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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20201203
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210131
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CREATED:20201202T231009Z
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UID:1541-1606953600-1612051199@openroadpdx.com
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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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210103
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210117
DTSTAMP:20260503T101859
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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END:VEVENT
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210107
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210121
DTSTAMP:20260503T101859
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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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210115
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210215
DTSTAMP:20260503T101859
CREATED:20210115T175427Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20210321T232230Z
UID:1702-1610668800-1613347199@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue 1/15/21
DESCRIPTION:Open Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n  \nJanuary 15\, 2020 \n  \nWelcome to our fifth meditation and mindfulness dialogue! The numbers below refer to passages from the book Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh. (JS) \n* \n  \nWITHOUT \n  \nPicture nothing. \n  \nNothing is pictured. \n  \nAnd then everything food sex stoplight \nyoga mat grocery bag little gnat— \n  \nas through a valve \nin the middle of that pictured \nnothing: \n  \nit all comes rushing \nlike sparks \njetting in the void. \n  \nThe ocean goes back in the bottle \nonly when you ignore it. \n  \nI flit from station to station\, \nknowing nothing of meditation. \n  \nAnd I seek out mute buttons \nas if there are more than one\, \nas if it is something that exists \n  \nwithout. \n  \n—Alex Tretbar \n* \n  \nMr. Barnes\, in the December issue you said you wrote the paper (letter) six times over\, but know\, more times than not\, the first writing is always the best\, since when re-written over and over you can lose the essence of your writing. Don’t overthink it. The first edition was your rawest\, which tends to be most true and to the heart. I find that in journaling\, when I go back to read previous entries\, I think I should have said it this way or that\, but in reality it is its most true and rawest\, honest to who you are. \n  \nI also would give you this thought in regards to what you wrote about how we all were born upon a set of scales that started to tip in one direction or the other since our birth. I understand your concept of the scale relating to one side being good\, while the other is bad. But… Have you considered that there is no scale? In reading #312 None Other Than Enlightenment in Your True Home it seemed to me that the basic premise is that through enlightenment there is no scale. You can see the truth in all things\, that truth being the good and bad in all things. Good and bad are one thing: the flower in the garbage and the garbage in the flower. \n  \nMr. Gilbert\, so many things this year have showed us that society is in dire need of a change\, and that we all need a little more enlightenment. There is a lot of me me me\, hate\, blame for this or that\, or: since you don’t believe what I believe I hate you. I briefly touched on this in November’s issue of M & M\, but I will write a little more. On 11/2/20 I read #346 What Separates Us in our book Your True Home. In the message\, it talks about labels. Putting labels on people is hurtful and destructive. Labels are what’s currently wrong in society. It’s us vs. them. Labels are something that hurts every one of us. Society uses labels  to dehumanize\, to separate us into groups\, and if we can eliminate labels there can be peace in the world. We are all people on this planet\, one society\, one human race\, and until we get that our society will not be able to heal. Be the one! On society\, one human race\, one world together. \n  \nWhat I want to write about for myself is about something that really affected me to the point of tears forming when I started journaling. I debated even writing this in the newsletter because of how it affected me and how personal it is to me\, but after writing to my friend Jacob Green about what happened\, I started to feel empowered to include what happened for everyone in the newsletter. On 12/2/20 I read #316 The Smile of Nonfear in Your True Home. This passage for some reason stirred something inside me. It’s the word “afflictions” that woke this thought\, but really the whole bottom half spoke to me. Afflictions have been something I have been struggling with for a large part of my prison sentence. I’ve seen that what I had done to land me in prison these 18 years was an affliction. I concentrated on that “perceived” affliction for those first years\, trying to correct where I went wrong. It took many many years to find my path to better and correct who I am\, and to this point I\, in some ways\, didn’t know how I got there\, or where I am today. But now\, in reading #316\, I may have a little more of an idea. I recognized early on that a big part of what I did was founded on a deluded mind and thought pattern that needed correcting if I was to live a life outside these fences. If I couldn’t succeed in correcting my deluded mind\, thought pattern and affliction\, I didn’t deserve a life outside the fence\, or maybe even a life at all. What I saw in myself was only a deluded mind and thoughts\, and in doing so I could only see the afflictions within myself.  \n  \nSomehow\, over the years\, a slow chip away happened. I found my true mind\, and in doing so I no longer only saw my afflictions\, but saw much more. Call it enlightenment. I no longer concentrated on my deluded mind or thoughts\, which in turn\, I suppose\, allowed me to truly heal my affliction that got me here to prison. I am still not perfect by far\, none of us are\, but I truly believe I have healed enough now to start my next chapter in life. A life outside these fences. A life as me and who I am. A life that will allow me to continue to heal and better who I am\, the person I know I am and want to be. \n  \nAbove is what I wrote in my journal. I know that many guys in prison struggle with their afflictions that caused and/or contributed to their incarceration. Some feel they don’t deserve forgiveness\, and forgiveness from those you hurt may never come\, but forgiveness of yourself is possible. It happens with internal healing and the enlightenment that you don’t need to run away from your afflictions\, because with a true mind the afflictions are no longer there. And without afflictions there is only enlightenment; through enlightenment you will see much more within yourself. \n  \nThanks for listening. May peace\, love\, harmony and mindfulness be with you all. \n  \n—Joshua Underhill \n* \n  \nA meditative mind is silent. It is not the silence which thought can conceive of; it is not the silence of a still evening; it is the silence when thought—with all its images\, its words and perceptions—has entirely ceased. This meditative mind is the religious mind—the religion that is not touched by the church\, the temple or by chants. \n  \nThe religious mind is the explosion of love. It is this love that knows no separation. To it\, far is near. It is not the one or the many\, but rather the state of love in which all division ceases. Like beauty\, it is not of the measure of words. From this silence alone the meditative mind acts. \n  \nfrom Meditations by J. Krishnamurti \n* \n  \n(Here are a few of Michel Deforge’s many meditations from December:) \n  \nDecember 2  #47  The Mind of Enlightenment \n  \nIt is amazing what a few days of not mindfully breathing\, or purpose (practicing) can do to my mental state—more mercurial and more affected by influences. (grrr) It’s my own doing. I can’t blame anyone. Maybe…I can just relax\, breathe; and let it be what it is…? (Breathing…) How funny. Today is about bodhichitta and a “goal” of practice—to\, ultimately\, be able to aid/relieve the suffering of others. Wow! It’s funny because I see myself\, right now\, being very deep in my own mud/suffering. Getting better\, or anything positive\, is so far from my experience of now. And\, forget about being of help or benefit …Yet\, even now\, I may learn\, and from my learning\, another may derive a benefit. If I waste my “now” on later—how/if I’ll be anything—then I’ll miss my lesson on how perfect today’s “mud”-bath really is. (I don’t know why I’m “in” mud today. It’s a metaphor for suffering\, being human—made of the same mud as all other humans.) Even when I don’t “like” my now\, it really is perfect. Now\, where’s my snorkel? I think I lost a shoe! Oh well. It’s perfectly placed for now. (Better?) (Yes!) \n  \nDecember 3  #48  Enjoy a Moment of Nothing \n  \n(Taking a moment…) This is the essence of Buddhism\, for me. To sit and enjoy doing “nothing.” But\, it’s not nothing—(I’m channeling my inner Pooh Bear)—it’s a very wonderful something. It’s sitting. It’s being. It’s breathing. It’s often mind wandering and coming back; then wandering off again. It’s learning to enjoy me\, now\, in this moment. Breathing and existing (being) in a mindful moment/experience of each now\, as the moments pass. Enjoying nothing can allow all the moments of something a little more presence and mindful enjoyability\, if I want. \n  \nDecember 7  #49  What is a Leaf? \n  \nThây points out how everything\, including me and you\, is made from other things. A leaf is composed of so many things\, and so many things were critical to the growth of a particular leaf. Life is interdependent. When some say\, “We’re all in this together\,” I believe this is a deeper meaning behind a rallying cry for some cause. We do all exist in the same world. We share the same air\, the same soil\, the same clouds\, rain\, etc. We’re all made of the same elements—reduced to base elements\, carbon\, nitrogen\, oxygen\, etc. With so much sameness\, how can I accept you as different from me? I do… \n  \nThis is where I see the ego come in. Something tells me that I am special\, unique\, and unlike everyone and everything else; that there’s no connection whatsoever to anything or anyone else. Yet\, if I take away all the parts of me (good or bad) that come from someone else or something else\, “I” cease to exist entirely. Without you\, there is no me: both in the realm of duality and\, also\, in the realm of inter-dependence. “I” also can’t continue to exist (survive) without “you.” Too often I attempt to behave as if I am all that is. I think that it is only when I embrace otherness (or others) that I truly begin to live. This is not easy. It requires compassion for weaknesses\, mine too. It requires seeing “other” as same—not different or separate from. \n  \nHere on paper it is so easy to lay out\, contemplate and visualize. In the realm of action/reaction (reality?)—ego\, fear\, duality\, separateness—disconnect happens. I become guarded from you\, forgetting how much I need each and every other “you” out there\, so “I” can survive too. That’s my journey: finding my way to compassion\, vulnerability and interdependence (not co-dependence…). \n  \nDecember 10  #51  Subtle Gestures \n  \nI find myself slowing down while reading and snacking—mindlessly. Yet\, as I read\, and felt my breath I un-deliberately (un-intentionally) slowed down and savored my moments… The sensations aren’t profound\, but noticing them seems slightly so. That’s kinda neat; catching all the subtleties\, flavor\, muscles working\, crunching\, tasting\, breathing\, hearing…and then…like that *! (snap) It’s all over. I often find that life’s “best” moments come from those subtle gestures\, and they’re often done without guile or deliberateness—they have intent of kindness\, but it is a life state not as much as an effort to set out to do a kind act. Words fail to describe ideas fully\, the thought carries on all the same. \n  \nDecember 16  #54  Rites of Life \n  \n….I have experienced a few of those key moments—ones where flow happened\, or where I was perfectly attuned (although I do not recall them\, due to lacking focused awareness.) I imagine that by having awareness I could experience the moments completely as they exist in time—maybe learn a lesson of life from the moment\, create a deep etched memory\, or simply exist in the perfection of that moment\, watching as it passes to the next perfect moment—maybe even departing from “time.” \n  \nIs life a string of moments haphazardly strung together with no rhyme or reasoning? Can there be more than that\, accessed by simply being mindful and aware? I don’t think it needs to be a BIG production\, or some fantastic event(s). I like the idea of simple awareness\, exercised through each moment—not just on the cushion…. \n  \n—Michel Deforge \n* \n  \n#314  Melt the Ice of Knowledge \n  \nOften in my experience of living in prison there have been “rules” or “discriminating views” on this or that person. There is an atmospheric influence that enforces racial segregation and fuels hate amongst others. It’s follow the rules\, or the road. (As of late\, the Road is wide open and lovely. Join me?) Harboring one train of thought as truth\, and not having an open heart and open mind\, blurs the hidden beauty of truth in others—obstructed by societal upbringings\, social media\, and other major influences. Abandonment of views\, or opinions\, is an ice pick of relief\, chipping away the cold ice of hate\, oppression\, single-mindedness\, and when you can finally free yourself from the icy blur of lies and deceit\, you will find that what you thought was truth was an obstacle holding you from seeing the beauty in the soul of everyone/everything. Having an open heart\, open mind\, and leaving the views you’ve been taught\, you will learn so much\, and be able to see life\, and live life\, with deeper meaning\, and understanding. \n  \nI send all the Open Road/M & M family and the world Peace Love Happiness and Good Vibes. You all are beautiful and deserve the most! \n  \nTill next time \n  \nJake Green \n* \n  \nPhone Call to Ancient Times  \n  \nOut on the lawn\, under the aspen tree \nwhere I can get good cell reception\,  \nI took a call from Johnny\, who began  \ntelling about a friend in prison\, in \nthe hole again for some infraction\, \nand I stood so still\, listening\, from \nthe blackberry thicket a rabbit \ncrept under the fence to nibble grass \nat my feet\, a lolloping fist of fur  \nwith whiskers and little ears\, with  \nan inquisitive tremble\, amiable ghost  \nfrom the lost world we shared  \nwhen there was enough for all. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nI have some thoughts about the “perfect moments” Michel wrote about in his meditations on December 14th and 16th. He mentioned slowing down. I have found that when I’m preparing a meal\, if\, instead of doing it fast\, I slow down\, I get great pleasure from cutting the vegetables. This is true for eating the meal\, doing the dishes—for any activity\, even walking across the room. \n  \nJoseph Campbell and many others say that eternity is not a long time\, it’s timelessness. We have all experienced countless perfect moments. We don’t remember most of them because they leave no trace. It’s not a problem. We don’t need to remember them. The next one is coming soon. Maybe this is it. \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \n#361: Offering Flowers to the Buddha \n  \nThis is about impermanence and how we should and should not view it. Impermanence is constant. Often viewed as negative\, as decay and death\, as loss\, and T N Hanh tells us we should enjoy things in their present moment instead of bemoaning their impermanence. \n  \nAgreed. But I take it a step further. Impermanence is death in one sense\, but also seeds of life in another. Let’s look at nature\, my favorite example for everything. \n  \nMost people see spring as birth\, rebirth\, life\, growth; summer as lushness\, abundance\, profusion\, light\, sun…life.  \n  \nThey tend to view fall as one of dying\, decay\, shutting down\, going dark. And winter? Ah\, the ultimate death: dark\, cold\, still…hibernation (from hibernus\, Latin for wintry. And  ‘hiver\,’ French for winter\, etc.) \n  \nBut when fall comes\, I feel most alive\, alert\, sharp\, eager\, ready to get-to-work. Nature agrees: bushy\, brilliant trees shed their leaves exposing lean\, bare\, shining\, black limbs\, looking like they’ve pushed up their sleeves to get ready to work. Their lean or muscular trunks stand sturdily in agreement. And now\, without all that busy foliage\, we have views beyond\, to the hills\, the sky. Views ahead. And what lies ahead? More life! Bare limbs\, branches\, and twigs house and host hundred of birds\, perching\, hopping about\, twittering\, swooping down to fetch seeds\, insects\, worms… Worms! What’s going on in all those fallen leaves\, anyway? Life\, in the form of worms! Millions of dark red\, wriggling creatures burrowing\, chomping\, aerating their way into and through piles of leaves. Creating mulch! And mulch = life! My garden loves that decayed\, death-like stuff. It eats it up! It brings me the biggest\, leafiest\, fattest\, brightest vegetables you can imagine.  \n  \nWhat else is happening when all the extravagance of spring and summer is gone? I’ll tell you what: Fungi\, that’s what!  \n  \nWhoa\, that creepy\, sneaky dark stuff that smells funky and looks weird? You bet!  \n  \nMushrooms\, lichens\, molds\, all sorts of fungi = Life! Look at bread\, wine\, beer\, cheese. All created with the indispensable help of fungi. (And what’s pizza without mushrooms\, anyway?) And look at penicillin and other antibiotics; ergot\, or LSD; fungi chemicals that produce statins! Life savers!  \n  \nFinally\, is winter really death-like? Is it the end of life? Well\, are we dead when we sleep each night? Of course not. A good night’s sleep is purely restorative\, and a good winter is nothing less. Can you imagine never sleeping but just going full-bore 24/7? Day in/day out\, year in/year out? You wouldn’t make it past day two or three. Seasons are nature’s parallel; fall and winter are rest and sleep\, but always with restoration and life at the core. \n  \nAnd then we die. Is that the end of it all? Not on your life! I will be cremated and my daughter knows just which mountain wildflower  meadow to scatter me in. I will be bone meal for the Avalanche lilies\, the valerian\, the paintbrush\, and they will love me for the strength and life I’ve brought to them. \n  \nSo (really) finally\, all these things produced by the ostensible death of stuff are nothing less that LIFE for the world.  \n  \n—Jude Russell (alive and well) \n* \n  \nThe Hsin Hsin Ming reminds me of the Dhammapada\, a collection of poetry that summarizes early Buddhist teachings. I find the Dhammapada to be very inspirational. \n  \nTaking ownership for my biases\, I do not understand the representation of Zen Buddhism as it appears in American culture. The Buddha gifted us with clear and concise instructions for training the mind\, often referred to as the Noble Eightfold Path. Meditation\, lifestyle changes\, and challenging our beliefs about “how the world works.” If you read the Buddha’s sermons in a “thematically progressive” order\, a very clear instruction manual emerges. Personally\, I need that. I’ve never really had a mind for philosophy or theology. But American Zen really advocates this message of “do nothing.” Don’t meditate. Don’t make lifestyle changes. Don’t challenge your beliefs\, because all beliefs are false. It is as though the Eightfold Path was completely cancelled out by Zen masters several hundreds of years ago. But I have a friend who ordained and studied at Venerable Thay’s Plum Village\, that is a very rigorous study and meditation practice. And people who went to study Chan in China also report: “study and meditation.” I visited a traditional Japanese Zen monastery in Washington\, and the monastics there lived and practiced in a very similar manner to the Ajahn Chah monasteries I am familiar with. So\, my bias\, my prejudice\, is I don’t understand American Zen. Traditional Zen uses the same meditation “manual” as my Vipassana meditation practice\, the Satipatthana Sutta\, “The Four Bases of Mindfulness.” Venerable  Thay [Thich Nhat Hanh] is an expert scholar of the Satipatthana Sutta in all of the ancient languages in which it was preserved\, and I have a lot of respect for his teaching. End of the day\, “their” practices are more similar than dissimilar to what I’m familiar with. \n  \n—Shad Alexander \n* \n  \nThank you Thich Nhat Hanh\, Johnny Stallings \nand your wonderful friends!  \n  \nI am here \nI see (or hear or touch) some thing \nI know it  \nYes (tiny smile) I am meditating \nMy knowing it \nMy seeing \nand my being here \nare somehow  \nrelated Yes (chuckle to myself) I am ok \nsomehow divisions \nare eased \ncan I “feel” \nhow you also \nare breathing \ncan I deeply  \nunderstand \nthat the  \nwater from a \ncloud \nis my relation? \nthe light and gray \ncolors from \nthat cloud \ncome all the \nway here \nluminous here \ncan these hard \nlines \nthese \nseeming forever \nwalls \nbe continually \n“eased” “understood” \n“held” like a child \nI am dissatisfied \ncrying inside like \na wailing child \nor a crazy politician \ncan I remember \nwhat I said \nabove \nI am here \nmy fear my dissatisfaction \nis here also \nbut I am holding (embracing) it \nlike my own mother \nlike my own niece \nlike my own beloved lover \nI am not \nkilling my fear my dissatisfaction \nmy crying child \nI am embracing them \nbreathing a long side \nbelly and fear \nare not unrelated \nare they? \nForever \nsmile \nlaugh (to yourself – don’t let them \nknow you are crazy) \nI can even \nstart to \nthink of your \nbreathing your \nthinking \nyour pain \nas my relation \nalthough these sentences are calming \ncan you \nsit here \nfor a few seconds \nor a short time \nwithout reading \nthese sentences \njust sit here \nwith the satisfaction \nbreathing \nthen with the dissatisfaction \nbreathing \nthe pain of the \nworld is also \nyours \nsmile you are Good \ncontinue forever \nmake up your \nown writing your own \nsong of the open \nlet it in form us and \nyou \nhow to dance our \nloving meditating  \n  \n—Alan Benditt  \n(roughly November 14\, 2020) 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-1-15-21/
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