Open Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue

 

January 15, 2023

 

The mind is its own place, and in itself

Can make a Heav’n of Hell, a Hell of Heav’n.

 

—from “Paradise Lost” by John Milton

*

 

A couple poems from Kim. I’d like to read the imaginary book that he wrote this prologue for:

 

                   Prologue

 

This book should probably be banned

because the author not only believes in 

freedom, but practices freedom by talking 

about hard things that may distract you. 

You should probably not read this book 

if you are afraid to see things in a new way, 

encounter ideas that require thought, or 

come to know people you have discounted.

If anyone sees you reading this book, they

may judge you in ways you can’t control. 

This book could cause young people to 

develop open minds, then—who knows

what might happen? Maybe close this book 

right now—unless you feel brave, and free.

 

 

                   Be Alive

 

Sometimes you see it on the street

among the many pedestrian pedestrians

dragged by errands, slouching toward work—

this one youth skipping with joy.

 

Or in the store where shoppers lean on carts 

heaped with plunder, one bright-eyed, 

gray-haired wisp of woman humming, 

buoyant in the baking aisle.

 

Don’t die before you die. It’s possible, even 

in dark days to wake in wonder, lift your gaze, 

make them stare, amaze the sleeping multitudes 

by how you swim through air. 

 

—Kim Stafford

*

 

I bless the redbrick

obsolete city center

from the nineteenth floor.

 

—Alex Tretbar

*

 

#352  “Why Hurry to the Grave?”

“There is no need for us to struggle to arrive somewhere else. We know that our final destination will be the cemetery. Why are we in a hurry to get there? Why not step in the direction of life, which is in the present moment?”

—from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh

 

Hahaha! Oh, that Thich Nhat Hanh has a funny bone in his body! Why hurry to the grave, indeed?! There’s way too much living to do: too many dahlias to plant; too many dogs to save; kids to teach, and kids to learn from; prisons to badger; trails to find, or trails to find me; bike routes to tackle; Asian dishes to cook—wait! African and Indian dishes to try; short stories to write….

 

Every day is a new day. Every moment is a new moment. 

 

I want to take up cardiac surgery; there are a few hearts I’d like to transplant.

 

So I’d better get moving—this January 29th I will be 80 years old. Ack!!! Oh well, my dad was planting 10” Christmas tree seedlings when he was 90 years old.

 

—Jude Russell

*

 

Jill sent this quote:

 

Be kind to people; you never know what they’re going through. They might look perfectly normal, but if you could see into their heart of hearts, you might discover that they’re a poet, forced to wander the world noticing, noticing, noticing, until they’re hearts give out. I should know: my brother is one such unfortunate. So you never can tell.

 

—Sofia Warren

 

—Jill Littlewood

*

 

The Pelican

 

Finding oneself alone

locked out, just after dark

in snow, 15 degrees,

with only one’s clothes and one’s wits

sharpens awareness of vulnerability.

 

A bit like a knife finds one’s weak spots.

 

But this is about wittering,

or lack thereof.

The longing for much

maligned chit chat

that is the crack in a door left slightly open

for a glimpse of loss, grief, loneliness.

 

That’s where the brown pelican

comes in, prehistoric, living

dinosaur chasing an osprey,

terrifying huge bucket of a mouth open

to catch, hopefully, a dropped fish.

 

We sit with it.

 

The fear, the maw, the missing,

the nature of things.

 

And then we get up

go to the dining hall or grocery

and make a joke to the person

ahead of us in line.

 

About the weather.

  

—Elizabeth Domike

*

 

Clear blue sky this morning. It’s cold out. Snow on the ground. Wondering what to write for the Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue—what to say about the unsayable. Emily’s poem pops into my mind, and says what I want to say better than I can:

 

The Infinite a sudden Guest

Has been assumed to be —

But how can that stupendous come

Which never went away?

 

—Emily Dickinson

 

—Johnny Stallings

*

 

We are experiencing snow with our original nature of AWE like we were children.

 

Furry Bear

 

If I were a bear,
   And a big bear too,
I shouldn’t much care
   If it froze or snew;
I shouldn’t much mind
   If it snowed or friz—
I’d be all fur-lined
   With a coat like his!

 

For I’d have fur boots and a brown fur wrap,
And brown fur knickers and a big fur cap.
I’d have a fur muffle-ruff to cover my jaws,
And brown fur mittens on my big brown paws.
With a big brown furry-down up to my head,
I’d sleep all the winter in a big fur bed.

 

—A.A. Milne

 

“When somebody has access 

who did not previously have access, 

that’s powerful . . .”

 

I read this sign on the front of the Metro Newsletter about where to hike in Portland. The lead article was about who has access to the rivers and the hiking paths. Metro is creating more accessible paths for people with difficulty walking. How essential is our ability to wander in the woods, to be in the wild, by running water?  

 

I was reflecting on this quote on the way to the showing of Bushra’s film “A Midsummer Night’s Dream in Prison” at First Unitarian Church last Saturday. There was a wonder-full audience of receptive people who were astonished and moved by the beautiful experience of being able to see this story unfold. And I realized the profundity of access, not only to people imprisoned, but also to the friends, mothers, fathers, daughters and sons who have not been able to visit their loved ones in prison. How powerful it is to have access to theater, reading, Shakespeare, performing, music, visitors, freedom, transformation, spectacle , joy, laughter, hugging, love—to feel so alive and engaged in life!

 

I received a new year poem from Kim and Perrin – “Be Alive” so timely. We have access to so much that can make us happy to be alive. Even when the power goes out, branches are breaking, the internet is disabled, water only runs cold. When you wake in the dark under piles of quilts to stay warm, as Perrin and Kim write in their poem, “it’s possible, even in dark days to wake in wonder.”

 

This storm will pass. 

 

With love and thanks to you all and our expanding community.  

 

—Katie Radditz