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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20230815
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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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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20230907
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20231005
DTSTAMP:20260425T222251
CREATED:20230909T235237Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20230909T235602Z
UID:4105-1694044800-1696463999@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  9/7/23
DESCRIPTION:One Happy Man (Rocky Hutchinson) with Eight Puppies (two are black) \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nSeptember 7\, 2023 \n  \nIf you help one person\, you help humanity. \n—Ai Weiwei \n  \nKen Margolis sent this poem by Ai Qing\, who is the father of the artist Ai Weiwei: \n  \nYARKHOTO \nIt’s almost as if a caravan is wending its way through town \nA clamor of voices mingling with the tinkle of camel bells \nThe markets bustling as before \nAn incessant flow of carts and horses \nBut no—the splendid palace \nHas lapsed into ruin \nOf a thousand years of joys and sorrows \nNot a trace can be found \nYou who are living\, live the best life you can \nDon’t count on the earth to preserve memory \n  \n—Ai Qing  (1980) \n* \n  \nA letter from Abe Green: \n  \nIt’s early morning \n          I’m sitting in my backyard acquainting myself with the \nrichness of this new day \n          The sun bright and warm \n          The air intoxicatingly fresh           [small feather taped to the page] \n          I gulp it with delight \nA hundred thoughts clamor for my attention but I deny all in \nanticipation of the song birds arrival at my feeder \n          I am patient \nSuddenly a single wren swoops in alighting on the small \ntable next to my chair \n          Next to my arm \n          We both seem surprised and take cautious appraisal of  \none another \n          She inspecting this mysterious land-bound creature \n          I observing her intricate feathering \n          Her tiny yet powerful legs and feet \n          And most of all her dark probing eyes \n  \nGazing into those ebon portals I was confronted with the \nfull creative power of life \n          Did she see the same in mine? \n          Did she see the earth song in my heart? \n  \nHow beautiful those few heartbeats were for me and \n          How beautiful was her perfection \n  \nThen with three resonant chirps as if clarifying an essential \ntruth with this benign human \n          She took wing to be about further business \n  \n          How astonishing is creation in its continual \n          bursting forth with life \n  \n          And how wonderful is the human experience to be \n  \n                    Astonished! \n  \n—Abe Green \n* \n  \nDear Johnny \n  \nHey there\, my friend. It’s been quite some time now since I’ve written you a letter. But you know that I’ve just been really busy. My skills that I’ve been obtaining the last few years have been shining through the last few weeks in my work. It’s an amazing thing to see all you can accomplish when you really apply your heart\, mind & soul into life. The truth is\, is that for me the difficulties are worth the accomplishments. \n  \nMy lesson with the dog today went surprisingly well. The things I’m doing now are so hard to do\, but my trainer is very good at this & is helping me to be better too. As I performed all the “get help” cues with the dog\, I got to do them by the flowers I planted this Spring. As I gave direction to the dog with cues\, my eyes took in the beauty of the gladioluses\, brown eyed daisies\, foxgloves & a rose bush. It was an enchanted few seconds\, sacred in the pause of the mind. My hope is that my life will be this way once I’m out of here. I’m happy & wish to stay so. \n  \nWe got to take pictures with the puppies & you’ll be getting some soon. As luck would have it\, my favorite one\, “Unique\,” a 9 lb female black lab has moved into my cell “for a short stay.” She is a lot of work!! She is 41 days old & knows her name\, comes\, sits & potties on the pad. She will be doing rides & hills by 60 days old. They are an amazing litter…. \n  \nI wanted to let you and Nancy know about a movie I caught a few days ago. It’s called “Maudie”! It’s about a Canadian folk artist that had arthritis badly. Very good movie…very humble life. When I see such things…it gives me a sense of calmness\, knowing that the best lives are full of difficulties & that makes the joy we find in them all the sweeter for us\, and maybe for those we touch. \n  \nWell\, you can use this whole letter in the Open Road newsletter if you’d like. It’s all good & beautiful. I love you & miss you & hope to hear from you soon. \n  \nBeautiful things on the Golden path are like finding the best rocks in the river on a Summer’s day. The best things we all have in life are the joys we give & get & the love we let shine from our hearts that grow all the good things. It feels like I’ve got raven wings to fly on\, shiny\, strong and true\, for carrying all the love I have to all the ones I love so true. \n  \n—Rocky Hutchinson  (8/13/2023) \n* \n  \nPrairie Radio \n  \nWay out on open hills we get \nno reception—no news or message \ngets through\, so we listen to birds \nexplain existence\, and by scent of dust \nand flowers apprehend our chance. \n  \nBack home in cities\, signals bombard \nour tender minds with wars and other \ntroubles\, air around us thick with \nwarnings and sorrows\, light around us \nthick with poisons for heart and mind. \n  \nBut anywhere\, if you turn your head\, \nwind delivers light across prairie hills \nfrom far to inform your ancient soul. \n  \n—from Beauty So Intense You Shield Your Eyes by Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nScott Teitsworth recently read this inspiring passage from Brian Doyle’s essay “The Final Frontier” to some of his friends: \n  \n….I began\, slowly and dimly\, to realize that humble was the only finally truly honest way to be in this life. Anything else is ultimately cocky\, which is either foolish or a deliberate disguise you refuse to remove\, for complicated reasons perhaps not known even to you. \n  \nOf course you do your absolute best to find and hone and wield your divine gifts against the dark. You do your best to reach out tenderly to touch and elevate as many people as you can reach. You bring your naked love and defiant courage and salty grace to bear as much as you can\, with all the attentiveness and humor you can muster. This life is after all a miracle and we ought to pay fierce attention every moment\, as much as possible. \n  \nBut you cannot control anything. You cannot order or command everything. You cannot fix and repair everything. You cannot protect your children from pain and loss and tragedy and illness. You cannot be sure that you will always be married\, let alone happily married. You cannot be sure you will always be employed\, or healthy\, or relatively sane. \n  \nAll you can do is face the world with quiet grace and hope you make a sliver of difference. Humility does not mean self-abnegation\, lassitude\, detachment; it’s a more calm recognition that you must trust in that which does not make sense\, that which is unreasonable\, illogical\, silly\, ridiculous\, crazy by the measure of most of our culture. You must trust that you being the best possible you matters somehow. That trying to be an hones and tender parent will echo for centuries through your tribe. That doing your chosen work with creativity and diligence will shiver people far beyond your ken. That being an attentive and generous friend and citizen will prevent a thread or two of the social fabric from unraveling. And you must do all of this with the certain knowledge that you will never get proper credit for it\, and in fact the vast majority of things you do right will go utterly unremarked. Humility\, the final frontier\, as my brother Kevin used to say. When we are young we build a self\, a persona\, a story in which to reside\, or several selves in succession\, or several at once\, sometimes; when we are older we take on other roles and personas\, other masks and duties; and you and I both know men and women who become trapped in the selves they worked so hard to build\, so desperately imprisoned that sometimes they smash their lives simply to escape who they no longer wish to be; but finally\, I think\, if we are lucky\, if we read the book of pain and loss with humility\, we realize that we are all broken and small and brief\, that none among us is ultimately more valuable or rich or famous or beautiful than another; and then\, perhaps\, we begin to understand something deep and true about humility. \n  \nThis is what I know: that the small is huge\, that the tiny is vast\, that pain is part and parcel of the gift of joy\, and that this is love\, and then there is everything else. You either walk toward love or away from it with every breath you draw. Humility is the road to love. Humility\, maybe\, is love. That could be. I wouldn’t know; I’m a muddle and a conundrum shuffling slowly along the road\, gaping in wonder\, trying to just see and say what is\, trying to leave shreds and shards of ego along the road like wisps of litter and chaff. \n  \n—One Long River of Song by Brian Doyle\, pp. 58-59
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-9-7-23/
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