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SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue  2/15/21
DESCRIPTION:photo by Kim Stafford \n  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n  \nI find it interesting how my mind works. \n—Michel Deforge \n  \nFebruary 15\, 2020 \n  \nWelcome to our sixth meditation and mindfulness dialogue! The numbers below refer to passages from the book Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh. The tag on my Yogi Tea bag says: “Compassion will make you beautiful.” (JS) \n* \n  \nHey guys\, I hope you enjoy this M & M submission. \nYou are all great & I hope you’re well. \nI’m looking forward to reading your submissions. \n  \n#95  What Is Your True Face? \n  \nAn answer from the face of ages. \n  \nWhat was my face you’ve queried\, and although I know what it is\, I can’t say it ever was. \nChange…  As far as I can tell my face has never changed. \nOnly the great multitude of masks I don in a moment’s notice can be defined as change\, and only then in a second’s split. \nUnderneath my face remains the same\, frozen\, pursed in the seeker’s scowl as it journeys through the ages. \nWhat was my face? \nMy face always is\, and in always being never was\, for the pulse of life is too strong to resist\, & the change of masks a familiar constant. \nRemember\, how could I forget? \nI still remember them all\, whether gilded\, plain\, or in between\, I still remember. \nMaybe it’s time for a change… \n  \n—Joshua Tyler Barnes \n* \n  \nI’m 25 wisdoms into Your True Home\, and so far what has occupied my thinking most is the apparent (to my novice understanding) conflict for an artist (specifically writers) trying to practice mindfulness and meditation. My struggle with meditation is that I start to have good ideas! Then\, I don’t want to forget them\, so I either A) begin ruining the meditation by trying not to forget the good idea\, or B) stop meditating so I can write down the good idea before I forget it. Also\, as a writer\, I am always applying words & labels & categories to everything I see\, thereby denying the essential emptiness of everything\, which my heart & mind both know to be true. But there is an everpresent pull\, a wish\, to exist without the endless desire to write about\, catalog\, chronicle the act of existence. This isn’t a unique torment. It’s actually something a lot of writers write about\, especially poets: “I throw my quill into the sea\, and burn my parchments\,” etc. There’s an excellent little monograph by Ben Lerner called “The Hatred of Poetry” that I recommend you read. In it\, he talks about this strange inclination\, as evidenced in the renunciations of writing by legends such as Rimbaud & Oppen. \n  \n—Alex Tretbar \n* \n  \nNot Thinking While Writing \n  \nBefore I write in the early morning\, I sit in the dark for a time\, breathing\, resisting thought but welcoming wondering\, sensation\, and the simple ache of being that is more primordial than regret or fear\, the pleasure of some hunger\, some cold. I’m in the shed\, after all\, in my chair with the strips of rug on the runners because it once lived in the fire station\, where the card players did not want to disturb the sleepers. \n  \nWhen I write\, do I want to disturb the sleepers? No\, I want to sidle into their dreams and tell them how beautiful they are\, give them wishes\, provide them with stories of simple triumph that hurts no one\, so when they wake\, life will be a little easier. So we all may be more curious than afraid. \n  \nIn 1913\, the Russian futurist poet Aleksei Kruchenykh created the word zaum\, which means ‘beyond or behind the mind.’ He sought an experimental poetic language characterized by indeterminacy: ‘beyonsense.’ \n  \nThe geese are shouting as they fly north \nso they will not be encumbered by all those \nextra syllables\, can concentrate on the magnetic \ntug toward the far beyond. \n  \nThe river leaves its shouting in the mountains  \nso in the valley it can depend on wink and whisper  \nto convey its learning\, its salmon home scent \nfor anyone alert enough to notice. \n  \nShall I throw my pen into the sea? Shall I take  \na vow of silence in order to be worthy of this  \nexistence? How many trees did my poems have to  \nkill\, anyway\, to gather these pages? Just enough. \n  \nI plant seeds of silence\, syllable by syllable. \nMy greatest gift for you is the space between words \nwhere my code tells the secrets of our oldest kinship\, \nand all my love in the silence after the last breath. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nKim also sent this poem by Chuang Tzu\, along with a writing prompt: \n  \nThe Woodcarver \n  \nKhing\, the master carver\, made a bell stand \nOf precious wood. When it was finished\, \nAll who saw it were astounded. They said it must be \nThe work of spirits. \nThe Prince of Lu said to the master carver: \nWhat is your secret? \n  \nKhing replied: I am only a workman: \nI have no secret. There is only this: \nWhen I began to think about  \nthe work you commanded \nI guarded my spirit\, did not expend it \nOn trifles\, that were not to the point. \nI fasted in order to set \nMy heart at rest. \nAfter three days fasting\, \nI had forgotten gain and success. \nAfter five days \nI had forgotten praise or criticism. \nAfter seven days I had forgotten my body \nWith all its limbs. \n  \nBy this time all thought of your Highness \nAnd of the court had faded away. \nAll that might distract me from the work \nHad vanished. \nI was collected in the single thought \nOf the bell stand. \n  \nThen I went to the forest \nTo see the trees in their own natural state. \nWhen the right tree appeared before my eyes\, \nThe bell stand also appeared in it\, clearly\,  \nbeyond doubt. \nAll I had to do was to put forth my hand \nand begin. \n  \nIf I had not met this particular tree \nThere would have been  \nNo bell stand at all. \n  \nWhat happened? \nMy own collected thought \nEncountered the hidden potential in the wood; \nFrom this live encounter came the work \nWhich you ascribe to the spirits. \n  \n—Chuang Tzu (translated by Thomas Merton) \n  \nChuang Tzu\, or Zhuang Zhou\, or Zhaungzi…was an influential Chinese philosopher who lived around the 4th century B.C.\, during the Warring States period\, a time corresponding to the summit of Chinese philosophy\, the Hundred Schools of Thought. He is credited with writing…one of the foundational texts of Taoism… He is described as a minor official from the town of Meng\, in the state of Song. (Wikipedia) \n  \nWriting prompt: Tell the story  of something you did purely for beauty\, for essence\, in response to a call that reached your heart… \n* \n  \n(Some excerpts from Michel’s meditation journal:) \n  \nJanuary 24\, 2021 \n  \n#69 Suddenly You Are Free \n  \nIt may happen like that—suddenly. Two days ago\, I was uprooted and moved from my place of comfort and peace (complacency?)\, to a new unit. I tested positive for COVID-19 on 1/14. The DOC response was to take all positives and cohort us in one unit. There was little communication and much chaos and anxiety for all affected staff. Many of my fellow prisoners are also stressed out beyond their limits\, or at the very fringe of their coping. I too was initially anxious. Because I was the only one leaving my unit and I didn’t know where I was moving or why. As soon as I learned it was not a move to the DSU/“Med” iso wing and that the goal was a conversion of a regular incentive unit into a COVID isloation/quarantine unit\, I was able to release my tensions. I hate moving!…. \n  \nYet\, somehow\, amidst all the chaos\, my stress settled quickly and I stumbled across peace\, acceptance and understanding—suddenly. I’m no great success with mindfulness and meditation. But\, sometimes it works! \n  \nIn some ways\, I see the truth of Thây’s thought in the experience\, and in some ways I wonder if he is speaking of a more deliberate and permanent result of all the work—suddenly finding freedom after looking for so many years. I do think that for something appearing suddenly\, it can also disappear just as suddenly. If I relax into the appearance and don’t grasp it tightly\, then\, maybe\, I won’t get hurt so much when it goes away just as suddenly. \n  \nJanuary 25\, 2021 \n  \n#70   Miraculous Smile \n  \nWriting here\, I am also looking at my first lines from January 1. So much has happened since then. Yet\, it is still true. Life is really “perfect” just the way it happens—whether I “like” it or not is irrelevant. Today’s writing reminds me of how easy it can be to feel better. As Thây puts it\, knowing (how) to breathe\, we can find our peace and our smile. (I wonder if I really know how to breathe.) I have had times when finding my smile has helped someone else relax a little. I have read before that faking a genuine smile will cause a shift of hormones and thoughts\, leading to having a genuine smile—I think it works. Whatever the case\, I can stop…breathe…smile at myself (or what/whom ever)…and carry on with my day. It may or may not be a grand “miracle.” It will be a smile and a moment of breathing mindfully. It will be a break\, no matter how brief\, from whatever else is competing for my life’s energy. And\, it is a moment I can control in a world of chaos. \n  \n9:00 pm Update: \n  \nHaving been awoken for mail delivery…(normally\, this would be grounds for great upset by any prisoner)\, I came to realize this poor fella (PM-swing CO) running this unit is having to keep up with a “COVID-POSITIVE” unit—with showers\, phone calls\, access to ice and water and whatever other services he must provide—like mail\, meals\, call-outs—alone… It is hard to not have compassion for anyone subjected to such work-conditions\, (or\, it’s relatively “easy\,” especially since he has been positive and generally conciliatory in the performance of his duties). I find it interesting how my mind works. A staff person whom I don’t know\, and with whom I haven’t had much contact\, comes in\, working alone\, with a positive attitude\, doing all he (or she) can to keep abreast of the daily duties\, and is doing so in a manner which does not put any of that burden upon us prisoners—is one to applaud. It is easy to feel compassion\, almost automatically\, for this person. Random thoughts at 10 pm. \n  \nJanuary 27\, 2021 \n  \n#71  Habit Energy \n  \n….I see this same pattern in my life—OLD HABIT energy holding me back or weighing me down. When I can\, I let it go. Sometimes I need to go through a challenging learning process to do this. In the end I grow. Thây doesn’t teach a technique for letting go\, but a gentle awakening to an awareness of exploration into the habit energy I do have—be it of my own creation\, or inherited. Having come to an awareness\, I then have a choice about what I do with that energy—keep\, change\, or Let Go. I have power. \n  \nJanuary 28\, 2021 \n  \n#72  You Are Safe Now \n  \nThis is not a phrase I hear here in prison often. Yet\, it’s timely. I just had a cellie on a previous unit—(they’re bouncing the COVID POSITIVES – PRE/POST CLEARANCE all over)—who was told he was to move to an unknown cell with high probability of mortal danger. Through timely machinations by kind staff he was allowed to stay put—he’s safe. That same night I got word of my immanent reassignment. I am back “home” on Unit 13. I too am safe now. I wonder how often we fail to recognize this truth in our day-to-day ordinary lives. If I never hear this\, or tell myself this\, will I be able to recognize when a crisis is over and I am again safe? My guess is: no. I wonder how many of life’s challenges became traumas simply because I didn’t know I was now “safe.” And\, maybe I never knew “safe” as part of my reality growing up\, but\, I can learn that now and maybe even offer this bit of help to another in saying\, “You’re safe now.” (Mantra exercise\, with breath.) \n  \nJanuary 29\, 2021 \n  \n#73  The Anchor \n  \nOnce again I am brought back and reminded that my breath is my connection to life. “Well\, sure\, silly! Of course it is. Everyone has to breathe to stay alive.” It is true. To live is to breathe. If I stop breathing\, I stop living. It’s an unavoidable technicality. I am\, however\, looking through Thây’s lens. When I am disconnected from my breath and breathing\, life just sort of happens without my conscious involvement—which is most often the case for me. I can’t say that anything mystical or magical happens if and when I’m alert to my breathing—connected. But\, when stressed\, if I focus on my breath and pray\, (contemplate the Infinite\, if you will)\, then I am calmed\, eventually\, and able to be more present and rational\, or in control of much of my actions and words. \n  \nMy breath becomes my “still point” (anchor)\, from which I can move out into the world around me\, regardless of events (or chaos) within it. \n  \nJanuary 30\, 2021 \n  \n#74  Caught in the Idea of a Self \n  \nThis idea of no-self (integrating self and non-self) has been a focus of mine\, off and on. I don’t know where it will lead me\, or how far I am along a path to understanding or embracing such an idea. So far\, I have learned (?) that we are all inter-related and not separate from any thing or anyone—even if our experience and sense of self-identity suggest otherwise…. \n  \nWhat I do know matters is learning to connect fully to this “life.” I can only do this through breath\, and intent. We’ve been calling this “mindfulness.” I think (it’s my guess\, mind you) that the Buddha (and all his progeny)\, Jesus and others\, are fundamentally striving to explain this very simple idea—living a complete\, whole life\, connected to reality as it is\, not as ego manufactures it to be through stories to convince the self of it being a hero of its story. I’m probably off base on this… But\, I’ll keep breathing to find out. \n  \n—Michel Deforge \n* \n  \n#46  Deep Listening and Loving Speech \n  \nDeep listening and loving speech are wonderful instruments to help us arrive at the kind of understanding we all need as a basis for appropriate action. You listen deeply for only one purpose—to allow the other person to empty his or her heart. This is already an act of relieving suffering. To stop any suffering\, no matter how small\, is a great action of peace. The path to end suffering depends on your understanding and your capacity to act without causing harm or further suffering. This is acting with compassion\, your best protection. \n  \nI wanted to write out TNH’s piece on this\, because my thoughts follow his thought\, but his are integral to mine. I keep trying to articulate what I mean when I say that relationships/understanding/connection are what give life meaning to me. But without going deeper\, those words don’t mean much. Or else they mean too much! \n  \nThich Nhat Hanh opens it up for me\, with Deep Listening and Loving Speech. Before relationship\, understanding and connection can happen\, I must listen deeply\, intently\, slowly\, and respond by speaking with love. My life is at its fullest\, its richest\, when I am listening so deeply to someone that they feel loved enough to open their heart. Listening to someone who is normally unheard\, derided\, discounted\, debased—a prison inmate; an unwed\, pregnant mom; a vet with PTSD; an angry teenager; a woman living on the edge in Meridian\, Mississippi; an Hispanic worker trying to learn English…all those who are suffering in whichever myriad ways one suffers. \n  \nA corollary to deep listening and loving speech is—time. Deep listening and deep response that lead to understanding\, relationship and connection requires years to achieve. I have always said I give everything ten years—ten years for my stepchildren to love me\, my wisteria to bloom\, my body to shed 5 pounds. I am patient. After ten years\, I re-evaluate and might give it (whatever “it” is) another ten years. In relationships time is important. Trust doesn’t happen immediately. One who is suffering has built up sturdy walls of protection\, and only time\, deep listening and loving speech can build trust and break down walls. And when those walls come down\, oh man! the richness that pours forth is a gift—the gift of life\, and relief from suffering\, the gift of peace and joy. All those things for both the person suffering and for me. \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \nI once lived in a small cabin and wrote small poems. Here are some of them: \n  \na bowl of oatmeal \nand a cup of coffee \ndid you think heaven was up in the sky somewhere? \n  \nlet go of thought \nand see what happens \n  \nall these people walking around  \nimagining that the ideas in their heads \nmake them different from each other \n  \nsitting here \nwith a cup of green tea \nI forget what it was \nthat I was so worried about \n  \ndo you imagine \nthere is some other day? \n  \nthe things we think we know \nare the stones of the prison \nin which we live \n  \nsay “I am” \nand leave it at that \n  \nwhen you see how simple it is to be happy \nyou’ll kick yourself \nfor spending so much time being miserable \n  \nwhat Reason has rent asunder \nthe Heart will make whole \n  \neverything I touch \ntouches me \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nMeditation\, it seems to me\, is like detox for the mind.  Similar to the way our bodies need detoxing when we’ve indulged in too much for too long\, our minds can become saturated with noise to the point where an intervention is required.  The remedy is the same for both the body and the mind: let go of the indulgence.  Quit drinking.  Quit thinking.  Keep still.   \n  \nThe uncluttered awareness of the meditative mind reconnects us with the elemental beauty of life.  Clarity returns.  The painful sense of isolation diminishes.   How can we not feel gratitude for such an exquisite and accessible way to restore ourselves? \n  \n—Bill Faricy \n* \n  \n#45  The Bridge \n  \nBreath is the bridge to life; in sleep or awake\, we cross the bridge always. We also share and build bridges with others by breathing in their love\, dreams\, needs and respect. Breaths & Bridges are more than air. \n  \n—Rocky Hutchinson
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-2-15-21/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210304
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210318
DTSTAMP:20260502T050058
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LAST-MODIFIED:20250718T123217Z
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SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  3/4/21
DESCRIPTION:  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \n  \nMarch Forth! (2021) \n  \nThe world is so full of a number of things. \nI’m sure we should all be as happy as kings. \n  \n—“Happy Thought\,” by Robert Louis Stevenson\, from A Child’s Garden of Verses \n  \n  \nAmong the great works of imaginative literature\, along with The Odyssey of Homer\, Dante’s Divina Commedia\, Cervantes’ Don Quixote\, Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream and Dostoevsky’s Brothers Karamazov\, we must place Crockett Johnson’s Harold and the Purple Crayon. As a philosophical vision\, it stands beside The Bhagavad Gita\, Plato’s “Allegory of the Cave\,” and Wittgenstein’s Logisch-philosophische Abhandlung. When we think of works of visual art to which we might compare it\, several come to mind: “The Adoration of of the Mystic Lamb” by Hubert and Jan van Eyck (1432)\, “The Garden of Earthly Delights” by Hieronymus Bosch (1510)\, Michelangelo’s fresco on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel (1512)\, “The Isenheim Altarpiece” by Nikolaus of Haguenau and Matthias Grünewald (1516)\, and perhaps Pablo Picasso’s “Guernica” (1937). \n  \nIn Crockett Johnson’s masterpiece\, young Harold\, dressed in those kind of flannel pajamas into which you put your feet (“onesies”)\, sets out like Parsifal on an epic journey\, armed only with a purple crayon. As he goes\, he creates the world in which he lives. He makes a moon\, so he will have moonlight to light his way. He terrifies himself with a monster from his own id. He falls into a sea of his own making\, but saves himself from drowning by drawing a boat with his purple crayon and climbing into it. I’ll say no more of what befalls our youthful protagonist on his quest. Suffice it to say that\, as in the archetypal Hero’s Journey\, he returns home with a Treasure\, and bestows it upon Humanity. The Treasure is of course the slender tome: Harold and the Purple Crayon. \n  \nAnother Bold Young Explorer is Alice. We empathize with the indomitable Alice\, who has adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass\, because we once shared her plight—the plight of the child trapped in a world of Bossy Adults\, who are irrational and/or completely insane. Here’s an example of what she has to endure: \n  \n  \n \n  \nCHAPTER VII. \nA Mad Tea-Party \n  \n     There was a table set out under a tree in front of the house\, and the March Hare and the Hatter were having tea at it: a Dormouse was sitting between them\, fast asleep\, and the other two were using it as a cushion\, resting their elbows on it\, and talking over its head. “Very uncomfortable for the Dormouse\,” thought Alice; “only\, as it’s asleep\, I suppose it doesn’t mind.” \n     The table was a large one\, but the three were all crowded together at one corner of it: “No room! No room!” they cried out when they saw Alice coming. “There’s plenty of room!” said Alice indignantly\, and she sat down in a large arm-chair at one end of the table. \n     “Have some wine\,” the March Hare said in an encouraging tone. \n     Alice looked all round the table\, but there was nothing on it but tea. “I don’t see any wine\,” she remarked. \n     “There isn’t any\,” said the March Hare. \n     “Then it wasn’t very civil of you to offer it\,” said Alice angrily. \n     “It wasn’t very civil of you to sit down without being invited\,” said the March Hare. \n     “I didn’t know it was your table\,” said Alice; “it’s laid for a great many more than three.” \n     “Your hair wants cutting\,” said the Hatter. He had been looking at Alice for some time with great curiosity\, and this was his first speech. \n     “You should learn not to make personal remarks\,” Alice said with some severity; “it’s very rude.” \n     The Hatter opened his eyes very wide on hearing this; but all he said was\, “Why is a raven like a writing-desk?” \n     “Come\, we shall have some fun now!” thought Alice. “I’m glad they’ve begun asking riddles.—I believe I can guess that\,” she added aloud. \n     “Do you mean that you think you can find out the answer to it?” said the March Hare. \n     “Exactly so\,” said Alice. \n     “Then you should say what you mean\,” the March Hare went on. \n     “I do\,” Alice hastily replied; “at least—at least I mean what I say—that’s the same thing\, you know.” \n     “Not the same thing a bit!” said the Hatter. “You might just as well say that ‘I see what I eat’ is the same thing as ‘I eat what I see’!” \n     “You might just as well say\,” added the March Hare\, “that ‘I like what I get’ is the same thing as ‘I get what I like’!” \n     “You might just as well say\,” added the Dormouse\, who seemed to be talking in his sleep\, “that ‘I breathe when I sleep’ is the same thing as ‘I sleep when I breathe’!” \n     “It is the same thing with you\,” said the Hatter\, and here the conversation dropped\, and the party sat silent for a minute\, while Alice thought over all she could remember about ravens and writing-desks\, which wasn’t much. \n     The Hatter was the first to break the silence. “What day of the month is it?” he said\, turning to Alice: he had taken his watch out of his pocket\, and was looking at it uneasily\, shaking it every now and then\, and holding it to his ear. \n     Alice considered a little\, and then said “The fourth.” \n     “Two days wrong!” sighed the Hatter. “I told you butter wouldn’t suit the works!” he added looking angrily at the March Hare. \n     “It was the best butter\,” the March Hare meekly replied. \n     “Yes\, but some crumbs must have got in as well\,” the Hatter grumbled: “you shouldn’t have put it in with the bread-knife.” \n     The March Hare took the watch and looked at it gloomily: then he dipped it into his cup of tea\, and looked at it again: but he could think of nothing better to say than his first remark\, “It was the best butter\, you know.” \n     Alice had been looking over his shoulder with some curiosity. “What a funny watch!” she remarked. “It tells the day of the month\, and doesn’t tell what o’clock it is!” \n     “Why should it?” muttered the Hatter. “Does your watch tell you what year it is?” \n     “Of course not\,” Alice replied very readily: “but that’s because it stays the same year for such a long time together.” \n     “Which is just the case with mine\,” said the Hatter. \n     Alice felt dreadfully puzzled. The Hatter’s remark seemed to have no sort of meaning in it\, and yet it was certainly English. “I don’t quite understand you\,” she said\, as politely as she could. \n     “The Dormouse is asleep again\,” said the Hatter\, and he poured a little hot tea upon its nose. \n     The Dormouse shook its head impatiently\, and said\, without opening its eyes\, “Of course\, of course; just what I was going to remark myself.” \n     “Have you guessed the riddle yet?” the Hatter said\, turning to Alice again. \n     “No\, I give it up\,” Alice replied: “what’s the answer?” \n     “I haven’t the slightest idea\,” said the Hatter. \n     “Nor I\,” said the March Hare. \n     Alice sighed wearily. “I think you might do something better with the time\,” she said\, “than waste it in asking riddles that have no answers.” \n     “If you knew Time as well as I do\,” said the Hatter\, “you wouldn’t talk about wasting it. It’s him.” \n     “I don’t know what you mean\,” said Alice. \n     “Of course you don’t!” the Hatter said\, tossing his head contemptuously. “I dare say you never even spoke to Time!” \n     “Perhaps not\,” Alice cautiously replied: “but I know I have to beat time when I learn music.” \n     “Ah! that accounts for it\,” said the Hatter. “He won’t stand beating. Now\, if you only kept on good terms with him\, he’d do almost anything you liked with the clock. For instance\, suppose it were nine o’clock in the morning\, just time to begin lessons: you’d only have to whisper a hint to Time\, and round goes the clock in a twinkling! Half-past one\, time for dinner!” \n     (“I only wish it was\,” the March Hare said to itself in a whisper.) \n     “That would be grand\, certainly\,” said Alice thoughtfully: “but then—I shouldn’t be hungry for it\, you know.” \n     “Not at first\, perhaps\,” said the Hatter: “but you could keep it to half-past one as long as you liked.” \n     “Is that the way you manage?” Alice asked. \n     The Hatter shook his head mournfully. “Not I!” he replied. “We quarrelled last March—just before he went mad\, you know—” (pointing with his tea spoon at the March Hare\,) “—it was at the great concert given by the Queen of Hearts\, and I had to sing \n  \n     ‘Twinkle\, twinkle\, little bat! \n     How I wonder what you’re at!’ \n  \nYou know the song\, perhaps?” \n     “I’ve heard something like it\,” said Alice. \n     “It goes on\, you know\,” the Hatter continued\, “in this way:— \n  \n     ‘Up above the world you fly\, \n     Like a tea-tray in the sky. \n                    Twinkle\, twinkle—’” \n  \n     Here the Dormouse shook itself\, and began singing in its sleep “Twinkle\, twinkle\, twinkle\, twinkle—” and went on so long that they had to pinch it to make it stop. \n     “Well\, I’d hardly finished the first verse\,” said the Hatter\, “when the Queen jumped up and bawled out\, ‘He’s murdering the time! Off with his head!’” \n     “How dreadfully savage!” exclaimed Alice. \n     “And ever since that\,” the Hatter went on in a mournful tone\, “he won’t do a thing I ask! It’s always six o’clock now.” \n     A bright idea came into Alice’s head. “Is that the reason so many tea-things are put out here?” she asked. \n     “Yes\, that’s it\,” said the Hatter with a sigh: “it’s always tea-time\, and we’ve no time to wash the things between whiles.” \n     “Then you keep moving round\, I suppose?” said Alice. \n     “Exactly so\,” said the Hatter: “as the things get used up.” \n     “But what happens when you come to the beginning again?” Alice ventured to ask. \n     “Suppose we change the subject\,” the March Hare interrupted\, yawning. “I’m getting tired of this. I vote the young lady tells us a story.” \n     “I’m afraid I don’t know one\,” said Alice\, rather alarmed at the proposal. \n     “Then the Dormouse shall!” they both cried. “Wake up\, Dormouse!” And they pinched it on both sides at once. \n     The Dormouse slowly opened his eyes. “I wasn’t asleep\,” he said in a hoarse\, feeble voice: “I heard every word you fellows were saying.” \n     “Tell us a story!” said the March Hare. \n     “Yes\, please do!” pleaded Alice. \n     “And be quick about it\,” added the Hatter\, “or you’ll be asleep again before it’s done.” \n     “Once upon a time there were three little sisters\,” the Dormouse began in a great hurry; “and their names were Elsie\, Lacie\, and Tillie; and they lived at the bottom of a well—” \n     “What did they live on?” said Alice\, who always took a great interest in questions of eating and drinking. \n     “They lived on treacle\,” said the Dormouse\, after thinking a minute or two. \n     “They couldn’t have done that\, you know\,” Alice gently remarked; “they’d have been ill.” \n     “So they were\,” said the Dormouse; “very ill.” \n     Alice tried to fancy to herself what such an extraordinary ways of living would be like\, but it puzzled her too much\, so she went on: “But why did they live at the bottom of a well?” \n     “Take some more tea\,” the March Hare said to Alice\, very earnestly. \n     “I’ve had nothing yet\,” Alice replied in an offended tone\, “so I can’t take more.” \n     “You mean you can’t take less\,” said the Hatter: “it’s very easy to take more than nothing.” \n     “Nobody asked your opinion\,” said Alice. \n     “Who’s making personal remarks now?” the Hatter asked triumphantly. \n     Alice did not quite know what to say to this: so she helped herself to some tea and bread-and-butter\, and then turned to the Dormouse\, and repeated her question. “Why did they live at the bottom of a well?” \n     The Dormouse again took a minute or two to think about it\, and then said\, “It was a treacle-well.” \n     “There’s no such thing!” Alice was beginning very angrily\, but the Hatter and the March Hare went “Sh! sh!” and the Dormouse sulkily remarked\, “If you can’t be civil\, you’d better finish the story for yourself.” \n     “No\, please go on!” Alice said very humbly; “I won’t interrupt again. I dare say there may be one.” \n     “One\, indeed!” said the Dormouse indignantly. However\, he consented to go on “And so these three little sisters—they were learning to draw\, you know—” \n     “What did they draw?” said Alice\, quite forgetting her promise. \n     “Treacle\,” said the Dormouse\, without considering at all this time. \n     “I want a clean cup\,” interrupted the Hatter: “let’s all move one place on.” \n     He moved on as he spoke\, and the Dormouse followed him: the March Hare moved into the Dormouse’s place\, and Alice rather unwillingly took the place of the March Hare. The Hatter was the only one who got any advantage from the change: and Alice was a good deal worse off than before\, as the March Hare had just upset the milk-jug into his plate. \n     Alice did not wish to offend the Dormouse again\, so she began very cautiously: “But I don’t understand. Where did they draw the treacle from?” \n     “You can draw water out of a water-well\,” said the Hatter; “so I should think you could draw treacle out of a treacle-well—eh\, stupid?” \n     “But they were in the well\,” Alice said to the Dormouse\, not choosing to notice this last remark. \n     “Of course they were\,” said the Dormouse; “—well in.” \n     This answer so confused poor Alice\, that she let the Dormouse go on for some time without interrupting it. \n     “They were learning to draw\,” the Dormouse went on\, yawning and rubbing its eyes\, for it was getting very sleepy; “and they drew all manner of things—everything that begins with an M—” \n     “Why with an M?” said Alice. \n     “Why not?” said the March Hare. \n     Alice was silent. \n     The Dormouse had closed its eyes by this time\, and was going off into a doze; but\, on being pinched by the Hatter\, it woke up again with a little shriek\, and went on: “—that begins with an M\, such as mouse-traps\, and the moon\, and memory\, and muchness—you know you say things are “much of a muchness”—did you ever see such a thing as a drawing of a muchness?” \n     “Really\, now you ask me\,” said Alice\, very much confused\, “I don’t think—” \n     “Then you shouldn’t talk\,” said the Hatter. \n     This piece of rudeness was more than Alice could bear: she got up in great disgust\, and walked off; the Dormouse fell asleep instantly\, and neither of the others took the least notice of her going\, though she looked back once or twice\, half hoping that they would call after her: the last time she saw them\, they were trying to put the Dormouse into the teapot. \n     “At any rate I’ll never go there again!” said Alice as she picked her way through the wood. “It’s the stupidest tea-party I ever was at in all my life!” \n     Just as she said this\, she noticed that one of the trees had a door leading right into it. “That’s very curious!” she thought. “But everything’s curious today. I think I may as well go in at once.” And in she went. \n     Once more she found herself in the long hall\, and close to the little glass table. “Now\, I’ll manage better this time\,” she said to herself\, and began by taking the little golden key\, and unlocking the door that led into the garden. Then she went to work nibbling at the mushroom (she had kept a piece of it in her pocket) till she was about a foot high: then she walked down the little passage: and then—she found herself at last in the beautiful garden\, among the bright flower-beds and the cool fountains. \n  \n  \nOh dear! I wanted to talk about some more books for children of all ages. Another day\, perhaps. Stay tuned. \n  \nMay all people be happy. \nMay we live in peace & love. \n  \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-3-4-21/
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