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SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  11/2/23
DESCRIPTION:  \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \n  \nNovember 2\, 2023 \n  \nPeople who love are happy. \n  \n—Yogi Tea bag wisdom \n* \n  \nMy friends and I have been talking about the ongoing violence in the Middle East. Kim wrote: \n  \nI lie awake at night thinking about Gaza. I have a friend there. She has fled her home and is camped in a house near Rafah with six families. \nBombing happens there\, too. \nHence\, today’s (10/26) poem… \n  \n      Other Laws of War \n  \nWhere anger flares\, wisdom withers. \nWhere death thrives\, truth dies. \nBoth sides are the bad guys. \nAs with weather\, no one is in charge. \nEven precision kills children. \nWar funds the hate school. \nDead soldier\, mourning mother. \nStrategic advantage limits thought. \nYour vengeance vow is a trap. \nLocal victory\, regional defeat. \nKilling gives killers secret wounds. \nA war wounds a generation. \nEasy to start\, hard to end. \nMunitions makers always win. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nMark Danley reminded me about Mark Twain’s “The War Prayer\,” written in 1905. When asked if he intended to publish it\, Twain said: “No. I have told the whole truth in that\, and only dead men can tell the truth in this world. It can be published after my death.” Mark Twain died in 1910. “The War Prayer” was first published in 1923. \n  \n  \nThe War Prayer \n  \nIt was a time of great and exalting excitement. The country was up in arms\, the war was on\, in every breast burned the holy fire of patriotism. On every hand and far down the receding and fading spread of roofs and balconies a fluttering wilderness of flags flashed in the sun. Nightly\, the packed mass meetings listened\, panting\, to patriot oratory which stirred the deepest deeps of their hearts\, and which they interrupted at briefest intervals with cyclones of applause\, the tears running down their cheeks the while. In the churches the pastors preached devotion to flag and country\, and invoked the God of Battles—beseeching His aid in our good cause in outpourings of fervid eloquence which moved every listener. \n  \nSunday morning came. Next day the battalions would leave for the front; the church was filled; the volunteers were there\, their young faces alight with martial dreams—visions of the stern advance\, the gathering momentum\, the rushing charge\, the flashing sabers\, the flight of the foe\, the tumult\, the enveloping smoke\, the fierce pursuit\, the surrender Then home from the war\, bronzed heroes\, welcomed\, adored\, submerged in golden seas of glory! The service proceeded; a war chapter from the Old Testament was read; the first prayer was said. \n  \nThen came the “long” prayer. None could remember the like of it for passionate pleading and moving and beautiful language. The burden of its supplication was\, that an ever-merciful and benignant Father of us all would watch over our noble young soldiers\, and aid\, comfort\, and encourage them in their patriotic work. \n  \nAn aged stranger entered and moved with slow and noiseless step up the main aisle\, his eyes fixed upon the minister\, his long body clothed in a robe that reached to his feet\, his head bare\, his white hair descending in a frothy cataract to his shoulders\, his seamy face unnaturally pale\, pale even to ghastliness. He ascended to the preacher’s side and stood there waiting. \n  \nThe stranger touched his arm\, motioned him to step aside—which the startled minister did—and took his place. During some moments he surveyed the spellbound audience with solemn eyes\, in which burned an uncanny light. Then in a deep voice he said: \n  \n“I come from the Throne—bearing a message from Almighty God!” \n  \n“God’s servant and yours has prayed his prayer. Has he paused and taken thought? Is it one prayer? No\, it is two—one uttered\, the other not. Both have reached the ear of Him Who heareth all supplications\, the spoken and the unspoken. Ponder this—keep it in mind. If you would beseech a blessing upon yourself\, beware! lest without intent you invoke a curse upon a neighbor at the same time. If you pray for the blessing of rain upon your crop which needs it\, by that act you are possibly praying for a curse upon some neighbor’s crop which may not need rain and can be injured by it. \n  \n“You have heard your servant’s prayer—the uttered part of it. I am commissioned of God to put into words the other part of it—that part which the pastor\, and also you in your hearts—fervently prayed silently. And ignorantly and unthinkingly? God grant that it was so! You heard these words: ‘Grant us the victory\, O Lord our God!’ When you have prayed for victory you have prayed for many unmentioned results which follow victory–must follow it\, cannot help but follow it. Upon the listening spirit of God fell also the unspoken part of the prayer. He commandeth me to put it into words. Listen! \n  \n“O Lord our Father\, our young patriots\, idols of our hearts\, go forth to battle—be Thou near them! With them—in spirit—we also go forth from the sweet peace of our beloved firesides to smite the foe. O Lord our God\, help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their wounded\, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with little children to wander unfriended the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst\, sports of the sun flames of summer and the icy winds of winter\, broken in spirit\, worn with travail\, imploring Thee for the refuge of the grave and denied it. For our sakes who adore Thee\, Lord\, blast their hopes\, blight their lives\, protract their bitter pilgrimage\, make heavy their steps\, water their way with their tears\, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet! We ask it in the spirit of love\, of Him Who is the Source of Love\, and Who is the ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid\, with humble and contrite hearts. Amen. \n  \n(After a pause.) “Ye have prayed it; if ye still desire it\, speak! The messenger of the Most High waits!” \n  \nIt was believed afterward that the man was a lunatic\, because there was no sense in what he said. \n  \n—Mark Twain \n* \n  \nOn YouTube you can find a film version\, adapted by Marco Sanchez and directed by Michael Goorjian. \n* \n  \nfrom CNN’s website on October 27th: \n  \nSari Beth Rosenberg was teaching a high school history class in New York City recently when a student interrupted her with a question: “Are you Team Israel or Team Palestinian?”…. \n  \nRosenberg\, who is Jewish\, feared that getting into a conversation on the complexities of the conflict could alienate some of her students with ties to the Middle East. So she tried to turn the question into a learning experience. \n  \n“I told them I’m ‘Team Humanity\,’” she says. She told her students that she thought both the deadly Hamas terror attacks in Israel and Israel’s ongoing bombing of Gaza are horrific. \n* \n  \nWhen I was a young man it was against the law to not join the military. I refused to obey that law for the simple reason that I didn’t want to kill anyone. Instead of going to Vietnam\, I went to India and studied with yogis. \n  \nI am against all present and future wars. Our problems can be solved with words\, instead of violence. Wars represent a failure of dialogue\, of intelligence\, of empathy\, of good will\, of love\, of imagination. All children are our children.  \n  \nOn the Fields of Peace website (fieldsofpeace.org) we learn that in World War I\, one civilian was killed for every 9 soldiers. In World War II\, the ratio was one to one. In modern warfare\, one soldier is killed for every 9 (unarmed) civilians—most of whom are children. From the perspective of people my age\, soldiers are children. Here’s my latest version of the Metta Prayer: \n  \nMay all people be happy. \nMay we live in peace & love. \nEven if some people are making other choices. \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nThich Nhat Hanh (1926-2022) was a Vietnamese Buddhist monk who advocated for peace and refused to take a side in the war. He taught meditation & mindfulness to people throughout the world. He published many books\, including Being Peace\, Creating True Peace and Peace is Every Step. He was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize by Martin Luther King. Here is his poem “Please Call Me by My True Names\,” followed by an account of how he came to write it: \n  \nPlease Call Me by My True Names \n  \nDo not say that I’ll depart tomorrow— \neven today I am still arriving. \nLook deeply: every second I am arriving \nto be a bud on a Spring branch\, \nto be a tiny bird\, with still-fragile wings\, \nlearning to sing in my new nest\, \nto be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower\, \nto be a jewel hiding itself in a stone. \nI still arrive\, in order to laugh and to cry\, \nto fear and to hope\, \nthe rhythm of my heart is the birth and death \nof all that are alive. \nI am the mayfly metamorphosing \non the surface of the river\, \nand I am the bird which\, when Spring comes\, \narrives in time to eat the mayfly. \nI am the frog swimming happily \nin the clear water of a pond\, \nand I am the grass-snake \nthat silently feeds itself on the frog. \nI am the child in Uganda\, all skin and bones\, \nmy legs as thin as bamboo sticks. \nAnd I am the arms merchant\, \nselling deadly weapons to Uganda. \nI am the twelve-year-old girl\, \nrefugee on a small boat\, \nwho throws herself into the ocean \nafter being raped by a sea pirate. \nAnd I am the pirate\, \nmy heart not yet capable \nof seeing and loving. \nI am a member of the politburo\, \nwith plenty of power in my hands. \nAnd I am the man who has to pay his \n“debt of blood” to my people \ndying slowly in a forced labor camp. \nMy joy is like Spring\, so warm \nit makes flowers bloom all over the Earth. \nMy pain is like a river of tears\, \nso vast it fills the four oceans. \nPlease call me by my true names\, \nso I can hear all my cries and laughter at once\, \nso I can see that my joy and pain are one. \nPlease call me by my true names\, \nso I can wake up \nand so the door of my heart can be left open\, \nthe door of compassion. \n  \n  \nAfter the Vietnam War\, many people wrote to us in Plum Village. We received hundreds of letters each week from the refugee camps in Singapore\, Malaysia\, Indonesia\, Thailand\, and the Philippines\, hundreds each week. It was very painful to read them\, but we had to be in contact. We tried our best to help\, but the suffering was enormous\, and sometimes we were discouraged. It is said that half the boat people fleeing Vietnam died in the ocean; only half arrived at the shores of Southeast Asia. \n  \nThere are many young girls\, boat people\, who were raped by sea pirates. Even though the United Nations and many countries tried to help the government of Thailand prevent that kind of piracy\, sea pirates continued to inflict much suffering on the refugees. One day\, we received a letter telling us about a young girl on a small boat who was raped by a Thai pirate. She was only twelve\, and she jumped into the ocean and drowned herself. \n  \nWhen you first learn of something like that\, you get angry at the pirate. You naturally take the side of the girl. As you look more deeply you will see it differently. If you take the side of the little girl\, then it is easy. You only have to take a gun and shoot the pirate. But we can’t do that. In my meditation\, I saw that if I had been born in the village of the pirate and raised in the same conditions as he was\, I would now be the pirate. There is a great likelihood that I would become a pirate. I can’t condemn myself so easily. In my meditation\, I saw that many babies are born along the Gulf of Siam\, hundreds every day\, and if we educators\, social workers\, politicians\, and others do not do something about the situation\, in twenty-five years a number of them will become sea pirates. That is certain. If you or I were born today in those fishing villages\, we might become sea pirates in twenty-five years. If you take a gun and shoot the pirate\, you shoot all of us\, because all of us are to some extent responsible for this state of affairs. \n  \nAfter a long meditation\, I wrote this poem. In it\, there are three people: the twelve-year-old girl\, the pirate\, and me. Can we look at each other and recognize ourselves in each other? The title of the poem is “Please Call Me by My True Names\,” because I have so many names. When I hear one of the of these names\, I have to say\, “Yes.” \n  \n—Thich Nhat Hanh
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-11-2-23/
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SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness  11/15/23
DESCRIPTION:etching by Alan Larkin \n  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n  \nNovember 15\, 2023 \n  \nWhere…do universal human rights begin? \nin small places\, \nclose to home— \nso close and so small \nthat they cannot be seen \non any map of the world. \n  \n—Eleanor Roosevelt (shared by Jill Littlewood \n* \n  \nOctober 23\, 2023 \n9:40 a.m. \nDear Johnny \n  \nThe weather is getting ready to change & the leaves are all changing too. Within the frame of my window all of the spiders are spinning their winter webs. I watch them & soon the birds will find them & two feet from my eyes I will see the winter feast of the birds. I find these things in life to be what polishes my mind\, the simple functions of all the life of all things around me. The moss growing on the rocks\, the autumn leaves falling off the tree\, the longing of love reciprocated with every beat of my heart. \n  \nI long to share all of this with the ones I love in life. To see the world in each other’s mind & eyes without the walls between any of us. We will all discover new wonders that will really be old ones\, but new to us. \n  \nDo you remember when your eyes first opened to see a redirection of your life? Was there a scene of contrast in the cloth you thought you were cut from & did you find you were truly made from something altogether different? For me it was a casting away of tools and hooks\, and a soul-cleansing rain that washed away a lifetime of blood\, bruises & filth. Once I simply “let go” my eyes opened\, and something like a waterfall poured into my mind\, flooded me inside. After that\, well…breathing & balance was needed. It’s a strange thing that the only way I can explain my transformation is with elemental references—which is unintentional. \n  \nLove You\, Love Me! \n  \n—Rocky Hutchinson \n* \n  \nI was on the University of Michigan campus last Thursday (11/9/23). I visited one of Ashley Lucas’s classes there. All the students in the class go into prison every week and teach workshops in theater\, creative writing\, or visual art. They had watched Bushra’s film “A Midsummer Night’s Dream in Prison.” We talked about Love. \n  \nWhen I think of “meditation & mindfulness\,” the first thing that comes to mind is quietly enjoying the the beauty and miraculousness of my human life on Earth. Out the window\, where I’m sitting right now\, in South Bend\, Indiana\, an old maple tree is dropping some of its bright yellow leaves. The Open Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue tries to be uplifting and is mostly intended to be inspirational\, to nurture peace\, love\, happiness\, beauty and goodness in our minds and hearts. This does not mean we ignore the violence\, the injustice\, and suffering that are always present in the world. When we read or listen to the news\, we are reminded of terrible ongoing tragedies in the Middle East\, in Ukraine\, Sudan\, and many other places. The suffering is real. The beauty is also real. The sorrows of the world do not negate the Love and Joy that are our birthrights. \n  \nAs Ashley and I were crossing the campus\, more than a hundred people lay on the ground. Many of them had small signs with someone’s picture on it. A woman in a hijab read the names of people in Gaza who have been killed. The list of names was very long. \n  \nIt felt to me like a real peace demonstration. No one was shouting. Jewish participants held signs that said: JEWS SAY CEASE FIRE NOW. Another sign said: NOT IN OUR NAME. To see some of the faces of those killed\, and to hear the names read\, was deeply moving to me\, and to Ashley\, and to many others I’m sure. \n  \nMy own position on the violence in the Middle East is simple. I’m against the killing of children. Always. Everywhere. At my age\, soldiers are children too. (The subtitle of Kurt Vonnegut’s novel Slaughterhouse Five is: “The Children’s Crusade.” It’s about World War II.) \n  \nRecommended listening: “Road to Peace\,” from Tom Waits’ 2006 “Orphans” album. \n  \nMay all people be happy. \nMay we live in peace & love. \n(Even if some people are making other choices.) \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \n                Big Eddy \n  \nIt’s where we camped as kids— \nthe Clackamas River fresh from \nfast water waves breaking boulders \nin long runs of rapids met a cliff \nthat turned its brawny rush to swirl \nback on itself under a lid of glass \nso you could see green stones deep \ninside their secret room where all \nthat rain slowed in thought to \nreconsider\, before going on. There  \nour river learned to retrace its steps\,  \nto ponder\, to reconcile\, restore itself\,  \nbecome young again. Oh\, my country. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nOh\, dear ambulance \nhigh above the hospital: \na sheer\, blue-white dust. \n  \n—Alex Tretbar \n* \n  \nStill \n  \nThere are possibilities \nmaybe less of them \nBut still \n  \nAs long as there is water \nsome nourishment \nheat \n  \nA cool breeze \nperhaps \nYou know; the basics \n  \nThere can be a moment \nthat shines \nbright skin on a piece of fruit \n  \nA flash of light \nas a bird wings away above \n  \nThe sound of a song \nsung in unison \nthe hum of it bearing \nthe weight of our well used bones \n  \n—Elizabeth Domike \n* \n  \nAs we approach the holiday season with Thanksgiving almost upon us\, this lovely poem by Gary Snyder is always a touchstone for me. In my hierarchy of values\, Gratitude and Kindness stand out as primary. Certainly aspirational even when I fail to meet the mark. Here is the poem: \n  \nPrayer for the Great Family  \n  \nGratitude to Mother Earth\, sailing through night and day—\nand to her soil: rich\, rare and sweet\nin our minds so be it. \n  \nGratitude to Plants\, the sun-facing\, light-changing leaf\nand fine root-hairs; standing still through wind\nand rain; their dance is in the flowering spiral grain\nin our minds so be it. \n  \nGratitude to Air\, bearing the soaring Swift and silent\nOwl at dawn. Breath of our song\nclear spirit breeze\nin our minds so be it. \n  \nGratitude to Wild Beings\, our brothers\, teaching secrets\,\nfreedoms\, and ways; who share with us their milk;\nself-complete\, brave and aware\nin our minds so be it. \n  \nGratitude to Water: clouds\, lakes\, rivers\, glaciers;\nholding or releasing; streaming through all\nour bodies salty seas\nin our minds so be it. \n  \nGratitude to the Sun: blinding pulsing light through\ntrunks of trees\, through mists\, warming caves where\nbears and snakes sleep—he who wakes us—\nin our minds so be it. \n  \nGratitude to the Great Sky\nwho holds billions of stars—and goes yet beyond that—\nbeyond all powers\, and thoughts\nand yet is within us—\nGrandfather Space.\nThe Mind is his Wife.\nso be it. \n  \n—Gary Snyder \n  \n—Jeffrey Sher \n* \n  \nFrom One to the Other \n  \nLips touch first\, \nnot a kiss\, not desire \nor response\, \nbut a gateway\, \nopen breath and movement\, \nenergy  \nfrom being to being\, \nfrom another wanderer \nsharing his deepest home\, \ndust on the pathways\, \ncold nights under stars\, \nyouth that wakes each morning\, \nage’s knowing acceptance\, \nthe ceaseless renewal of \natoms and smaller storms\, \neach one saying: \nThis moment\, \nthis exact place\, \nendlessly. \n  \n—Deborah Buchanan \n* \n  \n#79 Releasing Our Cows \n  \nOne day the Buddha was sitting in the forest with a number of monks when a peasant came by. He had just lost his cows; they had run away. He asked the monks whether they had seen his cows passing by. The Buddha said\, “No\, we haven’t seen your cows passing through here; you may want to look for them in another direction.” \nWhen the farmer had gone\, the Buddha turned to his monks\, smiled\, and said\, “Dear friends\, you should be very happy. You don’t have any cows to lose.” \nOne practice we can do is to take a piece of paper and write down the names of our cows. Then we can look deeply to see whether we’re capable of releasing some of them. We may have thought these things were crucial to our well-being\, but if we look deeply\, we may realize that they are the obstacles to our true joy and happiness. \n—from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh \n  \nI come from a long line of conservers. We all were reduce\, reuse\, and recyclers long before that catchy phrase appeared on the scene. Duct tape\, needle and thread\, Elmer’s glue\, needle-nose pliers were good friends and always close at hand. \n  \nOne of the best Christmas presents I ever got was one of my dad’s specially tended and cultivated compost piles. He named all three of them that year\, and I received the W A Mozart Compost Pile. Black gold\, they call it in the nurseries\, and that it is. \n  \nI save and reuse aluminum foil\, and plastic produce bags\, and sandwich bags\, and storage bags—for years!  Why not?! They’re all perfectly good when washed and hung to dry. My daughter gave me a wooden mobile with a dozen or so small clothespins attached to strings for hanging washed plastic bags. (The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.) One of her early boyfriends gave me one dozen washed\, dried and smoothed out sheets of aluminum foil he’d saved from deli sandwiches. Now that’s a thoughtful gift! \n  \nI darn and mend socks multiple times. Again—why not?!?! Ninety five percent of the sock is perfectly good. I have a friend who works at REI and she gives me all of her hole-y Smartwool socks. I mend them like new and give them back to her. She is ecstatic.  \n  \nGoodwill is my go-to luxury shopping spot; the Bend Goodwill has any and all of the best sports clothing\, barely worn and just my style. But. I’m really not even a shopper\, so any ‘come hither’ shopping sales are lost on me.  \n  \nSpeaking of camping\, I am never happier than when I am going to sleep in my cozy tent. I’ve turned it into a small home for a few days\, and often I genuinely believe that I could live in nothing bigger than a tent with a campfire and meadow nearby.  \n  \nOne of my husband’s first observations about me was: “You are the lowest maintenance woman I’ve ever known!” I like to believe it was said in admiration\, but I think the tone was more one of exasperation. \n  \nSo it’s not about cows and peasants and monks\, I know that\, but the thought is there: I can be happy with few “cows.” \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \nThere’s a lot of suffering in the world\, some feeling it closer to our hearts than usual. There is also the abundance of life changing before our eyes\, as the sky fills with a rush of yellow leaves in the wind. Impermanence\, filled with joy of birch\, and ginkgo\, and fig passing into their next stage. Is a fig tree still a tree without its leaves? \n  \nI’ve been reading The Book of Joy\, a conversation between the Dalai Lama and Desmond Tutu\, about lasting happiness in a changing world. They are discussing eight pillars of joy\, beginning with Perspective. Here’s an excerpt: \n  \nIf we are suffering\, the Dalai Lama suggests that we get a wider perspective\, to see the bigger picture. Scientists call this practice “self-distancing\,” and it allows us to think more clearly about our problems\, as well as to reduce our stress response. The ability to go beyond our own self-interest is essential for any good leader\, whether of a nation\, an organization\, or a family. The Dalai Lama suggests that by shifting our perspective to a broader\, more compassionate one\, we can avoid the worry and suffering of further pain.  \n  \n“Then\, another thing\,” the Dalai Lama continued. “There are different aspects to any event. For example\, we lost our own country and became refugees\, but that same experience gave us new opportunities to see more things. For me personally\, I had more opportunities to meet with different people\, different spiritual practitioners\, like you\, and also scientists. This new opportunity arrived because I became a refugee.  If I had remained in the Potala in Lhasa\, I would have stayed in what has often been described as a golden cage.  \n  \nSo personally\, I prefer the last five decades of refugee life. It’s more useful\, more opportunity to learn\, to experience life. Therefore\, if you look from one angle\, you see\, ‘Oh\, how bad\, how sad.’ But if you look from another angle at that same tragedy\, that same event\, you see that it gives me new opportunities. So\, it’s wonderful. That’s the main reason that I’m not sad and morose. There’s a Tibetan saying: ‘Wherever you have friends that’s your country\, and wherever you receive love\, that’s your home.’ “  \n  \nI have found this reading helpful\, along with the colorful leaves and the star-filled night skies of Autumn\, and conversing with my dear friends\, to keep centered and compassionate and joyful.   \n  \nI hope this season finds you well and thankful for life! \n  \n—Katie Radditz
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-11-15-23/
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