Magic Things [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.” ~ W.B. Yeats

Standing at the back of the theatre watching a performance of a play that he’d directed, Roger whispered a frustration that most artists whisper at some point in their career: the audience will never get all of the layers of story. Very few will appreciate the totality of the hard work, the heart, the intention, the nuance…So much goes unseen, un-felt.

There is, of course, only one response to his whispered frustration. They may not get it all but you – the artist – does. Sometimes I think the skill of the artist is to slow the world down so that they can more fully see it. Or, more accurately, slow down so they can see the magic in the world. And then their work is to help their community see it, too. The great gift of artistry is that the work is never finished. The process – the capacity to perceive and share more of the magic – is never ending.

I regularly ponder the impact of the pace of work and life in the age of the internet. It’s a raging river of information that never slows. In fact, “progress” is understood as an increase of speed. We worship at the business alter of efficiency-and-effectiveness; people are rewarded for striding at an ever faster pace – so anything, like artistry, that suggests slowing down might be beneficial, is radical. There is a reason that an audience might not “get it”.

I’ve been aware this week, as we deal with the impacts of the snow and cold on our house and car, that we’ve mostly unplugged. Necessity has made us present. It is not an accident that the prompt-photos for this Melange week are mostly close-ups. Detail. We’ve been staring at the miracle of the icicles. The patterns in the snow clusters on the Adirondack chairs have captivated us.

Yeats knew only pen and ink. He stared at blank pages and not at flickering dynamic screens that pulled his attention this way and that and filled his mental bucket with information. He did not sort through hundreds of emails each day or navigate the mind numbing onslaught of social media. Yeats took walks and stared out windows to clear his mind. He sought other poets and thinkers, he spent time with them so he might challenge and expand his ideas, his perceptions, his capacity to see and feel.

The world of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper, knows that our senses are so inundated with information and noise and stimulus that we are less and less able to sense anything at all, especially the magic things. We are distracted, often misinformed and thoroughly entertained – and less and less capable of sustaining a span of attention, let alone sharpening our senses.

Sharpened senses – otherwise known as presence – opens the door to the ubiquitous magic things, things that patiently wait for us to slow down enough to fully appreciate them.

BLUEPRINT FOR MY SOUL © 1997 Kerri Sherwood

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read Kerri’s blogpost about SNOWFLAKES

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The Point [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

As we write this, an airplane has been circling overhead for hours. While staring at the sky a few moments ago, we saw a large drone. ICE is in Chicago, an hour and a half away. So is our son. And now, against all constitutional and legal authority, so is the Texas National Guard. In Illinois.

ICE is terrorizing Waukegan, a 25 minute drive from here. They are a masked cancer on decent society. Unleashed by an ignoble administration. As Thom Hartmann suggests, ICE is the modern KKK. Here to terrorize.

Yeats comes to mind: “The best lack all conviction while the worst are full of passionate intensity…” ~ W.B. Yeats, The Second Coming

Yes. Overwhelmed. And isn’t that the point of these brutal theatrics?

read Kerri’s blogpost about OVERWHELMED

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

Pi (Greek letter “π”) is the symbol used in mathematics to represent a constant—the ratio of the circumference of a circle to its diameter

One of Kerri’s nicknames is math-girl. She has a freakish capacity to do math in her head. No mad pencil scribbling on paper is necessary. No calculator required. She pretends to dislike adding the grocery bill faster than the store scanner or scrutinizing the taxes for minute errors but I know, deep inside, she gets a charge out of it. 20 and I regularly raise our eyebrows and ask, “How does she do that?” I’ve learned to never disagree with her when numbers are involved. I am wrong 100% of the time.

When she saw the Pi cloud in the sky she was ecstatic. It was like a visit from an old friend. An affirmation from this grand old universe.

She told me that she likes Pi because it represents a constant. A constant is something that stays the same, something that you can count on. It also refers to a quality of movement: ceaseless repetition, something that happens without pause. Or, my favorite definition of a constant: loyal or steadfast, as in a good friend.

Her comment about constants brought to my mind Yeats’ poem, The Second Coming:

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world..
.

It is a poem for our times. The cycles of history, the widening gyre, and the chaos that ensues when one epoch is ending and another is about to begin. Aren’t we now witness to a center that cannot hold? Things fall apart. Anarchy is loosed upon the world.

Here we are. Chaos is the constant. The world is flipped upside-down. A birthing pang? The caterpillar goes to mush before it reconstitutes into a new form; a butterfly.

Of course, this is me, searching for some sense to be made in the march of the oligarchs, the rape of the nation. The worship of the cruel, the elevation of the vapid. We can only hope that this is the natural progression to mush and that someday, somewhere out there, a butterfly will break from its cocoon, dry its wings, and step off the branch to restore decency, sense, and beauty to the world.

Pie-in-the-sky? Or the constant?

read Kerri’s blogpost about Pi

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