reverse threading

the path back is the path forward


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tiny nails. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

“may i be the tiniest nail in the house of the universe, tiny but useful.” (mary oliver)

it was astounding. we were on a hike and heard a crack in the woods. we looked to our left – where the sound had come from – and watched a towering tree fall onto the forest floor. powerful. humbling. just stunning to witness.

naturally, we looked it up – is there meaning to being the sole persons witness to a tree falling in the woods?

in what would seem narrative written for the moment, these words: transformation, renewal, release, resilience, cycles of life, interconnectedness, impermanence.

we sat – later – on our deck – and talked about these words.

the experience of something so rare fell right in line with another experience we had this week. for the first time while hiking, we encountered a bobcat. the big cat was on the trail and watched as we approached. it didn’t take too long before it glided into the underbrush, over toward the river. but it left us just as stunned. such an elusive creature.

and…at a time when looking for meaning in what is going on around us seems so difficult…we wondered, is there any? we found that our very rare bobcat sighting was a reminder to acclimate to shifting circumstances, to embrace change, seize new opportunities, to thrive though all that is ever-unfolding.

now, that’s two stunning events in less than a week. i might say we are paying attention. we have been present to the rare; we pay homage.

so as we carry on here – doing the best we can to be tiny nails – to make a tiny difference, our theme song is one of adaptation. in variations on the theme we do what we can to seek new beginnings, to shore up our inner strength, to be useful, to be aware of the profound impermanence of it all.

to be witness in, to and with the universe.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this MERELY-A-THOUGHT MONDAY

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the ellipses at nightfall. [merely-a-thought monday]

it was the last night. we stood out on the porch and then out in the east field, the farmhouse behind us. the dark of iowa-night rained down on us as we peered into the sky to see the constellations. we could feel the “last” of the last night. but out there, on the horizon – in the way an ellipsis works – the ellipses had a reminder: it’s never really over. the horizon lights suggested the story would be trailing on and on – up till now and then dot-dot-dot…

the story dot-dot-dot – without definition, without a distinct end, unrestrained – keeps on…

last week’s time in iowa and return home gave us grounding…reminders…learnings. feet firmly planted…spine tall…solid and trusting, we intentionally rearranged our thoughts – trying (because it’s not easy and it always takes the work of trying) to put aside worry and angst, instead centering on being steady and calm. the decision to not panic. the ellipsis of keeping on…

the impermanence sticks with us.

and we know it doesn’t matter that there is rust on our hubcaps or that our countertops are chalkboard/food-safe-wax-painted-wood. we know it has no bearing on real life that we don’t wear trendy name-brand clothing or that we actually like $2.50 old navy flipflops. we know that leftovers nourish us just like restaurant fare and we are not worried if we never get to sit at the table of a three-star-michelin. we know that there are wines of great robust but we continue to sip apothic and splurge on the new broadside (paso robles) we found. the ellipsis of keeping on…

the transitory taps us on the shoulder.

gathered, we listened to stories of the past, suddenly way long ago. we went to the pioneer cemetery high on a hill overlooking planted cropfields. the 1800s were just a moment ago there. and, just as the years fly by, we know that the incandescent kite we each fly has fragile filmy threads. our hands – holding the moment – age before our eyes. the ellipsis of keeping on…

the ephemeral sounds harmonic overtones we can hear.

we gaze at the peony buds in the backyard. they will soon bloom – in their sweet time – and they will stun all who walk by. their beauty will not be forgotten. each one has opened to the sun and told its own story. each one. and then dot-dot-dot…

the ellipses remind us.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this MERELY-A-THOUGHT MONDAY


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the view from my pillows. [two artists tuesday]

every morning.

every morning this is the view from my pillows.

after coffee, after breakfast, after hugging on dogga snuffling in our faces, after the weather app, after a littabittanews…my sturdy old laptop and our quilt.

i know that not everyone wants to read all these words. i know that many will do much to avoid it. i know that – in the grand scheme of things – my blahblah doesn’t really matter much. sometimes there are responses, comments from people, questions, validations, pushbacks. sometimes people ask if we have a patreon account or a way to donate a cup of coffee. that there is someone out there who takes time to write a few words back at all is pretty gigantic. because in today’s world, there are an inordinate number of things – out there – one could choose to read, to watch, to listen to.

but i guess it all doesn’t matter.

because i have found – now – that i write for me.

writing each morning – this practice – makes me think and ponder and rehash and sort. it is a caffeinated burst in the day, a jump-start to everything that will follow.

sometimes it is a walk into a bank of memories, complete with tears or laughter.

sometimes it is a wondering for the future, attempting to connect the dots of constellations i have yet to see.

sometimes it is a rant about the world, the country, the community, things i perceive as wrongdoings.

sometimes it lifts others up, those who levitate our spirits and souls with generosity.

sometimes it is with amazement for what we see and hear and taste and smell – out there – in nature and on this good earth.

always it is with a sense of impermanence.

these words will stay on the page, so to speak, for as long as wordpress allows them to. they will eventually fade as more words will enter the big melting pot of written thoughts.

our writings will lift off someday into the atmosphere. they will float around, bouncing off stars and planets – like the silver balls in a pinball machine. maybe they will leave a little something behind, a touch of evanescent dust that someone will see and remember.

the other night – around 2:30am – we heard the owl. outside our window, the great horned owl spoke into the night. it didn’t know if anyone was listening. but we did. we listened. we heard it call. and for its unspoken spoken words, we were grateful. we will remember.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY


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how does it matter? [d.r. thursday]

Studio Shot

the studio in our basement is full of beautiful paintings that haven’t yet found their proper home.  it is also full of boxes of cds that have been replicated and shrink-wrapped, ready for their new homes.  there is no shortage of completed work down there, no shortage of heart projects, no shortage of sweat and tears.  there is no shortage of work in progress, canvases prepped, notebooks of lyrics and melodic gestures.

we moved our 20’s father’s paintings last week.  today we will move the remainder.  as we carefully loaded big red, you could not help but feel wistful about these paintings moving away from their home, to be stored by 20.  duke was a prolific painter and his work is stunning; we wondered where and how these mostly large pieces would find a permanent home.  where does it go from here?

any artist, thinking about the impermanence of life, wonders that.  where does it go from here?  who will purchase it, hold onto it, look at it, listen to it, read it, ultimately – feel it?  will it matter later on?  does it matter now?

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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