THE OPEN ROAD

peace, love, happiness & understanding

 

August 1, 2024

 

        I put on my glasses

to see the fog

         more clearly

 

—John Brehm

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Walking Through a Wall

 

Unlike flying or astral projection, walking through walls is a totally earth-related craft, but a lot more interesting than pot making or driftwood lamps. I got started at a picnic up in Bowstring in the northern part of the state. A fellow walked through a brick wall right there in the park. I said, ‘Say, I want to try that.’ Stone walls are best, then brick and wood. Wooden walls with fiberglass insulation and steel doors aren’t so good. They won’t hurt you. If your wall walking is done properly, both you and the wall are left intact. It is just that they aren’t pleasant somehow. The worst things are wire fences, maybe it’s the molecular structure of the alloy or just the amount of give in a fence, I don’t know, but I’ve torn my jacket and lost my hat in a lot of fences. The best approach to a wall is, first, two hands placed flat against the surface; it’s a matter of concentration and just the right pressure. You will feel the dry, cool inner wall with your fingers, then there is a moment of total darkness before you step through on the other side.

 

—Louis Jenkins

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What did the zen master say to the hot dog vender?

Make me one with everything.

 

I was reminded of that joke because of the ending of a stop-action animated film we just watched, Marcel the Shell With Shoes On, about a one inch snail who has lost his family. It was sweet, funny, odd, and unexpectedly touching.

 

But I thought you’d especially like this excerpt from the end of the script, in which Marcel is sitting on a window sill, the window is open a crack, and a breeze is blowing past him:

 

The wind blows through Marcel’s shell, creating a LOW PLAINTIVE HUM.

MARCEL: Can you hear it? That’s it. That’s going through my shell. 

WIDE ON THE ROOM 

It’s a normal laundry room. But in this moment, in this afternoon light, in this breeze, we feel something transcendent. 

MARCEL (V.O.): It connected me, I felt, to everything. Because if I wasn’t there the sound would never exist. I felt like everything was in pieces but when I stood there, suddenly we were one large instrument. I like to go there a lot. Because it reminds me that I’m not just one separate piece rattling around in this place, but that I’m part of a whole. And I truly enjoy the sound of myself connected to everything. 

Marcel sits on an eraser, looking out the window. His shell HUMS with the wind. 

CUT TO BLACK 

 

—J Kahn

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I replied to J in an email:

 

Thanks, J.

 

Sounds like my kind of movie.

 

With the ending they are trying to say something very simple, which is difficult to put into words–and is the most important thing in the world.

 

In Act 3 of Our Town, Emily feels that feeling and is brokenhearted that other people aren’t feeling it.

 

I don’t know if it is what Tom Waits is talking about in this song, but the song is very evocative of something, in any case:

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j-c5L_45_gA

 

That Feel

 

Well there’s one thing you can’t lose

It’s that feel

Your pants, your shirt, your shoes

But not that feel

You can throw it out in the rain

You can whip it like a dog

You can chop it down like an old dead tree

You can always see it

When you’re coming into town

Once you hang it on the wall

You can never take it down

 

But there’s one thing you can’t lose

And it’s that feel

You can pawn your watch and chain

But not that feel

It always comes and finds you

It will always hear you cry

I cross my wooden leg

And I swear on my glass eye

It will never leave you high and dry

Never leave you loose

It’s harder to get rid of than tattoos

 

But there’s one thing you can’t do

Is lose that feel

You can throw it off a bridge

You can lose it in the fire

You can leave it at the altar

But it will make you out a liar

You can fall down in the street

You can leave it in the lurch

Well you say that it’s gospel

But I know that it’s only church

 

And there’s one thing you can’t lose

And it’s that feel

It’s that feel

 

–Tom Waits

 

And then there’s this poem, which was in the April 1, 2021 issue of peace, love, happiness & understanding. It’s good enough to share again:

 

Nirvana

 

not much chance,

completely cut loose from

purpose,

he was a young man

riding a bus

through North Carolina

on the way to somewhere

and it began to snow

and the bus stopped 

at a little cafe

in the hills

and the passengers 

entered.

he sat at the counter

with the others,

he ordered and the 

food arrived.

the meal was

particularly

good 

and the

coffee.

the waitress was 

unlike the women

he had

known.

she was unaffected,

there was a natural

humor which came

from her.

the fry cook said

crazy things.

the dishwasher.

in back,

laughed, a good

clean

pleasant

laugh.

the young man watched

the snow through the

windows.

he wanted to stay

in that cafe

forever.

the curious feeling

swam through him

that everything 

was

beautiful

there,

that it would always

stay beautiful

there.

then the bus driver

told the passengers

that it was time

to board.

the young man

thought, I’ll just sit

here, I’ll just stay

here.

but then

he rose and followed

the others into the

bus.

he found his seat

and looked at the cafe

through the bus

window.

then the bus moved

off, down a curve,

downward, out of

the hills.

the young man 

looked straight 

forward.

he heard the other

passengers

speaking 

of other things,

or they were

reading

or

attempting to

sleep.

they had not 

noticed 

the

magic.

the young man

put his head to

one side,

closed his

eyes,

pretended to

sleep.

there was nothing

else to do-

just to listen to the

sound of the

engine,

the sound of the 

tires 

in the

snow.

 

–Charles Bukowski

 

peace, love & that feeling

 

Johnny

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6-29-24

 

Dear Johnny,

 

It’s a beautiful Saturday afternoon & my work is finished for the day. My mind is always full of thoughts of life outside the walls of prison these days, all of them good. It sometimes occurs to me that my past life feels like it was just a dream & that I’ve never been out of prison. I’m sure that one day my whole life will seem like one long dream. Who’s to say that it’s not just that?

 

I had a bunch of flowers left over from the plots & I asked if I could place them along the window sills here on my new unit. I was given permission to do so. Now the whole front of H Unit is covered in bright-colored flowers & I’ve gotten a lot of positive comments! It feels good to make things beautiful here. What I’ve done with plants & flowers, Johnny, you’ve done with people in and out of prison. Once I’m out, my plan is to do what you’ve done, plant seeds in people and help them to reclaim their lives. Well…we will see what happens once I’m out. Maybe a few friends & a good job & happiness in a simple life would be more my speed right now.

 

7-1-24

 

Here is something nice that I’ve been thinking about for the letters we all share. Being in a cell lets me have personal time to think and write.

 

Good things are what I need to rent space in my head. My waking life is full of dreams that come to pass. Never again will I take for granted the world that is waiting beyond the walls, razor wire & glass. I try to bring the beauty of the world outside in here.

 

7-9-24

 

The way we all think and express how we feel about the kindness we see and share with each other in the group letters we compile for me is sweet as honey dripping into my soul. We are on the path to the core of the golden world, all of us are the shining ones helping others to find this world as well.

 

I love the Mary Oliver poem that Ms. Jill Littlewood shared with us called “The Summer Day”! And to you, Ms. Littlewood, I must say…

 

I do not know who made the swan or black bear, or the grasshopper, or you, or me. What I do know is that if all of my days were like the one summer day in this poem, it in itself would be bliss. Most of my days are spent in a greenhouse and I do have grasshoppers. I even have a rock chuck who eats my kale! My prayers are to life & love & joy and friends. I speak them to the morning sun and to my coffee. With my one wild and precious life I simply plan to be content.

 

Harvesting saffron in the summer morning sun was a gift today. Most of the time these days it does not even feel like prison to me anymore. 

 

My mind is always on what it will be like to have a different scale of freedom in this world…. My perception of freedom is I’m sure quite different than most.

 

Well, I love you Johnny & will talk to you soon.

 

Good things Always

Rocky

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June 23, 2024

 

Johnny,

 

Thank you for the copy of Every Day, Holy Day. I really appreciate your doing this for me. Life at OSCI goes well. I’ve been here over 30 days now; still settling into my routine, but much here is differently-same. (More of a reasonable and calm state, yet still a carceral environment with a few “toughs” to keep things interesting.) I find I’m exposed to far fewer people here. It’s not just a smaller population, but each unit is more isolated than it seemed at TRCI, including overlapping at meals and pill-line. Each keeps to one’s own “people” or unit. All-in-all, it’s much nicer here!

 

Topic: Joy. Moments come when the heart dances in the light. So much more than the experience of fun, or even happiness, joy erupts when the inner sphere scintillates in its completeness. An experience touches us to the depths of our souls, and in that moment we are graced with a vision—if only fleetingly—of the flawless wholeness and perfection of all. Then the heart fills and flows over, even amid the brokenness of the world.

 

Week’s mantra: Mouth filled with laughter, ears with shouts of joy.

 

Practice: Step away from your busyness and savor several moments every day; feel the joy that is available to you.  —from Every Day, Holy Day by Alan Morinis

 

“Heart dances in the light…joy erupts when the inner sphere scintillates in its completeness.” Such an image! To touch the “flawless wholeness and perfection of it all.” (I struggle today with RA [Rheumatoid Arthritis] stiffness and pain, in addition to allergy congestion.) The step back; the step to smell the roses; it’s developing the awareness of life’s variegated moments as they pass. Some as “happy little clouds.” Others pendulous with precipitation, yet to be deposited on earth. No matter my opinion of the moment—good, bad, etc.—moments for experiencing joy abound. I have but to develop my awareness.

 

—Michel Deforge

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Peace Love Happiness and Understanding…

 

…can be hard to come by in this blistering hot, suffocating weather. 

 

I have been angry at the weather: Whoever heard of ‘heat domes’ until a couple of years ago? Whoever needed ‘cooling shelters’ until a few years ago? The heat wave would cool naturally in a few days—-well, not anymore.  So I’m mad at Republicans, corporations, anybody who calls climate disasters ‘natural’, etc. etc. 

 

But then it boils down (haha) to me, personally, of course. Instead of enjoying my coveted 5-7 a.m. reading and coffee time, I have to go out at 5 a.m. to water my gardens, put shade covers on the hydrangeas, do whatever garden work I need to do before the heat hits again. Or, most aggravating of all (poor me), I have to get a bike ride in at that time and finish before it hits 80 degrees at 9 a.m.! That ‘poor me’ should not be in parentheses; this is serious stuff.

 

So with that merry attitude, I hopped on the bike yesterday at 6 a.m. It was 58 degrees, and felt…deliciously cool!  Well, that’s not gonna last, I growled. But it was, in fact, deliciously cool, and fresh. And with cool and fresh I breathed in the almost tangible fragrance…of green. The emerald green of grass-filled meadows. The nearby meadows of one hundred lovely sheep, all browsing heads down munching on the meadow. I love those sheep. ‘Hi sheep!,’ I called, as I always do. A few of them looked up, and I could swear they nodded at me. But how can they be enjoying themselves with those hot, wool coats on?, I grimaced. It felt good to have other creatures to commiserate with, even though the sheep didn’t appear to realize they were miserable.

 

And then…and then…the sun rose from behind Bald Butte and bathed the fields in gold. It backlit the patches of Timothy hay and the nodding heads of wheat in a shimmering light. Golden wheat, sky blue chicory, pearly pink sweet peas lined the road.

 

The birds exalted in the sunrise—-the soft staccato of the mourning doves, warbling meadow larks, the chirping and twirping of all, cheering the arrival of the sun. Before I could stop, I found myself chirping and twirping and cheering this heavenly morning along with all the other creatures. 

 

—Jude Russell

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