The Feather Test [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

My inner mythologist reminds me that the ancient Egyptians held that the heart, not the brain, was understood as the dwelling place of intelligence and conscience. The heart held life’s memories. After death the heart would be weighed against a feather and if it was heavy with ill intent or wrongdoing, it would disintegrate. The feather was symbolic of balance and truth. A light heart entered the afterlife.

It is not hyperbole to suggest that no one in the current administration would pass the feather test. Truth has been under assault for over a decade by these white nationalists while their strategy of chaos has made balance neigh-on impossible. Is it any wonder that an exhausted populace voted (finally) to scrub this corruption from the communal body?

The tension that continually tears us apart is a persistent split-intention. We can either be a nation in pursuit of equality for all or we can be a nation that protects the privilege of the few. As we have learned, we cannot fulfill a singular vision of democracy with two oppositional ideals. As has become clear in this election cycle, our division is not between black and white, red and blue – our division is between the top and bottom. 93% of the nation’s wealth is held and controlled by the 1%. 40 years of deregulation and trickle-down nonsense has left the people surviving on crumbs while the privileged few has us at each others throats.

It is easy to enrage a brain. Feed it a steady diet of “you-are-a-victim”, whip up an imaginary enemy, stoke the fire of “us versus them”, and the brain will see red regardless of evidence to the contrary or verifiable truth. This administration and its fox have been genius at making maga-brains see nothing but red.

Amidst our split-intention, the people just chose to return to the heart path, the brother’s/sister’s keeper path – the path of truth and balance. The every-man-for-himself path, an ugly illusion rife with ill-intent and fueled by wrongdoing, is collapsing but not disappearing. As I understand it, this is a pattern in our history, the tug-of-war between the desire for equality pulls against classism. We stand at a moment of opportunity, a moment of structural tension. We can in this moment, if we choose, once and for all put to rest the ill-intent of disparity, the nightmare of authoritarian inequality and servitude held by a privileged few. It was the dream of the confederacy. It was the star followed by the robber barons. It is the northstar of maga.

We will one day weigh our destiny against a feather.

Will we, once and for all, chose the heart path of equality, equal justice, equal rights, equal opportunity…or will we repeat the pattern and start the swing back toward division, fueled by propaganda enraged brains?

I Have Walked This Path Before, mixed media on board

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE HEART LEAF

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Today’s The Day [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

We were saving them. I’m not sure why. Prayer flags, a new set. A few years ago the old set literally disintegrated having fully released their prayers to the wind. We had the new set for so long that I forgot that we had them.

The day after the election Kerri said, “Today’s the day.” Peace, compassion, inner strength and wisdom had returned to the nation. At least that was our hope. After voting, hanging the new prayer flags seemed like a proper gesture of hope, a way that we could release prayers for the restoration of goodness onto this deeply bruised and battered nation. It felt good. We watched the flags catch the wind. The mantras inscribed on the flags are meant to benefit all people, all beings.

For a moment, watching the brilliant colors wave, I wondered why we didn’t hang them in the middle of this authoritarian horror. It would seem that was the time when prayers for peace were desperately needed. Why did we wait? It is a question that has no single easy answer.

But there was this: watching the election returns roll in throughout the night, the complete blue-rebuke of the hatred and corruption and the elevation of a new generation of diverse, well-intended leaders, I felt like a battered sailor standing on deck who has survived a deadly storm. The waters still roil but the new day brings the certainty of survival with the sunrise. In our great relief we climbed the mast and hung a new set of prayer flags to reaffirm in ourselves that we lived through the battering storm and might now set a course to port. We hung our prayer flags to celebrate life, our nation’s inner strength showing up at last, the prospect of peace, a resurrection of compassion, and a resurgence of wisdom.

We waited because, deep down, we believed this day would come, that the wildly diverse people of this nation would rise and, together, release strength, peace and compassion upon this battered land.

read Kerri’s blogpost about PRAYER FLAGS

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Hey! [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

From our station in the sunroom where we are attending to the needs of our ailing Dogga, we have a clear view to the potting bench and garden. Most of the herbs are gone. We’ve pulled the mint, parsley and cilantro. The jalapeno peppers are done. Yet, even though we are at the end of the growing season, the tomato plant is still producing like gangbusters. Multiple green tomato clusters populate the vine.

The squirrels could not be more excited. Each day we watch them scurry along the fence line, drop down to the bench, creep to the edge, make a carefully considered selection, and pluck a tomato. They hop to the deck rail with the newly picked tomato-prize and gnaw the top off right before our eyes.

Kerri delights in their scoundrel tomato raids. “Isn’t that cute!” she exclaims. I used to have visions of springing out the door, yelling a manly, “Hey!” In my fantasy the squirrel drops the tomato and flees but in reality, the one time I sprang out the door, the squirrel took a bite and held up the tomato as if saying, “Hey, neighbor!” They know I am all bark.

I am my father’s son. As a boy he grew up hunting squirrels, not for fun but out of necessity. As an older man who was no longer in poverty, he couldn’t bear to hurt a squirrel. When the varmints ate the peaches from his prized tree he live-trapped them and took them to a local park. He kept a BB gun in the garage to scare them away, never aiming to hit them. When his sight went bad he accidentally nicked one and his eyes were misty with regret for the rest of the day. That was the day he retired his BB gun. I know that if my manly yell caused the tomato-robbing-squirrel to fall and break a leg, I’d never forgive myself.

All of that is to say that I am secretly pleased that the squirrels see right through me. Now, as we sit with Dogga in the sunroom and watch the daily raid on the tomato plant, when Kerri delights in the squirrels’ successful raid and says, “Isn’t that cute,” I can honestly reply, “Yes. Yes it is.” When the squirrel holds up the spoils we exchange a quick man-nod as if to say, “Hey, neighbor!”

read Kerri’s blogpost about TOMATO SQUIRRELS

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Simple Gifts [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

And in the wink of an eye, the goblins, witches, pumpkins and piles of bagged candy disappeared from the store shelves. Twinkly lights, candy canes, jolly elves, gift wrap, bulbs and baubles of many colors have taken their place. It marks the happy return of the oddest of dessert collisions, the fruit cake.

I once knew a man who celebrated the Christmas holiday by giving a ritual gift of an orange and two walnuts. He grew up in poverty and the simple gifts were a reminder of a time when an orange was a precious treasured gift. He wanted to remind the people he loved that love was more important than the shape, size or cost of the gift.

I feel as if the results of the election are a ritual gift of a similar nature. The blue wave is a reminder: all the money in the world could not buy the power of our democracy. Even though 93% of the nation’s wealth is currently in the hands of the top 1%, the real power of the nation is with the people when united. Simple.

We exit the season of ghouls and dark spirits and enter a new season of light, generosity and joy. A simple ritual gift, an orange and two walnuts, can show us the way. Love is more powerful than money or division.

In this new season we help each other to stand, dust ourselves off, renew our dedication for generations to come to basics like decency, morality and human rights . We can help each other reclaim and redistribute the prosperity siphoned from the people by a generation of ill-intended Scrooges. With this blue wave, this ritual of renewal, we remind ourselves – and our descendants – of what we really value – and reaffirm that the American Dream is something we must continually create together.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SIMPLE GIFTS

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Let’s Get To It [David’s blog on KS Friday]

On our short drive to the post office I saw three homes with new blue porch lights. At the grocery store I noted an abundance of blue clothing. Today, blue is the color of change. Today, blue is the color of hope and I am seeing an ocean of blue.

As Heather Cox Richardson reminds us, the authoritarians and oligarchs will not go quietly into this blue wave. They are afraid. Accountability looms. Our vote was just the first step in defending our democracy. Now the real work begins.

Our hope requires our action. We’ve just seen what can happen when we-the-people come together and act. We cannot now return to our cubicles believing that the change is complete. It is not. The war still rages. The corruption has two full years of runway. The economy is sinking. The system as it currently exists will do everything in its power to stay in place; systems fight to the death to reinvent themselves.

Hope is empty without action. On Tuesday we chose a direction and now we must walk it together. Healthcare. Education. Civil Rights, Court reform, Election reform (can we please get rid of the Electoral College and get corporate money out of our politics!). The authoritarian wannabe and his cult have done an excellent job of demolition. The rebuild is up to us and it requires good architects and craftspeople and support teams. That is us.

Action is fueled by hope and today we – together – have plenty of fuel. Let’s take a breath. Celebrate. And then let’s get to it.

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read Kerri’s blogpost on BLUE

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Two Haiku [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

A Haiku:

A powerful force

Roars in, deep blue and mighty,

Inevitable change.

Another Haiku

Certain to happen,

Impossible to avoid,

The gull dreams of flight.

read Kerri’s haiku Thursday

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We Take A Breath [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

For a decade decency has been playing defense against cruelty and corruption. Last night decency reclaimed the ball and will soon go on the offensive. The people will now move toward the dream instead of pushing back against the nightmare.

There is plenty of wreckage. There is much work to do. But today, we take a breath.

read Kerri’s blogpost about BREATHING

The Choice [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

This yard sign in our neighborhood is not hyperbole. The choice in this election could not be more clear. The power in a democracy is with the people. The power in a dictatorship is with the dictator. The choice is ours to make. Vote today if you have not already voted. Use your power. Make your choice. Democracy or dictator?

read Kerri’s blogpost on THE CHOICE

We Vote [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

“Because we are imperfect souls, our knowledge is imperfect. The history of learning is an adventure in overcoming our errors. There is no sin in being wrong. The sin is in our unwillingness to examine our own beliefs, and in believing that our authorities cannot be wrong.” ~ Neil Postman, The End of Education: Redefining the Value of School

As others have said, this is the most consequential election in modern times. Although the three words on this shirt might seem relatively straightforward, they are anything but. They mark the line that divides us. They are the simple actions that will either save our democracy or doom us to dictatorship. Read. Think. Vote.

There is nothing more dangerous in these times than a “low-information” voter. In our last election over 70 million people entered the voting booth with belief-that-was-divorced-from-fact-or-basic-information. No Reading. Even less thinking. We -all of us -are now experiencing the consequences of this mistake. The consequences grow more dire with each passing day.

The last time I defended the terminally Fox-misguided-crowd by suggesting that they were living in a propaganda bubble, Kerri quickly shut me down. “They have a device in their hands that enables them to fact check every lie they are being sold,” she said. “There is no longer any excuse. They can read. They can think. They must like this cruelty. They are cheering for this corruption. They want to believe what they are being told.”

If the polls are to be trusted there are many people out there who made this mistake, who voted for this ugliness, who are now examining their belief. They are learning, which is to say that their belief is finally – finally – meeting the facts. They are facing the reality of what they voted for. They are thinking. Lately, we have heard over and over again, “But I didn’t vote for this.”

And so, we vote. We – all of us together – have a chance to overcome this error. We will then have the chance to examine our beliefs, to ask how so many with so much access to information refused to access it. But first, we read, think and then vote.

read Kerri’s blog about READ, THINK, VOTE

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Gathering Vanishing Days [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“Many of us have made our world so familiar that we do not see it anymore. An interesting question to ask yourself at night is, What did I really see this day?” ~ John O’Donohue, Anam Cara

This week our world is a big as our sunroom. The Dogga is ill and we are with him constantly. I pet him and he sleeps. While he sleeps I look out the window. Breck the aspen tree quakes. Finches alight in the small branch outside the window. They look in, visitors to the people zoo. I look back and am amused at what they see. The autumn light in the backyard is startling.

I realize that in many ways the world has stopped – or at the very least time has slowed. This is unfamiliar territory. Even the room is novel, rearranged, piled with soft rugs and gated for Dogga containment. It has become a cradle of sorts. All of our life patterns are altered. We are making it up as we go. In this unexplored landscape I can see again. Every breath. Every leaf that drops.

I am not trying to be anywhere else. I am exactly where I want to be, doing the most important thing I can imagine doing. I am not bored or feeling trapped. Quite the opposite. I wonder how often this has been true in my life?

John O’Donohue sits by my side. He tells me, “Your soul is the priestess of memory, selecting, sifting, and ultimately gathering your vanishing days toward presence.”

Dwight recently asked a question, “What is the wake I am leaving as I navigate work, my family, uh.. the airport, etc.?” I rearrange the image within his question: what is the ripple I send from my pebble-center that will all too soon disappear, a disturbance in the water returning to mirror calm?

A haiku: Dogga lifts his head. His tail wags a single wag. My heart knows itself.

WHEN THE FOG LIFTS on the album THIS PART OF THE JOURNEY © 1998 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE FOG

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