BEGIN:VCALENDAR
VERSION:2.0
PRODID:-//The Open Road:  a learning community - ECPv6.15.3//NONSGML v1.0//EN
CALSCALE:GREGORIAN
METHOD:PUBLISH
X-ORIGINAL-URL:https://openroadpdx.com
X-WR-CALDESC:Events for The Open Road:  a learning community
REFRESH-INTERVAL;VALUE=DURATION:PT1H
X-Robots-Tag:noindex
X-PUBLISHED-TTL:PT1H
BEGIN:VTIMEZONE
TZID:America/Los_Angeles
BEGIN:DAYLIGHT
TZOFFSETFROM:-0800
TZOFFSETTO:-0700
TZNAME:PDT
DTSTART:20210314T100000
END:DAYLIGHT
BEGIN:STANDARD
TZOFFSETFROM:-0700
TZOFFSETTO:-0800
TZNAME:PST
DTSTART:20211107T090000
END:STANDARD
END:VTIMEZONE
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210315
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210415
DTSTAMP:20260502T024423
CREATED:20210316T024709Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20211130T014147Z
UID:1849-1615766400-1618444799@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness  3/15/21
DESCRIPTION:picture by Andy Larkin \n  \n  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n  \nMarch 15\, 2021 \n  \nA note on this picture: \n  \nA couple of years ago I began illustrating a South Indian book on meditation and mindfulness called “A Hundred Verses of Self-Instruction” by a 19th century yogi from South India named Narayana Guru. This picture shows Verse 16\, which reads as follows: \n  \nA very vast wasteland suddenly \nflooded by a river in spate – thus comes the sound \nthat fills the ears and opens the eyes of the one who is never distracted; \nsuch should be the experience of the seer par excellence. \n  \nEveryone who meditates probably hears about some far-off experience called “enlightenment” that’s had only after years of heroic meditation sitting in a cave. When you read this verse\, you might think that’s what’s being described\, but I don’t think the author intended that. In a certain sense\, there’s something in us that’s always focused\, never distracted. It was working when you first opened your eyes this morning and looked out on your world. It was a wordless awareness that heard every thought you’ve had today\, and it monitored your heartbeat and your respiration when you were deeply asleep. If you look for it\, you can’t see it\, and you can’t say anything about it\, other than that it Is. So the picture shows you\, the “seer par excellence\,” in the center\, with that wordless awareness functioning continually in all these ways. As that awareness is all-filling\, the author likened it to a river in full flood. \n  \nI hope you enjoy the picture! \n  \nWith best wishes to all \n—Andy Larkin \n* \n  \nWe are what we think. \nAll that we are arises with our thoughts. \nWith our thoughts we make the world. \n  \n—words of the Buddha\, from The Dhammapada\, version by Thomas Byrom \n* \n  \nWelcome to our seventh meditation and mindfulness dialogue! The numbers below refer to passages from the book Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh. (JS) \n* \n  \nA few months ago\, I squeezed a whitehead near the tip of my nose\, squeezing out a most satisfying tiny white tube of gook. It turned out that in my enthusiasm\, I must have squeezed out some of the material that actually constituted that part of my nose\, because the next morning there was a pit displayed there\, of inestimable depth. \nOver the ensuing months I have sometimes used cortisone cream or vitamin E to help along my body’s unceasing but ineffective efforts to rebuild that little piece of nasal real estate. Most of the time\, I have just watched\, in my bathroom mirror\, the ceaseless process of rebuilding\, destruction\, rebuilding\, etc… Had this happened sixty-five years ago\, when I was fifteen (and it probably did\, given all the squeezing I was doing in those days)\, it would have healed in a week.  \nThis increasing inability of my body to fight my and time’s ravishings is part of a gradual slowing down of my systems. I can feel and see\, in and on my body and brain\, the cascade of imperfections always coming and coming. \nThe falling away of functions is like being stroked; I am being prepared\, so gently really\, molecule by molecule\, to detach completely from this pulpy shell that is me and not-me. \nAll ways of going are good. I am very grateful to be able to participate\, so far\, in this way. \n  \n—Ken Margolis \n* \n  \n[Here are some excerpts from Michel’s meditation and mindfulness journal. I highly recommend the practice of keeping a journal to everyone. JS] \n  \nFebruary 1\, 2021 \n#75  Your True Nature \nThis idea could challenge some of us. For me\, the point I think Thây is trying to make is: not only is “heaven” or “nirvana” possible\, but\, like the ability to awaken (be a buddha)\, is already contained within all of us. If this existence is simply part of the journey\, then\, maybe\, I don’t have to attach to the identity of this self (or body driving that story). I can release those judgements—good/bad\, up/down\, like/dislike\, etc.—and simply be. I think this is where the challenge of living arises: letting go of attachment to preconceived (or inherited) beliefs or notions about life and what comes next. We can focus on the life we live now and be part of the now. The future\, not needing our control\, or guidance\, will attend to itself without our involvement (including whatever comes after “life.”) \nWe can and do (briefly) experience nirvana (“heaven on earth”). Sometimes\, I think\, it happens and we’re too busy with past/future concerns to notice. Other times\, we realize what we’ve found and\, in our excitement\, we begin grasping at that (old) moment\, trying to hold on to “perfection” forever. It’s fleeting\, this thing called “now.” If we learn to hold gently\, with open hands\, we might be able to relax into a moment\, become more familiar and comfortable in that space\, and eventually we may even bring some of it with us to share with others. \nWhatever it is\, or whatever it looks/feels like\, words will fail us to describe and share with others. We’ll know that they would benefit from what we found\, (our experience—but one of their own)\, yet each person must find his/her own way to nirvana/heaven in the now. The journey is where we find “the meaning\,” not the destination. I suspect this is why the Buddha had so much to say—not only do words fail us\, but others (each uniquely) hear a message differently\, based on their own life experience. My excitement\, over a moment in heaven on earth can pull me out of my “moment….” \nFor me\, it is like practicing zazen (just sitting) in the Zen dojo. I practice in a safe neutral space with the intent that the effect of learning to be present to the “now” will leach over into everyday life. I see heaven/nirvana interaction the same way. As I learn to be more present to “now\,” I am able to do so during ordinary (non-cushion practice) life. Likewise\, as I experience heaven\, I can just be with this. Eventually\, the experience will be transferable (translatable?) to everyday life too. May you find your nirvana soon. \n  \nFebruary 4\, 2021 \n#78  The Wounded Child \nThis is a toughie. I am aware of my wounded child within. I just don’t\, (or haven’t been aware of how to)\, understand “embracing” the child within. I have made some deliberate efforts to connect. So far\, I’ve not had much success even being aware of him. One day\, I’ll be able to create a sense of safety for him and be attentive to his needs—through practicing mindfulness. Until then\, I keep doing my best to care for this mind/body and practice mindful living often—on and off cushion—mostly “off cushion” currently. \nI don’t know about you\, but I want to connect with my child self—wounded or not. To reconnect\, reopen\, or revive the state of child-like awe and wonder—to embrace and protect that awareness. Being a “grown-up” doesn’t mean being “old.” Our world values strange\, alien ideals which we were compelled/forced to adopt/adhere our self identity. A result is we close off from parts of the world\, or shut down awareness to the beauty\, and then struggle for the rest of our adult life to return to that connection\, awareness\, “innocence” we once possessed. Some never find it again\, due to looking for outward objects for inward fulfillment. Our inner child\, wherever he or she is hiding\, is waiting to be heard\, seen\, loved\, held\, protected\, and known again. We only need to be quiet\, look and listen. \n  \nFebruary 14\, 2021 \n#82  Something to Believe In \nIt is a day dedicated to ideals of love—regardless of its origins or current capitalization. I am a little bit tender of heart. NEWS INSIDE from the Marshall Project\, (Issue 6\, December\, 2020)  \n(https://www.themarshallproject.org/2020/06/04/i-wonder-if-they-know-my-son-is-loved)\, \n  \n “I Wonder If They Know My Son Is Loved” by Ymilul Bates: This was a heart rending story of what one mother experienced as she visited her young son. Words fail to express other feelings for me\, beyond the sadness I experience thinking of what my own mother has faced to come visit me—and I wonder how she has “felt” about all of this—worsened by guilt that I dragged my parents into this place with me. But that’s love\, isn’t it? To follow your loved ones wherever they may go—emotionally\, if not physically—to set aside my comfort and accept a new paradigm for “normal\,” and go to a place (made to create fear and isolation) to bring and/or share comfort\, compassion and love to a person I care about. I wonder if I could do it\, to be strong enough to overcome discomfort and fear to share a restricted moment with an other\, for whom I feel love—could I? I want to hope so. I’ve only known this side of the exchange—receiving the gift of love and compassion\, the gifting of value estimation to remind me that I do have worth in this world. Whether it has been my mother and father\, uncle and aunt (in person)\, or the generous volunteers of Group Dialogue and Theatre for OHOM\, or religious volunteers and teachers—each has brought light\, color\, beauty\, love\, compassion inside\, and shown me that I am more than a number\, a statistic\, a criminal code violation followed by a sentence\, that I am still a human being\, that I still have worth and value\, that I am still lovable\, able to love\, and that I am worthy of it. The saddest\, darkest hour must be for those here for whom the call never comes for a visit\, a program\, a call-out to school or any other life-affirming event; because these walls give back only noise\, overwhelming light\, or absolute darkness\, (never warmth)\, and they never give back love\, compassion\, or humanity. So on this day of love\, SOMETHING TO BELIEVE IN is  love. We each do our part to hold on to our spark\, but to fan the flame I found I must give it away to another—two sparks become a flame\, many sparks can become a fire to warm ourselves\, together. \n(Now\, I’ve paused to read…Thây.) \nThây spoke of mindfulness as the “something” to believe in\, which is present in everyday concrete actions\, such as sitting or drinking water. I offer this to add. Experiencing love. If I give of myself\, whatever the moment may be\, to the experience of love\, and I do it mindfully\, (focused\, fully present\, not distracted by past or future\, or worries clouding the now)\, then I can sink into the moment and really feel  this love. I will also be ready to return love\, fully committed and freely. \nI can’t think of a time\, since being incarcerated (August\, 2007) to the present\, or even prior to being locked away\, that the idea of love has not been my quest\, my holy grail. I didn’t always have the words\, or the capacity to express/receive (with full awareness) love as it was offered. But I was always pursuing it as a precious gem\, a treasure beyond compare\, buried beneath a mountain. I have experienced various moments over the years\, when awakened to the reality and beauty of love\, and now know it was not a fable\, or a lie\, or something just for those others more special than I. To this day I still struggle and search for my place in the sun\, and I Believe\, when it’s my time\, I’ll find the completeness held within. Until then\, I can BELIEVE IN this reality I have for now\, knowing I have love inside and outside these dark and musty walls. \n  \nFebruary 28\, 2021 \n#88  The Deepest Relief   (the day after turning 49!) \n“…the deepest kind of relief is the realization of nirvana” (or heaven on earth\, if you would prefer different terms.) The best part of today’s thought is this: Everything is “perfect” as it is; I have everything necessary to fully realize heaven on Earth for this self right now\, and all I need to do to access this is—breathe\, all the rest can take care of itself…. \nI find the allegory of farming—“cultivation” to be highly relevant. We must prepare soil for planting—tilling\, weeding\, fertilizing\, watering\, more tilling\, resting\, exposing to nature\, etc.—then we can “plant” seeds\, water and fertilize for a specific result. \nI think life can be much the same. Mindfulness can be both plowing/tilling of soil—turning up the deep and rich fertile ground—and it can also be the time allowing the ground to rest in nature…. We reap what we sow\, so they say—I think “they” are right….. \nWhen I neglect all of my practice\, I find the ground hard and dry; no matter how abundant the rains have been. But when I maintain even a small practice I find life is grander\, and I am more of the person I desire to be. I may not attract all the butterflies and pollinators to my “field\,” as I desire; at least the ones who do attend my field are appreciated and seen. \nI want to encourage each and everyone to discover and develop a time and space to focus  on and to “cultivate” a garden of life. I believe it will make all the difference to be deliberate\, rather than hoping for a “happy accident” to come about—it’s not as common as many wish it was. I too shall strive towards a daily\, regular\, focused\, recharge of love. \n  \n—Michel Deforge \n* \n  \nShakespeare said: “All the world’s a stage\, and all the men and women merely players.” Like Plato’s Cave\, this is a deep metaphor. When called upon\, we play our parts. At the moment\, I’m offstage. Nothing is required of me. I don’t have to pretend to be Johnny Stallings until I get my next cue. \n  \nBright sunlight this morning (3/6/21). Always welcome this time of year. The forms and colors of Spring are vivid. I like to sit quietly\, like this\, in the morning. Even words like “meditation” and “mindfulness” are unnecessary. It’s too ordinary (and too extraordinary) to be named. I like how\, in the last verse of the Hsin Hsin Ming\, Seng Ts’an says: “No past\, no future\, no now.” No now! \n  \n—(pretending for a moment to be) Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nBelow is a copy of the Dalai Lama’s morning meditation to begin with right intention for the day. I think you will enjoy and relate. \nI thought it might be great for the dialogue people too. It makes me think of the intentions we must make to come regularly with kind and open intentions for everyone’s well being.   \nThis prayer was written by Shantideva\, a Buddhist monk of the Mahayana tradition who lived around 700 AD. It is said that His Holiness the Dalai Lama considers this text to be THE source for developing altruism in your character and the “Spirit of Awakening.” It is also said that His Holiness the Dalai Lama recites this prayer every morning as part of his waking rituals. \n  \nBodhisattva Prayer for Humanity \nMay I be a guard for those who need protection \nA guide for those on the path \nA boat\, a raft\, a bridge for those who wish to cross the flood \nMay I be a lamp in the darkness \nA resting place for the weary \nA healing medicine for all who are sick \nA vase of plenty\, a tree of miracles \nAnd for the boundless multitudes of living beings \nMay I bring sustenance and awakening \nEnduring like the earth and sky \nUntil all beings are freed from sorrow \nAnd all are awakened. \n  \nWhat a beautiful prayer to start a new day! A Bodhisattva is a person who has attained Enlightenment\, but who postpones Nirvana in order to help others to attain Enlightenment.  \n  \nThe bodhisattva ideal: \n  \nThe teachings of Buddhism are about your life\, about being the person you are. The practices of Buddhism are about being willing to be intimate with yourself\, with your idiosyncrasies. So when we talk about compassion and the ideal of the bodhisattva\, we are talking about how we as ordinary people—with this body\, this mind\, this life\, these problems—can find generosity\, effort\, and wisdom right here and now. We realize that they are always available. \nBodhisattvas are beings who are dedicated to the universal awakening\, or enlightenment\, of everyone. They exist as guides and providers of relief to suffering beings. They are models who exemplify lives dedicated to eradicating suffering in the world. Bodhisattvas can be awesome in their power\, radiance\, and wisdom\, and they can be as ordinary as your next-door neighbor. Bodhisattvas appear wherever they can be most helpful. Being a bodhisattva is especially about being an adult – a playful\, compassionate\, creative adult.  \nJohnny embodies the life of a bodhisattva.  I think there are others in the dialogue group that we may view this way. \n  \n—Katie Radditz \n  \n[Leaving aside questions of nirvana and enlightenment\, in my view\, anyone who sincerely desires to love all people\, and “all creatures great and small” is in tune with the bodhisattva ideal. Maybe a bodhisattva is nothing more or less than a kind person. JS] \n* \n  \n[Howard is doing an online study course with Nancy Yeilding and other friends on Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras. JS] \n  \nI just sent in my assignment for Nancy Yeilding’s class and I thought maybe with a little modification it could be my contribution to the meditation letter. \n  \nSutra II:43 \n  \nPerfection of the body and sense organs through destruction of impurity by self-purification. \n  \nThe deepest inquiry of yoga was expressed by Ramana Maharshi as\, “Who am I?”  \nWhen I say “my body” or “my mind” there is a presumption of separation. There is “I” and there is “my body” and the two are at odds with each other. “I” want to “control my body” or “I” want to “control my mind” but who is this “I” who thinks it can chop pieces off of the whole and then control them? \nThe body is not some dog that has to be beaten into submission. But neither is it some dog that has to be well fed and trained. It is the very matrix of my being. It is the finest intelligence\, awareness\, the consequence of a billion years of evolution. It perceives the world and it simultaneously creates the world. There is no brain without the body…and no heart\, either. \nIn Buddhism they say the first prerequisite for enlightenment is a human birth.  \nThere’s a famous Zen story in which a person brags that his master can walk on water. Another student says\, “My teacher can also perform miracles. When he is tired he sleeps; when he is hungry he eats.” To me this story has infinite implications and ramifications.  \nWhat is purity?—what is purification? Meister Eckhart said\, “To be pure is to have no thoughts.” \nHow to have no thoughts? Listen\, listen\, listen.  \nI feel that “tapas”—purification—is listening\, with all the connotations of that beautiful word. When I am listening\, there is no division. If I am listening and the voice of division arises\, it is just another sound like the song of the bird or the beep beep beep of the truck backing up…it has no more “authority” than that.  \nIf I listen\, I can sleep when I am tired and eat when I am hungry. \n  \n—Howard Thoresen \n* \n  \nHere’s a recent one: \n  \n                     Radical Justice  \n  \nMy dream displayed two words: radical justice. \nNo scene\, no story\, just those syllables delivered \nto a man\, American\, in the age of gizmos\, of radical \ninjustice careening toward catastrophe. So my outer life  \nsays to my inner life\, What do you mean? Are you saying  \nGive back the Western Hemisphere to First People here? \nAre you demanding Deep reparations for slavery? \nDo you specify The rich divest utterly? Do you say  \nRadical kindness to all creatures of the Earth?  \n  \nIf these\, they are far beyond my power\, yes? Well\, \nno. For if I choose to be a citizen of justice\, every act  \nwill question: What is best for every one and all? \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nIn meditation I was made aware of the fact that I have forgotten to smile…for quite a long time. In fact\, I have been unable (chosen not) to read\, think about\, write about\, many things. I have been unwilling to communicate in many ways\, including with myself\, or the larger consciousness. I feel a failure (no lectures\, please). Realizing that I had stopped taking my “smiling medicine\,” I became aware of a song I wrote as part of a song writing challenge here at DRCI a while back. I share the lyrics despite the fact that I believe that song lyrics often don’t translate well to silent poetry. So\, if any of you are “anti-rhymers”—read no further. Rhyme facilitates meter\, which combines in powerful ways with melody & harmony\, in my not so humble opinion. Maybe sometime I will be able to share this in its entirety\, it is the best advice I can offer myself & others. Thank you so much for The Open Road in both forms\, much anticipated\, highly appreciated. \n  \nLearning To Smile \n  \nWithout a smile\, I walk a mile \nSmilin’ just not my style \nI miss my friends\, I miss my wife \nI miss my outside life \n  \nBut there’s beauty to see \nAir to breathe \nThoughts to think and hear and be \n  \nA smile overcomes all grief and pain \nIt takes me home again \nSo I force a smile\, walk that mile \nSmilin’ might become my style \n  \nBecause there’s beauty to see \nAir to breathe \nThoughts to think and hear and be \n  \nSo\, check out this smile\, it’ll be here a while \nIt helps me through this trial \nMy spirit lifts\, the smile grips \nMy mood and won’t let go \n  \nSo there’s beauty to see \nAir to breathe \nThoughts to think and hear and be \n  \nI’m alive\, I’m headed home \nWhen I smile I’m free \n  \n—T. String Clements \n© 2019 \n* \n  \nI had to smile when I read the Feb 15\, 2021 Open Road M & M dialogue filled with many intrigues. In particular\, and most notably to me\, the 3rd to the last line in the poem by Kim Stafford\, which says: “My greatest gift for you is the space between words.” The reason this stood out to me is that I recently was reading a book titled Forbidden Science by Douglas Kenyon\, which is a collection of articles\, one of which is titled “Altered States” by Patrick Marsolek. In this is a reference to an experiment by… \n  \n“…Dr. Les Fehmi…a psychologist and neurofeedback researcher from Princeton\, also studying the value of subjective experience\, as well as what we know about the physical mechanisms of the brain. He promotes an open focus state of awareness signified by synchronous alpha frequencies in the brain. He first experienced these alpha frequencies for himself when he tried and failed. ‘At the moment of surrender I experienced a deep and profound feeling of disappointment. Fortunately\, I surrendered while still connected to my EEG and while still receiving feedback. It was surprising to observe that I now produced five times the amount of alpha than before the act of surrendering.’ After learning how to open his focus and create the alpha waves\, he ‘felt more open\, lighter\, freer\, more energetic and spontaneous. A broader perspective ensued\, which allowed me to experience a more whole and subtle understanding. As the letting go unfolded\, I felt more intimate with sensory experience\, more intuitive….’ \n“Fehmi found that imagining space was one of the ways to force the brain to stop grasping and move into open focus. The state is experienced as ‘a vast three-dimensional space\, nothingness\, absence\, silence\, and timelessness. The scope of our attention is not only expanded\, but is experienced with greater immersion. Thus\, the ground of our experience is reified\, realized as a more pronounced sense of presence\, a centered and unified awareness\, an identity with a vast quality-less awareness in which all objects of sensation float\, as myself.’ This sounds surprisingly similar to meditators’ reports when they quieted the orientation area in their brains. You can get a taste of open focus now\, if you want. As you read\, become aware of he space in between the letters on the page while you are attending to the words and the meaning of the words. Can you also be aware of the space between you and the paper? At the same time\, is it also possible to be aware of the sounds around you? Let all of that stay with you as you attend to the words and to the meanings of the words you read.” \n  \nWhen I read Kim’s words\, this immediately came to mind. I’d also like to include the next two paragraphs of this for you: \n  \n“Fehmi believes that the way we pay attention is important. If someone is always in narrow objective focus\, he will start to experience stress\, regardless of the content of his attention. Fehmi was chronically in narrow focus; that is why he experienced such a profound breakthrough. He finally gave up and went into the open focus state. Consideration of our society’s chronic narrow focus may help us to explain both rampant drug use and fascination with meditation and ecstatic spiritual states. These methods help us to alleviate the tension of remaining chronically narrow focused in our consensus trance. \n“The relief that comes with altering our attention and our consciousness is more than just feeling good. Fehmi’s open focus\, hypnotic trances\, and other ecstatic states have been shown to bring about the remission of many stress-related symptoms\, chronic pain\, insomnia\, even eye and skin disorders. People who have been the most narrow focused may experience the most profound results. With practice most people can experience lasting changes.” \n  \nI can personally attest that the more I try this idea of “space between” things\, the more my body seems to relax. \n  \n–Joseph Opyd \n* \n  \nAches and Tensions #337 \n  \n“When I breathe in\, I generate the energy of mindfulness. With this energy\,  I recognize my body’s aches and tensions. I begin to embrace my body tenderly\, and allow any tension to be released. Many of us accumulate a lot of tension and pressure in our bodies\, working them too hard. It’s time to come home to our body. This is possible anytime\, anywhere\, whether we are sitting\, lying\, standing or walking.” \nAches and tensions I have been intimately familiar with the past two weeks – actually for about a year before that. My feet have had so much wear and tear from years of sports that I was hobbling in pain\, no matter what the shoes I wore. After complicated foot surgery two weeks ago – pins\, screws\, splints\, twenty stitches looking like black spider legs – I know the aches and pains of slow recovery. \nI have returned to the practice of sitting and breathing\, thirty minutes each day\, this past year. Usually it takes me a little while to let go. Breathe in – I wonder how Harry and Meghan are feeling. Breathe out – Will this fingernail ever stop splitting? In – Should I divide those peonies now or wait until fall?  Out – Those dang voter suppression bills are gonna sink us if they all pass…  Finally the breath and the body prevail and the mind goes. But not lately. \nThe severe pain of the foot surgery has caused extreme tension in my body. I can hardly walk (nor should I)\, and my breathing is shallow and rapid. I resumed sitting about five days after surgery. Not easy. Aches\, pain\, tension create a mind disjointed from the body\, let me tell you. I’m sure everyone has experienced this (or is experiencing it now) and can remember how pain can suck you dry.   The first three days of sitting were hopeless. I just sat and went through the motions\, waiting for something to change. And then I read this ‘everyday wisdom\,’ #337. There it was: “It’s time to come home to our body.”  And then\, that is just what happened. Breathing in\, breathing out – this body is miraculous. This breath is miraculous. And since then\, when I sit\, my body smiles and relaxes. We are back together —mind\, body\, breath.  And where did that pain go\, anyway? \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \nOne of my favorite writers has been Thomas Merton. One example of why: \n  \nWhat I wear is pants.  \nWhat I do is live.  \nHow I pray is breathe.  \nWho said Zen? \n Wash out your mouth if you said Zen.  \nIf you see a meditation going by\, shoot it.  \nWho said “Love?”  \nLove is in the movies.  \nThe spiritual life is something people worry about when they are so busy with something else they think they ought to be spiritual.  \nSpiritual life is guilt.  \nUp here in the woods is seen the New Testament:  \nthat is to say\,  \nthe wind comes through the trees and you breathe it. \n  \n—from the memoir “Day of a Stranger\,” published in the Hudson Review\, Summer 1967 \n  \nIn this ground-breaking essay\, Merton allows himself to speak in the unexpurgated voice of the self he was excavating to be most true. You can read the entire essay here: \n  \nhttps://hudsonreview.com/1967/07/day-of-a-stranger/ \n  \n—Deborah Buchanan \n* \n  \nThis is for the meditation & mindfulness newsletter. It’s out of my heart\, not “Your True Home.” \n  \nMany times in my life I would sit and deeply think to myself. This is before I knew what it was to meditate. Many times I have imagined my self being a massive stone out in the sea. With wave after crushing wave breaking on me. The wave represented all of the whips and scorns of life. Nothing could ever break me. \n  \nThe inevitability is that the erosion\, pressure & time have slowly taken their toll on me. With a full and happy heart I will turn to sand on an eternal beach inside the hourglass of time. \n  \nBlessings\, \nPeace\, \nJoy\, \nUnconditionally \nLove \nAll \nThere is in Life \n  \n—Rocky Hutchinson \n* \n  \nReflections On Meditation \n  \nGreetings to this worthy sangha. My name is Peter Oppenheimer. I’m an old crony of Johnny Stallings. I think it was 1973. Johnny and I were spending days\, and some nights\, together in a hospital in South India\, attending to our teacher’s teacher\, a well-known guru thereabouts.   \n At one point\, when I think\, only Johnny and I were in the room\, Guru motioned from his bed for me to come near. He said\, “I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be around. Do you want to ask me anything?”   \nI was taken aback. Daily I had countless questions\, but in the calming aura of his presence and under the spotlight of his gaze\, I couldn’t immediately think of one. “Oh yeah\,” I thought and asked\, “Can you teach me how to meditate?” His response was quickly made and quickly over\, “Meditate on the world without you in it.” Boom.  That was/is both a tall order and has become a lifelong aspirational practice of mine. \nOddly enough\, years later when I told my own guru about what his guru had suggested to me as how to meditate\, he said\, “That’s funny. Guru told me the opposite.  He told me to meditate on the room that I was in as being all inside and having no outside.”   \nAnd there’s another secret of meditation. There can be many ways to meditate\, but the paths all converge at the same goal. What is that goal?    \nAn inner quietude\, an inner fortitude\, an inner gratitude\, an inner clarity\, an inner affection\, an affection both that we have tasted from others and from Nature\, and an affection that we have within us as a treasure to share with others. This manifests as universal good will. These are all primary indicators of successful meditation. \nIf that’s the goal\, then how do we get there? \nDuring the ensuing 5 decades after those words of the guru\, I have studied and practiced several types or schools of seated-meditation\, such as the one taught by Johnny’s and my guru\, several practices taught by different Indian schools of yoga\, and zazen\, the practice of Zen Buddhist meditation.   \nThere’s been a through-line in all of these approaches to meditation. They all start from and aim at maintaining a state of mindfulness\, a “Be Here Now” approach to mental self-discipline.  Another common thread I’ve noticed is using one’s breath to help focus on the here and now. Just notice\, your breath. Be with it\, and in essence become your breath. In and out. In and out. Calmly. Mindfully. Affectionately. It is the energy from your breath that keeps your heart beating and the blood circulating. Be mindful of that going on.  Part of mindfulness or “being here now” includes body awareness – pains and pleasures\, strains and pressures. How fully can you be with your breath and your body?  If you can be simply present for what’s going on within you\, the chances are good that you will be able to be present and available to what arises in the world around you. \nSitting meditation is not for everyone.  Sometimes in the case of trauma survivors\, sitting and observing one’s thoughts can be too triggering.  The state and fruits of “Meditation\,” as discussed above\, can be attained not only through sitting\, but also if done whole-heartedly through\, among others things – walking\, running\, dancing\, drawing\, singing\, cooking\, conversing\, writing\, communing with nature\, laughing\, sharing affection\, or simply taking a moment to feel comfortable in one’s own skin and feel open to what arises. Then the practice becomes to be prepared to treat everything which arises (within and without) with generosity\, uprightness\, patience\, enthusiasm\, concentration\, and  wisdom. \nFinally\, coming back to my Grandguru’s instruction to “meditate on the world without you in it\,” years later a Zen teacher of mine\, with whom I sat periods of zazen\, described meditation as “cutting the storyline of your own inner narrative.”  My and Johnny’s Guru\, Nitya\, sometimes described meditation as shifting one’s identity from the ego-center to the spirit-center. The ego is our self with a small “s” and revolves around uniqueness\, what separates us from others. Whereas the spirit-center is our Self with a large “S” and revolves around that inner spirit which ignites and unites us. When we forget or transcend our smaller self and slip into a flow state\, there arises within us an identity or belongingness with the world around us. It’s a state of both peacefulness and vibrance. All of this is what I have come to know as a meditative state. \nI invite and welcome any additions\, corrections\, questions or comments from the sangha. I will be happy to respond and continue the conversation. With Love and Best Wishes to all…… \n  \n—Peter Oppenheimer \n* \n  \n[Peter is inviting people to have a dialogue with him. Feel free to use the monthly Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue as a place to have conversation\, and respond to what others have written. If people inside or outside the prison walls want to be pen pals with others in this “sangha\,” let me know. I can help with that. JS]
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-3-15-21/
ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/03/0.jpeg
END:VEVENT
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210317
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210401
DTSTAMP:20260502T024423
CREATED:20210318T210043Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20210318T212856Z
UID:1899-1615939200-1617235199@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:25th Annual Exhibition of Art by Michigan Prisoners  March 17th-31st
DESCRIPTION:Gas-n-Go by Bradlee Cournaya; Hypervigilance by Bryan Picken \n  \n  \n25th Annual Exhibition of Art by Michigan Prisoners \n  \n  \nThere are some amazing works of art for sale\, now through the 31st of March. Highly recommended!! \n  \nHere’s a link to the website: \n  \nhttps://dcc.carceralstateproject.lsa.umich.edu/s/pcapexhibition25/page/home \n  \nSpend some time on the website.  There’s lots to see! The full price of the artwork goes to the artist. \n  \npeace\, love & creativity! \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/25th-annual-exhibition-of-art-by-michigan-prisoners-march-17th-31st/
ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/03/a20001cb2b68f953d80eefbf5b93567339b41dfc-e1658164852536.jpg
END:VEVENT
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210318
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210401
DTSTAMP:20260502T024423
CREATED:20210318T171956Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20210318T172302Z
UID:1872-1616025600-1617235199@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  3/18/21
DESCRIPTION:Daphne odora \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nSpring Equinox \nMarch 18\, 2021 \n  \nKristen Sagan sent this poem just in time for our Annual Spring Issue!: \n  \nA Color of the Sky \n  \nWindy today and I feel less than brilliant\, \ndriving over the hills from work. \nThere are the dark parts on the road \n                     when you pass through clumps of wood    \nand the bright spots where you have a view of the ocean\,    \nbut that doesn’t make the road an allegory. \n  \nI should call Marie and apologize \nfor being so boring at dinner last night\, \nbut can I really promise not to be that way again?    \nAnd anyway\, I’d rather watch the trees\, tossing    \nin what certainly looks like sexual arousal. \n  \nOtherwise it’s spring\, and everything looks frail; \nthe sky is baby blue\, and the just-unfurling leaves \nare full of infant chlorophyll\,    \nthe very tint of inexperience. \n  \nLast summer’s song is making a comeback on the radio\,    \nand on the highway overpass\, \nthe only metaphysical vandal in America has written    \nMEMORY LOVES TIME \nin big black spraypaint letters\, \n  \nwhich makes us wonder if Time loves Memory back. \n  \nLast night I dreamed of X again. \nShe’s like a stain on my subconscious sheets.    \nYears ago she penetrated me \nbut though I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed\,    \nI never got her out\, \nbut now I’m glad. \n  \nWhat I thought was an end turned out to be a middle.    \nWhat I thought was a brick wall turned out to be a tunnel.    \nWhat I thought was an injustice \nturned out to be a color of the sky. \n  \nOutside the youth center\, between the liquor store    \nand the police station\, \na little dogwood tree is losing its mind; \n  \noverflowing with blossomfoam\,    \nlike a sudsy mug of beer; \nlike a bride ripping off her clothes\, \n  \ndropping snow white petals to the ground in clouds\, \n  \nso Nature’s wastefulness seems quietly obscene.    \nIt’s been doing that all week: \nmaking beauty\, \nand throwing it away\, \nand making more. \n  \n—Tony Hoagland  (1953-2018) \n* \n  \nKim sent this: \n  \nOregon Dawn in Spite of the News \n  \nBefore I can get to our statistics—so many  \nstricken\, so many dead—I’m summoned  \nby the birds raising a ruckus outside\, crows  \nand jays in festive outrage\, trill\, chirrr\, and aria  \n  \nfrom the  little brown birds\, the mournful \ndove\, the querulous towhee\, rusty starlings \nin their see-saw mutter\, and a woodpecker \nflicker hammering the gutter staccato. \n  \nOn the porch\, I’m assaulted by the merciless  \nscent of trees opening their million flowers\, \nas I inhale the deep elixir of hazel\, hawthorn\,  \nmaple\, and oh those shameless cherry trees. \n  \nAnd just when I’ve almost recovered  \nmy serious moment\, I gasp\, helpless to see  \nthe full queen moon sidling down  \nthrough a haze of blossoms. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nE. E. Cummings has so many poems of spring springing.  In this one we can remember our youth and the joy of suddenly sunny play days and school letting out: \n  \nin Just-  \nspring          when the world is mud-  \nluscious the little  \nlame balloonman  \n  \nwhistles          far          and wee  \n  \nand eddieandbill come  \nrunning from marbles and  \npiracies and it’s  \nspring  \n  \nwhen the world is puddle-wonderful  \n  \nthe queer  \nold balloonman whistles  \nfar          and             wee  \nand bettyandisbel come dancing  \n  \nfrom hop-scotch and jump-rope and  \n  \nit’s  \nspring  \nand  \n         the  \n                  goat-footed  \nballoonMan          whistles  \nfar  \nand  \nwee \n  \nMay you know peace and well being this weekend on the spring equinox when things are in balance in the cosmos and the rain and the sun are in concert with one another.  \n  \n—Love\, Katie \n* \n  \nO sweet spontaneous \nearth how often have \nthe \ndoting \n  \n          fingers of \nprurient philosophers pinched \nand \npoked \n  \nthee \n\,has the naughty thumb \nof science prodded \nthy \n  \n      beauty       .how \noften have religions taken \nthee upon their scraggy knees \nsqueezing and \n  \nbuffeting thee that thou mightest conceive \ngods \n        (but \ntrue \n  \nto the incomparable \ncouch of death thy \nrhythmic \nlover \n  \n          thou answerest \n  \nthem only with \n  \n                             spring) \n  \n—e e cummings\, published in The Dial\, May 1920. \n* \n  \nSpring\, the sweete spring\, is the yeres pleasant King\, \nThen bloomes eche thing\, then maydes daunce in a ring\, \nCold doeth not sting\, the pretty birds doe sing\, \nCuckow\, jugge\, jugge\, pu we\, to witta woo. \n  \nThe Palme and May make countrey houses gay\, \nLambs friske and play\, the Shepherds pype all day\, \nAnd we heare aye birds tune this merry lay\, \nCuckow\, jugge\, jugge\, pu we\, to witta woo. \n  \nThe fields breathe sweete\, the dayzies kisse our feete\, \nYoung lovers meete\, old wives a sunning sit; \nIn every streete\, these tunes our eares doe greete\, \nCuckow\, jugge\, jugge\, pu we\, to witta woo. \n             Spring\, the sweete spring. \n  \n—Thomas Nashe  (1567-1601) \n* \n  \nSPRING \n  \nNothing is so beautiful as Spring— \n     When weeds\, in wheels\, shoot long and lovely and lush; \n     Thrush’s eggs look little low heavens\, and thrush \nThrough the echoing timber does so rinse and wring \nThe ear\, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing; \n     The glassy peartree leaves and blooms\, they brush \n     The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush \nWith richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling. \n  \nWhat is all this juice and all this joy? \nA strain of the earth’s sweet being in the beginning \nIn Eden garden. — Have\, get\, before it cloy\, \n     Before it cloud\, Christ\, lord\, and sour with sinning\, \nInnocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy\, \n     Most\, O maid’s child\, thy choice and worthy the winning. \n  \n—Gerard Manley Hopkins  (1844-1889) \n* \n  \nA Thin Sliver at the Door \n  \nAll she ever needed was the one sliver of air that hovered between the door and the frame. That small space was a persistent invitation. She would look around and make sure no one was in the room\, then quietly get up from her chair\, turn sideways\, and slip through the crack between the heavy oak door and its sash. The room left behind was dark and immobile\, everything inert\, waiting without expectation or possibility. But once through the door the air changed. It expanded in the light\, vibrating. The world was hushed\, but with a kind of openness—something was just about to happen. When she went out\, when she slipped through that crack\, the world changed and so did she. The resonant hum of the air struck a note of movement in her body and she became more lithe\, more supple. And the light–of course\, the light–that made all the difference. In the trees the leaves moved gently\, dappled by the light. The ground seemed alive\, as if it too would burst into motion—iridescent green\, chocolate brown\, gray-blue in the stones. She heard her own low humming but there were other songs as well\, perhaps birds or even insects in the fields\, perhaps the echo of a bell from the far buildings. When she was out here she didn’t need anything. Everything felt inviting and reassuring. She never knew how long she was outside\, how much time had passed\, since she never felt any tug of memory when she was there. She moved and listened and watched. That was all. And that was more than enough. But eventually in the back of her mind a small cloud would begin to gather\, pulling her into its shaded heaviness. The cloud would become bigger and more compelling than the trees or the air and she would turn toward it reluctantly. The cloud covered more and more of her vision and she found herself looking for the door\, the way back through the crack into the dark\, static room. She was never sure how she actually got back in but would suddenly look around\, groggily\, and realize here she was again. Everything felt heavy. The world was dense. This last time\, though\, she remembered something—just as she was following the cloud\, just as it grew to include her\, she held her hand out to the nearest tree and touched the leaves. She pulled some from the lowest branch and held them in her hands. Even back in the room she had them. She looked down and saw their glittering green and inhaled their unnamable smell. She held them and remembered. She looked up to see that small sliver of air between the door and its frame.  \n  \n—Deborah Buchanan \n* \n  \nCome Spring \n  \nThe first warm days of spring\, give them to me: \na tepid rain\, crocus poking through last year’s leaves. \n  \nGive me the heart of it: pale yellow\, frail blue\, \ntrees bare but for the hard buds\, the few birds. \n  \nTo hear the screen door slam again. To shoo \nthe flies from the house\, the bowled fruit. \n  \nI’ll take all of it\, Mother of Summer\, the smell \nof manure shoveled over the potatoes. Diesel \n  \nfumes from the refuse truck. Scent of creek bottom\, \nferal\, lime laced. Cracked effusion of rotting eggs. \n  \nEven sinus infections and rusty rake tines sunk \nin rank earth near the shed. Mushroom spores. \n  \nThe asthmatic crank of winter-bound bikes. Fevers\, \nflu\, cold sores\, loose ends. Even the crows\, \n  \nhawking their dull black cloaks from the shiny wings \nof iridescent spring. Let them ride the rippled air \n  \nover the barren Sunday parking lots\, the farther fields\, \nwhere the weeds will grow thorny\, wild and tall. \n  \n—Dorianne Laux \n* \n  \nKim Stafford & Alan Benditt suggested these poems from Emily: \n  \nA Light exists in Spring \nNot present on the Year \nAt any other period — \nWhen March is scarcely here \n  \nA Color stands abroad \nOn Solitary Fields \nThat Science cannot overtake \nBut Human Nature feels. \n  \nIt waits upon the Lawn\, \nIt shows the furthest Tree \nUpon the furthest Slope you know \nIt almost speaks to you. \n  \nThen as Horizons step \nOr Noons report away \nWithout the Formula of sound \nIt passes and we stay — \n  \nA quality of loss \nAffecting our Content \nAs Trade has suddenly encroached \nUpon a Sacrament. \n* \n  \nSpring comes on the World –  \nI sight the Aprils –  \nHueless to me until thou come  \nAs\, till the Bee  \nBlossoms stand negative\,  \nTouched to Conditions  \nBy a Hum.  \n  \n–Emily Dickinson \n  \n* \n  \nAlan also sent us some haiku\, inspired by Spring: \n  \nLook at this world even its \ngrasses right under my feet \nfeed us  \n  \nGrasshoppers in the chilly breeze \nsing \nas if you’ll never sing again  \n  \nSpring rain: \na mouse is lapping \nthe Sumida River.  \n  \n—Issa \n* \n  \nI don’t know  \nwhich tree it comes from\, \nthat fragrance  \n  \nSpring! \na nameless hill \nin the haze.    \n  \n—Basho \n* \n  \nthe pheasant sings- \nthe earth turns into \nvarious grasses  \n  \nI forget  \nto remember the days – \nyet these spring deer  \n  \nsquatting \nthe frog observes \nthe clouds  \n  \nto be in a world \neating white rice \namid plum fragrance \n  \n—Chiyo-ni \n* \n  \n”peace\, love\, happiness & understanding” is one year old!  \n  \nHURRAY!!! \n  \nIt began on the Spring Equinox\, March 19\, 2020\, as “peace\, love & happiness\,” a weekly newsletter. The “understanding” got added on June 25\, 2020. I started thinking of it as a “journal\,” rather than a “newsletter” at some point. It became bi-weekly\, instead of weekly on December 10\, 2020. Lots of friends have contributed images\, poems and other writings\, as well as suggestions for poems.  \n  \nTHANK YOU!!! (in no particular order) to:  \n  \nKim Stafford\, Prabu Muruganantham\, Deborah Buchanan\, Lonnie Glinski\, Shadrach Alexander\, Charles Erickson\, Nancy Yeilding\, Josh Underhill\, Howard Thoresen\, Esther Elizabeth\, Bill Faricy\, Katie Radditz\, Ken Margolis\, Will Hornyak\, Joshua Barnes\, Ashley Lucas\, Jeff Kuehner\, Alex Tretbar\, Bill Hughes\, Doug Marx\, Randall Brown\, Jude Russell\, Jeffrey Sher and Aaron Gilbert. (n.b. If you are a reader of “peace\, love\, happiness & understanding\,” you are invited to contribute!) \n  \nSpeaking of Aaron Gilbert… He was granted clemency by Governor Kate Brown\, and got out of prison on February 25\, 2021—twenty months early! I’ve had the pleasure of video-visiting with him by phone. Unsurprisingly\, he’s happy to be out of prison! I’m looking forward to getting together soon in person—(with all the necessary safety precautions.) \n  \npeace\, love & fecundity \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-3-18-21/
ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/03/0-6-3.jpeg
END:VEVENT
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210328
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210411
DTSTAMP:20260502T024423
CREATED:20210317T170432Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20210329T041217Z
UID:1861-1616889600-1618099199@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!: STORY POEMS  3/28
DESCRIPTION:  \nBeloved Bibliophiles! \n  \nWe had a lovely gathering on Sunday\, March 28th. Our theme was STORY POEMS. We talked about poems we remembered from our childhood–nursery rhymes and the words to songs.  \nJude Russell read “Jabberwocky” by Lewis Carroll.  \nCharles Erickson sang “Woverton Mountain” for us.  \nI took a whack at Woody Guthrie’s song: “Pretty Boy Floyd the Outlaw.” \nKatie Radditz told us about Father Fox’s Pennyrhymes by Clyde and Wendy Watson and she read a couple of them for us.  \nKim Stafford was unable to join us\, but he sent this beautiful video he made\, “I’ll Do Anything”: \n  \n \n  \n  \nMartha Ragland read “Little Breeches” by Colonel John Hay that she found in the book Story Poems\, edited by Louis Untermeyer.  \nThat reminded me of another 19th Century classic\, “The Green Eye of the Yellow God\,” by J. Milton Hayes\, which I read. I also read the old Scottish Ballad “Edward\, Edward.” \nKatie read “The Song of Wandering Aengus” by W. B. Yeats.  \nDave Duncan told us that his brother Jack died yesterday\, and read this poem for us by Emily Dickinson: \n  \nI heard a Fly buzz – when I died – \nThe Stillness in the Room \nWas like the Stillness in the Air – \nBetween the Heaves of Storm – \n  \nThe Eyes around – had wrung them dry – \nAnd Breaths were gathering firm \nFor that Last Onset – when the King \nBe witnessed – in the Room – \n  \nI willed my Keepsakes – Signed away \nWhat portion of me be \nAssignable – and then it was \nThere interposed a Fly – \n  \nWith Blue – uncertain stumbling Buzz – \nBetween the light – and me – \nAnd then the Windows failed – and then \nI could not see to see – \n* \n  \nWe ended our gathering by listening to a song that Dave loves: “Father and Son” by Yusuf Cat Stevens. \nHere’s a link: \n  \n \n  \nLook for more poems in the upcoming (April 1st) issue of peace\, love\, happiness & understanding. It will be published on this website. \n  \npeace\, love & poetry \n  \nJohnny \n  \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-story-poems-3-28/
ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/03/Unknown-3.jpeg
END:VEVENT
END:VCALENDAR