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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The Real Promise [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

“Too many of us still believe our differences define us.” ~ John Lewis

I confess, it has been a life-long fascination. Seriously, since I was a little kid, I’ve been amused, confused, and periodically gobsmacked by the swirling contradiction of identity-messaging in these un-United States.

Because we are the single most individualistic culture on the planet, we place high importance on being unique. We are encouraged to stand out. And yet, the first lesson I learned in school was how to stand quietly in line. We buy clothes that are meant to express our own distinct style while hyper-market-pressured to fit our image to the latest trend.

I spent years and years working with people who spent thousands of dollars outfitting home art studios so that they might express their own unique artistry…and then froze in their newly built temple, so fearful of what others might think of their creation. How many times have I heard someone, dressed smartly in their latest Ralph Lauren, tell me that they were looking for their voice?

It’s untenable. It’s no wonder we are perpetually self-discombobulated. The dreadful shadow of our national commitment to bewilderment is the game drawn along the color line that we’ve played since our nation’s inception: If they gain, we lose. If we gain, they lose.

We-the-people wrestle by placing the accent on the hard line of our differences. We wrestle with reaching across the hard line of difference to find our common ground: most recently our reaching has been known as DEI. Diversity. Equity. Inclusion. We strive to be one in our campaign to be individual.

If there is one universal truth I learned in my life as an artist, in my work with people struggling to find their novelty and power, it is this: unique voice is found in service to others. Unique expression is available when the self-serving ego gets out of the way. It’s a paradox.

Personal voice is meaningless unless it helps other people. To guide. To question. To recognize. To join. Actors perform to unite us in a shared story. Poets write to open us to universal truths. Musicians play to bring us together in a common experience. The real power, the promise available in these United States is no different than the promise bubbling inside each individual. Rare and special voice is found in service to the common good.

Artistry and governance share this trait: grace and power is always found in uniting and is invariably lost in dividing. We may someday realize the great promise in these United States if/when we at long last lay down the tired game of manufactured division and find our true, unique and powerful voice by uplifting all unique, diverse, and beautiful voices, a chorus in service to a common center called democracy.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE BLACK SHEEP

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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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In Our DNA [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Often, if you pay attention, the smallest pattern of action is a fractal revealing the bigger picture.

For instance, a small pattern of action: when Kamala Harris first became the Democratic nominee for president, many of our neighbors had to display their yard signs from inside their houses; if left outside their signs disappeared.

Bigger picture: the maga-candidate and his supporters promise to erase all voices of opposition. It is their pledge, their vow, the entirety of their platform.

Our democracy is a two-party system founded on the principle of healthy debate. In other words, opposition, the active engagement with opposing points of view is the magic ingredient of our form of governance . Our vote is the sacred epicenter of the ongoing, healthy debate. Our vote is literally our voice in the debate. It is how we sustain and perpetuate the gift of democracy.

Democracy is never finished. It is not a place of arrival. It is not a noun. It is an ongoing, living process, imperfect and messy, that generation to generation strives toward a more perfect union. It is an action, a verb. We are what we do. Today -and every day – we are the stewards of this high ideal: government of the people, by the people, for the people.

Today, unlike any other vote of our lives or our parents’ or grandparents’ lives, our great-grandparents’ lives – democracy in on the ballot. Kamala Harris has been clear: she will ensure that voices of opposition have a seat at the table. That is the way of democracy.

The maga-candidate has been clear: he intends to arrest and silence all voices of opposition. He will, if necessary, use the military to do it. He’s labeled voices of opposition as “the enemy within”. That is the way of fascism.

Removing opposition silences the debate and smothers the breath of democracy.

Small pattern: over time, more and more Harris/Walz signs showed up in yards, moving from inside the house to the outside where they belong.

Big picture: the voice of opposition grows stronger, louder, more vibrant, when tyrants attempt to repress it. That, too, is an American tradition. It’s in our dna, our national character. We don’t like it when we are stripped of our freedoms. As Kamala Harris reminded us, our nation was established when a petty tyrant tried to suppress our voices and restrict our rights; when the petty tyrant tried to eliminate our freedoms he unleashed an uncontrollable voice of opposition. We the people.

248 years later, another petty tyrant promises, if elected (ironically) to remove all voices of opposition. Opposition stands in the way of his lust for absolute power. He vows to abolish the magic ingredient. He is committed to the eradication of democracy, the birth of fascism. He’s already begun his erasure of opposition by once again claiming without evidence that our elections are corrupt.

And so, today, our choice could not be clearer. Today, we exercise our right of voice. We will either carry forward our inheritance of healthy opposition or we will fall into the petty divide and end it.

Today we weigh in on the debate. Democracy or fascism? We vote.

read Kerri’s blogpost about VOTE

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Ponder Pure Action [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“Raise your words, not voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder.” ~ Rumi

Although now it’s ubiquitous in the social media sphere, to be an “influencer” is a relatively new term of in the canon of aspirations. To affect, to sway, to direct, to shape, to guide… Someone recently suggested that Kerri and I should attempt to become influencers and we both cringed. For us, there’s something shallow about that word that makes us recoil. We write everyday because we enjoy writing and are very aware that our love of writing does not necessarily mean that we have anything new or of value to say. We like to write together. We like to share what we write.

I recently read a Taoist tenet: cease trying to influence others or to be influenced by others. It’s a notion meant to speak to the pursuit of happiness. Essentially it recommends stopping the pursuit. Happiness is not a thing to be caught. It is not something to be attained. The tenet is a suggestion to stand still, to act purely according to what presents itself in the moment. To act without thought or desire of any imagined gain. Happiness is bubbling in the present moment, expressed through pure action. Taoists – as I understand it – call this non-action (as opposed to inaction). Wu Wei.

Pure action. Effortless.

When Kamala Harris became the Democrat nominee, we wondered what we could do to help. Previous to her entrance into the race, the ugly-red-tide seemed impossible to stop. She brought light and new energy. We read – somewhere – that in order to help her, people should do what they already do, do what they do best. And so, in this present moment, we write. I cannot claim to be pure in my action since I hold the hope of influencing a few hearts and minds out there, somewhere in the nation, to fully understand the power of their vote and the need to know what they are voting for.

Yesterday on our walk we crossed paths and had a chat with a friend and, of course, talked about politics. As a professor, he said each day, regardless of the topic or the lesson, now more than ever, he is trying to teach his students critical thinking skills. “They no longer know what is fact and what is made-up. They have to learn to question,” he said, “They have to learn to think for themselves, beyond what they are hearing in social media.”

Pure action. I told him that the imperative to teach critical thinking places him on the frontlines. A thinking person could not – would not – vote for the maga-candidate. There is plenty of desire in the red-tide to remove critical thinking from higher education – from all forms of education. To narrow rather than expand minds.

After we went on our way I realized that Kerri and I are doing in our writing exactly what our professor friend is doing in his classroom: attempting to inspire critical thinking. Pointing the direction to questions and to discernment, challenging those swallowing whole-cloth the dangerous-maga-fox-misinformation to open their eyes, to pop the info-bubble.

“I tell my students that it’s easy to find the truth,” the professor said. “You just have to want to see it.”

Nurture Me on the album Released from the Heart © 1995 Kerri Sherwood

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

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Sacred Voice [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

My niece said it perfectly: for the first time in eight years I can vote FOR someone rather than against someone. The direction of intention. Moving toward the light instead of reacting against the darkness. And now, with Kamala Harris and Tim Walz, there is at long last a brilliant sunrise.

Beneath every action is a reason. A purpose or desire.

A vote is an action. It is the single action at the epicenter of every democracy. If there is a sacred action in the idea of democracy, voting is it. It is how we-the-people choose our path forward. It is how we participate (take responsibility) in our development. It is how we give voice to our intentions. To date, the people in the United States have one of the lowest voter turnouts in the world. Only 62%.

Choosing not to vote is…a choice. An inaction.

Over and over again in my career I heard people decry their voice-less-ness. Sunk in the quicksand-belief that their actions did not matter, their voice did not matter, they simply ceased trying. “No matter what I do, nothing changes.” Somehow, the connection between action and impact is snapped. And, the space between the broken pieces fills with the anger of helplessness.

As my former business partner responded to a woman who claimed voicelessness, “If you had a voice, what would you say?”

You have a voice. It’s called a vote. If you choose to use it, what will you say? Will you speak with dark fear or proclaim joy-filled-light? Will you declare possibility or mean-spirited-pout?

Our actions in the next few months, our vote this November, is our voice. I choose the light. My vote, my voice, will speak to a world that serves and shines on the whole community, that reaches for the central ideal: the creation of a nation built on the notion Out-Of-Many–One. Service to all. It is the reason we have a sacred vote, a voice of We-The-People.

There’s never been a better time, a more necessary time, to stand up and speak loud and clear. There’s never been a more important time to help others who have become complacent to claim – to reclaim – their sacred voice.

read Kerri’s blogpost about ACTION

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A Constant State [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

The word that stopped me was “nevertheless.” All the same. Even so. Still.

Despite the obstacles. Despite the opposition. She persisted. She continues on. She perseveres.

She.

A female judge gave her some advice: “As a woman, it’s not enough to be prepared. You have to be 200% prepared.” She was speaking from experience. “It hasn’t changed since I graduated from law school,” she added, “And that was over 30 years ago.”

So, she prepared. And prepared. And prepared.

Perseverance in the movies comes with a soundtrack. It also comes with inevitability. In real life it’s not that way.

Her day to be be heard finally came and she stepped into a foregone conclusion. All the males in the room were afforded the opportunity to speak. She left the building at the end of the day still waiting to be heard. The men spun their tale, objected when she opened her mouth, and then called it a day.

“Systems usual,” she said, upset but undeterred.

I wanted to buy this small dish for her. Nevertheless she persisted. An encouragement.

“It’s what all women have to do,” she said, looking over my shoulder. “We don’t need a reminder. We walk through the world in a constant state of “nevertheless”.

Nevertheless, she.

read Kerri’s blogpost about NEVERTHELESS

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Chase A Ghost [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

The question came in through our site from a man who was instrumental in Kerri’s decision to record her compositions. A voice from her past asking a good question.

There are many surface answers to his question. In our case, all would be applicable: to give voice to our thoughts, to build a community, to call attention to our work…This morning, as I ponder his question, I think the purpose of a blog, my blog, might be to chase ghosts.

I began blogging utterly convinced that I had very little of value to say. I’d never considered myself to be a writer. It was a challenge I set for myself. Actually, I had one thing to say and decided I would, every day, attempt to write about it until I ran out of gas. I calculated that the tank would run dry in less than seven days. I was chasing the elusive ghost known as voice. My voice.

The interesting thing about ghost-chasing is that it makes you pay attention to everything. Ghosts can come at you in an instant from any direction and disappear just as quickly. Sometimes you can’t see them at all but feel intensely their icy presence. That was the first thing I learned in my voice-ghost-pursuit: I was paying careful attention, inside and out. It was not intense, not a strain or a struggle. I didn’t have to try. It was natural.

Not surprisingly, paying attention gave me more and more to write about, more to reflect upon. More to offer. “Have you seen this? Do you understand it?”

Chasing ghosts is a great question stimulator. Ghosts are curious and require all manner of suspension of disbelief so they are also terrific curiosity-energizers. Among the first line of questioning is about your self: your perceptions, your beliefs, your ideas of who you are and who you are not. It’s nearly impossible to write about others without exposing your self. Voice chasing leads to an astounding realization: the self/other boundary is permeable. We come to know ourselves relative to how well we know others. We only know our voice because someone out-there is listening and, hopefully, giving voice in return. Contrast principle.

Our basement is unusual in that it has box-after-box of unsold CD’s – the hard evidence of the music industry making a quick pivot to streaming services. The stacks of my unsold paintings take up an entire room. Our filing cabinets are filled with ideas and manuscripts and songs-not-yet-recorded. There are folios of cartoons that didn’t quite make it to syndication, folios of ink gestures, watercolors, and sketches. Another kind of ghost: the work of years past. When we met and married, we began blogging together, originally to try and call attention to the voice-of-work-past-but-not-yet-sold. That ghost, a very sad ghost, quickly left us; the joy of writing together each day overcame the initial intention.

The joy of writing together. We no longer chase the ghost of voice. It was here all along (of course). Now-a-days, we pursue a much simpler spirit: the gift of paying attention, the pure surprise of what shows up when we dive into and write about our daily prompt. “You go first,” I say, since she is wiggling with excitement to read what she just wrote.

read Kerri’s blog about WHAT IS A BLOG?

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Stand At The Fork [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Once in a vision
I came on some woods
And stood at a fork in the road
My choices were clear
Yet I froze with the fear
Of not knowing which way to go
One road was simple
Acceptance of life
The other road offered sweet peace
When I made my decision
My vision became my release.

Nether Lands by Dan Fogelberg

It happened again. We were making dinner and, before she said it, I knew exactly what she was going to say. “I’ve been here before,” I thought. Deja vu. I understand these moments as affirmations of being on the right path. The first day we met was a festival of deja vu.

Most of my life I was terrified to sing. A professor in graduate school challenged us to walk into and explore one of our fears so I took a class: singing for the utterly petrified. That wasn’t really the title of the course. I can’t remember the title because I was in a heightened state of panic the whole semester. We had to choose a favorite song to sing. I chose Nether Lands by Dan Fogelberg because it was the first album I ever owned and I used to play it over and over and over. I knew the title track by heart. I figured I’d have a better chance of staying conscious if the song and lyrics were already beaten into my brain. The fact that I am writing this so many years later is proof positive that I survived.

When we met I told her, a consummate musician, “I don’t sing and I don’t pray.” Better to spill the beans upfront than to torture her ears down the road. Managing expectations, yada yada.

“That’s too bad, ” she said. A few short months later I was singing in her choir, band and ukulele band. So much for conviction! She told me that my problem wasn’t singing, it was hearing. I had to learn to hear. I loved the implication: walking into fear requires learning to hear. I’m still learning. Deja vu!

It happened again. Carefully opening the small step ladder between the piano and the cello to hang the lampshade in her studio. “I’ve been here before,” I thought, positioning the legs of the ladder. I knew she was going to tell me to make sure the feather clip was in front. I knew she was going to wrinkle her nose. I had no idea what would come next.

It’s what I love about a good deja vu – you’ve both been there before and have no idea where you are going. It stops you for a moment of appreciation. Affirmation. Always at a fork in the road: simple acceptance of life and sweet peace. I have a feeling that, no matter the choice, all roads eventually lead to the same place. Hanging a funky cool lampshade. A wrinkled nose. Learning to hear. A deja vu. An affirmation of being right where I am supposed to be.

recorded on an old iphone on a piano in need of tuning… A Shred of Hope © 2020 Kerri Sherwood

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

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Make A Unique Mark [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Take a moment and write your name on a piece of paper. Your name, captured in lines made by your hand. No other hand in the universe will make those lines in exactly the same way. No other hand will have the connection to the scribbled name quite like you do. It’s yours. It’s you, expressing your unique signature, done so often as to be unconscious. Do you remember the first time you made those lines?

Expression. That connects. You.

My parents kept a box for me. It has samples of my first quaky lines. It has crayon drawings, scribbles that had yet to meet the notion of containment. No knowledge of should.

I have many, many times been asked to make a case for the arts. Make a case. Amidst the assumption of no-value. I ask the people sitting behind the big table if they have children or grandchildren. I ask them if they ever giggled with pleasure to watch their child smoosh paint with their fingers. Why? Did they tape the smoosh-mess to their refrigerator? Why? Did they store the first scribbles, the first crayon drawing, the first finger painting in a box? Why? Are they hoping that their someday-or-now-adult children will remember their march to unique expression? What price would they, sitting behind the big table, place on those little hands making prints on paper? What is the value of the infinity that those little hands find?

The freedom of expression. Yet unhindered by a life-message that your unique and personal expression must achieve some-thing. What is the value of finding that freedom again, as an adult? Expression sans hinder. No fences. No expectation. What is available when adult fingers are free-like-a-child to wildly smoosh through paint or sing with abandon? What is the value of expression?

I remember the first time I sat in the audience of a theatre and sucked back my sobs. I was so deeply moved by the performance yet aghast at how freely (and loudly) I was about to express my feelings.

I remember the day the woman came into the gallery, saw my painting, and stood before it as if slapped. She cried. And cried. And cried. I cried seeing her see me-in-my-painting.

Have you ever stood on a mountaintop and felt a part of something bigger? Have you ever closed your eyes and let the aria wash over you? Have you ever, driving to somewhere, turned up the volume and sang loud and passionately, the song stirring your soul? Have you ever watched a child play with abandon and feel with utter certainty life stretching beyond your time-on-earth?

Have you ever not given voice to your questions? Silenced your thoughts? Withheld your voice? What would you give, in those moments, to understand the power of playing the fool? The necessity of not-needing to-know-the-right-answer? What would you give to know the courage of taking a step simply because your footprint, your unique print, might help someone, someday, do as you are doing, take a new path that will guide them back to themselves? Back home? What would you give to smoosh your hands with abandon through the metaphoric paint?

What exactly is the value of making the unique mark on the page? Yours? Or the song played that lifts you out of your despair and fills your heart with light and hope?

read Kerri’s blogpost about ART

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