reverse threading

the path back is the path forward


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

“may you awaken to the mystery of being here.” (a blessing for presence – john o’donohue)

when my big brother died i had trouble wrapping my head around his not-being-here. at the time i was an adult, pregnant with my second child and was personally acquainted with previous loss – i had lost all my grandparents along the way. but there was something i couldn’t put my finger on, something that was so perplexing and mind-warping for me that it sat with me and sat with me and, even now, there are times i ponder it. my big universe query was: wondering how the world could go on if he could no longer feel it.

i still don’t know the answer. i do know that it just does. the universe keeps keeping-on, despite who is present – in any of its dimensions.

in the decades now that have passed since my beloved brother died, i’ve also lost my sweet momma and poppo, other relatives, dear friends. in exquisite moments of reassurance, i have experienced them – from time to time – reaching from the other side. they’re right here, i think, just over there. though i wish i could summon them when i need them, that’s not how it works. and so i just glory in the moments when they happen and try to remember.

in those very moments – and any other, really – i think about what wisdoms they might share with me from that other side, from the Next place, the Next time.

i’m pretty sure they’d agree with john o’odonohue. they might tell me, as i sit in the adirondack chair on the sun-showered patio with my husband and dog, sipping a glass of wine and watching the grass grow, “just being there should be enough.”

they might whisper to me to slow down.

they might remind me of the sacredness of each minute.

they might cajole me from my angsts. in turn, they might admonish me to let go of ludicrous overplanning.

they might point out the new buds on the aspen, the volunteer daylilies in the garden, the black-capped chickadees and house sparrows dancing by the feeder, the shadows playing across our field of vision in this small sanctuary we love.

they might tap me on the shoulder and repeat a few more words of john o’donohue’s, “enter the quiet immensity of your own presence.”

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

MEDITATION mixed media 48″x48″

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

sprinkles. squared.

we ordered fried rice and eggrolls the same day i blogged about joy sprinkles. it doesn’t take much to get us enthused and fried rice and eggrolls do it. because we don’t eat out often, it is always a treat to have something someone else has prepared and this dinner is no different.

we only got one fortune cookie in our brown stapled bag of deliciousness; our order must be considered a small order. we saved it for later.

i got to be the one to crack it open.

“sprinkles of joy will shower upon you in unexpected ways.”

it was one of those stunning moments in the universe when all comes to a screeching halt and you realize it is – indeed – all connected. just when you felt a little bit untethered, a little unsteady, the universe shows up with an anchor.

and here it was. simply the words “sprinkles of joy”.

i texted heidi – forever my keeper of the word “sprinkles” – and we laughed to realize we had juuust spoken these very words, that i had just written them. unexpected, for sure. it was like the universe had its own personal siri listening in – like when you talk about mumbai – never touching your computer or phone or any device – and then it shows up on your facebook feed or in your instagram. here it was – the universe echoing back to me the words “sprinkles” and “joy”.

we walked past the cemetery at the end of our road on the way back from the corner store. it was sunny saturday and, having spent the day doing chores inside and outside around the house, we were going to sit out back on the patio with dogga, sip a glass of wine and eat – yes – chips. we haven’t had chips in a week and thought, “eh…what’s a few chips?!!” it was with chip-guilt in a plastic bag walking home – as we strolled past the cemetery – that d looked over at me.

“i’m glad the cemetery is at the end of our block,” he said. “it reminds me that these people all had lives, too,” going on to talk about perspective, stuff that matters and stuff that doesn’t matter, the passage of time, the not-knowing.

every moment is one in which to create joy. for oneself. for others. together. to be showered by sprinkles of joy. in unexpected ways.

i proudly carried our bag of chips the rest of the way home.

*****

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

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all of it. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

it never fails to amaze me. even the familiar turn in the trail. even the familiar trees. even the angle of the sun which has shone on us so many, many times here. even the sky, this midwest sky, sometimes ornery, sometimes brilliant. still. still, i love this curve of path. still, i love these tall pines. still, i love the tease of sun through the highest branches of needles. still, all of it.

in a world that presents unexpecteds every day – some of which are more difficult than others of which are tiny or enormous gifts – there is this. there is the still-all-of-it.

and so we go here. and we process life here. we are silent and we talk-talk-talk. this woods has kept us company through it all. this path has led us when our feet didn’t know where to go. these trees have wrapped us in scent and held us in strength, towering over us. this sky has graced us with all weather.

and we have always arrived back at the trailhead, safe. we have been freezing and sweltering. we have been covered with snow and sopping wet. we have been exhilarated and bone-achy tired. but we have always been safe.

so it shouldn’t really surprise me. this place is a haven, a sanctuary, shelter for our hearts and minds. i imagine one day – if we might live elsewhere and no longer hike in this place – we will look back, remembering and reminiscing. and we will nod our heads and agree – yes…it was all of it, all of that place. every single time.

*****

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read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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the daffodil told us. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

and suddenly, there – in the midst of dried fallen leaves and fallowed underbrush, trees not yet ready to bud – there – there it was.

and it was simply in seeing it – the daffodil – that hope was evident. next is evident. tomorrow is evident.

anything right now will soon be before. the daffodil told us.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

SMACK-DAB. ©️ 2024 kerrianddavid.com

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for you. not about you. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

“99% of people wouldn’t notice that”, he said, “and they’d just keep walking.”

the stranger had stopped where we were. i was off-trail, taking a picture of sun as it glinted off cattails. i was precariously close to the water’s edge, hidden by dried leaves and twigs in the marshy area, but worth it for the photo. d had just given me a hand-up back onto the trail when the stranger stopped.

he asked to see my photographs and i complied. and we all started talking. george spoke from the wisdom of someone close-to-80 as he recounted stories of trails he had recently taken, of people going too fast to SEE anything at all. he told us he was happy we noticed the glowing cattails, happy that we were looking – really looking – as we hiked. he told us that “it” (life) is all about looking and learning, researching, wondering, thinking and looking some more. we agree.

i’m not sure there’s ever been a hike – anywhere – when i haven’t taken at least a few photographs. there’s just so much to see. sometimes, in the middle of our not-knowing, we’ll look things up right away. sometimes, we save that for later.

just a couple days ago – in a truly magical moment – we stopped on the trail, separated from a pond by a bit of woods and grasses.

the red-tailed hawk was still. in the air – suspended on a current, wings curled up – it was absolutely still, hovering in place. though i know hawks are apt to do this as they hunt, this hawk just stayed still as we watched. then it flew a little lower and hovered a little bit more. it never dove down for any prey; it just hovered and then landed in a tree nearby as if to say, “there! that was for you.” it was a gorgeous and spiritual moment. i won’t forget it.

the trail – in both its simplicity and complexity – is a constant reminder for us.

“it’s not about you,” it whispers. “look around. there’s so much to see. it’s all here FOR you.”

we most-always listen.

*****

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

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the tease of time. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

i am writing this on the next day. the day after spring. it is now winter again. the seasons are getting shorter and shorter these days. i’m wondering if that is a product of age and stage, as 20 says.

mostly, it convinces us that we need to have a sense of humor. about all things. even the weather.

we sit writing this – snow outside – windows closed – heat on (though not much because i am a curmudgeon about the heat). yesterday we sat writing – birds and sunshine outside – windows open – heat off. it is off again, on again. the tease of time.

tomorrow it is march. and suddenly, i am in the month of my 65th birthday. i am in the month of medicare. i am in the month of the supplement vs the advantage plan. i am in the month of part d. i am in the month of whoa!!

and i wonder – where did the time go? wasn’t it spring yesterday? wasn’t it summer and delicious fall? how is it that i glance in the mirror and an almost-65 stares back?

it truly is the tease of time. the seasons are getting shorter and shorter. and – more and more – my investment in them is getting bigger and bigger – each individual day in each individual week in each individual month in each individual year.

the next day is all well and good. but it’s today that matters right now.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

DANCING IN THE FRONT YARD 24″x24″

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curves and cartwheels. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

i guess it’s true. you don’t know what you don’t know.

the only thing certain is change and, i suppose, the most important thing about that is being able to remain an amorphous blob, malleable enough that you can bend and wriggle and twist and turn and do somersaults and cartwheels in all paths heading forward.

because there will always be a curve ahead. because nothing is guaranteed. because life is kind of like some sort of mash-up cross between the cupid shuffle, the disco hustle, the electric slide…no dull straight lines. you can’t return to before, so you might as well allow lift in your wings to carry you on, to embrace the turns. because we are constantly reminded: “welcome to the present moment. here. now. the only moment there ever is.” (eckhart tolle)

and because – well, yes – you really don’t know what you don’t know.

so in this moment, i will clap my hands, put on my sunglasses, have another sip of my coffee and face forward, flap my wings, and get ready to cartwheel.

*****

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

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

like you, we are shifting gears often. one project to the next, one challenge to the next. we prepare, we research, we make decisions and then move to the next. it is all in constant flux. gazillions of molecules hurtling around all at once. many plates spinning all at once. anxiety and fear and thrill and peace and bliss all coexisting. it’s truly a wonder we are not so burdened by the constancy of too-much that we don’t bend under the pressure of it all. 

i step outside the back door – onto the deck still basked in a haze of frosty dew – and look up. the slice i can see of this-house-i-love grounds me. ”stand still,” it says – this house loving me back, “just look at the sky.” 

and so i do. 

and somehow i can feel the quivering slow. i can feel my feet firmly planted on the old wood of our deck. i sink into the blue sky and look around for rays of sunlight i might stand in. i release the (metaphoric) clutch and the gear-shifting stops – for these moments. 

and – for these moments – i am centered back in right now. 

i breathe in deeply. and slowly exhale. 

and i thank the blue-blue sky and the slice of house – the reach of love – before i go back inside to spin more plates.

*****

happy valentine’s day. ❤️

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

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errands and pompoms. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

there’s not much he loves quite as much as errands. our dogga is a total cheerleader for us to leave the house – taking him with us – to go to and fro around town or further. it doesn’t matter much to him if we are grocery shopping or making a costco run, going to the post office or ups. he is completely on board. his enthusiasm is unwavering. every single time it’s the same. he is dyyyying to go, as long as it’s with us.

i can’t imagine what it might be like if we all applied that kind of enthusiasm to every single thing. the drudgery, the exciting stuff, the near, the far.

last night we watched three guys climb the impossible mountain peak changabang. we could not – even in our wildest imaginations – imagine being on that trek, scaling that mountain, sleeping in a portaledge hanging off the cliffside. it was enthralling watching them succeed, but it was not without incredible challenge and pain and, so, it was not without giant respect for the commitment these three made to summiting. good grief. i was lying in bed under a comforter and was unnerved just watching this quest.

after that we talked for a while. one cannot simply go to sleep after such a summit. i wondered aloud what we were doing on the day those three guys ice-picked their way up and up and slept in a portaledge in negative temperatures with avalanches falling around them. david – in a serious voice – said we had likely written posts, gone for a hike, maybe made a sheet pan dinner. the comparison made me laugh aloud.

but then we really started talking – as we do – about all that might be happening simultaneously around the globe as we write, hike and sheetpan. it’s sobering. 

because – truly – in the same moments we are writing, hiking and making a nice dinner, there are others – elsewhere – who are both elated and suffering. there are babies being born and people dying, communities defending themselves in war, other communities starved for food and supplies, people in distress and families with insurmountable odds. there are those summiting mountains and those studying reasons why species are in decline. people fighting disease, people evacuating their homes. people concerned with climate change and politicians touting their own self-aggrandizing agendas. it is a messy, messy world.

so dogga is one smart dogga. to be enthused about some round-the-town errands – ahhh – he adheres to a simple philosophy. he accepts life as it is, without worry about perfection. he gives no heed to life’s temporary nature and does not regard summiting as completion. instead, he embraces now with everything he’s got.

we might underestimate the lessons we learn from those around us. in a portaledge moment last night – wrapped in a comforter and a quilt – with multiple pillows and the window cracked and dogdog at our feet – we agreed we need not artificially – through disagreement or disdain, jealousy or comparison, not-enough-ness or overabundance – create any suffering for ourselves. 

we need only make our days as good as we can. we need bring our pompoms when we go on errands. and – really – maybe every other moment.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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you are a tree. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

it can’t be easy to be the lone tree in a big, big farmfield. the wind will batter you. the sun will parch you. the snow and ice will pile next to your trunk and bend your limbs down low. the rain will pummel you. you will be tested and you must be steadfast. your very presence may be questioned; it would be easier to plow straight lines than to plow around you. 

but consider this: the birds will flock to you. any creatures needing shade or shelter will curl up under your canopy. you will exhale clean oxygen. and wildflowers and grasses will grow at your base. you will interrupt the horizon line with your very beautiful tree shape. you will give visual perspective to the vast fields.

and so you stand there – alone. ready to greet the next day and the next. despite it all. 

you know it would be easier if there were other trees standing with you – perhaps a simple stand of trees or maybe a small woods or forest. you know it would be easier if there were even just one other bush or plant holding vigil with you in the big field. you know it would be easier if the west winds would not assail you, you with nothing to block their assault.

and even if the elements push on you, if the farmer ponders your value, if the aloneness feels void of hope, you keep standing. 

because you know that you are a tree and that your truth matters and that your presence counts.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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