reverse threading

the path back is the path forward


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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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