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SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  5/5/22
DESCRIPTION:  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nMay 5\, 2022 \n  \nEvery two weeks\, I put together another issue of “peace\, love\, happiness & understanding.” Sometimes\, a day or two in advance\, I have no idea what will be in it. Sometimes I find out by making a beginning.  \n  \nJoshua Barnes\, Alex Tretbar and Nick Eldredge recently sent me some things they have written\, so we’ll start there. Going forward\, I’d like to invite all our friends\, inside prison and out\, to send poems and short prose and essays you’ve written\, or favorite writings by others (famous or obscure) which you feel might uplift\, inspire or give delight. \n  \nOkay\, here we go!: \n  \nA Question \n  \nA question to the listener of songs; \n“Have you ever heard a blackbird sing?” \nFor surely there’s the finest of bards \nOf those on feet & those on wing. \n  \nFlitting to and fro they speak \nIn musical tongues that seldom are heard\, \nTeaching to any with the patience to listen \nTo creatures as simple as warbling birds. \n  \nSurely you know of the birds I speak of\, \nFor their songs are known far & wide \n& are talked about in the oldest of circles \nCrossing over each boundary’s side. \n  \nOh\, how I’ve learned from their forgotten ways\, \nBeing under their wings & watchful eyes. \nI wish my edification wasn’t so lonely\, \nThat others were keen to learn from the wise. \n  \nI’d like to ask from where your tutelage came\, \n(not meaning to insult with my circling jests)\, \nAnd where you learned of the songs you sing\, \nIf not from out of a blackbird’s chest. \n  \nMaybe listeners\, you can teach me a song \nOf forgotten peals & tinkling bells\, \nFor I’ve come to feel we both have drunk \nFrom a similar source but different wells. \n  \n—© Joshua Barnes\, 2022 \n  \nSome unfinished thoughts I had: \n  \nFlickering \n  \nThe flickering flame brings many questions to mind. Do we live in a world of darkness and shadows\, watching the light flicker in from the outside? Or do we live in a world of light\, where the darkness is a thing that intrudes. \n  \nMaybe there’s a happy medium\, or maybe the answer is neither & is something altogether different… Maybe there is no answer. \n  \nEach thought in my head flickers like a flame\, dancing around\, eluding me at every juncture. It’s ironic\, the flames hide in the shadows of my mind\, & although they shine I am left in darkness. \n  \nEven so\, it could be I’m not meant to spy the campfires of life\, but from a distance. Maybe the only way of knowing is knowing… Maybe we don’t need to know at all. \n  \nI once asked someone these questions & found only another shadow & a mere flickering from them. \n  \nThe questions are only stepping stones across the river\, if seen as such… They can be either the path\, or the obstruction disrupting the stream. They can be anything. To me\, the darkness serves to cloak & veil & make you grow. \n  \n& though it leaves you stumbling after the light in unhappy circles\, wondering if everything is an illusion\, it still leaves you wondering. \n  \nThe wonder of wonders leaves me wondering still. \n  \n—Joshua Barnes \n* \n  \nAkrasia (the Greek word for “incontinence”) is the condition in which while knowing what it would be best to do\, one does something else. How can such a state exist? It’s tempting to say that foolishness is inherently human\, but sometimes even simpler-minded animals choose wrongly when they know better. \n  \nThe salient question is why\, and the answer is that conscious\, knowing missteps are unavoidable—and often beautiful. I could plant a flower in the dark soil of my garden\, or I could do so in the barren dust of a desert\, where its blue petals will die sooner but glow brighter. \n  \nA blue little flower is nodding\, standing under \nmy understanding of the wind. Like a dream\, \ndeath always means more than it means. Fact: \nif you scream loud enough into my hearing \naid\, the drum will begin to itch. How to scratch \nwhat’s out of reach\, like a bone\, soul or sky? \nI\, too\, have seen peace in the eyes \nof a canary staring into the sun \nforever\, the film of its blind pupils \ndeveloping like a backwards Polaroid. \nI think of all the disincarnations \nwar begets\, how I have looked into the eddies \nat the base of folly’s wall & found there \nthe white surf of desperation\, mine. \nPrima ballerina\, seamstress\, comedienne— \nI have died for you as many times \nas there are orange street lights in this world\, \nand no matter how few suffixes survive \nthe coming punctuations\, the pall… \nI’ll look down the terrible length of the wall \nand choose neither left nor right. \nKnee-high is sky-high. Listen: \nthe blue little flower is screaming \nso loudly my dream begins to itch\, \nand death alone survives the fall \nthrough feathers. \n  \n(for Manon) \n  \n—Alex Tretbar\, from Free Spirit\, No. 14\, April 2022 \n* \n  \nthe rumor \n  \nthere’s a curious rumor out there  \nabout an ocean of living energy \nan ocean that is endlessly expanding  \nexploring every possibility  \nevolving into a fuller \nmore complex  \nmore realized expression  \nof its infinitely curious universal self  \n  \nthe rumor suggests this ocean  \nis somehow the source and the substance \nof every single thing and all of us  \n  \nthat every aspect of our universe  \nwhat we know or believe we know  \nor cannot yet imagine  \neven the unfolding mystery \nof who we are and may become \nrises from this very ocean  \nlike fog  \nlike mist  \nlike the wind-blown spray  \nthat crowns a breaking wave \n  \nand\, further\, that every single thing and all of us \nwill\, in our time\, return to this ocean  \nlike rain  \nlike rivers  \nlike gently melting snow \n  \nand finally  \nthat the currents and tides of this ocean  \nare a weave of perpetual change and permanent balance  \ncurrents and tides that carry us all   \ndeeper and deeper  \ninto the mystery this ocean remains  \nthe possibilities this ocean contains \ninto the expanding consciousness and simple serenity  \nthis ocean will always maintain  \n  \nso far this evolving universal ocean  \nthat is every thing and all of us \nis only a rumor \nbut on a casual walk   \nif you happen to catch a flower  \nfrom just the right angle  \nglowing in the electric embrace of the sun  \nin that blink of a moment  \nthe rumor can feel  \ncompletely real       \n  \n—Nick Eldredge \n\n                   \n\n  \nHow to Be an Old Man of Some Scant Worth \n  \nMistrust your certainties. Interrogate the obvious. \nWhen you think you have the answer\, be still. \nCount your regrets\, and let them teach you. \nListen to women\, especially what they don’t say. \nSacrifice achievement to be fresh in thought. \nBe the curious fool\, the one who bows low \nwhile attending to minor treasures in time. \nRead the sky\, and study neglected things \nfor clues to what you have missed by being \nbusy with the lordly agenda of a man. \nShow children it’s possible: old and happy. \nCherish the fragile\, the brief\, the beautiful. \nGive all you have to be ready to be gone. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nearth the door Orpheus goes through \n  \ninto the twining tree roots sent down for water \njoined by hypha searching moisture and minerals \nin the underground night with myzhorrium that link \ntree and nematode anchoring the cacophony of underworld life \nfeeding giant trunks reaching upward to branches where \nin cresting light chlorophyll sparks its own green drive \n  \nGhost River \n  \nRed patterns run \nthrough sand and rock \nthin lines etch a once fluid life\,  \nopening as a flower\,  \ntendrils flow outward\, \nbranching\, reaching \nunder cacti  \nthese tracings \nso fragile \nbecome smaller\,  \ndissipate into desert dust. \n  \nSand trickles  \nas stream\, \nwaves move in rock\,  \nthe sound \nof water fills our mind\, \ncalls out\,  \nfirst as living river \nnow as image\, \nits meanderings  \nevoking \na vanished delta. \n  \nA rose appears in the desert\, \npetals cover the ground. \n  \nMemory and being \nbraided into a shimmering presence\, \nremember the water\, \nthe water\, remember. \n  \n—Deborah Buchanan \n* \n  \nUkraine  \n     \nIt’s 2022\, and I’m frightened.  \nThe bottom has fallen out of our agreement with God. \nThere is no bottom. We’ve pulled the plug. \n  \nFrom deep within\, some remember the code. \nBefore thought\, before prayer. It comes with the first cry. \n  \n—Mark Alter \n* \n  \nmy sangha \nall people\, plants\, animals\, \nclouds\, stones\, rivers\, \nimaginings \n  \n  \namateur dilettante \n  \nan amateur is a lover \na dilettante takes delight in things \ni plead guilty \n  \n—Johnny Stallings
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-5-5-22/
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DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20220615
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SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue  5/15/22
DESCRIPTION:  \n  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n   \nMay 15\, 2022 \n  \nA child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands; \nHow could I answer the child?  I do not know what it is any more than he…. \n  \nThe smallest sprout shows there is really no death…. \n  \nAll truths wait in all things…. \n  \nI believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars… \nAnd a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels. \n  \n—from Song of Myself by Walt Whitman \n* \n  \nAlbrecht Dürer’s painting reminds me of Walt Whitman’s poem. Both were born in May—Dürer on May 21st\, 1471\, Walt on May 31st\, 1819. At the end of May\, I like to get together with friends and read Song of Myself. \n  \nMeditation and mindfulness are important to me on my life journey. They help me to see and appreciate the miraculous nature of our human life on Earth. Walt’s poem has also been a great help to me. I’ve carried it with me since I was 18. It reminds me that my self is as big as the world\, without beginning or end. It is the wisest and most exuberant utterance to come out of America. Maybe the world. \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nTimely Thoughts \n  \nPeople talk of time\, \nSpeak of time with wonder— \nBut what is time\, \nWhy all the thunder? \n  \nWhere’s the lightning \nThe brilliant flash of proof? \nTangible time\, \nIntangible truth! \n  \nThis talk creates storms\, \nAnd brings nightmares to life; \nNightmares I say\, \nAnd terrible strife. \n  \nWe do not need time\, \nIt is time that needs us. \nWait\, what is time— \nAnd why all the fuss? \n  \n—Joshua Barnes © 2022 \n* \n  \nJude and Michel both wrote in response to Thich Nhat Hanh’s meditation “Long Live Impermanence.” (JS) \n  \n#273 Long Live Impermanence! \n  \n“If you suffer\, it’s not because things are impermanent. It’s because you believe things are permanent. When a flower dies\, you don’t suffer much\, because you understand that flowers are impermanent. But you cannot accept the impermanence of your beloved one\, and you suffer deeply when she passes away. If you look deeply into impermanence\, you will do your best to make her happy right now. Aware of impermanence\, you become positive\, loving\, and wise. \n  \nImpermanence is good news. Without impermanence\, nothing would be possible. With impermanence\, every door is open for change. Instead of complaining\, we should say\, ‘Long live impermanence!’ Impermanence is an instrument for our liberation.”  \n  \n—from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh \n  \nMy dad had a conflicted relationship with impermanence/permanence. Here are two stories that show that conflict: \n  \nHe was a doctor and had witnessed many deaths in his medical career. His many patients loved him\, and he always showed care and great concern for them. When it came to his own life and death\, he was very clear—adamant\, even: “If found unconscious\, do not resuscitate!” To people visiting him in his late 80s\, he had a small plate with slips of paper with the note printed on it. He would offer the plate to friends as if offering a plate of Oreos. “Here\, take one\,” he’d say\, as they walked in the door.  \n  \nHe wrote his own obituary\, professing no big deal that he’d died. Closing statement: “He’s dead. There’s no more Ed!”  You get the picture. \n  \nWe three daughters knew his wishes\, so when his health was failing and he’d experienced a few hospital stays\, we were in accord as to what to do. On his return from one hospital bout\, in his very weakened condition\, my sisters assigned me to talk to him about his choices. I knelt beside him\, tears streaming down my cheeks\, held his hand and explained\, “Dad\, we know your wishes\, and we’ll honor that. You can choose to refuse to eat\, if you believe it’s time. We can’t withhold food from you\, but you can choose not to eat. Or you can choose not to drink water\, but we’ve been told that that is a very painful way to do this. So you can do this\, refuse to eat\, if you want to—we won’t force you\, you know that.” He looked at me a little sweetly puzzled and bewildered\, and said\, “But I like to eat.”  At which we all burst out laughing\, and I said\, “Well\, then let’s make you a bacon sandwich!” \n  \nThe second story is more in keeping with his credo of impermanence. \n  \nA couple years after our mom died\, Dad reignited a long-lost love story with a high school sweetie\, Ginnie. Ginnie’s husband had died also\, and she and Dad started exchanging flurries of letters between Vancouver\, Wa. and Loudonville\, Ohio. He told us he wanted Ginnie to come to Washington so they could get married. All he could talk about was Ginnie and her sweet brown eyes and soft brown hair. (We reminded him that she might look a little different at 90 yrs old than at 17.)  To test the waters\, we all made a trip to Ohio and reunited the two of them for a sweet\, five day visit. We returned to the Pacific Northwest and they kept up the flurry of lovey letter writing.  \n  \nWe noticed at some point that Ginnie hadn’t been writing anymore. No letters for several months\, so I called her caregiver in Loudonville\, and she told me\, chagrined that she’d forgotten to let us know\, that Ginnie had died! Oh no! How are we going to break the news to Dad?!?! So again\, I knelt down beside his reading chair and said\, “Dad\, I have some very sad news to tell you. I’m so sorry…but we just learned that Ginnie—your Ginnie has died.” Dad let the news sink in\, then cocked his head and said\, “Well… she was old.” \n  \nImpermanence acknowledged. \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \nApril 26\, 2022 \n  \nWisdom rests here. How we face\, accept and adapt to impermanence will play out in our suffering. Allow me to explain. (Read Thây’s writing first!) When I set up an ideal (not reality\, but an interpretation of how I expect reality to be) and reality doesn’t fulfill my “ideal\,” then I suffer—get upset or anxious\, etc. When I can just exist in this moment as it is with no expectations\, then I can be present\, loving\, compassionate and open to all the opportunities the now presents. I have freedom to flow with the reality as it is\, instead of fighting with it for what I want it to be\, but can’t have. Doing this I become a petulant selfish child demanding my way\, attempting to force reality to fit in my box. \n  \nSadly\, it never works like this. We’ve all tried. I have never gotten this to resolve positively; only as more suffering in now\, and later on too! Impermanence is the hero of my story of suffering. All I need to do for the thing I dislike\, or wish were different\, is wait. I don’t have to attach\, judge\, work to change anything; all I need is to accept what is. Shortly all will shift\, and over time things will change. It may not always be my idea of better\, but it will be different. If I accept\, I avoid suffering. (Acceptance does not include grasping or holding on tightly—hold with open hands.) If I attempt to control\, grasp\, hold\, define\, judge\, change—then I get suffering. Long live impermanence! \n  \nHere’s another passage from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh\, and Michel’s meditation on it. (JS) \n  \n#267  How Strange \n  \n“At the moment of his awakening at the foot of the Bodhi tree\, the Buddha declared\, ‘How strange! All beings possess the capacity to be awakened\, to understand\, to love\, to be free\, yet they allow themselves to be carried away on the ocean of suffering.’ He saw that\, day and night\, we’re seeking what is already there within us.” \n  \nApril 14\, 2022 \n  \nHow strange\, indeed! That we should spend (waste even) an entire lifetime in search of that which is already within us. We have only to awaken to what already is. Somehow that is the challenge/trial of our individual quests; to come to an end of self and a realization that what we seek is and has always been within us all along. Instead\, many run around aimlessly for years and decades and lifetimes (multiples for some)\, looking to find our relief in something/someone external. Some seek money\, fame\, beauty\, youth\, knowledge\, possessions\, status\, mates (trophies?)\, glory\, progeny\, legacy\, food\, alcohol\, drugs\, sex\, anything to excess. \n  \nCan I (you-we) stop this endless running for just a moment\, please? Look at the man/woman in the mirror. Is anything external satisfying the “itch” for which we quest to resolve? No?! Face the man/woman in the mirror; get to know him/her; learn to love\, accept\, and express compassion for him/her. And if I’m wrong (I doubt it on this one occasion) what has been lost? Nothing! You’ve only spent some time learning to come home to your true home—your true self. And if I’m right (since I’m only restating wisdom of wiser folks) you’ve started to heal and come home. Welcome home! \n  \n—Michel Deforge \n* \n  \n     Desert Song School \n  \nIn this tattered paradise we left them—these \nacres of muddy reed where the maze of ditch \nand dike lets every wing and cry be sovereign— \nwhen dawn starts the chant by sweet cacophony \nof bittern\, heron\, crane and teal through mist \nin harmony oblique\, a mozart fledgling nested \nin thistledown must mutter her first yearning \nproclamation\, her aria profundo\, shrill or secret \nto split silence be she egret\, avocet\, stilt or tern\, \nibis\, shoveler\, shearling\, pelican or snipe \nto dwell inside a symphony\, to try her tune \nbefore she learns to fly or feed or seek a mate\, \nher one and only way with song\, brief life cry \nwhere waters glitter for the rising sun. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nSmall Kindnesses \n  \nLast week I thought about my mother on Mother’s Day and on her birthday\, Friday\, May 13. Sometimes these anniversaries fall on the same day. I have always liked the pause of remembering my mother and being mindful of how much of her very cells I carry with me. She died from kidney failure when I was in my early 20’s\, so this year I realized I have had 50 years of looking back on my mother’s kindness and my short time with her. I hope you all enjoyed thinking of your mom and loving-kindness.  \n  \nMother’s Day began as a holiday to mark and value peace and kindness toward all persons. Julia Ward Howe made a plea for no more sending our sons to wars. Mother’s Day had a lot of that meaning for us this year.    \n  \nKindness is something we all value. But sometimes we take it for granted. Especially small kindnesses. A couple of weeks ago\, I was taking care of my grandsons. Sylvan\, who is nine years old\, is homeschooling. He had a zoom class on African history and culture that he attended that day. There was a story about the most wealthy King in Africa\, pre-colonization. The King was especially known and loved for his generosity and kindness. The class teacher asked the kids if they could tell about someone who had been generous and kind to them recently. Or could they tell about something they had done for someone else out of kindness? The children\, who had had all kinds of things to say earlier in class\, made no comments. None of the kids had a response! The teacher even told of some small kindness done for her to prompt them\, but nooo. I talked with Sylvan afterward and I realized as a youngster he takes things for granted that adults do for him\, when he’s hungry he gets fed or helps fix the food\, or if he needs a ride his parents take him. And when he is nice to someone there’s always a good reason for working things out. It made me realize that kindness is a concept. Children are naturally living in the moment. And it’s our consciousness that helps us be kind in our actions and aware of kindness done toward us. This consciousness helps open our hearts with mindfulness. \n  \nMy friend Jennifer\, referring to the bumper sticker “Practice random acts of kindness\,” said that it’s a gift when we intentionally do something for a person to make life easier.  \n  \nHere is a poem to prompt us to be aware of kindness and how it makes us feel:    \n  \nSmall Kindnesses \n  \nI’ve been thinking about the way\, when you walk\ndown a crowded aisle\, people pull in their legs\nto let you by. Or how strangers still say “bless you”\nwhen someone sneezes\, a leftover\nfrom the Bubonic plague. “Don’t die\,” we are saying.\nAnd sometimes\, when you spill lemons\nfrom your grocery bag\, someone else will help you\npick them up. Mostly\, we don’t want to harm each other.\nWe want to be handed our cup of coffee hot\,\nand to say thank you to the person handing it. To smile\nat them and for them to smile back. For the waitress\nto call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder\,\nand for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass.\nWe have so little of each other\, now. So far\nfrom tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange.\nWhat if they are the true dwelling of the holy\, these\nfleeting temples we make together when we say\, “Here\,\nhave my seat\,” “Go ahead—you first\,” “I like your hat.”  \n  \n—Danusha Lameris\, from Healing the Divide: Poems of Kindness and Connection \n  \nHealing the Divide: Poems of Kindness and Connection is an anthology that includes poems by Ross Gay\, Marie Howe\, Naomi Shihab Nye and many others. The poems urge us in these polarized times to “move past the negativity that often fills the airwaves\, and to embrace the ordinary moments of kindness and connection that fill our days.”     \n  \nWishing you and the world\, Peace and Kindness     \n  \n—Katie Radditz \n  \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-5-15-22/
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