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SUMMARY:COLLISION REPAIR: Jake Scharbach at Froelick Gallery
DESCRIPTION:Sisyphus\, Titian 1548\, painting by Jake Scharbach\, oil on canvas\, 60″ x 48″\n  \nDear Friends of the Open Road \n  \nNancy’s nephew\, Jake Scharbach\, has a show at the Froelick Gallery from December 1\, 2020 – January 30\, 2012. \nHere’s a link to the exhibit: \n  \nhttps://privateviews.artlogic.net/2/1cdd977e49691fb0c6d57e/ \n  \nIf you live in the Portland area\, be sure to see the show! Froelick Gallery is open by appointment\, Tuesday – Saturday\, from 11 am to 5:30 pm. \n  \nHere is a link to a conversation with Jake about his art: \n  \nhttps://youtu.be/cbVVcRRxU2A \n  \npeace & love \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/collision-repair-jake-scharbach-at-froelick-gallery/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20201215
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SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue 12/15/20
DESCRIPTION:Open Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n  \nDecember 15\, 2020 \n  \nWelcome to our fourth meditation and mindfulness dialogue! The numbers below refer to passages from the book Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh. (JS) \n* \n  \nDear M & M Dialogue\, \n  \nGreetings to all the mindful ones and those learning the art of being mindful. And don’t worry if you are new to mindfulness\, even the ones who have been practicing mindfulness for awhile are still learning to be mindful. \n  \nI am no expert in mindfulness\, but reading a message a day from Your True Home has been a wonderful experience and ritual\, which in itself has brought me joy and mindfulness. Then Johnny suggested that I journal my thoughts\, feelings and whatnot on my daily reads\, so I have started doing just that\, which has brought me a new level of mindfulness and joy. \n  \nAt first I thought I would have little to say\, if anything at all\, for most of the daily messages\, but I have found that to be a wrong assumption. Some of them are only one or two lines\, although I try to keep them short in order to be sure I get my point across and so that others can understand what I’m saying. Anyway\, here are a few excerpts from my journal: \n  \n10/25/20  #354 The Energy of Love: Love yourself! Without that first\, there can be no true love in your life. You cannot love another\, nor they love you without truly loving yourself first. This reminds me of a saying I found that takes today’s love and yesterday’s suffering (10/24/20  #355 Your Suffering Needs You) and puts them together. \n  \n“To love is to suffer. To avoid suffering\, one must not love. But then\, one suffers from not loving. Therefore\, to love is to suffer; not to love is to suffer; to suffer is to suffer. To be happy is to love. To be happy\, then\, is to suffer\, but suffering makes one unhappy. Therefore\, to be happy\, one must love or love to suffer\, or suffer from too much happiness.” (By unknown.) \n  \nOnce you have mastered self-love\, love of another will find you and satisfy your need to be loved. To master that will make not only them happy\, but you will be happy too. I’d rather suffer with love than suffer without love\, and suffering from too much happiness sounds wonderful to me. \n  \n10/27/20  #352 No Enemy\, No Savior: I honestly struggle with the meaning of the words “self” and “nonself.” Does it mean self is like yourself and nonself is like other people? I that is the case\, I think of neither. We are all part of humanity. There is no self or nonself\, there is one. One planet\, one society\, one humanity\, one human race\, and one love which is love for all. \n  \nThat is it for me this month. I could write more\, but Johnny said he can’t publish all my journal entries\, as he has to leave room for others. Upon my release\, I plan to loan my journal to Johnny to read and publish the entries he sees merit in. Peace\, love and happiness to you all. \n  \n—Josh Underhill \n* \n  \n(Michel is keeping a meditation journal on an almost daily basis. He sent a treasure trove of meditations. Here are the first three of twenty. Hopefully\, we’ll be able to do a special edition of the Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue that features more of Michel’s meditations.) (JS) \n  \nNovember 5  AWARENESS OF BODY \n  \nThây spoke first of sitting meditation; which reminds me of Zen—always the “sitting\,” “just sitting” (shikantaza). I’ve been told that this act of simply sitting (or sitting simply?) is the foundation of all mindfulness practice. While this may be true\, I found value and calm from sitting. In the Zen class here at TRCI\, pre-COVID\, that is what I experienced: sitting for no reason but to just sit (simply). I often struggle to make time for this in-cell. A book\, recently gifted to me\, talks about healing past traumas through several steps; the first involves an awareness of body. The author’s idea is that one effect of childhood trauma (no matter the intensity/severity) is the disconnect from body awareness. There are times when I would rather not be so aware of this body’s goings on. There are other times when I wish I could be more tuned-in to what is happening with my body. I guess I’ll be thankful for the times I am aware—pay more attention—and learn to “lean in” to the less aware times: hoping that paying attention when I’m more aware will leak over and affect the not-so-aware times. The body is always present. It is easy to become numb or ignore whatever is being experienced as common. I think by not being mindful of the “common” it is more challenging to become (or be) mindful for the extra-ordinary. It looks like I access the parts of life I think I’m missing out by paying better attention to the ordinary ones. \n  \nNovember 6  CONSTANT TRANSFORMATION \n  \nIMPERMANENCE: Thây’s first word today. Ouch! One of my biggest life challenges has been accepting the reality of change—nothing in my world can conquer impermanence\, it’s all subject to change at some point in some way (even if it is just how I “see” it). I used to hate change. I still am not very fond of it; changes have often caught me unawares and have seemed to my small mind like “BIG” upheavals and trauma in life. \n  \nAs I review my history: the problem was my efforts to fight for permanence\, resisting entropy. Maybe\, one day\, there will occur a major change\, where we all get nirvana\, paradise\, heaven\, or whatever\, and this place of “perfection” might be permanent. I am beginning to wonder if that would be “good.” I recall a saying Jake and Sara used with us last year on Julius Caesar: “‘Perfection’ is boring.” It’s true. For my experience to be “alive” it has to be imperfect\, mutable\, transient\, “impermanent.” The alternative is a kind of “Groundhog Day” sort of life\, where it is always the same\, predictable\, “Boring!” It is hard for me to not desire to be “safe.” Predictable is safe. Reliable seems safe. Change is not\, because I may not know something\, or how to do something. So\, I’m weak. I’m vulnerable. I’m not safe. That place can be scary and difficult to live in\, without some level of fear (“concern”). \n  \nLearning to be comfortable with “me” and what I can do helps\, as I learn to be comfortable with IMPERMANENCE. Thây had two more words which stood out for me today. Within each\, separately or together\, I may find an answer: SELFLESSNESS\, INTERDEPENDENCE. (hmmm….) \n  \nNovember 9   THE GREAT INSIGHT \n  \nI like\, and I’m even attracted to the idea that we all can become a buddha—fully enlightened being. Further\, while “becoming\,” we are all already Bodhisattvas on the journey; aiding and benefitting others’ journey. I am also aware\, and like the idea\, that we are all already buddhas and have only to discover the buddha within. Both of these line up in agreement\, as the second describes what I see/understand as the journey. Isn’t that always the challenge?: Getting out of the way of reality as it is\, not as ego (“I”) tells a story to convince the self that reality is something totally different. I see ego as the source of duality and suffering—the idea of a separate “self” identity. I don’t have confirmation (complete)\, but this seems to be a portion of the truth. \n  \n—Michel Deforge \n* \n  \n“Teaching is not done by  teaching alone. It is done by how you live your life My life is my teaching. My life is my message.”  Thich Nhat Hanh \n  \nThis is not in the book Your True Home\, but it is by TNH\, and when I read it I thought of my parents.  \n  \nMy parents lived the life they loved. They hiked and backpacked and climbed mountains; they played the violin\, viola\, piano and harpsichord\, and welcomed twice weekly chamber music gatherings in our home. They read for hours everyday; the library and bookstores were constant haunts. And art\, all the time. They were nerds. They caused me constant embarrassment as a teenager. \n  \nOver dozens of years my mother took in friends of theirs and friends of ours who were struggling in life – for weeks\, months\, sometimes years. This was often to our young and selfish consternation: “Why do the Jacksons have to come again for Thanksgiving? Their kids always have snotty noses!”  \n  \nEvery two months\, my mom and dad donated blood. “Why in Heaven’s name wouldn’t we?” my puzzled mother mused.  \n  \nThere were vegetable gardens and flower gardens and small tree farms. I smacked my lips waiting for blueberry pie\, then watched as my mom picked and gave away our entire crop most years. “What about your own family’s needs?” we whined. Dad joined in on that one\, but he also grew and gave away every fir seedling he nurtured to Christmas tree size. One year he said\, “Don’t worry\, I’m planting a new crop and I’ll make sure to save you one.” Good luck\, he was 90 years old at the time. \n  \nSo their lives were their teaching. There was no didactic teaching\, no conscious ‘modeling’ to achieve ‘results’ in their daughters. They just lived life with passion and dedication.  \n  \nOf course now I donate blood every two months\, and am hitting 150+ units drained from my system\, having started when I was 18 yrs. old. (“Why in Heaven’s name wouldn’t I?” when someone asks me why.) And hiking\, backpacking and wildflowers are my passion. I have huge gardens so I can give away baskets of golden raspberries and strawberries\, and yes\, blueberries. I grow way too many peonies and iris so I can cut huge bouquets to give away. I read\, read\, read\, and do art\, art\, art.  \n  \nAnd if I’m not mentoring\, tutoring\, or otherwise being engaged in connection with others not like me\, I am at a loss for meaning in my life. \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \n138   I Think\, Therefore… \n  \nThis insightful page has inspired my Yoga routines lately! When I do this form of Yoga\, I treat it like meditation. For me\, it’s been a struggle my whole life to just “sit there” and not “be” with so many things constantly on my mind. It’s been nice to just be in the moment and focus on form\, breathing and not everything else. For me to truly be there in that moment I cease all those fleeting thoughts for those 30 minutes every other day. Then\, when I’m done\, I enjoy the practice so much I begin doing stretches while practicing mindfulness. This has become my favorite part of my days lately\, and it’s very peaceful. I encourage everyone to\, at the very least\, stretch and practice just being. \n  \n—Jeff Kuehner \n* \n  \nWandering Thoughts \n  \nMy friends\, I must be honest. I have written this paper six times over! \n  \nI started out writing about good and evil\, page 156. Setting out\, I had in mind an ideal of vanquishing good\, evil and the universal duality….But I lost! \n  \nDuality has successfully wriggled its little fingers into every last nook and cranny; it won’t be going anywhere soon. And after thwarting my attempts at the highest level\, it opened my eyes. \n  \nI’ve realized my “Not Sowing Karma” theme is wrong. Let me elaborate; we all were born upon a set of scales that started to tip in one direction or the other since our birth. There will come a time when we all will make a choice to either live with balance\, or not. Without balance you can only tilt in one direction\, until eventually you fall. With balance you will never fall\, you only have to get there. Only then is there a chance of escape. Escape. Everyone seems to think there are a variety of ways to escape\, but true escape is when you live in every moment and every thing is balanced. \n  \nDuality seems to offer a reasonable solution\, and offers the key to any that seek. \n  \nCould co-existing be the harmony we seek\, could it shine light on the hidden path? The wonder of wonders keeps me wondering still… \n  \nWell guys\, those are this month’s thoughts. Let me apologize if it seems a little screwy. To be honest\, I didn’t think something that seemed so simple would really be complex. Maybe it’s both! \n  \nAhhhh\, I’ll sign off now\, before I have to re-write it all. \n  \npeace & love & everything else \n  \n—Joshua Barnes \n* \n  \nFrom Thich Nhat Hanh’s book Be Free Where You Are\, pages 37-40. \n  \nBeing able to practice mindful breathing under duress\, in an emotional state\, or any unhealthy mindset. This is most likely a life long journey of practice and patience. “An emotion is only and emotion\, we are much more than an emotion.” If we can recognize an emotion before it gets us on to becoming a wreck\, then we can put it under a mindful breathing exercise and meditate on it\, “you will see that you are strong—strong enough to withstand the storm.” \n  \nBut\, “don’t wait until you have a strong emotion to practice. If you do\, you will not remember how to practice. You have to practice now\, today\, while you are feeling fine.” \n  \nI will speak for myself. So often when an emotion arises that I don’t want to have I bury it. But what happens when there is no more room for them? \n  \nThis practice of mindful breathing to calm the storm or just wait it out without incident is the key\, for me\, to getting through many a bad day. \n  \nThere are many forms of breathing. The point I am trying to make is: let’s just take a look at what is going on in the inside of us\, grab ahold of it and examine it under a practice of mindfulness\, calm breathing\, and then maybe we can get a better understanding of what it is that makes us tick…or get ticked off. \n  \nThanks to everyone who writes in the M & M dialogue. This is fun. \n  \n—Brandon Gillespie \n* \n  \n#89 An Invitation from the Buddha \n  \nMr. Underhill\, I am really glad to hear you have started your countdown. I think that reading a passage a day is a good way to finish your set. I know you as a very good\, caring guy and I wish you all the success in the future. Never forget all you have learned these last years and the good people you have met along the way \n  \nThe first line of this—“We live in a time when everyone is too caught up in the preoccupations of everyday life\,…”—how true this is for this year! It seems everywhere we turn there is nothing but blame for this or that\, or: you don’t believe the things I believe\, so I hate you. I believe our differences should be the thing that makes us love and understand each other all the more. Our uniqueness is one of the most special gifts we have. \n  \nI think taking the time to discover who we are\, really down deep\, is the true essence of life. When we start to understand ourselves more deeply\, we can then open our eyes to the way others feel and have compassion for their ideas. We must remember that we are all brothers and sisters on this earth. It doesn’t matter what geographical location you come from\, or the shade of your skin. These things have nothing to do with a person’s character. If we could stop and tell someone hello\, give them an honest smile when we see they have a frown on their face\, or\, if you have to\, tell a corny joke. I am sure\, if the response isn’t immediate\, that they will think about it later and hopefully have a moment of joy—that some stranger would say something so stupid to them. These little things we can do for one another to me are the true nature of life. \n  \n—Aaron Gilbert \n* \n  \nThanks to everyone who wrote last month. It is very moving to read about your experience of meditation and of Thich Nhat Hanh’s writing.  \n  \nJohnny asked if I might write about some of my experiences hearing Thich Nhat Hanh speak. I have heard him several times\, but the only time I remember the content of the talk was the first time\, on the eve of the first Iraq war in 2003. He began by saying\, “Bodhisattva George Bush and Bodhisattva Sadham Hussein had a quarrel.” And in my heart I did a little bow and thought\, “You’re a better man than I am!” He explained that a Bodhisattva is responsible for many beings\, which\, certainly\, Bush and Hussein were. Thây (that’s what his students call him) said that the United States had barely begun to recover from the psychic damage of the Vietnam war\, and there we were embarking on another. He spoke about the young men\, the soldiers in both countries\, whose lives would be wounded by their experiences\, and the pain this would inflict on both countries after the war had ended. I don’t suppose he could have foreseen all the little wars to come\, including Afghanistan\, the longest war in our history; twice as long as the Vietnam war\, and counting. The other night I heard that Trump’s vaunted withdrawal of troops on the ground in Afghanistan only means that there will be more bombing\, hence less targeted violence\, hence more civilian casualties. Thây said\, “I have not practiced enough\, I have not practiced deeply enough…” and then he began a kind of litany: “you who are a teacher\, you who are a student\, you have to practice with us; you who are an artist\, you who are a filmmaker\, you have to practice with us…”and so on. This wasn’t really his talk\, which he also gave… it was his response to the news of the day.  \n  \nThây suggested that each one of us in the audience could adopt a veteran\, a young person who had been damaged by their experience of war and who could be helped to heal by being befriended. We could invite them into our homes\, break bread with them\, become real friends. I haven’t done this\, I confess\, although I have attempted to “adopt” some people who have been hurt by other circumstances of life. I’ve talked with many veterans who are on the streets\, and\, of course\, the healing is mutual. It’s not a question of one helping the other–if a connection is made one can be a friend\, even if the encounter is only for a few minutes. Johnny has embodied this approach to life as fellowship.  \n  \nThere were many other things in this talk–a lot of the breathing exercises in his book The Blooming of a Lotus were given that night. He told a story about his own war experience as a monk in Vietnam\, counting bodies of bombing victims and the song they sang about the beauty of the sky and earth to keep themselves in remembrance of the gifts of life. He talked about someone bringing him food and he said\, “I got enlightened” which is to say it awakened him to the blessing of preparing food\, serving it\, enjoying taste\, even in these circumstances. He said\, “Enlightenment is always about something. Buddhist enlightenment is about the nature of the self.” \n  \nSo what is the nature of the self? If you practice with Thich Nhat Hanh and sit quietly you see that the self is always changing. It has no permanent identity. In the image of Suzuki Roshi\, “I” is like a swinging door that comes in and goes out with the breath. A swinging door is not a fortress. It has a relative amount of importance\, but not much; certainly not enough to start a war over.   \n  \nAs I look over what I have written\, one thing that I notice is the absence of self-cultivation. Meditation is not about getting better. “Meditation” has been co-opted by the American religion of self-enhancement: we want to be better\, thinner\, stronger\, more beautiful\, wealthier\, and we also want to be smarter and calmer and wiser\, and we think of these properties as products that we can purchase for money or time. The meditation salespeople tell us that “practice” is a good tool to put in our shopping basket along with face cream and exercise and vegan or paleo diet and vitamins\, eight glasses of water\, and all the rest of it. But in Thây’s “Buddhist enlightenment” we meditate to end suffering\, to see clearly\, to meet life in all its beauty and horror as it is\, to get over ourselves and befriend our fellow creatures. We don’t need years of practice and we don’t need to cultivate special psychological states; right now in this very moment\, breathing in and breathing out\,  looking into the eyes of the veteran\, or the neighbor (who well may be a veteran) or the cashier or our partner\, we can be present\, awakened\, kind. I have arrived! says Thich Nhat Hanh; we have already arrived in our own true home.  \n  \n—Howard Thoresen \n* \n  \nMy homework for today: study my distress and dissatisfaction. Doctors\, nurses\, and therapists use this format to diagnose physical/mental ailments\, the SOAP format. Bhikkhu Analayo recommends applying the same format to our distress. Identify the problem by its (S) subjective and (O) objective components\, (A) assess the cause\, and then make a (P) plan. My problem today and every day is that I WANT THINGS TO BE DIFFERENT than they actually are. That person shouldn’t be rude. The rules shouldn’t be so arbitrary. The soup should not be so hot\, and it definitely should never be cold. The subjective is my experience of distress/dissatisfaction/discontentment. The objective\, the cause of my distress\, is my desire for things to be different. (Notice the cause is NOT the “errant” situation!) The assessment is that I really need to learn how to accept things as they are OR be more effective in making necessary changes (complaining is not changing). The plan\, using the jargon of this meditation tradition\, is the Eightfold Path\, or learning to behave differently\, shift my mental focus\, and learn to understand how the world actually works\, as opposed to how I fantasize it works. YTH #7\, 19\, and 317 relate to this. \n  \n—Shad Alexander \n* \n  \nAs I sat still this morning at my writing desk\, before turning on the light\, in the darkness and silence the weather in my mind began to clear from yesterday’s worries and conundrums\, something began to come into focus. In time\, I turned on the light\, and wrote down this thought:  \n  \nA loss is first a pang\, then a memory. Then \, by writing or telling\, it may become a story. Then\, if told with curiosity and courage\, the sorrow becomes a possession\, an element of identity\, and finally a treasure\, a smudge of wisdom. \n  \nThen\, as my habit each morning early\, I explored this thought by shaping it into something like a poem: \n  \n               Schooling Sorrow  \n  \nWhen a sorrow’s young\, it’s pure—stunned  \npang at breakup\, betrayal\, failure\, death.  \nYou weep\, rant\, brood\, slump. And then   \n  \nin the morning\, sorrow starts its epic  \njourney into memory\, becomes an island  \nin your archipelago of sufferings.  \n  \nThen\, if you are strong\, and lucky to have  \na listener—you begin to apprehend its quirks\,  \nto tell it\, shape it\, watch it grow into a story.  \n  \nAnd if you tell your story well\, with curiosity \nand courage\, it then becomes a possession\, \nand in time a treasure\, a smudge of wisdom.  \n  \nThis can be your gift\, your offering—but \nif you don’t school your sorrow into story \nit can never be your friend. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nDear Johnny \n  \nThank you for your continued support and love through all you do. I have very much enjoyed (and do continue to enjoy) your recent newsletters. Funny thing\, to me at least\, is I keep feeling like I want (almost to a need) to give you something profoundly insightful to share and lately felt at a loss\, as I’ve read so many things (in your publications) that seem to already say what I would say. So I keep trying to think of something new and exciting—still\, to no avail. Then\, recently (last week)\, not trying to think of anything\, a concept occurred to me on the subject of fate and “predestiny.” \n  \nThroughout my life I’ve pondered fate\, choice and destiny. There have been many times in my life when I’ve wondered about the “what ifs.” What if I had made a different choice at any number of crossroads in my life? Would I still be the same person with the same resolve? At times the “could have beens” seem whelming\, at best. Recently\, the idea occurred to me that maybe both fate\, that you make choice\, and predestiny both exist simultaneously. The example\, or visualization\, that came to me is that maybe life\, our experience\, is like a long\, vast river filled with twists\, turns\, smooth parts\, rapids\, falls\, obstacles\, and that our “fateful” choices steer us around or into these\, yet we still eventually arrive at the same “pre”destination\, no matter what course we take in this river. \n  \nAnyway\, it’s a concept I’ve been mulling over lately. \n  \n—Joseph Opyd \n* \n  \nI’m interested in co-creating “culture that nurtures” with you\, my friends. In #214\, “I Don’t Need These Things\,” Thich Nhat Hanh says: “…negative forces are everywhere. When you turn on the television\, for instance\, you run the risk of ingesting harmful things\, such as violence\, despair\, or fear.” Elsewhere\, he talks about “mental junk food”—ideas and images which don’t nurture us. \n  \nIt’s not possible to avoid mental junk food\, but it’s unhealthy as a regular diet. Where is healthy food to be found? Everyone gets to figure this out for themselves. I’m prejudiced\, but I think our monthly meditation and mindfulness dialogue is healthy food. Many of the people participating in this dialogue are currently living in prison—an environment which has a lot of negativity in it. Whether we are living inside or outside of prison walls\, it’s important to choose wisely what we read\, what we think about\, how we spend our time. Life is short. Each day is precious. \n  \nBecause most television fare feels unwholesome to me\, I’m trying to create my own culture\, my own world—one I want to live in. I make an effort to create an inner world that is rich in meaning\, that makes me happy\, broadens my understanding\, nurtures peace and love in my heart. For me\, certain writers are very reliable in this regard. And I’m always on the lookout for the next book that will teach me something new\, delight me\, give me a fresh perspective\, open my mind and heart. \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nTo: The Open Road & all its Travelers! \n  \nHsin Hsin Ming is fantastic. It’s odd\, your choice of subject\, as this is exactly what I’ve been thinking about. \n  \nIt’s funny\, because while I’ve been trying to untangle my own gordian knot\, the answers I sought were in front of me the whole time; but\, unlike the hero in the story\, I used a different way of slicing through my knot. Though I will admit\, the process was much the same. \n  \nI believe one purpose of that story was to show that when we conform to a certain belief\, or thought process\, we are limiting ourselves\, and in doing so will only fail. \n  \nI have been limiting myself for a very long time\, but\, thankfully\, we all can change! \n  \nAs I said in my last letter\, I’ve come to the conclusion that indifference will never do. Balance\, on the other hand\, is a very different story. When using both the positive and the negative\, you allow them to cancel each other out. The same goes for weights and counterweights. This\, when done correctly\, would leave you floating happily in between\, neither drifting to one side or the other\, but in the middle…Balanced. \n  \nThe Hsing Hsin Ming said: “…Make the smallest distinction and heaven and earth are far apart…” and “…If you want to experience it\, don’t be for or against anything…” \n  \nThe only way I can see this working is by achieving balance\, and\, like I said before\, there is only one way to balance the scales. \n  \nThis led me to my next thought and another very helpful piece: “…Caught in duality\, how can you know oneness?” \n  \nYou know\, I puzzled over this for a long time\, and then\, when reading the next line\, found a wonderful answer staring up at me from the page….Unity and understanding. Two beautiful words. Unity is balance and understanding is realizing there can be no balance when striving towards any one thing alone. \n  \nI don’t think the texts are about condemning duality or escaping it\, I believe they speak of duality being the weight and counterweight\, the true keys to achieving balance\, “oneness\,” in order to escape the samsara. We are caught in duality and must make it work. Duality is in man’s nature for a reason\, and like the wise words on page three say: “…following our nature\, we are in harmony with the way\, wandering freely\, without a care…” \n  \nAnd here is where I’ll make my last stand with a final quote: “…to accept everything is to be enlightened…” \n  \nPeace & love \n  \n—Joshua Barnes \n* \n  \nToday\, December 13\, is Bodhi Day\, the Buddhist holiday that commemorates the day that the historical Buddha\, Siddhartha Gautama\, experienced enlightenment. In Thailand\, where my youngest son has lived for the past eight years\, there are numerous temples that display the key moments in the Buddha’s life in a frieze that goes around the inner walls. So that we might step into the scene along with his disciples and remember the teachings.  \n  \nI thought it would be a good time to tell the story of the Buddha’s awakening and the happiness derived from following his teachings. It may be familiar to most of you but worth hearing over and over. I have studied with Thich Nhat Hanh for many years and taught classes with Rev. Bob Schaibly. These teachings are for all; there is no reason to be a Buddhist or practice Buddhism as a religion. But it is good to know the essence of what we are talking about and to honor the original source.   \n  \nBodhi Day is observed in the Buddhist traditions in Asia from India and Japan to Thailand and Vietnam. Bodhi Day serves as a reminder of the wisdom that is naturally available to us all\, the wisdom that comes from looking deeply in the present moment\, of cultivating our minds\, and recognizing that everything is interconnected.   \n  \nSiddhartha\, was born around 530 BC. He grew up in India\, as a Prince born and raised into a wealthy family\, who lived surrounded by beautiful gardens in a spacious palace.  When he was born his parents were told that their son’s destiny was to be a great warrior or he would become a great spiritual teacher. His parents wanted him to carry on with their established life\, they wanted a warrior. Like all parents they also wanted their son to be safe and grow up satisfied. So they tried to isolate and protect him from the world and meet his every need and desire. But as he grew into his teenage years and adulthood he felt like he was imprisoned. Sound familiar!? \n  \nOne night Siddhartha and a servant went out of the palace gates into the surrounding villages.  \n  \nThey first came upon an old man who was stooped over\, using a walking stick\,  and balding.  \n  \nSiddhartha asked\, what does this mean?  His servant explained that this is Old Age.   \n  \nThey went on and came upon an ill person with sores who was in terrible discomfort.  The servant explained to Siddhartha again\, this is Illness.   \n  \nThey then came to a corpse in the road.  And Siddhartha was shocked and asked again.  \n  \nAnd his servant said\, All living things pay a price for life and this is Death.  Siddhartha was frightened by all this suffering. \n  \nThen they came upon a simple ascetic carrying a begging bowl\, who did not want anything to do with commerce and the travails of the modern world.   We too recognize this.  \n  \nSiddhartha soon decided to leave the palace and follow the path of the ascetic to see if he can find release from his fears and this suffering.   He went out into the world dressed in his servant’s clothes\, an 18 year old young man. He went in search of knowledge with this group of poor and dedicated ascetics.   He fasts to the point of exhaustion and realizes ultimately that this will not work for him.    \n  \nThe life of hedonism in a palace as a prince and a life of starvation are not giving him any more understanding about the world.  So he adopts what is called The Middle Way.    \n  \nHe sits\, determined to pay attention to what is happening.   He sits under the Bodhi tree\, meditating until he comes to some wisdom.   He overcomes all temptations after a period like 40 days and 40 nights.   He realizes enlightenment and in the moment of touching the earth he takes it as his witness.   He finds that concentrating on our breath we can be happy in the present moment.  One of his most important teachings is about calming the mind so that we are not overwhelmed by our emotions of fear and anger.  From that day on he started teaching the eight-fold path to inner peace.  \n  \nCompassion and understanding are what comes from mindfulness and meditation  and the practice of looking deeply at our and others’ suffering.  Compassion then can come about and one can move from being to acting without being overcome.  Without compassion fatigue.  This story is related to the western story of the Good Samaritan who helped another without worrying about the consequences from the rules of his religion or culture.   \n  \nThe Buddha in his enlightenment came up with an eight-fold path to follow for living with awareness and happiness for ourselves and others. The essence of the teachings are based on the  five remembrances of the human condition that is a reality for each of us:  \n\nI am of the nature to grow old.\n\nOh how we try in vain to keep our youthful looks.  We even find it hard to believe we are not still our younger selves when we look in the mirror.  Even in our seventies we can feel close to those young adult years.   \n\nI am of the nature to become ill.  \n\nIf we live a healthy life we often feel it is not fair if we get sick\, as though it was a justice issue. We all will become ill as life goes on. \n\nI am of the nature to die.     \n\nThis is something live most of our lives in denial about.  In our culture especially we keep death hidden away.  \n\nEverything that I care about will pass away.\nThis is the teaching of impermanence. Everything changes. We will lose those we love\, and our possessions\, and even our ideas and ideals.\nOnly my deeds will survive me.   \n\nMay I act well to make a world that is lovely and loving. What we do\, and how we do thing things makes a difference.  This is the secret of  peace and happiness and freedom.   \n  \nRemember to pass it on\, pay it forward\, even with a smile\, but especially with our stories. \n  \nI’m so glad you all are enjoying our monthly sharing of Mindfulness and Meditation!  \n  \nPeace and love\, I miss everyone in person. Be well.     \n  \n—Katie Radditz
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-12-15-20/
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210103
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210117
DTSTAMP:20260503T101946
CREATED:20201229T185731Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20210107T180118Z
UID:1641-1609632000-1610841599@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!: Favorite Women Poets with Deborah & Katie
DESCRIPTION:  \nDear Bibliophiles \nOn Sunday\, January 3rd\, Deborah Buchanan and Katie Radditz hosted a conversation about Favorite Women Poets on Zoom. We had a good turnout. It’s a big subject! They began talking about Japanese women poets: \n  \nTankas from 4th – 19th century Japan \nOno no Komachi \n     While\, waiting for you\,\n     My heart is filled with longing\,\n     The autumn wind blows— \n     As if it were you— \n     Swaying the bamboo blinds of my door. \n  \nTanka stresses the beauty of life and nature\, but there is a strong feeling of yearning in many tanka. The shortness of life\, the transient nature of seasons and love. \nFirst known poetry perhaps is the tanka written as letters between women in Japan who were basically imprisoned at home.   They started writing letters to one another in simple haiku with hidden messages\,  the recipient would write back in two lines. Forming a tanka from the Haiku.  \nIzumi Shikibu. author of The Diary of Izumi Shikibu and was considered to be the finest poet of the time. She also wrote The Tale of Genji  considered the first novel. It is full of hundreds of Tankas.   \n  \n“To the lonely nights \n when a robe comes between us\,  \nwould you then\, you say\, \n have me add more layers yet  \nto keep us further apart?” \n  \n“Without showing a change in colour  \nThe thing that fades  \nIn this world  \nIs the flower  \nCalled the human heart.” \n  \n“The colour of the cherry blossom  \nHas faded vainly  \nIn the long rain  \nWhile in idle thoughts  \nI have spent my life.” \n  \n“Without a thought  \nFor my black hair’s disarray  \nI throw myself down\,  \nAlready longing for the one  \nWho ran his fingers through it.“ \n  \n“On the bamboo leaves  \nA fine ice fall  \nPatters and patters.  \nHow bitter  \nTo try to sleep alone!” \n  \nThen\, Deborah and Katie talked about Emily Dickinson. They read this poem: \n  \nTell all the Truth but tell it slant –\nSuccess in Circuit lies\nToo bright for our infirm Delight\nThe Truth’s superb surprise \nAs Lightning to the Children eased\nWith explanation kind\nThe Truth must dazzle gradually\nOr every man be blind – \n  \nJohnny recited one of his favorite Emily Dickinson poems: \n  \nThe Infinite a sudden Guest \nHas been assumed to be — \nBut how can that stupendous come \nWhich never went away? \n  \nDeborah talked about Diane Di Prima and read this poem by her: \n  \nPoem in Praise of My Husband\n  \nI suppose it hasn’t been easy living with me \neither\, \nwith my piques\, and ups and downs\, my need for \nprivacy \nleo pride and weeping in bed when you’re \ntrying to sleep \nand you\, interrupting me in the middle of a \nthousand poems \nin the middle of our drive over the nebraska \nhills and \ninto colorado\, odetta singing\, the whole world \nsinging in me \nthe triumph of our revolution in the air \nme about to get that down\, and you \nyou saying something about the carburetor \nso that it all went away \nbut we cling to each other \nas if each thought the other was the raft \nand he adrift alone\, as in this mud house \nnot big enough\, the walls dusting down around us\, a fine dust rain \ncounteracting the good\, high air\, and stuffing \nour nostrils \nwe hang our pictures of the separate worlds: \nnew york college and san francisco posters \nset out our japanese dishes\, chinese knives \nhammer small indian marriage cloths into \nthe adobe \nwe stumble thru silence into each other’s gut \nblundering thru from one wrong place to the \nnext \nlike kids who snuck out to play on a boat \nat night \nand the boat slipped from its moorings\, and \nthey look at the stars \nabout which they know nothing\, to find out \nwhere they are going. \n  \nDeborah and Katie shared this poem by Naomi Shihab Nye:  \n  \nShoulders\nA man crosses the street in rain\,\nstepping gently\, looking two times north and south\,\nbecause his son is asleep on his shoulder. \nNo car must splash him.\nNo car drive too near to his shadow. \nThis man carries the world’s most sensitive cargo\nbut he’s not marked.\nNowhere does his jacket say FRAGILE\,\nHANDLE WITH CARE. \nHis ear fills up with breathing.\nHe hears the hum of a boy’s dream\ndeep inside him. \nWe’re not going to be able\nto live in this world\nif we’re not willing to do what he’s doing\nwith one another. \nThe road will only be wide.\nThe rain will never stop falling. \n  \n Nancy Yeilding read this poem by Barbara Crooker: \n  \nIt’s Monday Morning \n  \nmid-November\, the world turned golden\, \npreserved in amber. I should be doing more \nto save the planet—plant a tree\, raise \na turbine\, put solar panels on the roof \nto grab the sun and bring it inside. Instead\, \nI’m sitting here scribbling\, sitting on a wrought \niron chair\, the air cold from last night’s frost\, \nthe thin sunlight sinking into the ruined \nAppalachians of my spine. I know it’s all \nabout to fall apart; the signs are everywhere. \nBut on this blue morning\, the air bristling \nwith crickets and birdsong\, I do the only thing \nI can: put one word in front of the other\, \nand see what happens when they rub up against \neach other. It might become something \nthat will burst into flame.  \n  \nDave Duncan read the first two stanzas of “The Cry of the Children” by Elizabeth Barrett Browning: \n  \n\n\n\nDo ye hear the children weeping\, O my brothers\, \n\n\n\n\n\n\nEre the sorrow comes with years ? \n\n\n\n\n\n\nThey are leaning their young heads against their mothers\, — \nAnd that cannot stop their tears. \nThe young lambs are bleating in the meadows ; \nThe young birds are chirping in the nest ; \nThe young fawns are playing with the shadows ; \nThe young flowers are blowing toward the west— \nBut the young\, young children\, O my brothers\, \nThey are weeping bitterly ! \nThey are weeping in the playtime of the others\, \nIn the country of the free. \n  \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nDo you question the young children in the sorrow\, \nWhy their tears are falling so ? \nThe old man may weep for his to-morrow \nWhich is lost in Long Ago — \nThe old tree is leafless in the forest — \nThe old year is ending in the frost — \nThe old wound\, if stricken\, is the sorest — \nThe old hope is hardest to be lost : \nBut the young\, young children\, O my brothers\, \nDo you ask them why they stand \nWeeping sore before the bosoms of their mothers\, \nIn our happy Fatherland ? \n\n\n\n  \nHere’s a poem from Wisława Szymborska that Katie and Deborah chose: \n  \nPossibilities\n I prefer movies.\nI prefer cats.\nI prefer the oaks along the Warta.\nI prefer Dickens to Dostoyevsky.\nI prefer myself liking people\nto myself loving mankind.\nI prefer keeping a needle and thread on hand\, just in case.\nI prefer the color green.\nI prefer not to maintain\nthat reason is to blame for everything.\nI prefer exceptions.\nI prefer to leave early.\nI prefer talking to doctors about something else.\nI prefer the old fine-lined illustrations.\nI prefer the absurdity of writing poems\nto the absurdity of not writing poems.\nI prefer\, where love’s concerned\, nonspecific anniversaries\nthat can be celebrated every day.\nI prefer moralists\nwho promise me nothing.\nI prefer cunning kindness to the over-trustful kind.\nI prefer the earth in civvies.\nI prefer conquered to conquering countries.\nI prefer having some reservations.\nI prefer the hell of chaos to the hell of order.\nI prefer Grimms’ fairy tales to the newspapers’ front pages.\nI prefer leaves without flowers to flowers without leaves.\nI prefer dogs with uncropped tails.\nI prefer light eyes\, since mine are dark.\nI prefer desk drawers.\nI prefer many things that I haven’t mentioned here\nto many things I’ve also left unsaid.\nI prefer zeroes on the loose\nto those lined up behind a cipher.\nI prefer the time of insects to the time of stars.\nI prefer to knock on wood.\nI prefer not to ask how much longer and when.\nI prefer keeping in mind even the possibility\nthat existence has its own reason for being. \n  \nAnd here’s a poem by Wisława Szymborska that Jude Russell read: \n  \nThe Three Oddest Words \n  \n\n\n\nWhen I pronounce the word Future\,\nthe first syllable already belongs to the past. \nWhen I pronounce the word Silence\,\nI destroy it. \nWhen I pronounce the word Nothing\,\nI make something no non-being can hold. \n\n\n\n  \nJeffrey Sher read a poem by Mary Oliver: \n  \nWild Geese\n  \nYou do not have to be good. \nYou do not have to walk on your knees \nfor a hundred miles through the desert repenting. \nYou only have to let the soft animal of your body \nlove what it loves. \nTell me about despair\, yours\, and I will tell you mine. \nMeanwhile the world goes on. \nMeanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain \nare moving across the landscapes\, \nover the prairies and the deep trees\, \nthe mountains and the rivers. \nMeanwhile the wild geese\, high in the clean blue air\, \nare heading home again. \nWhoever you are\, no matter how lonely\, \nthe world offers itself to your imagination\, \ncalls to you like the wild geese\, harsh and exciting — \nover and over announcing your place \nin the family of things. \n  \nHere a poem by Ada Limon: \n  \nThe Raincoat \n  \nWhen the doctor suggested surgery\nand a brace for all my youngest years\,\nmy parents scrambled to take me\nto massage therapy\, deep tissue work\,\nosteopathy\, and soon my crooked spine\nunspooled a bit\, I could breathe again\,\nand move more in a body unclouded\nby pain. My mom would tell me to sing\nsongs to her the whole forty-five minute\ndrive to Middle Two Rock Road and forty-\nfive minutes back from physical therapy.\nShe’d say\, even my voice sounded unfettered\nby my spine afterward. So I sang and sang\,\nbecause I thought she liked it. I never\nasked her what she gave up to drive me\,\nor how her day was before this chore. Today\,\nat her age\, I was driving myself home from yet\nanother spine appointment\, singing along\nto some maudlin but solid song on the radio\,\nand I saw a mom take her raincoat off\nand give it to her young daughter when\na storm took over the afternoon. My god\,\nI thought\, my whole life I’ve been under her\nraincoat thinking it was somehow a marvel\nthat I never got wet. \n  \nNancy Yeilding didn’t know if she could get through this poem by Denise Levertov without crying. She was encouraged to give it a try: \n  \nThe Fountain \n\nDon’t say\, don’t say there is no water\nto solace the dryness at our hearts.\nI have seen\n \nthe fountain springing out of the rock wall\nand you drinking there. And I too\nbefore your eyes \nfound footholds and climbed\nto drink the cool water.\n \nThe woman of that place\, shading her eyes\,\nfrowned as she watched-but not because\nshe grudged the water\, \nonly because she was waiting\nto see we drank our fill and were\nrefreshed. \n Don’t say\, don’t say there is no water.\nThat fountain is there among its scalloped\ngreen and gray stones\, \n it is still there and always there\nwith its quiet song and strange power\nto spring in us\, \n up and out through the rock. \n  \nHere’s a poem by Gabriela Mistral\, the first Latin American to receive the Nobel Prize for Literature: \n  \nRiches \n\nI have a faithful fortune\nand a fortune lost.\nOne’s like a rose\,\nthe other a thorn.\nWhat was taken from me\nI still possess:\nthe faithful fortune\nand the fortune lost\,\nand I’m rich in purple\nand unhappiness.\nOh how I love the rose\nand how the thorn loves me!\nLike round twin apples\nafter the frost:\nthe faithful fortune\,\nthe fortune lost. \n  \n(tr. Ursula K. Le Guin) \n  \nHere’s a poem by our current national Poet Laureate\, Joy Harjo: \n  \nPerhaps the world ends Here \n  \nThe world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what\, we must eat to live. \n  \nThe gifts of earth are brought and prepared\, set on the table. So it has been since creation\, and it will go on. \n  \nWe chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.  \n  \nIt is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it\, we make women. \n  \nAt this table we gossip\, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers. \n  \nOur dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table. \n  \nThis table has been a house in the rain\, an umbrella in the sun. \n  \nWars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory. \n  \nWe have given birth on this table\, and have prepared our parents for burial here. \n  \nAt this table we sing with joy\, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks. \n  \nPerhaps the world will end at the kitchen table\, while we are laughing and crying\, eating of the last sweet bite. \n* \n  \nNancy Yeilding also recommends: \n  \n“Late August” by Mary Chivers \n“For a Friend Lying in Intensive Care Waiting for Her White Blood Cells to Rejuvenate After a Bone Marrow Transplant”  by Barbara Crooker \n“A Gift” and “Witness” by Denise Levertov \n  \nDeborah and Katie also recommend: \n  \n“A New National Anthem” by Ada Limon \n“Sweetness\,”  “Give Me Your Hand” and “Song of Death” by Gabriela Mistral \n“Some People” by Wisława Szymborska \n“The Burying Beetle” by Ada Limon \n  \nDeborah asked me to add this: \n  \n\nAlso please add that we only skimmed the wealth of African American poets:\nGwendolyn Books (first black woman to win the Pulitzer)\, Lucille Clifton\, June Jordan and now a whole bevy of current ones: Tracy K. Smith\, Nikki Finney\, Claudine Rankin\, Natasha Tretheway. \n\n\n\nAnd for American Indian women poets\, there are\, in addition to the stellar Joy Harjo: \nNatalie Diaz (her breakout book\, When My Brother Was an Aztec)\, and Oregon’s own Elizabeth Woody. \n\n  \nThere were lots more poems! You shoulda been there! Maybe you were. \n  \nDeborah recently published three books of poetry: The World A Well\, Layers of Sediment and Moment Before. You can order them from her at: dlbadger@gmail.com.  \n  \nWe ended our Zoom gathering with Deborah reading one of her unpublished poems: \n  \nUnannounced \n  \nThe grass moved \ninhalation exhalation \nas the animal slept \nstill but for breath \ncovered by the sky’s night \nwind in the orchard \ndeeper shadows under dark firs \n  \nWe find the grass bowl \nin early morning\, still warm \nstalks flattened not by wind \nbut impress of being \na nest one might say \nyet in soil not air \na vibrant emptiness \n  \nWhile we slept unaware \nanother life another world \npassed by \ninextricably connected \nyet unknown \nhow many each moment \nthese transparent threads \n  \nBreathing the same air \nwalking so closely \n  \n  \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-favorite-women-poets-with-deborah-katie/
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210107
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210121
DTSTAMP:20260503T101946
CREATED:20210107T174225Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250718T122545Z
UID:1692-1609977600-1611187199@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  1/7/21
DESCRIPTION:  \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nJanuary 7\, 2021 \n  \nI sent some of Thomas Traherne’s poems to Alex Tretbar\, who was inspired by the poem “Wonder” to write “DUST.” First Traherne\, then Tretbar: \n  \nWonder \n  \n    How like an Angel came I down! \n         How bright are all things here! \nWhen first among His works I did appear \n    O how their Glory me did crown! \nThe world resembled His Eternity\, \n         In which my soul did walk; \n    And every thing that I did see \n         Did with me talk. \n  \n    The skies in their magnificence\, \n         The lively\, lovely air; \nOh how divine\, how soft\, how sweet\, how fair! \n    The stars did entertain my sense\, \nAnd all the works of God\, so bright and pure\, \n         So rich and great did seem\, \n    As if they ever must endure \n         In my esteem. \n  \n    A native health and innocence \n         Within my bones did grow\, \nAnd while my God did all his Glories show\, \n    I felt a vigour in my sense \nThat was all Spirit. I within did flow \n         With seas of life\, like wine; \n    I nothing in the world did know \n         But ’twas divine. \n  \n    Harsh ragged objects were concealed\, \n         Oppressions\, tears and cries\, \nSins\, griefs\, complaints\, dissensions\, weeping eyes \n    Were hid\, and only things revealed \nWhich heavenly Spirits\, and the Angels prize. \n         The state of Innocence \n    And bliss\, not trades and poverties\, \n         Did fill my sense. \n  \n    The streets were paved with golden stones\, \n         The boys and girls were mine\, \nOh how did all their lovely faces shine! \n    The sons of men were holy ones\, \nIn joy and beauty they appeared to me\, \n         And every thing which here I found\, \n    While like an angel I did see\, \n         Adorned the ground. \n  \n    Rich diamond and pearl and gold \n         In every place was seen; \nRare splendours\, yellow\, blue\, red\, white and green\, \n    Mine eyes did everywhere behold. \nGreat wonders clothed with glory did appear\, \n         Amazement was my bliss\, \n    That and my wealth was everywhere: \n         No joy to this! \n  \n    Cursed and devised proprieties\, \n         With envy\, avarice \nAnd fraud\, those fiends that spoil even Paradise\, \n    Flew from the splendour of mine eyes\, \nAnd so did hedges\, ditches\, limits\, bounds\, \n         I dreamed not aught of those\, \n    But wandered over all men’s grounds\, \n         And found repose. \n  \n    Proprieties themselves were mine\, \n         And hedges ornaments; \nWalls\, boxes\, coffers\, and their rich contents \n    Did not divide my joys\, but all combine. \nClothes\, ribbons\, jewels\, laces\, I esteemed \n         My joys by others worn: \n    For me they all to wear them seemed \n         When I was born. \n  \n—Thomas Traherne  (1636-1674) \n* \n  \nDUST \n  \nI came down like an angel \nfrom a gestative mountain \n  \nI have no memory \nof \n  \nSince then loved \nones have told me \n  \nAbout the two \na.m. arrival \n  \nThe usual bawling \n& slap-shock of the other \n  \nSide of eternity \nsince then there have been \n  \nSo many thens that now \nseem second-hand \n  \nLike universal lullabies \nwhispered into the unconscious \n  \nEars of babies my life \nis just a transparent bead \n  \nOn an endless \nabacus \n  \nBut you are there too \n& you & you & you \n  \nAnd it seems fitting to me now \nthat abacus comes from the Hebrew word \n  \nFor dust \n  \n—Alex Tretbar \n* \n  \nPoetry Lovers: On Sunday\, January 3rd\, Katie Radditz and Deborah Buchanan hosted a Zoom gathering on the theme of “Favorite Women Poets.” Here’s a link to the web page on the Open Road website\, where you will find poems to inspire you and whet your appetite for more: \n  \nhttps://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-favorite-women-poets-with-deborah-katie/ \n  \nIn the last Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue\, Joshua Barnes wrote about duality and oneness. He got me thinking about different things\, including Plato’s Allegory of the Cave\, from Book VII of The Republic. Socrates is doing most of the talking. The other speaker is Glaucon. You may be familiar with it\, but it’s one of those things that is worth revisiting and pondering from time to time. So\, here it is (in the Benjamin Jowett translation): \n  \nBOOK VII. \n  \nAnd now\, I said\, let me show in a figure how far our nature is enlightened or unenlightened:—Behold! human beings living in an underground den\, which has a mouth open towards the light and reaching all along the den; here they have been from their childhood\, and have their legs and necks chained so that they cannot move\, and can only see before them\, being prevented by the chains from turning round their heads. Above and behind them a fire is blazing at a distance\, and between the fire and the prisoners there is a raised way; and you will see\, if you look\, a low wall built along the way\, like the screen which marionette players have in front of them\, over which they show the puppets. \nI see. \nAnd do you see\, I said\, men passing along the wall carrying all sorts of vessels\, and statues and figures of animals made of wood and stone and various materials\, which appear over the wall? Some of them are talking\, others silent. \nYou have shown me a strange image\, and they are strange prisoners. \nLike ourselves\, I replied; and they see only their own shadows\, or the shadows of one another\, which the fire throws on the opposite wall of the cave? \nTrue\, he said; how could they see anything but the shadows if they were never allowed to move their heads? \nAnd of the objects which are being carried in like manner they would only see the shadows? \nYes\, he said. \nAnd if they were able to converse with one another\, would they not suppose that they were naming what was actually before them? \nVery true. \nAnd suppose further that the prison had an echo which came from the other side\, would they not be sure to fancy when one of the passers-by spoke that the voice which they heard came from the passing shadow? \nNo question\, he replied. \nTo them\, I said\, the truth would be literally nothing but the shadows of the images. \nThat is certain. \nAnd now look again\, and see what will naturally follow if the prisoners are released and disabused of their error. At first\, when any of them is liberated and compelled suddenly to stand up and turn his neck round and walk and look towards the light\, he will suffer sharp pains; the glare will distress him\, and he will be unable to see the realities of which in his former state he had seen the shadows; and then conceive some one saying to him\, that what he saw before was an illusion\, but that now\, when he is approaching nearer to being and his eye is turned towards more real existence\, he has a clearer vision\,—what will be his reply? And you may further imagine that his instructor is pointing to the objects as they pass and requiring him to name them\,—will he not be perplexed? Will he not fancy that the shadows which he formerly saw are truer than the objects which are now shown to him? \nFar truer. \nAnd if he is compelled to look straight at the light\, will he not have a pain in his eyes which will make him turn away to take refuge in the objects of vision which he can see\, and which he will conceive to be in reality clearer than the things which are now being shown to him? \nTrue\, he said. \nAnd suppose once more\, that he is reluctantly dragged up a steep and rugged ascent\, and held fast until he is forced into the presence of the sun himself\, is he not likely to be pained and irritated? When he approaches the light his eyes will be dazzled\, and he will not be able to see anything at all of what are now called realities. \nNot all in a moment\, he said. \nHe will require to grow accustomed to the sight of the upper world. And first he will see the shadows best\, next the reflections of men and other objects in the water\, and then the objects themselves; then he will gaze upon the light of the moon and the stars and the spangled heaven; and he will see the sky and the stars by night better than the sun or the light of the sun by day? \nCertainly. \nLast of all he will be able to see the sun\, and not mere reflections of him in the water\, but he will see him in his own proper place\, and not in another; and he will contemplate him as he is. \nCertainly. \nHe will then proceed to argue that this is he who gives the season and the years\, and is the guardian of all that is in the visible world\, and in a certain way the cause of all things which he and his fellows have been accustomed to behold? \nClearly\, he said\, he would first see the sun and then reason about him. \nAnd when he remembered his old habitation\, and the wisdom of the den and his fellow-prisoners\, do you not suppose that he would felicitate himself on the change\, and pity them? \nCertainly\, he would. \nAnd if they were in the habit of conferring honours among themselves on those who were quickest to observe the passing shadows and to remark which of them went before\, and which followed after\, and which were together; and who were therefore best able to draw conclusions as to the future\, do you think that he would care for such honours and glories\, or envy the possessors of them? Would he not say with Homer\, \n‘Better to be the poor servant of a poor master\,’ \nand to endure anything\, rather than think as they do and live after their manner? \nYes\, he said\, I think that he would rather suffer anything than entertain these false notions and live in this miserable manner. \nImagine once more\, I said\, such an one coming suddenly out of the sun to be replaced in his old situation; would he not be certain to have his eyes full of darkness? \nTo be sure\, he said. \nAnd if there were a contest\, and he had to compete in measuring the shadows with the prisoners who had never moved out of the den\, while his sight was still weak\, and before his eyes had become steady (and the time which would be needed to acquire this new habit of sight might be very considerable)\, would he not be ridiculous? Men would say of him that up he went and down he came without his eyes; and that it was better not even to think of ascending; and if any one tried to loose another and lead him up to the light\, let them only catch the offender\, and they would put him to death. \nNo question\, he said. \nThis entire allegory\, I said\, you may now append\, dear Glaucon\, to the previous argument; the prison-house is the world of sight\, the light of the fire is the sun\, and you will not misapprehend me if you interpret the journey upwards to be the ascent of the soul into the intellectual world according to my poor belief\, which\, at your desire\, I have expressed—whether rightly or wrongly God knows. But\, whether true or false\, my opinion is that in the world of knowledge the idea of good appears last of all\, and is seen only with an effort; and\, when seen\, is also inferred to be the universal author of all things beautiful and right\, parent of light and of the lord of light in this visible world\, and the immediate source of reason and truth in the intellectual; and that this is the power upon which he who would act rationally either in public or private life must have his eye fixed.
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-1-7-21/
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