reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Category Archives: goodness


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our tracks. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

like you, maybe, i woke up on tuesday, sickened. the scourge has impaled the nation and i am stunned beyond belief. though i know we – personally – will be working at keeping on keeping on, the fallout of less than 24 hours was mind-blowing. which i know was the point. shock and awe, as they say.

in the tracks of our future we need to decide just exactly what we wish there. the present tense cannot be that which we leave in our wake, for this twisted leadership’s twisted governing will – most definitely – be the end of humanity as we know it. it is hard to grok this kind of cruelty.

in this time of grieving for our country, our democratic ideals, rights and freedoms on the chopping block to be desecrated, a moral center devoid of morality, the heaviness of depression and dread move in like a thick fog – difficult to see through to the other side. this is stifling, intense, horrible.

and so, maybe, i know how you feel. and sitting in this “collective depression” (john pavlovitz) is necessary – for the moment. we need spend time looking back, looking at now, looking down the road. we need spend time in the middle of it all. there are no easy solutions, i suspect. but each inch of the road forward counts and the tracks we leave will tell the story of our attempt to find balance and peace and goodness. it is the fundamental one-foot-after-another.

even as i write this i know that i don’t know what i’m talking about. not really. i have not lived through such a time. i am – like you – newly embarking on a trek heavy with the baggage of an administration steeped in hatred, retaliation, corruption. to think i know anything about such things is overstating, hyperbole. i – like you – have been mostly fortunate to live – most of my life – in a country with laws, checks and balances, at least a few grains of fairness mixed in. but here we are. and, though 77 million people voted for this maniacal cadre, more did not – through their vote or their silence.

anne frank embraced hope, “i don’t think of all the misery, but of the beauty that still remains.”

ralph waldo emerson’s words remind, “life is a journey, not a destination.”

when i come out from under the quilt, reopen the blinds and step out, i know that we will consider carefully our path as we go. we will step lightly and intentionally. we’ll not carry the fancy luggage with leather-edged nasty executive orders and gleeful manifestations of greed and malfeasance with us.

we will carry the scroll of our constitution and its good will from here and now to next days and the days after – our tracks will not be shameful indicators of the worst of us nor will they embarrass us. instead, they will be steady and strong and will tell the story of this journey for “whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly” (martin luther king, jr.) and we have a legacy to choose.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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in the meanwhile. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

“on the day when the weight deadens on your shoulders and you stumble, may the clay dance to balance you.” (bennacht – john o’donohue)

in the meanwhile we keep hiking the trails nearby…the bike trail, state forests, nature preserves, state parks,, county parks. there are times (though never enough) we are in colorado or utah or north carolina and there are mountains or red rock to hike, deserts and canyons to explore, waterfalls to discover. but most of the time we are here. and here is where we hike. nevertheless, we keep it fresh, each time.

we’ll continue to sort life on these trails. with everything that has taken place in these last years – and, devastatingly, this week – there is plenty to sort, lots to process. these trails help us stay present – not get lost in the chaos of tangled underbrush, not get too waylaid by the terrifying what-could-happens. one step at a time, one foot in front of another.

i’m writing this at sixteen minutes after noon eastern time on monday. i have a pounding headache right now and my breathing is shallow. even without watching we can feel it in the air. the changeover. the democracy axis tipping to the oligarchs on the dais. there is a wafting scent of narcissism and revenge and you can feel the gloat descending like storm clouds. presence is damn necessary now.

“…a lot of evil happens because of ignorance and of numbness…” (john o’donohue)

so in the meanwhile – the time between this new now and whenever evil releases its cruel grip – we’ll seek the spaces that keep us in beauty. we’ll find others as they, too, look for the beautiful, the simple. and we’ll hold fast to the clay under our feet.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY

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by a thread. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

the connective tissue between us is sometimes like strong rope and sometimes like filmy silken thread. yet we are – one to the other – connected through bliss and storm, hot heat and bitter cold, mountaintop summits and chasmic challenges. though you may be peripheral in my every day story, we connect in the subplot of all our stories – the humanity of living – our interdependence, our shared earth.

we – together – in our shared mission seeking goodness – step into the next day. in our joining – together – we bring the best of each of us – the uniqueness of all our strengths, our gifts, our wisdom – and we buoy one another.

when the ice formed on the window in threads – more beautiful than i could have ever created – the feathery crystals latching onto the ice-strand – like tiny preschoolers holding the knots on a rope while walking in a safe-line – it reminded me, once again, of your presence. the threaded crystals remind me that we are not alone, that – together – we may find the beauty we know is there, the pause between the notes, the reinforcement, the ‘ands’ that we each desperately need.

the needlepoint of the universe – crocheted vapor – a talisman of hope.

“if everything around seems dark, look again, you may be the light.” (rumi)

we are the light in this darkness – together – particularly when we make together our intention. though feeling as if hanging on by a thread, i take comfort knowing you are hanging with me, with us.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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the grace dance. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

even laden with new snow, the grasses spring up, ever resilient. they show fortitude in predicament and circumstance – a teachable moment for those of us humans who are not impervious to such things.

maybe it’s their golden glow in sun low on the horizon. maybe it’s that there are small critters taking refuge under the umbrella of stalky stems. maybe it’s the reverent bow of the fronds, the balance in the arch of growth and weight, a toppling over. maybe it is simply grace.

“i do not at all understand the mystery of grace – only that it meets us where we are but does not leave us where it found us.” (anne lamott)

in moments of this past year i have found myself in the presence of grace. i have watched grace heal physical injuries. i have watched grace blanket people, restoring relationship. i have experienced grace reaching out its arms to envelop. i have received grace – the support of others. i have been surprised – even shocked – by grace and i have been surprised – even shocked – by a lack of grace.

for if the presence of grace – such an intangible mystery – does not leave us unchanged, then so does the absence of grace.

were the grasses to succumb, to be lying down, flat upon the earth, their glow of beauty and their cozy shelter wouldn’t be. their place in the world and its workings would be different, perhaps. their resilience seems to be the key.

“I know nothing, except what everyone knows – if there when grace dances, i should dance.” (anne lamott)

in the mystery that is beauty, that is grace, that is the intertwining of both – for surely they are hand in hand – there is an invitation for us to dance, upright upon a floor of dirt on earth under the sun, able to both receive and extend grace – like feathery fronds on an ornamental grass, ever resilient though the elements are threatening.

we carry that dance – tucked in – with us as we make our way. it is present, beckoning us. we can see it in the falling snow and the driving rain, thick fog and dark nights. it is there, ready to leave us different.

*****

GRACE © 2010 kerri sherwood

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read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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any feather in silhouette. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

in silhouette – in the trees against the sky – it was difficult to tell if they were starlings or grackles. the identifying characteristics like feather, head, leg or beak color fly in the face of the silhouette. tail length and body shape can be discerning factors as well as their bird calls or the raucous sound that they make while hanging out in trees together. but – at these moments that we were photographing them – they were quiet and, though i might lean toward starling – because of their general body shape and tail – i’m really not sure. plus, starlings and grackles and blackbirds all often mingle together, so it can be hard to distinguish one from the other.

what i do know is that it doesn’t matter. they were beautiful all perched in the trees and it’s a marvel to look up and see sooo many birds, resting and waiting before they move on.

we are coming ever closer to the changeover in the administration of our government. it feels like we are getting a little bit quiet in waiting. there is so much chaos that can happen quickly and this morning we talked about who will stand in integrity to push back against it all, who will be decent, who will abide by the laws of the land, who will be responsible advocates for humanity – the absence of which will perpetuate a chaos of insane proportion.

were we all to be seen in silhouette perhaps there would be more likelihood that we might all be treated equally, that people would not be disenfranchised or marginalized because of pigmentation or gender or ethnicity or sexual orientation or socioeconomic status or any other differentiating thing.

if we had to squint to try and make out the details of each other and – still then – think that we are all basically the same – for silhouettes – and yes, people – are like that – maybe this country could be a better place.

i shudder thinking about what’s coming. it makes me feel sick to my stomach.

i wonder when wisdom might return. the meanwhile is going to be a shameful place.

if you’re looking for me, i’ll be in the tree communing with the birds. you’re certainly welcome to hang out. they say birds of a feather flock together. any feather.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY

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relentlessly. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

they are on 24/7. we haven’t taken them off our old wrought iron railing because – well – we need the light.

today i read a tiny post about someone who had taken her christmas tree down and had lugged it outside, getting it ready to go to the drop-off where it will be picked up and recycled into mulch. she wrote that she was sad and that she told her husband – when he arrived home – that she already missed the lighted tree. the end of her bitty post revealed that the tree was back in the house – lighted. it warmed my heart.

we have taken down the holiday decorations. it was just a couple days ago and i already miss the glimmer. it’s all so joyous and – once put away into bins – feels plain. to be honest, i did keep one lighted lodgepole pine tree in the sitting room and i am contemplating bringing another back up. it won’t take much to convince him that they are necessary for a while, even though i was prepared with “they don’t reeeeally look like christmas trees….”

whatever it takes, i’m thinking. if we need more happy lights, then we should – by all means – put them up. anything to stay in the light, particularly right now. these darker winter months require much vitamin d and anything else that brings us beams of hopeful … and this one – this winter – well, there are particularly dark circumstances that will make us look for anything to try to even out the seesaw. if a couple fake lodgepole pines and a wrought iron railing with lights help, then so be it.

we spent saturday moseying about antique shoppes, one of our favorite things to do. i was looking for glimmer….things that might reflect light or hope or remind us to be “relentlessly present” (john pavlovitz).

each of the seconds that ticks by – even in this particular right now – cannot be held, cannot be relived. to lose them – those seconds – is to let the indecency win. to seek a balance – where we zero in on the stuff that is flashing by us and still attend to whatever we can do to further goodness in a not-good time – seems prudent. otherwise, every last bit of glimmer will be gone and the dark will usurp us. to be relentlessly present is to be mindful of breathing, i’m learning.

we found a cool candleholder – wrought iron and reflective silver – bargain-priced. it is now on the radiator where the happy-light-covered aspen log is, reflecting the light from those tiny bulbs.

we also found a wooden ampersand. we didn’t buy it – though also bargain-priced, there is the budget and all – but i think we may be going back for it (or find some other iteration of it).

something about having an “and” sign in the living room may remind us – relentlessly – about each other, about the fragile balance we need to hold, about this moment and the next and the next and-&-and.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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intermingled. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

when he came over for dinner a few days ago he asked when we were going to take down the holiday decorations. “sheesh!” i said. “it’s barely over!”

truth of the matter is that i love the light and spirit of the holiday decorations. the intermingling of the everyday with the celebration of divine. even so, we will – soon – take down the Christmas tree, all the little trees, the ornaments. we may leave a few crystals up for a while. and, definitely, the happy lights stay. there is nothing wrong with keeping light and real-life intermingled.

pine branches on the trail always get my attention. there are sections of our trail that just have a glorious scent. those spots instantly take me back to a favorite hike in the colorado mountains – where we hike through a pine forest alongside a brook that meanders down the mountain. funny how scents do that.

it’s like any time there is the slightest bit of salt in the air i am back at the beach where i processed most of my teenage years, back in the sand where i walked winter, spring, summer, fall.

the rolling-around of the new year prompts much memory-exploring. i can’t help but think of holidays past, of decades of new years turning, of resolutions and wishes, of sadnesses and hopes for new, times of tucking away the holiday and times of leaving it all up longer than ever.

for right now, the snowy pine needles nudged me to keep it all up. for a few more days. intermingled. to stretch the magic it creates a little bit longer.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY

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the beautiful and the blurred. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

it is hard for me to pass by something this beautiful – this wispy milkweed pod – without stopping. i am fortunate to hike with someone who understands this. we stop and i study the milkweed; i take several shots.

it is not the first time i have taken photographs of milkweed in the winter. i’m pretty sure it won’t be the last. each time i see milkweed – even in the winter – even in its fallow – i feel like it is different – its slant in the meadow, the curve of the pod, the way sunlight plays on it.

this is how i will get through it all, i think. zeroing in on intense beauty, tiny nuances, millisecond moments. i realize that this is the power that is available to me. this is the distraction.

the invitations are numerous from the side of the trail, from the side of life. they beckon to each of us and it is up to us whether to accept those invitations.

i am kind of a detail person…so the invitations are somewhat evident to me, hard to miss. they blur out everything else, if you intend to really take notice.

and, in just that way, we are intending new practices – more intentional meditation, more exercise, more outside. and each time – despite any same-ness, there is the possibility of new. each time we may stop and study or gaze and admire.

“things will not be the same, because we will not be the same.” (anon)

it may be difficult to avoid focusing on the way things will be in these fraught times. nevertheless, we will try to focus elsewhere. to lean into the beautiful and leave the rest of it blurred.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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we share the mirror. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

when i was younger – a teenager – i used to sit in the tree outside my window and write. shy – at first – of using the word “poetry” to describe what I was writing, my sweet momma suggested the word “reflections”. so back then i adopted that word for a bit. i consider now how much time in my life i have spent writing reflections, writing lyrics, writing poetry…how much time i have spent – even figuratively – in that tree.

for obvious reasons – the gift of the early days of a new year – i am gazing back on the year we just exited, reflecting on the river we traveled. it’s why i keep a pencil-written calendar – i want to remember. all of it. the tough moments and the moments that seemed divine, the hilarious moments and the times I couldn’t stop crying. all of it.

as i look back on all the spindly memories i can muster, i wonder about the year’s journey. was i compassionate enough? was i courageous enough? was i stalwart enough? was i stubborn enough? was i flexible enough? was i unconditional? did i keep my mouth shut at the right times? did i speak up at the right times? did i shout at the right times? did i choose wisely – based on knowledge and truth and values? did i comfort? did i stand in love, act from love, embrace love – enough?

it’s snowing as i write this – under a delicious quilt looking out the window. if i turn my head just right, the happy lights are reflected in the six-pane window. if i cock my head to the side, i can source the mind-bank of reminiscing, albeit a bit helter-skelter and most definitely incomplete. if i close my eyes i can hear the silence of the morning; i can intend quiet. i can wade in the river.

i suppose that in the rearview mirror of our lives, we all have much to ponder. we each take up a tiny bit of space here and it matters. we flaw and we flounder and we – sometimes – maybe not as much as we would wish – sometimes we flourish.

i think that as i take spindly-sapling steps into this new year i am hoping to reveal as much as possible in the reflection in the river. it’s time to look that reflection in the eye. it’s time to be the same we are. it’s time to change.

if i wish to be a strong oak, resilient and leafy, then i must live as a strong oak, resilient and leafy. or an aspen. or a maple. or a lodgepole pine. or a willow. no matter.

grounded, supporting other life forms, part of a bigger picture – a bigger ecosystem – mindful that we are simply a grove of humans in a giant universe. perhaps we all need be mindful of what we are reflecting back. we are rooted together – with branches that reach for each other, for spirit. interconnected, we share this earth. we share responsibility. we share the mirror.

my eyes struggle to make the reflection clear. but rivers are like that. they are never entirely static. they keep moving. and things are a bit blurry.

*****

RIVERSTONE © 2004 kerri sherwood

read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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of fire. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

there is a reverence of fire. it centers me into stillness, quiet time when much else slips away. just silently staring at its dance makes time – always vibrating – shift into slower motion.

there are moments – sitting in front of a fire – when you can feel that you are coming back to yourself. it is like the somethings that have been covered over, put aside, chucked away come forward and the fingers of flame burn off what hides it from your heart. the fire melts the rigid in you, pushes you past doubt, past angst, and beyond places that ache.

and suddenly we are a tiny bit open – more open than before – to the universe tapping our shoulder, to releasing the fear of being raw, to cracking open the vulnerable, to receive gifted divine intervention, to maybe-just-maybe wings to Back.

“may courage

cause our lives to flame,

in the name of the fire

and the flame

and the light.”

(john o’donohue)

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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