A Butterfly On A Pin [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Posted on June 12, 2026 by davidrobinsoncreative

When you say “green,” what exactly do you mean? Each morning I stand in my backyard and marvel at the symphony of greens. The licorice plant, the tomatoes, the sweet potato vine, the ferns, the grasses, the aspen leaves…each wear a unique shade of green. Each green changes with the light. The greens are different in the morning than they are at noon and wildly different during the pre-sunset golden hour. Well…they are not different but the light changes what I perceive. The change is in me.

The change is in me.

My first line of contact with the world is my senses. Everything I know is a product of everything I have experienced and my experiences begin with my eyes, ears, nose, skin and taste buds. And then I make sense of it or at least try to makes sense of it. I build stories like, “Each green changes with the light.” In other words, the greens change while I remain unchanged. I am the center. This is the exact opposite of what happens. It’s a trick of language. I story myself as normal (Kerri will laugh hysterically when she reads that assertion!). I story myself as “right” though I also have great capacity to story myself as worthless or stupid or wishing I had kept my mouth closed.

I story other people as good or bad – a harsh and narrow measurement to be sure.

In my current story I have discovered the depths of my intolerance. I can’t understand how farmers voted again for their own demise. Since we are all suffering the impact of their support of autocracy, I have little compassion for the loss of their farms. They voted for it.

I find my intolerance necessary. And sad. These farmers are suffering accountability for their actions – for their votes – while the people who showered them with false promises and drown them in propaganda are profiting from the farmer’s loss.

I am like all others: I seek and find people and information that bolster my point of view. It feels good to feel affirmed in what I believe. Yet, what I believe – my opinions – are meritless unless grounded in fact. I have worked hard in my life to question my point of view because I was taught, as an artist who could impact the lives of others, I had a responsibility to deal in truth.

Even in writing this mind-wander about the senses and perception, it all sounds schizophrenic: seek support for what you believe and then challenge it. It’s called learning. The senses open and expand, the mind narrows and refines. It is like the tides. Open to the experience, sift it for veracity. It is how we make sense from senses.

The farmers and red-hatted others who voted for fascism would have been well served to ask a few questions before they calcified their belief and cast ballots for their own destruction. The information was readily available. They simple needed to open their eyes and exercise their minds. They only needed to take a moment – for that is all it would have taken – to challenge the gaslight.

Do you see the current scrubbing of our history? The white-washing of our national sense-making, the assault on education and educators? It’s akin to reducing all greens to a single dull shade. Do you hear the fear of the question, the fear of being questioned? Are you aware of the publication of an enemies list? Those who are exercising their first amendment rights are being branded as hostile. Do you smell the corruption? The acrid burn of our constitution? Do you taste the bitterness at the gas pump, the bitter frustration at the grocery store? Are questioning?

There is sense to be made.

Of our nation and our fear of facing our history, James Baldwin wrote: “People who imagine that history flatters them (as it does, indeed, since they wrote it) are impaled on their history like a butterfly on a pin and become incapable of seeing or changing themselves, or the world.”