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SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  8/3/23
DESCRIPTION:  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nAugust 3\, 2023 \n  \nVISIONS OF UTOPIA & PARADISE \n  \nTo create around ourselves the kind of world that we wish to live in–isn’t that the most important project of our lives? \n  \n–from Alchemy of Snowness by the Russian clown\, Slava Polunin \n  \nGONZALO \nHad I plantation of this isle\, my lord— \nANTONIO \nHe’d sow ’t with nettle seed. \nSEBASTIAN  Or docks\, or mallows. \nGONZALO \nAnd were the king on ’t\, what would I do? \nSEBASTIAN  Scape being drunk\, for want of wine. \nGONZALO \nI’ th’ commonwealth I would by contraries \nExecute all things\, for no kind of traffic \nWould I admit; no name of magistrate; \nLetters should not be known; riches\, poverty\, \nAnd use of service\, none; contract\, succession\, \nBourn\, bound of land\, tilth\, vineyard\, none; \nNo use of metal\, corn\, or wine\, or oil; \nNo occupation; all men idle\, all\, \nAnd women too\, but innocent and pure; \nNo sovereignty— \nSEBASTIAN  Yet he would be king on ’t. \nANTONIO  The latter end of his commonwealth forgets \nthe beginning. \nGONZALO \nAll things in common nature should produce \nWithout sweat or endeavor; treason\, felony\, \nSword\, pike\, knife\, gun\, or need of any engine \nWould I not have; but nature should bring forth \nOf its own kind all foison\, all abundance\, \nTo feed my innocent people. \nSEBASTIAN  No marrying ’mong his subjects? \nANTONIO  None\, man\, all idle: whores and knaves. \nGONZALO \nI would with such perfection govern\, sir\, \nT’ excel the Golden Age. \nSEBASTIAN  ’Save his Majesty! \nANTONIO \nLong live Gonzalo! \n  \n—from The Tempest by William Shakespeare\, Act 2\, scene 1 \n  \nHere’s an excerpt from Magdalena Cieślak’s interview with Stratis Panourios about a production of Shakespeare’s The Tempest\, which he directed at Korydallos prison in Athens: \n  \nMC:  One of the central characters in your production is Gonzalo. Can you explain why this particular character is of such importance for your reading of the play? In what way are his ideas of a utopian state crucial for the social role of the project?  \n  \nSP:  Gonzalo\, as Shakespeare mentions him in the list of characters\, is an honest old advisor from Naples\, and I see him the same way. Although he was appointed to dispose of Prospero and Miranda at sea\, he actually helped them survive\, giving them water\, food\, clothes and books that Prospero considered important….He is a positive thinker\, who believes in the will of Heaven…. \n  \nThe participants are baptized again through the performance. For the duration of the  rehearsals and their presence on stage\, they are reborn. This is particularly visible in the participant who plays Gonzalo\, as he becomes a different person\, even if just for a few months. The inmates call him Gonzalo inside the prison. And during his famous monologue\, when he says “And were the king of it\, what would I do?”\, he becomes a king\, president or prime minister of the country. After this  monologue he cannot be himself. He acquires respect and prestige\, even if this is related to a theatrical monologue. \n  \nHe is also given the opportunity to speak on behalf of all the prisoners—to say that he imagines their own world\, outside the prison. A world that is “upside down” or “opposite” to today’s world. In the monologue\, Gonzalo says: “I’ th’ commonwealth I would by contraries / Execute all things.” In our rehearsals we pondered on whether this world should be the norm and not the other way around….This verse opened a whole world to us.  \n  \nThrough extensive discussions during rehearsals we achieved a connection between the world of Gonzalo and Platonic ideals. Since the staging of our play not only involved rehearsals but also a lot of research\, one of the participants took the initiative to guide us with a lecture\, making an introduction to Plato’s work Politeia [The Republic]. As a modern Socrates\, a prisoner\, he spoke to us about the importance of justice and how much happier a righteous person is from an unjust one. He spoke to us about the definition of justice\, the structure of society\, property and privacy\, and philosopher-kings; he spoke about Plato’s Allegory of the Cave and the importance of the truth for different regimes; and about art\, utopias and dystopias. Our room was transformed into the “Gallipoli” of the book and all of us into philosopher-kings. We could talk for hours and hours about the issues in Plato’s Politeia\, so we decided for the time being that maybe one of our future performances would have the theme of Politeia\, where we could all study it thoroughly. \n  \nAs reference books and texts on the ideal state\, we studied Thomas Moore’s Utopia\, written in 1516\, presenting a story taking place on a strange island somewhere in the South Atlantic Ocean\, off the coast of South America. We could not help but associate Shakespeare with the reading of this book\, making sure that the decision to link the prison to Prospero’s Island was the right one. This reading was followed by references to the Biblical Garden in Eden\, Sir Philip Sydney’s Arcadia (1580)\, a summary of Michel de Montaigne’s Of Cannibals (1580). We ended our study with texts written by the participants on the subject of their own vision of an ideal state. The adaptation of Gonzalo’s monologue in our show was based on the texts by the participants. \n  \nThe  participant who plays Gonzalo now had the opportunity to talk about his ideal state\, a world without crime and prisons. Until then\, his voice was heard only in his apology in court\, while now his monologue was addressed to the spectators. And the spectators are by no means jurors. On the edge of the stage\, he was free not only to apologize but to share something very important: his own discovery and the thoughts of an ideal utopia. His words are dominated by a big “if.” “If” the world was different\, maybe he would not have to be in prison\, he would have the opportunity to live like other people. He would live a normal life and his childhood would be full of wonder and hope. Because in the conversations we had\, we likened this time to childhood\, which for most prisoners may have existed as an idealized state. In the rehearsals\, of course\, we experienced this through the joy of creation. \n  \n—from Multicultural Shakespeare\, vol. 26 (41) 2022 \n* \n  \nAlas!\, there was no “peace\, love\, happiness & understanding” in July because I was on the open road—traveling to Athens and Beirut\, where I showed Bushra’s film “A Midsummer Night’s Dream in Prison.” The conversations following the screenings were great! While in Athens\, I saw a production of “The Persians” by Aeschylus at Korydallos prison\, directed by my friend Stratis Panourios. One thing especially reminded me of our plays done in Oregon prisons. After the performances\, love and happiness were in the air—in prison! A miracle! \n  \nAt the end of the June issue of “peace\, love\, happiness & understanding\,” I invited everyone to share their visions of utopia and paradise. The subject turns out to be so big that all I can manage are a few random thoughts. Here they are: \n  \nThe word “utopia” was coined by Sir Thomas More for his novel Utopia. It is often said that it is a translation from Greek\, and that it means “no-place\,” but Thomas More was probably punning on two Greek words outopia\, meaning “no-place\,” and eutopia\, meaning “happy place.” Most creators of literary utopias were imagining societies where life would be better than the societies in which they lived—happy places! \n  \nPlato’s Republic is a grand vision of an ideal society. I wouldn’t want to live there. Ernest Callenbach’s Ecotopia is more my speed. But of course not everyone wants to live in the hippie version of paradise. \n  \nIn Christianity\, the word “Paradise” refers to the Garden of Eden and to Heaven. In the Garden of Eden a naked man and woman live in innocence\, without sin or death. There is just one rule: they can’t eat of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. Tempted by a talking snake\, they do just that. They get kicked out of the Garden before they are able to eat of the Tree of Life—and gain immortality thereby. They are punished for the sin of disobedience to the God who created them. A number of other punishments ensue\, but the most dramatic one is that they will die. \n  \nProbably the oldest story invented by humans is that when you die you don’t really die. You go somewhere else. In Christianity\, the basic idea is that when you die you go to Heaven if you have been good—and if you believe in Jesus Christ\, who died on the cross to save you from sin and death. If you have been bad—or are an unbeliever—you are damned and must go to Hell\, which is a place of eternal punishment. The idea that the good are rewarded after death and the bad are punished is an idea that is found in many cultures\, and in the writings of Plato. There’s a Tibetan board game called “Rebirth\,” which features a number of hells\, including “The Black Rope and Crushing Hells.” (Incidentally\, most of the squares on the board—on your journey to Nirvana—are states of consciousness above the heavenly realms of the gods.) \n  \nThere are lots and lots of visions of utopias\, dystopias\, paradises\, and hell realms of one kind and another. A fundamental obstacle to achieving utopian societies is that one person’s utopia is another person’s dystopia. Recently the Lincoln Project posted a video on YouTube in which Marjorie Taylor Greene describes the nightmarish Socialist Big Government dystopia that Democrats like Joe Biden represent—addressing education\, medical care\, urban problems\, rural poverty\, transportation\, food stamps\, welfare\, economic opportunity\, labor unions\, and environmental programs. This all sounds pretty good to some folks. \n  \nThere are many dystopian visions these days\, in books and films. Two of the most well-known dystopias of the Twentieth Century are George Orwell’s 1984 and Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World. Huxley’s utopian novel\, Island\, is less well-known. Dave Eggers has recently given us two novels set in a not-very-distant future\, in which efforts to create a technological utopia give the reader a distinctly dystopian feeling—The Circle and The Every. In The Road\, Cormac McCarthy imagines a future that is so ecologically devastated that human survival is in peril.  \n  \nCinematic dystopias abound. The series of Mad Max films is one example among many. Utopian visions are harder to come by. In Wim Wenders’ film Wings of Desire\, one of the angel protagonists exchanges his immortality for an earthly existence\, where he can enjoy the aroma of coffee and live with a beautiful trapeze artist. It’s like in the fairy tales where at least some of the people live happily ever after. This is also known as the “Hollywood Ending.” We leave the theater feeling good.  \n  \nThere were many utopian experiments in Nineteenth Century America—from the Oneida Community\, which lasted for 33 years\, to the Mormon Church\, which is still going strong. More recently\, lots of people started hippie communes. These days the term for people who get together to live more in accordance with their ideals is “intentional communities.” \n  \nThere’s a dark side to utopian visions\, especially when violence and coercion are used to “improve” the world. The Third Reich is a spectacular example. There are others. \n  \nLast weekend Nancy and I went to the Canterbury Renaissance Faire\, where some of our friends were performing Hamlet. The whole festival was someone’s utopian vision. Thousands of people came who enjoy imagining themselves as fairies\, medieval knights\, and other natural and supernatural characters of one kind and another. A play is a magical world\, whether it is performed at Korydallos prison or the Canterbury Faire. For a little while we are transported to another world. \n  \nIf you think of it in this way\, utopias are everywhere. Sometimes they are very brief. A perfect moment is paradise. \n  \nThe Big World is an endlessly complex system of ever-changing forces. While some people work for peace\, justice and ecology\, there are many countervailing forces in play. We have\, I think\, an obligation to make efforts to make the world a better place for all people—and for elephants and butterflies.  \n  \nIn addition to this extremely challenging undertaking\, we have a duty\, day-by-day\, to become better people—wiser\, kinder\, more happy\, more loving\, more free. Surrounded by dystopias and hells of one kind and another\, we can bless the day\, be thankful for our human life on earth\, be helpful to our fellow mortals\, create for ourselves and others moments when we find ourselves in Paradise. \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nMy new friend Spiros in Athens sent this poem: \n  \nAnd people mix and separate and they take nothing from each other. \nBecause love is the most difficult way to get to know one  another. \nBecause people\, my friend\, live in the moment they find a solace in the lives of others. \nAnd then you understand why the desperate become the greatest rebels. \nAnd we are suddenly defenseless\, \nlike a victor in the face of death or a defeated one facing Eternity… \n  \n— Tasos Leivaditis\, translated from the Greek by Spiros Chrisovitsianos \n* \n  \nKim wrote this poem this morning (8/3/23): \n  \n               Borrowed Aura \n  \nIn my dream\, our shop dealt in dazzlings— \neach soul’s essence distilled to mist \nwe could bottle and bestow to restore \nbalance\, a hint of your verve to enliven \nmy calm\, a whiff of my patience to guide \nyour eagerness\, gifts sifted for exchange \nuntil we each became whole. \n  \nWaking\, I walked into the forest of dawn \nwhere the scent of pitch brightened my mind\, \nghostly lichen on a limb re-set my life clock\, \na raven’s raspy shriek startled my pulse\, \ngreen light dazzled my numb soul\, \nas each turn in my pilgrim path \nnudged me toward wisdom. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nWords for Cup and Water \n  \nStepping through the dream-wall President Lincoln \ncradles a cat named Bob. Droplets of rain shine \non the hemlock tree which reached \nthe bedroom window just this year. \n  \nAll beveled mirrors still shimmer no matter \nwhat they reflect\, drugstore\, library\, bookshop \nall carry magazines\, hopes\, and dreams\, \none long loop running down \n  \nstreamlets in the mist. I make a nest with my hands\, \ntry to capture the mood of the mountain. \nthe President says\, “Don’t bother\, we have work to do.” \nInstead\, Bob washes\, framed by evening light. \n  \nWe pause for a moment. \nWatch a female Harrier glide golden\, \nover marshy fields opening before our eyes. \nSleeves rolled up; possibilities begin to appear nearby. \n  \n—Elizabeth Domike \n* \n  \nWhat an Angel Said \nafter Austin T. Holland \n  \nYou better believe it\, \nkid: the arkless sea \nis also a kind of ark. \n  \nMy grief has endless credit \nbut I blew it all on craps \nand now my eyes lack coins. \n  \nI never understood whether heaven-sent \nmeant from or to \nthat bright & high-rent place. \n  \nDivinate me. At the bottom \nof every teacup (in the dregs) \nyou’ll find a death’s-head. \n  \nTomorrow\, you’ll risk laughter \nwhen I ascend the compost pile \nin a huff of regeneration. \n  \nNext century\, I am \ncrowned with a wreath \nof black dove & white raven \n  \nfeathers. \n  \n—Alex Tretbar\, first published in Anti-Heroin Chic \n* \n  \nPerfect Day \n  \nit’s another perfect day on Planet Earth \nI carried a heavy stone from the truck to the back yard \nthe bright flowers shouted at me \nwoke me up \nreminded me \nwhat is true \n  \nfar away\, in Washington D. C.\, they are making plans to kill more people \nin order to get more money \n  \nand maybe oblivious to the blue sky \npeople in this city are charging off to work \npreoccupied with all their problems \n  \nthere are millions of ways to ignore \nand even to try to destroy \nthe beauty that calls to us everywhere \nfrom everyone \nfrom every thing \non this perfect day \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nWe shall study every philosophy\, search through all the scriptures\, consult every teacher and practice all spiritual exercises until our minds are swollen with the whole wisdom of the world. But in the end we shall return to the surprising fact that we walk\, eat\, sleep\, feel and breathe\, that whether we are deep in thought or idly passing the time of day\, we are alive. And when we can know just that to be the supreme experience of religion we shall know the final secret and join in the laughter of the gods. \n  \n—Alan Watts\, quoted in Wandering in Eden by Michael Adam
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-8-3-23/
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SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue  8/15/23
DESCRIPTION:  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n  \n  \nAugust 15\, 2023 \n  \nLive righteously and love everyone. \n—tag on a Yogi Tea bag \n  \n  \n#32 Constant Transformation  \n  \n“Impermanence and selflessness are not negative aspects of life\, but the very foundation on   which life is built. Impermanence is the constant transformation of things. Without impermanence\, there can be no life. Selflessness is the interdependent nature of all things. Without interdependence\, nothing could exist.”—from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh \n  \nA couple of things have happened in the last year or so that make this #32 of Constant Transformation jump out at me: \n  \n#1: I have a neighbor who uses people. It’s one thing to ask for favors and then offer some form of thanks or reciprocation—-no problem with that. This neighbor offers nothing\, and often just asks for more. I have been very ticked off about this. Years ago she asked me to ‘just swing by and water my geraniums. You’ll be walking Lolo anyway\, right?’ Okay\, sure. But this meant  watering 40 geraniums\, several times a week—for five months! While she was in Arizona! So I did. In return\, she gave me five lemons from her tree in Scottsdale. I did this for two years\, with no small amount of growing resentment and internal grumbling\, and then I politely but firmly refused\, feeling really taken advantage of. This last year she asked again\, and for some reason I said yes. This time I started admiring the bright red blooms in the pale\, midwinter light. I rubbed the leaves with my fingers and smelled their pungent flavor. It took me back to my dad’s geraniums and gave me sweet memories of him and my mom. It became a welcome task to take care of the geraniums\, and when she returned\, with five more lemons\, I thanked her gratefully for brightening up my wintertime. Because she did! \n  \nSecond transformation: I love to hike. I love burbling streams\, mossy banks\, nodding trilliums\, dark green branches of massive tree trunks.  Oh no! Another bag of dog poop left at the foot of that tree! What is wrong with you people?!?!?! If you’re going to bring your dog\, pick up your damned poop bags on the way out! Honestly\, I know you know it’s there. You just decided it’s no big deal to leave it. Snarl\, snarl\, grumble\, fume. The beauty fades and all I can think is…being pissed off! Well\, what’s the point of that? \n  \nSo one day I picked up the bag of poop and carried it out. I attached it to the rear windshield wiper of my car and took it home where I tossed it in the garbage can. Maybe they just didn’t see it when they were hiking out. You never know. Next time I picked up another bag. Somebody saw me carrying it and thanked me for carrying my dog’s poop bag out of the woods. Oh\, it’s not my dog’s\, it was just left on the trail\, I said. You’re a saint\, they said. Oh no\, I murmured\, modestly.  \n  \nBut aside from sort of feeling like a saint\, I felt good about helping keep my beautiful woods clean. I kept thinking that you don’t know\, maybe people do just forget or can’t find their dog’s poop bag. So I can help out and kind of keep things beautiful for me and for other hikers.  \n  \nThat was a couple of years ago\, and now I do it all the time. I’m a little bit miffed that nobody’s called me a saint again\, but I still get a good feeling when I see the clean and beautiful woods.  \n  \nComplete transformation. \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \nJude\, you’re a saint!  \n—(from the Editor) \n* \n  \n                   Artificial Light \n  \nBy bulbs and wires\, porch lights insult dusk\, \nstreetlights thieve stars from children\, headlights \nstab haste deep into wounded night. \n  \nBy day\, I squint by the pallor of false explanation\, \nthe sickly glow of lies claiming illumination \nwhile casting artificial darkness everywhere. \n  \nThis light blinds my mind. I seek real dark\, \nno human spark’s denial. I need thin shoes \nfinding my path by feel\, night stars\, grope touch\, \n  \nearth sleep\, nocturnal dreams\, then dawn. \n  \n—Kim Stafford   8-11-2023 \n* \n  \nNot Yet \n  \nA connoisseur of hands \n(because hers are crippled) \nsaid when looking at his \nthat they are the most beautiful \nshe had yet seen. \n  \nThe fact that they will leave \nthis world soon may have had \nsomething to do with this impression. \n  \nA glint of silver flashes as fish \nleap headlong \nout of the river into the sky. \n  \n—Elizabeth Domike \n* \n  \nMidsummer night dreaming \n  \nIt’s heating up—the Sun is beaming up there during the day. But the night sky is also fully alive with shooting stars. I’m sleeping outside to watch the Perseid meteor shower at its peak. It’s a new moon so a black sky\, no clouds or rain to block the view. I know it can sometimes make us feel insignificant looking at the cold stars\, but tonight I feel expansive\, to be alive and witness the amazing cosmos. The cooling breeze makes me feel in tune with the cedar trees and the birch that surround our home. Even though there is only a narrow strip of sky\, I can see the big dipper’s handle and there was one long streak of shooting star that seemed to welcome me to the party. I’m cooling down\, slowing down.  \n  \nI relate to this poem of Wendell Berry’s and am lucky to live where I can go out and lay down in the wild. \n  \nThe Peace of Wild Things \n  \nWhen despair for the world grows in me\nand I wake in the night at the least sound\nin fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be\,\nI go and lie down where the wood drake\nrests in his beauty on the water\, and the great heron feeds.\nI come into the peace of wild things\nwho do not tax their lives with forethought\nof grief. I come into the presence of still water.\nAnd I feel above me the day-blind stars\nwaiting with their light. For a time\nI rest in the grace of the world\, and am free. \n  \n—Wendell Berry \n  \nDreaming about and longing for summer’s past\, hiking in the snow-capped mountains\, along fresh creeks we could drink from\, having a young adult body with knees that could easily let me jump from boulder to boulder up McCord Creek in the Gorge. \n  \nImpermanence and desires – Thinking of Hermia and her many changing desires that are befuddling and too rapid. Finally they are debilitating\, all these loves won then lost\, until her legs fail her. This seems like a good Buddhist story. How important it is to not cling and be swept away\, to slow down and enjoy what there is here now. To stop running after things till our legs give out. \n  \nI like the quiet implied in Wendell Berry’s poem. There aren’t sounds after the first one that wakes him. And so I lie down outside when the traffic has stopped and I can hear the soothing wind in the trees and the silent stars that I know are always there. \n  \nI hope you all stay cool somehow and enjoy Midsummer Night dreaming. \n  \n—Katie Radditz \n* \n  \nIn this excerpt from Centuries of Meditations\, Thomas Traherne gives an account of how he experienced the world when he was a child: \n  \nThe corn was orient and immortal wheat\, which never should be reaped\, nor was ever sown. I thought it had stood from everlasting to everlasting. The dust and stones of the street were as precious as gold: the gates were at first the end of the world. The green trees when I saw them first through one of the gates transported and ravished me\, their sweetness and unusual beauty made my heart to leap\, and almost mad with ecstasy\, they were such strange and wonderful things. The Men! O what venerable and reverend creatures did the aged seem! Immortal Cherubims! And young men glittering and sparkling Angels\, and maids strange seraphic pieces of life and beauty! Boys and girls tumbling in the street\, and playing\, were moving jewels. I knew not that they were born or should die; But all things abided eternally as they were in their proper places. Eternity was manifest in the Light of the Day\, and something infinite behind everything appeared: which talked with my expectation and moved my desire. The city seemed to stand in Eden\, or to be built in Heaven. The streets were mine\, the temple was mine\, the people were mine\, their clothes and gold and silver were mine\, as much as their sparkling eyes\, fair skins and ruddy faces. The skies were mine\, and so were the sun and moon and stars\, and all the World was mine; and I the only spectator and enjoyer of it. I knew no churlish properties\, nor bounds\, nor divisions: but all properties and divisions were mine: all treasures and the possessors of them. So that with much ado I was corrupted\, and made to learn the dirty devices of this world. Which now I unlearn\, and become\, as it were\, a little child again that I may enter into the Kingdom of God. \n  \n—Thomas Traherne\, Centuries of Meditations\, Third Century\, Meditation #3 \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nUnderstanding Makes Compassion Possible (pt. 1) \n  \nUnderstanding is the substance out of which we fabricate compassion. What kind of understanding…? It’s the understanding that the other person suffers too. When we suffer\, we tend to believe we’re the victims of others\, that we are the only ones who suffer. This is not true—the other person also suffers. If we could only see the pain within him\, we would begin to understand him. Once understanding is present\, compassion becomes possible….The other person may be an inmate like us\, or a guard. If we look\, we can see there is a lot of suffering within him. Maybe he doesn’t know how to handle his suffering. Maybe he allows his suffering to grow…and this makes him and other people around him suffer. So with this kind of awareness or mindfulness\, you begin to understand\, and understanding will give rise to your compassion. With compassion in you\, you will suffer much less\, and you will be motivated by a desire to do something—or not do something—so the other person suffers less. Your way of looking or smiling at him may help him suffer less…. \n  \n—Thich Nhat Hanh  \n(This might be from the book Be Free Where You Are\, which is the record of a talk he gave at the Maryland Correctional Institution at Hagerstown—Ed.) \n  \nSometimes I struggle to want to allow compassion for some to develop. Is it unreasonable to want those who (seem to deliberately) cultivate the means of suffering for others to have even more suffering—because their actions show their mis-managed suffering? I guess the answer is in the question: If they have more\, then they will pass on more—hurt people hurt people. How sad this is\, that our world\, with all the advancements\, can’t evolve (communally) past the concerns of toddler-hood. Such as\, basic safety and hurting others to express our own pain. This was revealed for me in For Your Own Good and some other books Johnny shared with me. Compassion seems to be the path out\, and mindful awareness is the key unlocking the gate thereto. \n  \n—Michel Deforge
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-8-15-23/
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