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SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue  3/15/23
DESCRIPTION:photo by Kim Stafford \n  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n  \nMarch 15\, 2023 \n  \nAny object\, intensely regarded\, may be a gate of access to the incorruptible eon of the gods. \n  \n—from Ulysses by James Joyce\, p. 340 \n* \n  \nAll truths wait in all things. \n  \n—from “Song of Myself” by Walt Whitman \n* \n  \n#344  To Cherish Your Beloved   \n                                                  \n“When we know that the person we love is impermanent\, we will cherish our beloved all the more. Impermanence teaches us to respect and value every moment and all the precious things around us. When we practice mindfulness of impermanence\, we become fresher and more loving.” \n–from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh \n  \nIt can be mighty hard to be constantly aware of our beloved’s impermanence—or of our own impermanence\, and to be endlessly fresher and more loving. That can be exhausting\, to be honest. \n  \nAnother way to be reminded of cherishing your loved one is to have someone close to you die swiftly and unexpectedly. This is happening right now\, in this moment. Kim is my dear friend\, and her husband\, who is/was my dear friend\, too\, just died two days ago. He collapsed at home while Kim and I were walking on the waterfront and having coffee in Hood River\, as we do once a week or more. She returned home\, intending to run errands with John and found him on the floor\, unresponsive\, unconscious. 911\, Skyline Hospital\, Emanuel Hospital in Portland\, where doctors found a blood clot which had traveled to his brain from the left ventricle\, causing multiple\, massive strokes. And John is gone. How does one express shock and disbelief and utter grief…  So here it is: Impermanence at work. \n  \nMy heart and soul are with her right now. I love her and want to hold her close. But the one I also really want to hold close is my husband. I am instantly drawn to cherish him and all we have together\, all we have had for 39 years together. He is in Arizona right now\, and I will fly down next week. I call him and tell him I love him dearly\, and thank him for the life we have together. I tell him I miss him and can’t wait to hold him and be held.  \n  \nI am aware that this is how I always want to be with him\, this expressive and caring and loving\, and maybe\, just maybe\, I will be able to cherish my beloved due to the impermanence (and sacrifice) of another.  \n  \n—Jude Russell  \n* \n  \nSmall Offering \n  \nThis evening I would be the emperor of delay \nif I could order the small bird with bluish \nplumage to drop his fish and look up \nto see violet angels weave a tapestry \nof dreams with the four evening elements. \n  \nHere at Sunset Point\, the overlook \nis high enough that mist hovers \nin patches. Sunlight sweeps from above \nhighlighting the solid wall of mountains. \nThe bird dives again\, silver flash in his beak. \n  \n—Elizabeth Domike \n* \n  \nDHARMA \n  \nSix months after I turned seventy I moved into an ashram where I would reside for the next 9 1⁄2 years (2012-2021) of my life. I’d been assisting in the care of my mother for two years\, and when she passed on\, one week after her 96th birthday\, I was in a state of ambivalence as to why I had no feeling of grief\, or even the slightest indication of sadness. How could this be? I was her only son\, and had dutifully been there for Her in these past years– cooking for her\, reading to her\, rubbing her swollen legs\, heavy with edema; escorting her on shopping trips and pleasant drives through the golden wheat fields of her childhood in North Central Oregon. Was I experiencing a kind of release from a period of time that had kept me so preoccupied that my own needs for self-examination and intellectual stimulation were suffocating? \n  \nI had spent two years in England (1983-85) studying the metaphysical philosophy of Rudolf Steiner\, but had not yet arrived at that internal place of a disciplined practice in study and meditation—of simplifying the material circumstances of my daily life; of coming to grasp the ego-transcendent state of the Eternal Self. And so when I was offered a room in the Portland ashram of the Sarada Ramakrishna Vivekananda order at the behest of the guru\, Robert Kindler\, I decided that a quiet and spiritually dedicated environment might inspire and deepen self-reflection. I might add that I had had the benefit of seven years of coming to know and respect the depth of the guru’s knowledge of the sacred texts of ancient India—the Upanishads\, Bhagavad Gita\, and the Puranas\, as well as the Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna (most recent avatar of West Bengal (b. 1836-’86)—through frequent classes and retreats. And I was further inspired by his remarkable facility in speaking the ancient Sanskrit slokas (passages from scripture)\, as well as his gift of musicianship\, having been a professional orchestral cellist with abilities to compose and perform hymns of praise offered to the deities of the Hindu spiritual tradition. \n  \nI took a small 12’ x 12’ room\, and began an exploration of ashram regimen—sharing a simple and contemplative daily schedule of 6am/10pm meditation\, vegetarian diet\, weekly classes of scriptural study\, and shared maintenance and cooking chores amongst the four of us—two men and two women—co-habitants upon the dharmic path. The intent was to “still” the restless mind to enable a depth of self-perception whereby the ephemerality/impermanence of day-to-day “reality” (regarded as Maya—the veil covering the eternal truths of aparanama (free of change) and ajativada (birthless/deathless))\, could be grasped\, and the elevated state of consciousness attained by the sages\, seers\, siddhis\, yogis and saviors could be glimpsed. \n  \nMy 9 1⁄2 years\, grounded in a consistent daily meditation practice\, and an inquisitive research into the philosophical richness of the sacred texts of India\, as well as the offering of my service/work in maintaining the grounds and shrines\, and serving as “the Abbot of the Ashram\, has deepened my self- perception and brought me to a place of self-trust and contentment at a depth that I have never before experienced. And I am inspired to proffer this brief koan-like offering from my experiential Realizations (aparokshanubhuti) \n  \nTHE YOGI SITS IN THE CAVE OF THE HEART\, \nONE EYE OPEN                                                                           \n  \n—Sam A. Muller \n* \n  \nGod Praying \n  \nSometimes we are discouraged from praying\, \nwe lose faith in the possibility of prayer\, \neverything seems blocked. \nWe have no trust in words\, \nin ourselves\, \nwe feel exiled\, distant. \nThere is no one to awaken compassion for us. \nFrom within our despair \nwe can reveal a new opening\, \na surprising one\, \nand ask God to pray for us\, \nto give words to our inner scream\, \nto have compassion on us in our exile. \n  \n—Rabbi Singer \n  \nThis idea melts my mind. I thought it was to God I’ve been praying\, and now Rabbi Singer (and others) suggest I now ask God to pray for me—to whom\, though? To ask the Self-Existent One to peer into my deepest recesses\, where I’m oft too scared to look\, and express\, for me\, my deepest heart’s desires. It seems both ludicrous and sensible all at the same time. Can I just sit here with my self—all inclusive—and allow those hidden away hopes\, dreams\, feelings\, memories\, etc.\, to just percolate up for Divine consideration or attention. Truth is\, God should already “know” these things—all knowing and all—which means I need only sit with and accept these pesky demons (self-made?) as part of my experience. \n  \n—Michel Deforge\, February 4\, 2023 \n* \n  \nAlex Tretbar sent this poem by Jessica Jacobs: \n  \nGodwrestling \n  \nThe river has tasted the salt of your skin\, has lapped\nat your calves with its current. The river has swallowed \n  \nthe press of your steps. There is no record of your crossing.\nThe river is between you and everything you call your life. \n  \nSo you step into a stranger’s arms. Your shoulder fits\ntheirs like a bone in its socket. Your jaw notches theirs. \n  \nAll around you\, a profusion of oleanders beams\nback the moonlight\, offering a carpet of fallen petals. \n  \nIn your arms\, all the promises you’ve yet to keep\, all\nyou’ve done that shames you. But what is wrestling \n  \nif not an embrace? It’s too dark to know\nyou have the same face and only like this\, cheek to cheek\, \n  \neach looking over the other’s shoulder\, can you see\nthe world whole. Close\, at first\, as a slow dance\, \n  \nyou spin and spin\, your tracks a tight coin; matched\,\nyou step out\, making a spear tip of your bodies; matched\, \n  \nyou step further\, levered like rafters\, needing the other\nto stay aloft—your tracks trace widening circles\, ringing \n  \nout through the fallen blossoms. Names are required\nonly when not alone. This stranger \n  \ndoes not give you a new name\, just dippers up\nthe true one you tender in your chest. The day is breaking \n  \nthe night’s hold. The far bank is calling.\nOn one side\, you. On the other\, your life. Join them.  \n  \n—Jessica Jacobs \n* \n  \nAny object\, intensely regarded\, may be a gate of access to the incorruptible eon of the gods.  \n  \n–from Ulysses by James Joyce\, p. 340 \n  \nHere’s what Joseph Campbell has to say about this passage from Ulysses: \n  \n“I mentioned this basic theme before with respect to the esthetic experience: Any object can open back to the mystery of the universe. You can take any object whatsoever—a stick or stone\, a dog or a child—draw a ring around it so that it is seen as separate from everything else\, and thus contemplate it in its mystery aspect—the aspect of the mystery of its being\, which is the mystery of all being—and it will have there and then become a proper object of worshipful regard. So\, any object can become an adequate base for meditation\, since the whole mystery of man and of nature and of everything else is in any object that you want to regard. This idea\, the anagogical inspiration of Joyce’s art\, is what we are getting in this little moment.” \n  \n—from Mythic Worlds\, Modern Words: On the Art of James Joyce by Joseph Campbell\, p. 130 \n  \nHere’s one of my small poems that seems à propos: \n  \na bowl of oatmeal \nand a cup of coffee \ndid you think heaven was up in the sky somewhere? \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nMore of my thoughts on LovingKindness meditation: \n  \nBefore beginning Loving Kindness meditation practice each Monday\, I center myself remembering my friend and teacher Bob Schaibly. His teaching mantra was\, “What the World Needs from Us is our Non-Anxious Presence.” Reciting and listening to the Loving Kindness phrases these past couple of years\, I have come to understand that this is what we are training ourselves to do. To find equanimity and to be able in the midst of changes—good or bad—to  find stability in equanimity. This doesn’t mean being passive or uncaring\, but to have courage\, to not let our emotions make us frantic\, to not react immediately with judgement. In this way we can stay present to whatever might arise. We can observe and check our fears and anger and deep sadness without causing harm to ourselves and others\, without blocking our feelings.  \n  \nCompassion in Sanskrit means being present—with yourself or with another. I have two stories that came to my mind about acts of kindness on a small scale that are examples of compassion in action. When I had a bookstore in downtown Portland\, one day two people I hardly knew\, came in and presented me with a rose. Just to say thank you for having the bookstore where they always felt happy to browse and meet up. I was stunned. They said they liked to go places that make them feel happy and take a flower or two. I also heard a story last week about a woman who wished she could do something for her sick uncle who lived far away. She sent him a bouquet of flowers. He called her and said that in his long life\, no one had ever sent him flowers and he was so thankful. \n  \n Thich Nhat Hanh says it takes mindfulness training with loving kindness to bring compassion. He writes: \n  \n“Loving kindness should be practiced every day. Suppose you have a transistor radio. To tune into the radio station you like\, you need a battery. In order to get linked to the power of loving kindness of bodhisattvas\, buddhas\, and other great beings\, you need to tune in to the “station” of loving kindness that is being sent from the ten directions. Then you only need to sit on the grass and practice breathing and enjoying.  \n  \nBut many of us are not capable of doing that because the feeling of loneliness\, of being cut off from the world\, is so severe we cannot reach out. We do not realize that if we are moved by the imminent death of an insect\, if we see an insect suffering and we do something to help\, already this energy of loving kindness is in us. If we take a small stick and help the insect out of the water\, we can also reach out to the cosmos. The energy of loving kindness in us becomes real\, and we derive a lot of joy from it.  \n  \nThe Fourth Precept of the Order of Interbeing tells us to be aware of suffering in the world\, not to close our eyes before suffering. Touching those who suffer is one way to generate the energy of compassion in us\, and compassion will bring joy and peace to ourselves and others. The more we generate the energy of loving kindness in ourselves\, the more we are able to receive the joy\, peace\, and love of the buddhas and bodhisattvas throughout the cosmos.”  \n  \nLast Sunday\, I heard a story about an acrobat flying from one trapeze bar to the next. It was a story about letting go of how things have been in the past in order to break free and into some new engagement. Even though we might not know what that will be. In Buddhism\, the term for this refreshing process is “renunciation.” Rather than giving up things it is about what we practice in LovingKindness: becoming aware of where we might feel an aversion—a fear\, a grudge\, anxiety\, resentment—by recognizing it\, then softening our hearts\, we can let these negative emotions have less power over us. Through that we find more equanimity and ability to act with compassion\, with ourselves and for others. With that  foremost in our minds\, we can become unstuck and as Bob encouraged us\, to participate fully in the midst of life’s difficulties with a non-anxious presence.    \n  \nin love and peace\,    \n  \n—Katie Radditz
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-3-15-23/
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SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  4/6/23
DESCRIPTION:The Rink \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \n \n  \nApril 6\, 2023 \n  \nI invited some friends to write something about their favorite films… \nWhen we read a great book\, we want all our friends to read it. When we watch a great movie\, we want all our friends to see it.  \nFor the next issue of peace\, love\, happiness & understanding\, which comes out on April 6th\, write something about movies\, films\, or tv shows that you love. \n* \n  \nPrabu’s film “In the Beginning” reminded me of the old\, scratchy\, haunting film “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge\,” based on a civil war story by Ambrose Bierce. Much darker than what Prabu offered us\, but a similar visual narrative of a man trying to negotiate a mysterious world. \nhttps://vimeo.com/15147706 \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nAt the top of my list is “Ted Lasso.” The improbable premise of this tv show is that the central character is nice. He’s generous to everyone. He has a corny sense of humor. He’s a good man. Whoever thought you could make stories about someone like that? The film that first came to mind is “Wings of Desire” by Wim Wenders. It’s about angels\, who are invisible to most people\, who help us to reduce stress and think positive thoughts by their presence. They are immortal\, but they are missing out on many human pleasures\, like the smell of coffee. Nancy and I love the films of Wes Anderson. Our favorite is “Moonrise Kingdom.” Of Coen brothers’ films\, it’s a toss-up for me between “The Big Lebowski” and “Hail\, Caesar!” I love the Australian film “Bliss” (1985)\, based on the novel by Peter Carey. Another classic is Terry Gilliam’s hilarious dystopian vision “Brazil” (also 1985!). I love the early silent films of Georges Méliès. “The Kingdom of the Fairies” (1903) is especially good. For physical comedy\, Charlie Chaplin’s “The Rink” remains unsurpassed. \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nA favorite film of mine is\, ‘The count of Monte Cristo’. \nIt embodies the tireless effort for justice\, and a will to not give in to the deeds of those that seek ones demise. \nThe character\, Edmond Dontez (later\, the Count) is someone I could relate to while in captivity (prison). He spent 16 years seeking a way out\, to avenge the wrongdoings of his peers.  \nHe eventually did\, and along the way\, learned many other lessons about life and forgiveness. \nEssentially for me\, the story/film is an inspiration to never give up or give in. And to never forget where I came from\, for it is fuel for my fire.  \n  \n—Brandon Gillespie \n\n\n\n  \nThanks for the invitation Johnny.  A few ideas:   \n     \nAs for happiness\, along with some heartbreak and comic flair\, it’s hard to beat the book This Is Happiness by the Irish writer Niall Williams.  I felt like I was living in a village in county Kerry the whole time I was reading the book. In the end I felt like I had made new friends\, been wrapped in a prayer blanket\, fed a good meal and sent home along a winding green path with a fiddle tune and a song. It made me hopeful\, appreciative and aware of the happiness lurking in my own backyard.  Superb writing!  \n     \nAs for film\, “The Mission” (Robert Dinero) comes to mind not because of peace or happiness but because of understanding and the meaning of redemption and forgiveness.  The music is sublime and the scenery stunningly beautiful.  A sad reminder as well of what  artistic and cultural creations might have been had peace\, love\, understanding and imagination prevailed over avarice and greed.   \n      \nOpening day of baseball season always makes me happy.  Here’s a poem I wrote about it.  Love and Play Ball!!! Will   \n  \nWhy Baseball Matters \n  \nBecause in a world obsessed with time\, baseball is a past-time. \nBecause any game could theoretically last into eternity. \nBecause baseball is played on a diamond.  \nBecause in a world obsessed by success even the best hitters fail two-thirds of the time. \nBecause\, as George Carlin reminded us\, football is about “ground and aerial attacks”\, and “marching down the field” while baseball is about “staying safe and coming home.” \nBecause what other game has characters named “Goose\, the Big Hurt\, the Left Hand of God\, the Splendid Splinter\, The Say Hey Kid\, the Sultan of Swat\, Catfish\, Hammerin’ Hank\, Cool Papa\, the Bird\, Big Papi\, The Man of Steal\, Satchel\, the Big Unit and the Iron Horse?” \nBecause the crowd takes a stretch and sings together at the ballpark. \nBecause despite all efforts to improve the game\, baseball remains blessedly slow\, wonderfully conversational\, deceptively complex and enjoyably simple. \nBecause outside of going to the park\, baseball is best experienced on a radio broadcast where gifted storytellers usher us daily into a theatre of imagination.  \nBecause pitchers deliberately baffle\, confuse and confound with “curves\, sliders\, splitters\, sinkers\, screwballs\, knuckleballs\, fastballs and change-ups.”   \nBecause almost every day from April through October millions of boys and girls\, women and men play a game made in America before the Civil War and now beloved from Japan and Korea to Cuba\, Australia\, Venezuela and beyond. \nBecause as Leo Durocher said: “Baseball is like church. Many attend\, few understand.”  Yet\, I would add: all can be uplifted and enjoy. \nBecause as a Boston fan once said: “Baseball is not about life and death. But\, the Red Sox are!”  \nBecause these days it just feels good to shout: “Play ball!”  \n      \n—Will Hornyak  \n* \n  \nFor me\, THE RULES OF THE GAME\, by Jean Renoir\, is a great humanist document that happens to be a movie rather than a novel or play….It is a luminous farce that depicts a weekend at a country estate. The classes\, represented on the one hand by the owner and his guests\, and on the other by members of the staff\, especially a maid and a gamekeeper\, are assiduously separated: one serves\, the other receives. But at the same time\, they all meet and merge as equals in games of love and deception. Renoir misses nothing\, and forgives everything. \nA more recent movie that moves me is THE RIDER\, by Chloe Zhao\, an almost-documentary that tells the story of some Pine Ridge “Indian cowboys”\, who make brief and destructive livings as rodeo riders. The characters play themselves. I’ve watched this three times\, and will watch it a fourth. \nOh\, and also about RULES OF THE GAME; it’s funny as hell. \n  \n—Ken Margolis \n* \nWhat is it about peace that its story is not enduring? \n  \nWings of Desire\, a 1987 film directed by Wim Wenders \n  \nThe aerial shots of Berlin so long before drones. The use of space both physically and visually. The plants in the library. The stand-up desks in the library. The angels in the library. The soft leather seats in the sports car in the showroom where the angels meet to compare notes. The desire for that car from the people looking in. The miracle of being able to watch this movie again in the kitchen 36 years later. The world of humans is in color. A friend and student expressing aversion to angels when I read a poem to a recent class that had a passing reference to them. The discussion that followed over days and walks about this dislike of angels she didn’t even know she had. The drawing on the wall at the circus behind the elephant. The robe on backwards to protect Marion’s chicken feather wings. Nick Cave on the portable phonograph. Looking for the right hat. The trapeze artist in a tuxedo cat suit with a long white tail. But the story of the grass\, the sun\, the leaping\, and the shouting that is still going on as well. Sometimes beauty is the only thing that matters. Chest armor falling from the sky. The revelation and joy in color in a gray gray city. The mural of a ruined building on an intact one. The pile of sawdust the circus left behind. No one saw the carney go. The shared wine glass filled almost to the brim.    \n  \n—Elizabeth Domike \n* \n  \nThis is a fun idea\, Johnny.   \nI particularly like movies based on books. Even if I loved the book\, I like watching how it was made into film. From the many Jane Austen’s to “Bridget Jone’s Diary\,” in which Salmon Rushdie plays himself in a tiny part. The renditions of “A Room with a View” to  “Little Dorrit.”  \nMy favorite film\, that stands up over 50 years\, is “Heaven Knows\, Mr. Allison\,” directed by John Huston. Robert Mitchum and Deborah Kerr\, a marine and a nun\, are stranded on a Japanese-invaded island during WWII. \nBill likes old and new foreign films—Iranian\, Japanese\, French\, Irish\, Indian\, the farther flung the better. Our favorite series ever is “Heimat”–that begins at the end of WWI with a family living above their cow in a small village\, up through that family’s  youngest living amongst his creative fellow artists in the city in the 50’s. Rotten tomato reviewer writes about it: “Edgar Reitz’s Heimat is not just a brilliant film about Germany. It is a brilliant film about our time\, anywhere—perhaps about any time anywhere. \nI’m excited to see everyone’s reviews! \n  \n—Katie Radditz \n* \n  \nI want movies to move me.  \nTwo films\, totally opposite from one another on the surface\, would be my faves of all time. The Crying Game and The Lives of Others are both about love\, courage and compassion. \nMy short take on The Crying Game is that Love Conquers all; love remains love\, in spite of its being turned on its head in a very unexpected way.  \nThe Lives of Others\, a German film\, takes place in 1984\, 5 years before the fall of the Berlin Wall. The Stasi\, the German version of the Nazi SS\, is in operation\, and Captain Gerd Wiesler is assigned the job of spying on a couple suspected of national dissident activity. The Captain is dry\, hardened\, methodical and dispassionate in his work (as he has been his whole life). However\, as time goes on\, he begins to care for his subjects (to his own puzzlement and fear). \nUltimately\, love and compassion conquer\, and he does the right thing\, makes the difficult\, moral choice\, to his own great peril. I love this.  \nOthers have different viewpoints of both these movies; this is what makes them both compelling\, and grand. \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \nA Smile in Abjection \nnotes on the opening credits of Withnail and I \n  \nMy favorite frame in cinema is this one: Paul McGann as Marwood\, the “I” in Withnail and I\, just one minute into the film. We have drawn closer and closer to him as he smokes a cigarette that clearly brings no pleasure\, his eyes shifting and shifting and finding no solace. And as the saxophone of King Curtis carries us gently through a live cut of “A Whiter Shade of Pale\,” Marwood appears to reach some far limit within himself\, and his torment suddenly eases\, or it pauses to breathe\, or Marwood simply parts it like a blackout curtain. He lifts his eyes\, and we perceive a smile that is almost not even there. Perhaps we have just imagined it. Perhaps Marwood himself has imagined it. \n  \n \n  \nCan you see it? I can. It is the mark of a wild\, mad hope. I am certain it is there\, the smile\, because I have been there\, and I have smiled it. It is an abject smile\, a desolate smile\, a smile with sweat on its forehead. Undramatically\, I tell you that it is no less than the smile you face death with. I have been hunted by forces within me and without\, cornered and shivering in a sweater\, smoking far beyond any desire to continue smoking. And yet I would also\, in those midnights\, hallucinate some star\, some aberration of logic in which I could discern a reason to hope. Marwood is looking upon that star\, smiling upon it\, and I\, too\, have seen it. \n  \n—Alex Tretbar \n* \n  \nAndrei Rublev: \nAndrei Rublev is a biographical film about a medieval Russian iconic painter.  In the movie you can hardly see Rublev touching the brush. It is a movie about the formation of Rublev as an artist\, especially an artist living under an oppressive regime. It effectively shows that an artist is society’s conscience.  \n  \nTree of Life: \nTerrance Malicks poetic masterpiece that attempts to capture all of existence through the lens of a boy growing up in the American midlands.  As per the great film critic Roger Ebert “the only other film with this boldness of vision is Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey\, and it lacked Malick’s fierce evocation of human feeling.” \n  \n—Prabu Muruganantham \n* \n  \nDear Reader \nFor next month (May 4th)\, send me something about books that changed the way you see\, experience\, or understand the world. \n  \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n—Johnny \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-2/
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