes an action is not what it seems. For instance: she decided to sell her cello. It sounds so simple, doesn’t it?

When she broke both of her wrists in the same fall, she worried that she’d lose the ability to play her many instruments. To bow a cello requires a flexible and strong wrist. It healed and she recovered. Bowing the cello was not a problem. And then there was the second fall. A newly mopped floor with no signage. Her first words, laying on the wet linoleum, writhing in pain, holding her right wrist: Oh God! Oh, god, I can’t believe it!”

She lost degrees of movement in the second fall. It sounds mathematical, doesn’t it? Simple math. On a good day she has half the degrees of movement that she had before she met the wet floor. Enough to open a door but far short of bowing a cello.

After three years and countless hours learning about degrees of silence, she decided to sell the cello. “It needs to be played,” she said. “It deserves to be with someone who can play it.”

A simple action. A very complicated story. A heartbreaking moment when the luthier handed her a check. She touched her cello, turned, head down so the man could not see her tears, and walked away.

Last I Saw You/This Part of the Journey © 1997/2000 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE CELLO

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Peel The Layers [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

We lay awake deep into the night. The window was open and the crisp fall air drove us deep beneath the quilt. And we talked. Lately, for reasons too complex to explain, we’ve been steeped in a comprehensive full-life review. Gently peeling back the layers and bandages of our lives, uncovering the hard choices and left-hand-turns that led us to this place, this cold sleepless night, with the rhythmic rumble of trains in the distance, the lake lapping the shore.

The dark of night rolling into dawn is an ideal time to soul search.

We talked of the times in our lives when we didn’t speak up. We talked of the times when we couldn’t speak up. Fear is a great silencer. We told stories of running from our voices.

We talked of the times when we spoke up and paid a heavy price. We shared the times when we refused to speak up, when we stood in the self-made-fire and balked at screaming. We’ve had our share of fire but do not be fooled: fire does not always purify. What works with minerals does not necessarily work with people.

“It’s like a Viewmaster,” she said. The toy from childhood. “My memories are sometimes like clicking through a wheel of static images.”

More than once, as we shared our memories, I thought of a quote by Hermann Hesse:

“My story isn’t pleasant, it’s not sweet and harmonious like the invented stories, it tastes of folly and bewilderment, of madness and dream, like the life of people who no longer want to lie to themselves.”

As the sun rose on our conversation I understood that our searching souls had at long last arrived at a place of truth-telling. We no longer want to lie to ourselves. It is easy to speak up when there’s no need to hide or run or ignore what we know is true. In loss personal truth is found.

And we both know what is true for us. We know what is ours-to-do.

We lapsed into silence as the light through the window slid from soft grey into subtle pink-and-purple-blue. “We’ve both come a long way,” I thought-but-did-not-say, as we finally slipped into a deep dream-filled sleep.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SPEAK UP

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Lean Into The Questions [on Merely A Thought Monday]

A theme that surfaces in my conversations with Rebecca is how unsafe people feel – especially women – to ask questions. At work. At school. Asking a question is too often misunderstood as a challenge to authority. It’s dangerous. Smile. Be silent.

I suppose authority has always been thin-skinned though the idealist in me wants to believe that we’re all in this together. I know without doubt – as we all know – that the way forward is through the field of questions. The best answers open doors to better and better questions. Anyone afraid to be questioned and insisting that their answers are absolute – full stop – should inspire dread.

After eight years on the job, Kerri was handed a contract with the mandate to sign it. She asked a few questions. The description in the contract didn’t align with the reality of the job she was performing or the previous agreements made with her supervisors. Authority did not respond well to her questions. The ensuing assault was incessant. Bullying. Dangerous. For awhile she tried to comply with the only advice offered her: smile sweetly. I wondered, if a man was being similarly pummeled, would he be offered the same advice? When Kerri finally stopped smiling and stood solidly with her questions, she was branded “belligerent” and “uncooperative.”

I doubt a man would be similarly pummeled. To this day, I wonder at all the men and women in the community who watched the pummeling and said nothing. As witnesses to the danger in asking a question, they held-their-tongues. I suppose they learned their lesson. Ask no questions. See no evil. Hear no evil. Look away. Speak no truth.

And, while they weren’t looking, their community fractured and fell apart. All were diminished. Thugs count on division; it’s their secret sauce for establishing control. They engender silence. It’s how they maintain their authority.

And, isn’t that the true danger. We don’t want to bring the the wrath of the gorilla upon ourselves so we “get on board” or “toe the party line.” Smile sweetly. Pretend the bully isn’t beating the woman into submission. Make the assault her fault. She brought it on herself.

Kerri’s experience is a microcosm. The bullies have the microphone. World-wide, authoritarianism is on the rise.

If ever there was a time to lean into the questions, it is now. If ever there was a time to ask aloud, “What are we doing?” and “Why are we doing it?”, it is now. Together, asking questions capable of leading to answers that open doors to better and better questions. We have no shortage of persecutors beating down questioners while screaming that they have all the answers and their answers are absolute.

Perhaps the questions we need to ask together are simple: Is this who we are? Is this who we want to be?

read Kerri’s blogpost about SMILING