reverse threading

the path back is the path forward


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thanksgiving. in the light. [d.r. thursday]

Angels_at_the_well_jpg copy

“this is not goodbye.  it’s just farewell to the you i recognize.  i’ve got a long, long time to learn how to feel you in a new way.” (lowen & navarro:  crossing over from pendulum)

thanksgiving dawns.  2019.

thanksgiving dawns.  rewind.  1960s.  1970s.  i remember waking with great anticipation to watch the macy’s thanksgiving day parade on our black and white tv.  my sweet momma, having risen early-early to put the turkey on at some ridiculous hour and my poppo, trying to appear helpful, both dedicated parade watchers, sipping coffee and snacking on entenmanns crumb cake.  made sweeter for us new yorkers by seeing it in person on the streets of nyc, my mom would recollect parades-gone-by with horse drawn floats and she would cheer aloud for the tv version, even in the den.  dad would be quiet, but he would be grinning, waiting for bullwinkle or popeye or underdog.  these were moments i didn’t memorize.  i was too young to know that i should.  i was steady in the world, surrounded by family who i loved and who loved me and not necessarily given to thinking in the terms “many years later”.

thanksgiving dawns.  rewind.  1990s.  My Girl and My Boy were little, in pjs, fully engaged in the turkey dance their dad performed with the turkey on the counter, happily catching bits and snatches of a colorful parade i was still enthralled with, waiting to lick the dessert beaters, while i was making a feast of turkey and casseroles and setting a table with candles and cloth.  we let the wishbone dry on the shelf for days and sometimes longer, forgetting about it, but eventually, they would snap it, wishes in their hands.  i’m sure they didn’t memorize those moments.  they were steady in the world, surrounded by family they loved and who loved them and definitely not given to thinking in the terms “many years later”.

thanksgiving dawns.  2019.  it is quiet.  My Girl in the high mountains, My Boy in the southern hemisphere.  we will prepare for a simple meal.  we will hike.  we will be grateful for all the thanksgivings of the past, for all the thanksgivings of the future.  for the thanks-giving of every day.  i know that, indeed, despite all our failings, our challenges, our sorrows and disappointments as well as our absolute joys and successes, we are steady in the world, surrounded by family who we love and who love us.  they are all here.  i memorize moments all the time these days.  for later.  and many years later.

i have said farewell to too many.  but i have learned to recognize them in the kindnesses of strangers, in the serendipities and synchronicities of wondrous things that happen.  i recognize them in the gentle breezes that sweep across my face.  i am learning how to feel them in a new way.  and i know they – my angels – are there.

“crossing over.  the light that runs forever…”

stand in the light.  happy thanksgiving.

 

view DAVID’S painting ANGELS AT THE WELL on his gallery site

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ANGELS AT THE WELL ©️ 2004 david robinson


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we are. under construction. [d.r. thursday]

ddot studio

at this very moment, at this very time, with stacks and stacks of paintings and music, we both succumb to the realization that we are – indeed – under construction.  the rests between the notes are there for a reason.  space to breathe, to comprehend, to make the color and the music a part of your fiber.

the rests change you.  they change how you see, how you hear.  they give you pause.  to re-appreciate what you have done and to wonder what will come.  to be aware of the light.

it is the skill of an artist to learn how to sit in the rests without fidgeting.  to just sit.  it is an even higher level skill to create the rest.  and then sit in it.

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read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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the brushes wait. [d.r. thursday]

Paint Box

there was not room on island for an easel, canvases, this cart of paints and this beautiful wooden box of brushes.  they waited at home for david’s return.

consumed by many tasks and layers of work since we arrived back home, we are surrounded by boxes and bins still unpacked.  there is much to do.  we have many other things tugging at us and these packed boxes, although frustratingly in the way, have sunk to a lower rung on the list of things-to-do.

d spent a bit of time rearranging his studio to accommodate some new items passed to him and some things to help store for 20.   in those moments, the brushes and paint spoke to him.  a bit of time, some available canvas, an easel lit by basement spots.  it doesn’t take much for the juju to revive itself, for the muse to gently remind you that it’s there, waiting.

and so, there will be more time.  there will be more paint, more sweeps of brush across canvas.  the tools of his trade await.

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in prayer. together. [d.r. thursday]

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powerful emotions swept through me the first time i joined hands with d and prayed.  it was quiet so any talking or wild display would have been inappropriate, but those tears…i was struck by the rush of it.

there is deep strength in the joining of hands or the kneeling down together and a universal ask for wisdom, for healing or an expression of gratitude.  it matters not what your deity is called.  what really seems to matter is that together you face the world, together you figure it out, together you give thanks, together you create love, acceptance, peace.

had the presence-most-powerful-and wise-in-the-universe wanted us only to be solely and inwardly and separately focused, perhaps there would have been just one person – ever – on this good earth.

but there are about 7.7 billion people.  indeed, there must be at least one with whom we can each choose to join hands.

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

click here to view this painting IN PRAYER on david’s gallery site

hands website box

THE YOGA SERIES:  IN PRAYER ©️ 2014 david robinson

 


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and now. the painting. [d.r. thursday]

and now painting copy

this painting is magical.  it is the stuff of dreams, the stuff of hope, a vision of the future, the thready sharing of life and love.  it looks more to me like flying than resting and, perhaps, as the wedding gift that d gave me four years ago today, it was prophetic.  with the presence of mountains and a daisy, holding hands, embracing, perhaps dancing in flight, it is what we knew then.

what we know now is so much more.

our journey, our flight, together has, in its rawest form, a newness.  meeting smack-dab in the middle of middle-age has its interesting elements.  not that either of us is rigid…oh, no….of COURSE not.  but when you are nigh 60 years old you do have your ways of doing things.  add to that the fact that we are two artists artist-ing together.  sheesh! there are some lively chats in these here parts.  and to feel like you are starting over again – in your middle 50s – is time-warpy.  there’s a lot to learn…but i guess that’s always true.

i have to say that i have never argued as much with another person.  i’m quite sure that we agree the sign we purchased on our honeymoon in the mountains of colorado says it all, “you are my favorite pain in the ass.”  it goes both ways.  we definitely have a full-spectrum of emotions together.  we are the best at disagreeing; we are the best team together.

i’m eternally grateful for this gift.  i cannot adequately put this into words, so it must suffice that – this is the man i skip with.

i have no idea where this journey with mountains and daisies will take us.  we are open to the mystery as we continue this amazing flight.  allways.  always.  magical.

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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AND NOW ©️ 2015 david robinson

 

 


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sketch to remember. [d.r. thursday]

sketch

we canoed out to hog island.  it is a bird sanctuary and so we could not get out to walk around the giant rock that it actually is.  seagulls and pelicans, terns and geese congregate on this tiny island and they are protected, their habitat is protected.

each morning, each evening i stand at water’s edge and gaze out on the lake toward little hog island.  i watch as the lake changes, sometimes hourly.  i can hear the birds out on that island, the waterfowl, the screeching seagulls, cranes in the distance.  behind me, david is busy with his sketchbook, drawings passing through his hands, fodder for later paintings.  for me, standing there, lyrics pass through my mind.  i breathe slower and without paper i try to remember them, try to remember the melody that flits through, beckoning me to follow it.  i jot it all down once inside, fodder for later songs.

we walk usually every day.  sometimes in the morning, sometimes at night.  we take the same path that leads us about three miles, watching the woods as they change.  there is a place we pass, fenced in and covered with some kind of netting, a low building in the distance.  two months ago, we had no idea what it was all for.  but as time has passed, the pheasants have grown and now we can see them in the enclosed area.  they are protected.  for now.  because we understand that they soon will be released.  as soon as the dnr hunting season starts.  i stand, staring at them through the woods, through the fence and i breathe slower, tears starting.  it is hard for me to have walked this way every day now, knowing they are right there, peeping and crowing, growing, unaware.  not knowing, i imagine the worst – like ‘the hunger games‘ – release them and then chase them down.  it makes me shudder.

a bird sanctuary.  a bird farm.  the juxtaposition is like the lake – fickle and hard to understand.  one minute serene and calm and protected, the next churned up with irregular-rhythm-waves that batter the shore, dangerous and unprotected.

i wish that the pheasants were on hog island instead of around the block.

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SKETCH ©️ 2019 david robinson

 


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sweet surrender.

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“sweet, sweet surrender. live, live without care. like a fish in the water. like a bird in the air.” (john denver)

it’s the second time this week i have quoted john denver.  surrender.  sweet surrender.

this painting in david’s HELD IN GRACE series is called SURRENDER NOW.

giving it over, surrendering, relenting, succumbing, relinquishing.  all synonyms with slightly different connotations, slightly different surrenders.  within yesterday’s grey-ness and vulnerability, surrendering seems most obvious, most necessary.  the letting-go-of-control-and-trusting is difficult.  the barricades between you and surrendering a fortress of spider-webbed resistance.  we tend to fight surrendering.  we tend to forget that we will be held within that yielding.

columbus turns 86 today.  somehow, in his ever-joyous soul, he is surrendering to a changing journey.  somehow, he is gracefully surrendering to the anguishes of dementia that slowly, but surely, take over.  he laughs.  he is quiet.  he tells stories.  he has forgotten stories.  he doesn’t remember things.  he remembers things.  he knows how to do tasks he has done for years.  he has no recollection of how to perform tasks nor does he recognize the familiar around him.  he doesn’t remember us.  he remembers us.  we hug him and he surrenders to the tears he feels when we leave.  he is held.  by his wife jeanne, by his children and his family, by his friends, by those who love him.  he is held.  his surrender, whether intentional and thought-out or simply reactional grace, is like a fish in the water, like a bird in the air.

“There’s nothin’ behind me and nothin’ that ties me to
Something that might have been true yesterday
Tomorrow is open and right now it seems to be more than enough
To just be here today, and I don’t know

What the future is holdin’ in store
I don’t know where I’m goin’ I’m not sure where I’ve been
There’s a spirit that guides me, a light that shines for me
My life is worth the livin’, I don’t need to see the end…”   

(john denver)

happy birthday sweet columbus. we love you. xoxo

view/purchase SURRENDER NOW on david’s gallery site here

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SURRENDER NOW ©️ 2016 david robinson