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SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue  5/15/23
DESCRIPTION:  \nMay 15\, 2023 \n  \nLet your heart speak to others’ hearts. \n—tag on Yogi Tea bag \n  \n                Gandhi Returns \n  \nAs if he had said enough in life\, he uttered  \nnot a word where we stood in the station  \nin my dream\, only a stillness in the bustle  \nall around us. Instead\, he listened\, turning  \nhis bright young face in welcome to every  \ntraveler as they made speeches of their own.  \nA mother told of her son\, and in Gandhi’s eyes  \nthe boy was hero. I told him how Ali in Tehran \nhad written me that poetry is oxygen\, and in  \nMahatma’s eyes\, this was a truth no gun  \ncould injure. One by one he summoned \nwitness from each pilgrim. Then\, smiling\,  \nin his folds of pale cotton he helped us  \nstruggle with our luggage onto the steaming  \ntrain. And when I turned\, I saw he had none. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nAlex Tretbar sent two translations of a poem by Rainer Maria Rilke—showing what a big difference a translator’s choices make. He prefers the Robert Bly version: \n  \nPALM \n  \nInterior of the hand. Sole that has come to walk \nonly on feelings. That faces upward \nand in its mirror \nreceives heavenly roads\, which travel \nalong themselves. \nThat has learned to walk upon water \nwhen it scoops\, \nthat walks upon wells\, \ntransfiguring every path. \nThat steps into other hands\, \nchanges those that are like it \ninto a landscape: \nwanders and arrives within them\, \nfills them with arrival. \n  \n—translated by Stephen Mitchell \n  \nPALM OF THE HAND \n  \nPalm of the hand. Sole that walks now \nonly on feeling. It turns over\, \nbecomes a mirror\, \nshows sky roads\, which \nthemselves are walking. \nIt has learned to walk on water\, \nwhen it dips down\, \nmoves on springs\, \ncauses all roads to fork. \nComes forward into other palms\, \nthose like itself \nturn into a countryside\, \nthrough them it travels and arrives\, \nfills them with having arrived. \n  \n—translated by Robert Bly \n* \n  \nI saw lots of Jet trails in the blue sky gaily criss-crossing \nand wondered how many of us might be able to see them. \nThen this poem\, that our beloved friend and  Zen teacher  \nBob Schaibly liked\, popped into my mind.   \n  \nLove Note \n  \nLet us hire a hundred planes \nStuff them with hot cotton smoke \nAnd write white poetry on the paper of the sky. \nLet the ant people on the hot summer beaches look up squinting \nRead feathery descriptions of your lips\, \nTraced by the sky writers. \n  \nWe’ll pick a calm noontime\, \nSun pressing wrinkles out of the steamy sea \nSky flat\, receptive. \n“Love\,” I’ll write\, and “mouth\,” and silver words. \n“Cling\,” I’ll write\, and “Stars\,” and oh\, don’t worry. \nThe words will all come easily enough. \nIt’s the idea that matters. \n  \nThen I’ll fly up in the highest plane’ \nAnd jump and parachute right through \nThe O in the word “Love” \nAnd land in your backyard\, \nAnd kiss you – home again. \n  \n—Joseph Siebel \n  \n—Katie Radditz \n* \n  \nAnd a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels… \n—Walt Whitman\, Song of Myself \n  \nThe Miraculousness of Everything \n  \nBecause life is short and each day is precious\, I like to begin each day by entering what I call “the Golden World”—a state of quiet joy. To do this\, I often reflect upon the miraculousness of everything. Puffy white clouds floating by in the sky—how do they do that? Where did these coffee beans come from? The trees I see out my window have brand new bright green leaves. How did that happen? Our neighborhood is full of tulips. The irises and the rhododendrons are just starting to bloom. The daphne and the daffodils have had their glorious days. The laptop computer that I’m typing this on was undreamt of when I was a boy. \n  \nMaybe the most impossible and amazing thing of all is that I am alive and aware. My eyes\, brain and nervous system somehow create the illusion of a three-dimensional world in full color. Scientists might say\, “It’s just photons of light hitting the surface of the eye\, sending an electrical current to your brain\, where the synapses in your visual cortex something something something…” Huh? Photons? Synapses? Brain? What the heck are those? Where did they come from? One of my little poems goes like this: \n  \nthere has never been \nis not now \nand will never be \nanything more perfect \nthan this glass of water \n  \nOops! Here I am again…in the Golden World. \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \n#186  The First Noble Truth \n“The Buddha told us to recognize the First Noble Truth\, the truth of suffering\, and to look deeply in order to discover the Second Noble Truth\, the cause of suffering.That is the only way the Fourth Noble Truth\, the path to transform suffering into happiness\, can reveal itself. So we have to emphasize the role of suffering. If we are so afraid of suffering\, we have no chance.” \n—from Your True Home  by Thich Nhat Hanh \n  \nWhen I was in the midst of deep suffering\, of course I couldn’t comprehend that this was a good thing\, leading to happiness. Sure didn’t feel like that to me. \n  \nThe suffering was thirteen years of marriage to a raging alcoholic—yes\, “raging” is not an exaggeration. Trying to cover a black eye with makeup\, wearing long-sleeved shirts to cover bruised arms\, making humiliating excuses for his passing out on the floor in the presence of company\, sharp\, cutting words more lasting than any physical pain…on and on. I thought if I left\, I would be seen as a failure in my parents’ eyes\, so I stayed and endured and excused for\, yes\, thirteen years. Believe me\, I was not thinking of these years as those leading to happiness. Upon divorce (thank you\, Al Anon)\, I eventually became a new person—or I became who I had been before marriage\, Jump-up Jude! I felt like a helium balloon released into the sky. Happiness and euphoria beyond belief. However\, I lived periods of time (and still do!)\, infused with what I would now call PTSD: Once I clambered over audience-filled seats in a theater in Ashland to escape sitting through a play by Sam Sheppard about an alcoholic husband who goes to bars and trades his car for bags of green peppers\, which he drunkenly spills on the kitchen table as he lurches home to his wife. I can’t watch the movie Elephant Man\, or The Days of Wine and Roses. Much as I wanted to\, I could not even sit and watch the delicious hunk\, Bradley Cooper\, starring in A Star is Born\, as he devolves into violent and abusive alcoholism. And I just can’t be around drunk people. I feel like I’m suffocating. \n  \nSo where does the happiness component come from that??? The happiness and benefit come from my ability to connect and empathize  with others who have been traumatized by life experiences. The kids I mentored\, the Indian woman whose family I helped for 18 years\, and most especially\, the men in prison I have spent time with for seven years; I have not lived their lives\, nor have they lived mine\, but we all have had deep trauma and all can relate to one another’s deep trauma in a blessedly bonding experience.  \n  \nIt truly is sheer happiness when one understands\, and is understood by another\, in experiences of trauma and suffering. I wouldn’t trade it for the world! \n  \n–Jude Russell \n* \n  \nOut Here \n  \nWe come out here to watch the stars \nfade as Orion heads home towards \nthe horizon. Low lying mist obscures his \nturning as waves curl and crash\, foamy flow \nup on newly deposited rocks\, old wood\, \nyellow toes of bald eagles foraging \namong crows\, pink footed gulls. \n  \nLight comes up slowly burning mist \naway. As we are away at the edge of the \nknown world. Beacons of cable laying ships\, \nbarges full of earth slowly appear \nas tide comes in. Now there is color \nas sky settles into her blue cloak\, hovers \nprotectively around the huge remnant \n  \nRock of sister cape worn down\, left \nstanding alone in calling distance of \nshore. Before us feasting on starlight \nthe sword edge crescent moon glints \nover barrier pine hills\, \nsweeps the way clear\, for us to make \nwhat we can of this fresh new day. \n  \n—Elizabeth Domike \n* \n  \nMichel is using a book by Pema Chödrön\, based on the slogans in her teacher Chögyam Trungpa’s book Training the Mind: And Cultivating Loving-Kindness\, as inspiration for his April meditation and mindfulness journal. Here are some excerpts: \n  \nApril 4\, 2023  #35  Don’t try to be the fastest. Don’t compete with others. \nI might offer a step further along: Don’t compare self to others—don’t get judgy\, of anything. I’m finding this is one of the lasting legacies of Jake Merriman and OHOM in my life: the letting go of judgement words. To do this one has to follow Johnny Stallings’ trait—compassion for everyone. I find that letting go of obsessive need to categorize and judge\, or sort out good/bad\, like/dislike\, etc. I will vie less and less against others\, or even self\, for prizes that do not exist. From this less judging space it becomes easier to understand and have compassion for an other\, and eventually even for self. \n  \nApril 20\, 2023  #48  Train without bias in all areas. It is crucial to do this pervasively and wholeheartedly. \nIT’S IMPORTANT TO INCLUDE EVERYONE AND \nEVERYTHING YOU MEET AS PART OF YOUR PRACTICE. \nTHEY BECOME THE MEANS BY WHICH YOU \nCULTIVATE COMPASSION AND WISDOM. \nWho doesn’t want to cultivate compassion and/or wisdom? I certainly have been striving to do this. There are certain beings (things are also included in this teaching—sigh) with whom I have a very challenged relationship. I don’t like them\, they don’t like me\, and neither is open to changing this. Yet\, I’m certain (from all my readings) these others are here for some greater purpose in my life; shouldn’t waste an opportunity to grow\, I may not get another one—then what? Go about with a malformed (uncorrected) ego\, as I do now? No thanks! I guess I better get busy with my work/training. \n  \nApril 21\, 2023  #49 Always meditate on whatever provokes resentment. \nDO TONGLEN PRACTICE WHENEVER YOU FEEL RESENTMENT. \nDO IT WITH SMALL THINGS ALL THE TIME. THEN YOU’LL BE \nPREPARED TO WORK WITH THE BIG ONES WHEN THEY ARISE. \nIt seems wise to work with resolving one’s resentments\, before they grow into “hates” for people\, beings\, or things. I believe all mindfulness practice is like this; sit now\, in silent reverie\, so amidst a fierce stormy barrage calm may prevail. Everything would simply build from there. Just breathe… \n  \nApril 23\, 2023  #49 Don’t be swayed by external circumstances. \nWHATEVER YOUR CIRCUMSTANCES\, PRACTICE  TONGLEN. \nWHATEVER IS WANTED\, SEND THAT OUT; WHATEVER IS \nUNWANTED\, BREATHE IT IN AND EXPERIENCE IT FOR \nYOURSELF AND ALL OTHERS IN THE SAME BOAT. \nThis speaks to equanimity—not allowing the outside storms of life to sway my little stuff. Currently\, I am bracing for the eventual passing of my father\, whom I’ve come to love very much. Alzheimer’s is taking a toll on his mind and personality. I don’t see it yet\, but my mom has to deal with many of the challenges that are arising. There’s nothing I can do for either of them; letting those concerns frazzle me doesn’t help any. All I can do is keep doing as best as I can. I’m not ready to let him go\, and at the same time he is already gone. My father I knew as a child is long gone—the one with whom I had so many conflicts and struggles—and the one I’ve come to know\, love\, and appreciate from prison\, he\, too\, is now gone. What’s left is the husk of of a man I once knew for his strength and resolve. He’s not dead\, nor has his mind gone completely yet. However\, the inevitable reality of time’s ravaging of mind and body are no longer easily ignored. It is time to embrace each moment\, as it may be the last one I get with him. Whether by phone\, or if I get to see him once more face-to-face\, truth is present that we all proceed apace to the same destiny—each on our own path and in our own time. \n  \n—Michel Deforge \n* \n  \nDear Mindful Meditators \n  \nOur Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue began on September 15\, 2020. It is mailed to 10 people who are in prison and emailed to about 60 people who aren’t—including 9 men who were in prison in September of 2020 who are now out of prison! Hallelujah! \n  \nWe had our first get-together on Saturday\, May 13th\, at Taborspace in Portland. In attendance were: Charles Erickson\, Nicole Rush\, Sam Muller\, Nancy Scharbach\, Katie Radditz & Johnny Stallings. We talked about how our “life journey” and our “spiritual journey” are the same thing. Everyone shared stories from their life. Abe Green visited us from Montana—via FaceTime. We all had a lovely time together.  \n  \nMay all people be happy. \nMay we live in peace & love. \n  \n—Johnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-5-15-23/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20230601
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20230803
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SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  6/1/23
DESCRIPTION:  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nJune 1\, 2023 \n  \nArt Degraded\, Imagination Denied\, War Governed the Nations. \n—William Blake \n  \nPEACE \n  \nEarly Morning Hours \n  \nFrom the house silence flows \nto the ebony lawn \nglittering like a river. \nA small candle flickers\, \nmirroring the moon \nsliding down night’s curve. \nFir branches stand against the sky\, \nthe hours’ tall sentinels\, \nand the hum inside silence \nfills each shadowed crevice\, \nthe world inundated. \n  \n  \nThe Only Now \n  \nThe stripped body lies burrowed \nin a flower well\, utterly still\, \nand one wonders \nif it has died into the nectar. \nSheltered by night\, \nin the morning the bee resumes \nsipping\, covered in pollen \nbumbling from flower to flower\, \nhis home where he stops\, \nsatiated with sugared gold\, \nhis life and eating and bliss\, \nsleep and journey all one. \n  \n  \nUnexpected \n  \nRampant weeds crowd bee balm and hyssop\, \ndirt clings to roots\, leaves bend \nand in the midst of this fecundity\, \nI am digging\, pulling\, only \nthe sun’s heat on my back. \nMoving through the afternoon quiet \na feathered sound of wings \nis near\, slower and closer\, \nand a light weight comes to rest on my head. \nCould it be? I reach a hand up\, \nthe wings lift\, rise\, and are gone. \n  \n  \nThe Tree in the Universe \n  \nLight glints off cherries in the branches \nswaying slightly in summer breezes. \n  \nI too am swinging\, shimmering\, high \nin the tree\, resting in a dark trunk \n  \nadrift and asleep\, the sky \ndappling the light in the tree\, \n  \nabove the ground air my companion\, birds \nmy companions\, jumping and wondering\, \n  \nall of us in the branches\, in the light\, \ntime a mystery that moves in the tree\, \n  \noff the ground\, as my vision\, \nmy mind unrolls in front of me \n  \ncarrying my heart forward and backward\, \ninward\, time and space a single pulse \n  \nand the cherries shine\, the tree grows \nquietly upward and outward\, carrying me\, \n  \nthe birds\, and all around\, all around\, \nright here in the branches\, in time and in sight\, \n  \nI see that\, yes\, yes\, each particle\, \neach moment turning in the sky\, \n  \nin the tree\, flowing between us\, \nin us\, what I imagined\, what I dreamed \n  \nand dreaded and is now here—all of it divine. \n  \n—Deborah Buchanan \n* \n  \nA couple months ago my friend Ken Margolis was listening to the news. He heard a report on the war in Ukraine. Both sides were said to be running low on ammunition\, because they were both using 1\,ooo artillery shells per day. Two thousand artillery shells per day! More than one per minute. It was insane. He told his friends\, including me. He wondered: Is there is anything we can do to bring this war to an end? That question prompted me to choose the theme “Peace” for this month’s peace\, love\, happiness & understanding. The word “peace” has two main connotations: the absence of war\, and a calm\, quiet state of mind. When I invited people to contribute to this issue\, I said the topic is “peace\,” but didn’t specify which kind of peace. \n  \nFor me\, the “two kinds of peace” are not unrelated. In the early Eighties I wrote a fairly long essay called “The Ecology of Violence\, the Ecology of Peace: A Lived Revolution—Personally\, Locally\, Globally.” In it\, I explored topics like Authority\, Poverty\, Education\, Cruelty\, the Media\, Meditation\, Economics\, Ideology\, Ecology\, Family\, Culture\, Community\, and many more. One of the primary insights of Ecology is that everything is  inter-related to everything else. The Buddhist teacher Thich Nhat Hanh spoke of “interbeing.” It seems to me that our “job” is to help to co-create a culture that nurtures all people\, and to learn or re-learn how humans can live on this planet without destroying it—like all the other animals do. \n  \nMy outlook on life has been shaped by the fact that instead of going to Vietnam to kill people\, I went to India and studied with wise yogis. When I think of war\, instead of thinking about brave soldiers fighting to make the world a better place\, I think of that photograph of Vietnamese children who have been bombed with jellied gasoline. Every day the war goes on in Ukraine\, more children die. More mothers and fathers\, sisters and brothers die. It’s insane. \n  \nHere’s a poem I wrote: \n  \nMy Foolproof Plan for World Peace \n  \nI hereby declare today to be International Love Day. \nAnd a General Armistice. \nAll hostilities must cease on International Love Day. \nHenceforward\, every day is International Love Day. \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nAlex sent this poem by Tom Clark: \n  \nBolinas \n  \nMy wife’s recipe for a fairy: \nPut buttercup pollen \nAnd a canary feather \nIn a thimble. At midnight\, \nImmersed in my life’s current \nHowever it may flow \nIn the giant life around it \nThat whispers like a tree \nRocked by evening light\, \nA tide of beams \nBears my dreambound boat. \nThe boughs drop peace\, \nA star wanders toward dawn \nOver the dim wet leaves. \n  \n—Tom Clark \n  \n—Alex Tretbar \n* \n  \nTo me lately\, peacefulness is just being a happy person and trying to make others understand happiness in just a few seconds of every moment. If one can achieve this their life will be happy. I found this secret on my journey to the golden path. A friend told me about the golden path years ago. I live there now and the town I live in on the golden path is called simple bliss. \n  \nI also find peace in the sweat of my brow from a job well done. I can’t wait to work hard for the ones I love. Peace is free and it lives inside of us and if you have it in you\, my friends\, give it to those that don’t. \n  \n—Rocky Hutchinson \n* \n  \nSiddhartha’s prayer     \n  \nWhen they asked why he left \nhis people and his palace\,  \nthe response rose like fragrance from summer’s garden. \nThere is peace in every breath\, he said\, \nand every heartbeat \nand every footstep \nthat will no longer be forgotten \nor forsaken. \nI wish every thought to be a prayer \nevery word to be a poem \nevery touch an act of love\, \nand all to be  \nas it already is. \n               – amen \n  \n—Bill Faricy \n* \n  \nSurrounded \nMemorial Day 2023 \n  \nPerhaps there is the sound of water\, \nthe feel of a light breeze\, comfortable \nwarmth\, rustling leaves. \n  \nMaybe the colors make harmonies\, \nsmell of sandalwood\, taste \nof cardamom on the tongue. \n  \nThe temptation of a ladder rung \nto a nest above ruins sharp \nedged with smoke\, mist. \n  \nMissed. We’re here. This list \nof all that’s lost\, endless. Still \nfingers uncurl from a fist. \n  \nIn the end everyone was right. \nAll we wanted was a sense of \nbelonging\, a path\, not a fight. \n  \nInstead\, a respite\, for now. \nForever? The crowd surrounds us\, \nwhether we are aware\, or not. \n  \n—Elizabeth Domike \n* \n                          Peace Tree \n  \nMy calling is to rise. My purpose is to reach. \nWhere buildings fall\, I stand silent in the shouting. \nEven in billowing dust\, I begin the next peace. If  \nyou splinter me\, I will heal. After the battle\, I will  \nsilhouette dawn. I have seen seasons pass\, the rising  \nof anger\, fury of the storm\, return of calm. I’m still \nyearning for the sun\, still delving into dark. Rooted \npatriot of Earth\, I drink the sky to give you breath. \nNeutral in war\, I shade both sides. Send my seeds  \nacross the border\, I will be your diplomat of green. \nIf you plant me beside the graves of soldiers\, I will \nsay to their mothers with my leaves what they  \nmight have said in the wind that stirs. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nPeace Within\, Peace Without \n  \nWho doesn’t want to have peace within him or herself? Who doesn’t want to have world peace? I would say there are very few people in either category—a few\, maybe\, but not many. \n  \nHere is an inside aside: \nCan you have peace without love? \nCan you have peace without joy\, either within yourself or in the ‘world?’ \nIs peace synonymous with love? Is love synonymous with joy? \nAre there other words that define or are requirements for peace? Compassion? Connection? \n  \nWell\, I’m just throwing these out there\, as you can see\, but let’s go back to peace within/peace without. \n  \nHow can you be at peace within yourself and not be concerned about the world? It is overwhelming to think about trying to ‘fix’ the world\, for sure. We all know how that feels. Might as well give up on that and just work on being at peace within yourself\, right? Well\, that is impossible\, my friends. A spirit at peace is one who gnaws away\, tackles\, wrestles with—inch by inch\, foot by foot—-some part of the exterior world that is hurting\, be it other humans\, other creatures\, the world of nature. We do the work often never knowing whether or not we are achieving change\, lessening hurt\, creating love\, creating bond and connection and unity. This is not why we do it; we do the work because the work itself is what grows peace within us. And—-we have to do it.  \n  \nHa ha—but don’t get the idea that it is easy. It can be frightening\, hurtful\, frustrating\, and really hard; but something in us is propelled to keep on. And whatever that ‘something’ is\, brings (paradoxically) an inner peace. \n  \nSo we have to be in the world\, doing our bit\, small as it is; but always\, all of it\, from all of us is growing peace in the world. And just think if each and every one were to do this! World Peace!!! \n  \nWorking on the peace without is essential for the peace within…and vice versa. \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \nThe trouble with peace seems to be that it isn’t enough for us. Of course\, war is the ultimate step in a power struggle to determine who gets the gold and the throne. So\, in that sense\, battle skills are the most useful of all skills. \n  \nBut there is something more. At the same time we fear war\, we lust after it. We sing of arms and the man. War becomes the context for heroism\, nobility\, and deep companionship. It also destroys the beautiful\, kills the innocent\, and generates hatred in future generations. \n  \nIn spite of Elon Musk and other technological self-deceivers\, most people feel intuitively that life and death form some sort of continuum. To manifest its cycle of renewal\, life needs death. Does peace need war in some mysterious way? \n  \nWhen we think of Heaven\, we think No More War\, green meadows and grandchildren on our knee\, not the whole thing blown to bits by an incoming drone. War has its lobby\, its advocates and advertisers\, its prophets and profiteers. It’s only fair that a few of us take the other\, apparently less popular side\, and advocate for peace. \n  \n—Ken Margolis \n* \n  \n“Peace has been a theme in some of our earlier issues. Take a look at the peace\,love\, happiness & understanding Archive on the Open Road website. Here’s from June 24\, 2021: \n  \nhttps://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-6-24-21/ \n  \nFor July\, send me something about your own vision of Utopia or Paradise. \n  \npeace\,   \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-6-1-23/
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