Beautiful And Prickly [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Thriving in an unlikely and inhospitable place, this thistle served as a sign, a testimony to possibility, the rugged beauty available only through dogged perseverance. Stretching up through a tiny crack in a busy sidewalk outside aging buildings in a bustling city, these thistles stood nearly five feet tall. Their colorful flowering heads brought us to a full stop. We set down our knitted-brows and absorbed their vibrant pink and purple stick-to-it-ed-ness. “Gorgeous,” she said, reaching for her camera.

More than beauty-through-resilience, these hardy thistles spoke to me with the veracity of an oracle. As I watched Kerri take photographs, the oracle whispered in my ear “Both beautiful and prickly,” she said, “Her prickles protect her against herbivores and others.”

“Ahhh,” I sighed. A well-rounded plant, indeed. No shrinking violet could possibly survive in this environment, let alone thrive. Bloom.

For a moment I stood watching the passers-by. Few took notice of the gorgeous thistles. Some scurry-ers glanced sideways at Kerri cooing and snapping photos of what, I imagine, they thought of as weeds for someone else to pull. No time for beauty. No time for responsibility. On-to-the-next.

“I’ll bet those people think I’m crazy,” she said, tucking her camera inside her purse.

“Yep,” I agreed. “You are definitely more like the thistle than you are to the people passing-by.” She gave me a sideways glance but decided to accept the compliment.

I winked and whispered to the thistle-oracle. “All the time in the world for beauty. All the time in the world for responsibility. Nowhere else more important to be.” Beautiful and prickly. Resilient to the core.

Divine Intervention/Released From The Heart © 1995 Kerri Sherwood

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read Kerri’s blogpost about THISTLES

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Speak Truth To Rot [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

The morning is cold and it snowed last night. The world is coated in white. A raucous murder of crows brought me to the kitchen window. I found the black birds cawing on the white snow both beautiful and foreboding. Edgar Allan Poe stepped in the room. Dostoyevsky. I have a dubious history with crows so they are at once fascinating and spine-chilling.

When I heard the crows I was reading about the fall of Rome. I’m not sure how I came to be reading about ancient Rome since I was searching for something else. I got snagged, followed the thread and went down a rabbit hole. I stopped on the phrase “political rot.” A poet’s phrase.

An Alice-in-Wonderland reference is apt for how I feel of the politics of our time: down a rabbit hole. Yesterday Kerri asked if a politician-in-the-news was a democrat or a republican and I answered, “I’m not sure anymore what a republican is…” Not an answer to her question; more a sad statement of our predicament. We will fall, like Rome, not because of the thunder-lies spewed by an angry man who would be emperor, but because of the complicity of those who remain silent so they, too, might stay in power. The very definition of political rot.

400 years separate Martin Luther and Martin Luther King. The first could no longer remain silent to the corruption of the church so he nailed his 95 Theses to the door. The second, Martin Luther King, could no longer remain silent to the horrors perpetuated on black citizens in “the land of the free…” For speaking out, Martin Luther was excommunicated by the church and condemned as an outlaw by the king. Martin Luther King was assassinated for giving voice to our national shame.

It takes courage to speak truth to rot. Rot never takes kindly to the voices of veracity.

Take heart. Rot always falls while truth reveals itself through the smoke and devastation.

Consider these words, spoken by Martin Luther and 400 years later by his namesake:

“You are not only responsible for what you say, but also for what you do not say.” ~ Martin Luther

“In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.” ~ Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

So much silence.

In my Roman read, two other phrases caught my eye, the very blossoms of political rot: “Civic pride waned…” and “Roman citizens lost their trust in leadership.” In complicit silence, history has no alternative but to repeat itself.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SILENCE

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