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SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  8/6/20
DESCRIPTION:  \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nAugust 6\, 2020 \n  \nSome Thoughts On Culture That Nurtures \n  \nAll human beings live inside cultures. Our language\, our customs\, the things we make\, the way we interact\, the stories we tell all help to co-create our culture. Our culture is supposed to help us understand ourselves and the complex\, mysterious world in which we live. Culture is supposed to nurture us—help us to be confident\, happy\, imaginative\, loving and kind. It should nurture our genius\, help us to realize our fullest potential. Each of us is unique and has much to give to others which no one else can. \n  \nIf we turn on the TV\, we may find that many of the messages we get from the programs and from the commercials are unhelpful. They don’t make us wiser or kinder\, happier or more free. They can make us more fearful and angry and depressed. We are taught who we should hate. \n  \nThere are old and new stories about Paradise. It either happened a long time ago\, or may happen sometime in the future. I try each day to tune myself to the Paradise that is already here. In this newsletter\, I’m looking for things that will inspire\, delight\, enlighten\, or in some way help the reader to bless this day. \n  \nSometimes we need consolation: \n  \nConsolation \n  \nDarwin. \nThey say he read novels to relax\, \nBut only certain kinds: \nnothing that ended unhappily. \nIf anything like that turned up\, \nenraged\, he flung the book into the fire. \n  \nTrue or not\, \nI’m ready to believe it. \n  \nScanning in his mind so many times and places\, \nhe’d had enough of dying species\, \nthe triumphs of the strong over the weak\, \nthe endless struggles to survive\, \nall doomed sooner or later. \nHe’d earned the right to happy endings\, \nat least in fiction \nwith its diminutions. \n  \nHence the indispensable \nsilver lining\, \nthe lovers reunited\, the families reconciled\, \nthe doubts dispelled\, fidelity rewarded\, \nfortunes regained\, treasures uncovered\, \nstiff-necked neighbors mending their ways\, \ngood names restored\, greed daunted\, \nold maids married off to worthy parsons\, \ntroublemakers banished to other hemispheres\, \nforgers of documents tossed down the stairs\, \nseducers scurrying to the altar\, \norphans sheltered\, widows comforted\, \npride humbled\, wounds healed over\, \nprodigal sons summoned home\, \ncups of sorrow thrown into the ocean\, \nhankies drenched with tears of reconciliation\, \ngeneral merriment and celebration\, \nand the dog Fido\, \ngone astray in the first chapter\, \nturns up barking gladly \nin the last. \n  \n—Wisłowa Szymborska \n* \n  \nI like happy endings. If I get into a conversation with friends where we talk about how terrible things are or how bleak the future looks I always try to end our talk on a positive note. Hopelessness and despair accomplish nothing—except to make us feel miserable. Life is short. This day is precious. I want to enjoy it. \n  \nKirk Bromley shared this poem with Howard Thoresen\, who sends it to all of us: \n  \nThe Tuft of Flowers \n  \nI went to turn the grass once after one \nWho mowed it in the dew before the sun. \n  \nThe dew was gone that made his blade so keen \nBefore I came to view the levelled scene. \n  \nI looked for him behind an isle of trees; \nI listened for his whetstone on the breeze. \n  \nBut he had gone his way\, the grass all mown\, \nAnd I must be\, as he had been\,—alone\, \n  \n‘As all must be\,’ I said within my heart\, \n‘Whether they work together or apart.’ \n  \nBut as I said it\, swift there passed me by \nOn noiseless wing a ‘wildered butterfly\, \n  \nSeeking with memories grown dim o’er night \nSome resting flower of yesterday’s delight. \n  \nAnd once I marked his flight go round and round\, \nAs where some flower lay withering on the ground. \n  \nAnd then he flew as far as eye could see\, \nAnd then on tremulous wing came back to me. \n  \nI thought of questions that have no reply\, \nAnd would have turned to toss the grass to dry; \n  \nBut he turned first\, and led my eye to look \nAt a tall tuft of flowers beside a brook\, \n  \nA leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had spared \nBeside a reedy brook the scythe had bared. \n  \nI left my place to know them by their name\, \nFinding them butterfly weed when I came. \n  \nThe mower in the dew had loved them thus\, \nBy leaving them to flourish\, not for us\, \n  \nNor yet to draw one thought of ours to him. \nBut from sheer morning gladness at the brim. \n  \nThe butterfly and I had lit upon\, \nNevertheless\, a message from the dawn\, \n  \nThat made me hear the wakening birds around\, \nAnd hear his long scythe whispering to the ground\, \n  \nAnd feel a spirit kindred to my own; \nSo that henceforth I worked no more alone; \n  \nBut glad with him\, I worked as with his aid\, \nAnd weary\, sought at noon with him the shade; \n  \nAnd dreaming\, as it were\, held brotherly speech \nWith one whose thought I had not hoped to reach. \n  \n‘Men work together\,’ I told him from the heart\, \n‘Whether they work together or apart.’ \n  \n—Robert Frost \n* \n  \nHere’s a poem Kim Stafford sent our way: \n  \n      The Fact of Forgiveness  \n  \nIt is a given you have failed. \nIt goes without saying you were hurt          \n      and so you hurt some others. \nOf course you alone could have saved someone          \n      or something you did not. \nThe midnight court of the sleepless mind          \n      has reached its verdict: Life Sentence. \nLife will be long and hard\, but also mysterious          \n      in how you are condemned to live           \n      by beauty all the same. \nThrough the bars of your cell\, you must watch           \n      the moon grow full and generous. \nA tune made for others will arrive at evening\,          \n      smuggled into your mind as if for you. \nThe world can’t keep its treasures from you—          \n      no matter how little you deserve\,         \n      you have it all: \nMoon\, Sun\, Sleep\, Waking\, Water\, Air—         \n      a bird dancing away out of sight          \n      leaving the print of its flight          \n      and a filament of song           \n      for you. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nKim’s poem reminded me of this passage from Shakespeare: \n  \nHamlet:  What have you\, my good friends\, deserved at the hands of Fortune that she sends you to prison hither? \nGuildenstern:  Prison\, my lord? \nHamlet:  Denmark’s a prison. \nRosencrantz:  Then is the world one. \nHamlet:  A goodly one\, in which there are many confines\, wards and dungeons.  Denmark being one o’ th’ worst. \nRosencrantz:  We think not so\, my lord. \nHamlet:  Why then\, ‘tis none to you\, for there is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.  To me it is a prison. \nRosencrantz:  Why then your own ambition makes it one; ‘tis too narrow for your mind. \nHamlet:  O God\, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space— were it not that I have bad dreams. \n  \nThat’s it for now. \n  \nMay all people be happy. \nMay we live in love. \n  \n–Johnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-8-6-2/
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