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peace, love, happiness & understanding 9/30/21
September 30, 2021 - October 13, 2021
THE OPEN ROAD
peace, love, happiness & understanding
The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of….We know the truth not only by the reason, but by the heart.
—Blaise Pascal (1623-1662)
September 30, 2021
Rocky sent this contribution to “peace, love, happiness & understanding” from segregation:
HEART!
Hey, I’ve been thinking a lot of the heart and trying to determine why it has so much control over each of us. Scientifically, I understand how the influx of adrenaline and hormones—either oxytocin or testosterone—affect the heart chemically.
What I want to find out is why it is the place where love, joy, pain, fear, sorrow and tears seem to come from. Is the heart a doorway to where we come from before we are born? Or is it a keyhole where we (“our soul”) goes? If our heart is filled with only love, it feels like what heart should feel like.
I feel in my heart all the people I love, loved, or will love. Is it strange that when I place the ones I love or despise in my heart I envision them all in robes, with no shoes? My heart is a sacred place. I assume it looks much like a battlefield, scarred, broken, scorched earth, with spots of pure beauty. What does your heart look like in your mind?
The depiction of R. W. Emerson’s “oversoul” has stitched its image upon my soul. I can feel my life and all of its emotions flowing into me from that other, unknown place. But it flows into my heart, not my eyes, not my poor wounded mind. No, my oversoul is flooded into my heart. Those of you who have this ailment will be of like-minded understanding. Our tears come from our heart, the heart being our center of…all of us.
I feel that under the right circumstances I could live well without my mind, among others that are willing to be of like-heartedness. The ancient Chinese believed that the heart was the source of all our cognition. I do not think they were wrong. Albert Einstein believed our heart was where mankind would find true timelessness, or a wormhole into time/space—much like my thought of the keyhole to heaven.
When we truly, deeply love each other, I feel we are as close to a heaven on earth as we’re ever going to get, and, with that said, the reverse could be said—that to hate is hell on earth. I would prefer to love everyone, and not allow the poison of hate to stain any more of my being—to live in love, joy, and, yes, I consider even some pain and suffering to be alive in love, in life, to accept the duality of all things and understand that we love the circle of all things.
I honestly believe my heart is a hobo, a vagabond, a transient. My heart is happiest homeless. I do want love and am good at loving…too good, though. Too deep and too long. I keep the love for others long after they have forgot to love me. Which means my heart is at home in the gutter, or dog house, or kicked. That is why it is a battlefield of life.
Howard brought up Knausgaard’s epic My Struggle, and “the body’s gentleman’s agreement with death,” and the steps of irrevocability with the pooling of blood in the heart. Dying of a broken heart was also discussed by us, which in a morbid way is in my top 3 ways to go now. The love and passion of it brings tears from my heart to my eyes. To love someone so much that you follow them into death…very romantic. Pure love.
I once read somewhere, or perhaps someone told me, that Shakespeare wrote the great works with one hand upon his heart. So I tried it…well, this all came out. So, does it work to write to the rhythm of a beating heart? I feel that it is in the eye of the beholder, or in the sinews of how a writing touches your heart.
What touches your heart to tears? The vision of a single mom or dad weeping over the gift of a fine meal for kids? Or the fact that you’ve stopped shooting H, and it’s been a year? You were tempted and walked away. Or those last few moments so precious you did not get to spend with a loved one who died of cancer? What touches your heartstrings? Don’t be afraid…let it touch them.
Let us all speak of the heart, here, now, with those we love.
—Rocky Hutchinson 9-19-21
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wake up, heart!
wake up, heart!
wake up and love everyone and every thing
love the unlovable
the unhappy old men who start the wars
the geniuses who collapse the economy
the heads of the big corporations who ruin the earth
they need love, too
why else would they do stuff like that?
we all want to love and be loved
we all need to love and be loved
love everything that moves
and everything that won’t budge
love the person who is reading or listening to this poem
you might start with the easy ones
passing dogs
laughing children
fluffy white clouds
all the spring flowers shouting “love me!”
practice on the easy ones
until you get so good at it that you accidentally love the weird and scary homeless people,
the criminals,
the people whose views differ from yours
—before you have time to think about it
heart, you were born for love
mr. brain sometimes tells you not to
“don’t love that one,” he says, “that one doesn’t deserve it”
“don’t be a fool”
forgive mr. brain
he can’t help it
he’s always making distinctions between this and that
he needs a hug
you know better
you know that the thing to do is just to love
to wake up and love without limit
—Johnny Stallings
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This is a slightly edited transcription from an interview with Alokananda Roy, who has choreographed large dance productions in Indian prisons, which then toured the country!:
Love Therapy in My Second Home
When a child is born, he or she is like a fresh flower. No child is born a criminal or an offender. Things happen for various reasons. Who are we to judge? We have not been in that situation. I have been through a journey with such people, and all I did was treat them like a human being and not an untouchable. The rest is history.
I was walking into a man’s world. Girls are fewer in number. I have never planned anything in my life. Honestly speaking, I never felt I have to achieve anything. I just followed my heart. I went in as a guest to the jail, which is now called a “correctional home.” I couldn’t imagine it will transform me, and I never thought my spirit will find its freedom in the jail.
In every adverse period of my life, dancing rejuvenated me. That’s what I wanted to share with them—to be involved in something creative. But it is a fact that at other times it is very depressing in a place like jail. You cannot be happy in a jail. Nobody wants to stay there.
It was on the International Women’s Day, and I was invited as a guest. The girls wanted to learn dance, and I readily agreed, because I love challenges, because I didn’t know what it was like to be with these people who are shunned by the society.
When I was coming out, I noticed the boys, and I really felt sorry for their mothers—being a mother myself. I felt any one of them could have been my child, and I wanted to do something.
Jail is basically a place of curiosity for people outside. It’s a very intriguing place, very different from the outside world. When I first went in I was equally curious, like others. I never thought I will be so emotionally involved—not to this extent. Instinctively, I asked Mr. Sharma, “Can I also teach the boys?” He was surprised, because people are afraid to go there, or to interact with them. Many go there out of curiosity, but dance is something which is unheard of and unthinkable in the jail. I have to admit that Mr. Sharma was a great, great, great support.
The energy was not only the physical energy—when we are dancing, it affects our body and mind and soul. We don’t do it consciously, it just happens. While teaching them, I realized why we feel good when we dance.
Although the girls were very excited, the boys were not. They thought dancing was being feminine. And I did think that they would feel this way, so I started with martial dance, and I told them that it was like karate, kung fu. So, probably they could relate to that. We started with martial dance, and then the vibrant folk dances of India. And they started enjoying it, because the rhythm they had lost in life was coming back, in their body, their mind, their soul, their thoughts. And not only the boys who first came in, others started joining in, and I had a team of 60 boys and 10 girls.
While they were rehearsing for these dances—the folk dances, the martial dances—they started making the props, the costumes, which they never thought they could. So, all their latent talents, which were lying submerged, were surfacing. All their artistic talents were coming out. They didn’t even know that they had an artist in them.
Whatever they wish to convey, they write it down on a piece of paper. Once a boy wrote, “I don’t remember my mother so much, but now when I shut my eyes and think of her I see your face.” I was so touched. I did nothing special for him. Just that little bit made such a difference.
Tell me who has not made any mistake in life, big or small. There are so many offenders walking free in our society. Nobody points a finger at them. The moment you walk into the jail, you are stamped, and you have to live with that stigma.
As they were changing their attitude, their body language, I thought of doing Valmiki Pratibha, because it was their story: the transformation of a criminal into a sage. And I found all my Valmikis there, and it has created history.
When somebody dies in the family of one of them, we all sit around and pray for the departed soul. We don’t even know who they are, but they’re all brothers, sisters, and they’re my children. So, we all sit together and pray. They have also learned to share the sorrows of others. It’s all a bonding, a brotherhood beyond boundaries. Never ever, anywhere in the world, as far as I know—I may be wrong—do prisoners go out of the prison, perform all over the country, and they come back to the jail. Nobody has ever even imagined to escape, although they had every opportunity to do so.
And gradually, with time, there was a peculiar bonding, when I started becoming a mother figure to them, and they called me “Ma,” or “Mother.” It was such a beautiful feeling, because there was so much innocence, so much love, so much sincerity in that bonding, that connection that we had. And gradually they became a part of my life. I realize why. They also told me nobody touches them. They always said, “Ma, you do what you want, but don’t leave us. Be with us always, all our life.”
You see, all I did was channelize their energy—the unused youthful energy that they had—in a positive way. And it worked. They were doing so well, that I thought: “Why don’t we have a little performance within the walls of the jail?” Because I never ever imagined—we never imagined—they will go and conquer the whole country.
Within the jail, there are boys and girls from different religious backgrounds. After doing Valmiki Pratibha, and when they all actually became brothers, there was no barrier, no religious barrier. Each one was celebrating the others’ festivals together.
Since we started this journey, many boys and girls have been released, and they’re all in touch with me. Many of my boys come to meet me with the produce of their farms. And believe me, none of them—not one—have gone back to the dark world. They’re all well settled in their own way. Many of them do not come from privileged backgrounds, but they’re all settled happily with their families. Sometimes they call me when they get a new job. Sometimes the call me, even send a train ticket, when they get married. They’ll call me when they have a child. I have a very happy family all around me, and I’m a proud mother of hundreds of children.
When you have children, you also have grandchildren. There are so many children who live with their mothers in the jails, because they have nowhere to go, nobody to take care of them at home. Such children live like prisoners as well.
It is so unfortunate! I feel like a criminal myself: “Aren’t we crushing their childhood? Aren’t we killing their growth, the normal growth of a child?” They call me “Grandmother”: “Didun.” I felt it was my responsibility to at least try and give them some kind of a normal childhood—where they will go to school in uniform, they will have proper classes, extracurricular activities, they will see cartoons, they will have a library, they will have toys and a playground to play around, like any other child. Is it too much to ask for, for a child who has not sinned, to have a normal childhood? That’s how Heart Print was born.
First it was just boarding, where I had brought some of them whose parents were in jail. Now some of them go to an English Medium school. And the others, who live with their mothers till age six, have a little Montessori which is called Heart Print. Their mothers have their fingerprints there. My little grandchildren will leave their heart print behind when they go to a better place, a better school, after age six. That is also our responsibility: that they go to a place where they can adjust themselves like any other child, outside.
On 7th of January, 2018, early morning, my boys from the prison crossed another milestone in life. I think they created another history. For the past ten years they have been performing in public auditoriums, where they were onstage and the audience was in the auditorium. There was still a fine line. But that morning they mingled with 12,000 marathon runners, and they ran the marathon with them. There was no wall, no barrier. It was pure joy of inclusiveness.
So, I’m proud to be their mother. I’m proud of them, because they have not only made a difference to my life. I think if the society really highlights their transformation, many people in the world will want to be transformed, and see the light.
—Alokananda Roy
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Here’s a link to the YouTube video, which gives a more vivid picture of Alokananda and what she has done in Indian prisons:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OspzzO7gAiw
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Like Rocky, Kim wants us to share our stories:
Splinters
It’s the little things that get you. Me? Everything’s going
great—except I have this splinter at the tip of my index finger
I can’t get out. Whatever I do I get this twinge that stops me.
I meet the world with pain.
Do you carry festering sorrow, a weight of guilt, a habit of fear,
invisible anguish darkening days? On the street we pass not
knowing, not showing, nursing all our precious troubles, humming
as we hide splinters at the heart.
I have an idea: let’s tell how it is and why, stories of how we came
to carry what we carry, how we suffer what we must. And hey,
look up there, where the tops of the trees are all
reaching for the sky.
—Kim Stafford
Details
- Start:
- September 30, 2021
- End:
- October 13, 2021