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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20231115
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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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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20231207
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20240104
DTSTAMP:20260425T172419
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UID:4261-1701907200-1704326399@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  12/7/23
DESCRIPTION:Grinnell Lake in Glacier National Park \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nDecember 7\, 2023 \n  \nFrom Rocky: \nOctober 18\, 2023\, 5:40 a.m. \nDear Johnny \n  \nHello and good day to you. I hope that this letter finds you in a moment of peace & joy. I am just starting my day here & it is a beautiful day & the autumn sunrise is starting to fill the sky. I love this time of year. Between October & April is the time of year I love the most. The holidays & friends & food! The feeling you get from being close to the ones you love. Well\, I have to start the day now. I’ll be back soon. \n  \nOctober 19\, 2023\, 6:11 a.m. \n  \nDo you know the dreams you dream at night that let you know everything is alright? I had one of them last night. A friend & I just sat & talked about the last 25 years of our lives. It would seem we did it in the blink of an eye\, or\, 40 winks. We just sat and talked & it was so nice to see her\, even if it was only in a dream. \n  \nOctober 30\, 2023\, 5:10 a.m. \nDear Johnny & Nancy\, \n  \nIt’s a very cold morning here & it is also beautiful Autumn out\, my favorite time of the year. Family\, friends\, food & good times. I had an amazing October this year. \n  \nThe harvesting of the last of the Summer’s growth & the tilling of the earth for the crop. The falling of the leaves\, each one of them landing on the bed of my heart. Autumn has always been dear to me\, even when I was a child. \n  \nThe smell of pies & of chopping wood\, the smoke from the chimneys as the smell fills the neighborhood. Children in costumes\, bags full of candy and running noises—running towards Thanksgiving with their families. With Christmas on the way. \n  \nIt was so nice to talk to you two while you were picking out a tree for your yard. I closed my eyes & could see you shopping together. I know you came to the right one and it will look great in your yard for many years to come. I wish I could have been there to plant it for you\, while you enjoyed some coffee while I dug the hole. I know the digging around there is not so easy. I’m more than happy to do these things for you two. I want to enjoy life with my friends & family. \n  \nThe last few days have been so cold here! It is going to be one of those years\, I think. Long Cold Winter! \n  \n—Rocky Hutchinson \n* \n  \nKatie sent this: \n  \nGate A-4 \n  \nWandering around the Albuquerque Airport Terminal\, after learning \nmy flight had been delayed four hours\, I heard an announcement:\n“If anyone in the vicinity of Gate A-4 understands any Arabic\, please\ncome to the gate immediately.” \n  \nWell—one pauses these days. Gate A-4 was my own gate. I went there. \n  \nAn older woman in full traditional Palestinian embroidered dress\, just\nlike my grandma wore\, was crumpled to the floor\, wailing. “Help\,”\nsaid the flight agent. “Talk to her. What is her problem? We\ntold her the flight was going to be late and she did this.” \n  \nI stooped to put my arm around the woman and spoke haltingly.\n“Shu-dow-a\, Shu-bid-uck Habibti? Stani schway\, Min fadlick\, Shu-bit-\nse-wee?” The minute she heard any words she knew\, however poorly\nused\, she stopped crying. She thought the flight had been cancelled\nentirely. She needed to be in El Paso for major medical treatment the\nnext day. I said\, “No\, we’re fine\, you’ll get there\, just later\, who is\npicking you up? Let’s call him.” \n  \nWe called her son\, I spoke with him in English. I told him I would\nstay with his mother till we got on the plane and ride next to \nher. She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just \nfor the fun of it. Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while\nin Arabic and found out of course they had ten shared friends. Then I \nthought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian poets I know\nand let them chat with her? This all took up two hours. \n  \nShe was laughing a lot by then. Telling of her life\, patting my knee\,\nanswering questions. She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool\ncookies—little powdered sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and\nnuts—from her bag—and was offering them to all the women at the gate.\nTo my amazement\, not a single woman declined one. It was like a\nsacrament. The traveler from Argentina\, the mom from California\, the\nlovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same powdered\nsugar. And smiling. There is no better cookie. \n  \nAnd then the airline broke out free apple juice from huge coolers and two\nlittle girls from our flight ran around serving it and they\nwere covered with powdered sugar\, too. And I noticed my new best friend—\nby now we were holding hands—had a potted plant poking out of her bag\,\nsome medicinal thing\, with green furry leaves. Such an old country tradi-\ntion. Always carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere. \n  \nAnd I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and I thought\, This\nis the world I want to live in. The shared world. Not a single person in that\ngate—once the crying of confusion stopped—seemed apprehensive about\nany other person. They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women\, too. \n  \nThis can still happen anywhere. Not everything is lost. \n  \n—Naomi Shihab Nye \n  \nI think this is perfect for our times. The importance of language and listening and compassion can lead to deep understanding and inter-connectedness.  \n  \n—Katie Radditz \n* \n  \nTodd Oleson shared this: \n  \nKurt Vonnegut wrote:  \n  \nWhen I was 15\, I spent a month working on an archaeological dig. I was talking to one of the archaeologists one day during our lunch break and he asked those kinds of “getting to know you” questions you ask young people: Do you play sports? What’s your favorite subject? And I told him\, no I don’t play any sports. I do theater\, I’m in choir\, I play the violin and piano\, I used to take art classes. \n  \nAnd he went WOW. That’s amazing! And I said\, “Oh no\, but I’n not any good at ANY of them.” \n  \nAnd he said something then that I will never forget and which absolutely blew my mind because no one had ever said anything like it to me before: “I don’t think being good at things is the point of doing them. I think you’ve got all these wonderful experiences with different skills\, and that all teaches you things and makes you an interesting person\, no matter how well you do them.” \n  \nAnd that honestly changed my life. Because I went from a failure\, someone who hadn’t been talented enough at anything to excel\, to someone who did things because I enjoyed them. I had been raised in such an achievement-oriented environment\, so inundated with the myth of Talent\, that I thought it was only worth doing things if you could “Win” at them. \n* \n  \nDriving to the Headlands  \non the 23rd of December \n  \nWhat a light this morning! \nGlowing peach balloons for clouds\, \ntowering bouquets of them\, \nsuspended by an invisible clown \nacross the heavens. \n  \nAt last the greening of our hills comes to pass\, \nlike iridescent birds beside a charcoal sky. \nA jungle phoenix whose feathers color \nwith inhalation and sunlight. \n  \nAnd there’s an egret \ndoing tightrope tricks \nabove the marsh on my way to work. \nAll white and long necked\, \nshe bows and scrapes  \nfrom her telephone wire \nacrobat in nature’s circus\, \nwaiting for applause. \n  \n—Gail Lester\, from Transformed by Other Places \n* \n  \n           Water Song \n  \nI flow lower\, slower\, sliding wet in rivulet \nor defile\, creep deep\, seep under\, sift through\, \nturn blue\, mist up from wave or pool\, fool \nto be gone\, abscond beyond accountability\, \nmyriad molecule sipped by Caesar\, fog \nfurrowing battlefields\, shining shields\, \nsurrender’s yield sealed sacred\, feeling \nmy way out from thicket or conflict\, \nhealing drought\, ooze from wounds\, \nsound of splash\, blood from lash\, river’s \ndash from peak to sea\, pleased to meet \nyou\, travel through you\, be lost\, ghost \nin your shape\, rain cape descending\, \nsending my battalions over islands\, \nstorm stallions stamping feet of lace\, \ndawn song\, small saint\, clear paint\, \nface dressed\, soul blessed\, best taste\, \nnot much\, a healing touch\, and gone. \n  \n—Kim Stafford\, from As the Sky Begins to Chang \n(forthcoming as a print book from Red Hen Press\, April 2024\, and also as an audiobook) \n  \n \n(QR code for “Water Song” poem by Kim Stafford) \n* \n  \nJ Kahn sent a link to “Nature’s Mystery: Watch the Hypnotic Dance of a Starling Murmuration”: \n  \n \n  \nHe says: “I personally believe it is an example of meta-consciousness.” \nCheck it out! \n* \nHonesty \n  \nMirroring one another \nthe herb pale and round \nas the moon is pale \nand round shows in the house \nof light that all favors \nhave been showered upon us. \n  \nThe object\, barred by the dragon\, \ncinnabar\, sulphur\, and mercury \njoined to find salt\, we’re keeping \nthe wax warm for the inscription. \n  \nThe rhythm of hymns \nprotects us from the snake. \nThe tree\, branches \nthrough each state\, \nvapor rises as the eagle rises \nthe serpent held aloft eats his tail. \n  \nNature is one substance \nin different forms\, \nthe very last thing left behind.   \n  \n—Elizabeth Domike \n* \n  \nThere is a ribbon \nso deep in shadowed rubble \nit is colorless. \n  \n—Alex Tretbar \n* \n  \nIf we could read the secret history of our enemies\, we should see sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility. \n  \n—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow  \n  \n(quoted by Jack Kornfield in The Art of Forgiveness\, Lovingkindness\, and Peace\, p. 32) \n  \n There is no statistical evidence that harsh punishment\, including the death penalty\, acts as a deterrent to crime—(109 countries have abolished the death penalty). On the international level\, the idea that the world can be improved by war has long been a popular one. The results so far are not encouraging. Twenty-five hundred years ago\, Buddha said: \n  \nIn this world \nHate never yet dispelled hate. \nOnly love dispels hate. \nThis is the law\, \nAncient and inexhaustible. \n  \n—Dhammapada\, translated by Thomas Byrom \n  \nAnd as Tiny Tim says: \nGod Bless Us\, Every One! \n  \n—Johnny Stallings
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-12-7-23/
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