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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20231215
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DTSTAMP:20260425T154239
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SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness  12/15/23
DESCRIPTION:  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n  \nDecember 15\, 2023 \nLet us be kind and compassionate to remove the sadness of the world. \n—tag on a Yogi Tea bag \n* \n  \nSomeone at a lecture asked Suzuki Roshi about psychoanalysis. \n  \nIn answer he said\, “You think the mind is like a pond that you throw things in\, and they sink to the bottom\, like old shoes\, and later they rise to the surface. But actually\, there’s no such thing as the mind!” \n  \n—from To Shine One Corner of the World: moments with Suzuki Roshi \n* \n  \nWhat Christmas Means to Me \n  \nIt took me a long time to discover the error in presuming to write something with a title like “What Christmas Means.” But I’m an authority on “What Christmas Means to Me.” Who else? \n  \nIt seems to me that every spoken or written sentence should begin with the phrase “it seems to me.” But that would be tedious. I am not and you are not in a position to make pronouncements about the way things are.  \n  \nOnly Donald Trump is in that position. Just kidding.  \n  \nAnd so\, dear reader\, don’t take offense. This does not pretend to be the right way to look at Christmas. Just my way. \n  \nThe birth of Jesus is a symbolic event\, not a historical one. What it symbolizes is that every baby born on Planet Earth is an incarnation of the Divine. \n  \nEnd of essay. That’s about all I’ve got to say on the subject\, but I enjoy saying it. \n  \n—Johnny Stallings\, from the forthcoming book The Nonstop Love-In \n* \n  \n  Earth Eve \n  \nYes\, we know that telling\, about the apple \nand the exile\, how one son slew the other\, \nso we descended from their legacy of loss  \nand violence\, and blamed our troubles \non a woman’s taste for sweet. But \n  \nin another telling she remained resident \nin green\, her daughters Wind and Willow \ndanced together\, could bless without fire \nor sacrifice\, could follow moth by night\, \nbutterfly by day\, moon and sun\, enough. \n  \nWhich story shall we tell the children: \nhow we failed\, or how they might live. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nBrandon sent these quotes: \n  \nWhen we love\, we always strive to become better than we are. When we strive to become better than we are\, everything around us becomes better too. \n  \nIt’s the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting. \n  \nThere is only one thing that makes a dream impossible to achieve: the fear of failure. \n  \nTell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself. And that no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams\, because every second of the search is a second’s encounter with God and with eternity.     \n  \n—Paulo Coelho\, The Alchemist \n  \n—Brandon Gillespie \n* \n  \n“It is very important to have at least one meal together every day. This meal should be an occasion to practice mindfulness\, and to be aware of how fortunate we are to be together. After we sit down we look at each person\, and breathing in and out\, smile to him or her for a few seconds. This practice can produce a miracle. It can make you real\, and it can make the others at the table real also.”—#359 “A Family Meal” from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh \n  \nWelll—-ha ha ha! “A Family Meal\,” “an occasion to practice mindfulness\,” “breathing in and out\, smile to him or her for a few seconds…” I don’t know how many of the twenty three people at our Thanksgiving meal had a chance to enact these practices\, but I know that everyone laughed and hugged and ate and jabbered for hours and hours…and hours. One woman said\, “You don’t know me\, but Mary said she thought you wouldn’t mind…”  Another said\, “Oh I’m Sean’s son’s girlfriend and Sean thought it would be okay if…”  \n  \nOf course it was okay. It was a gorgeous\, sunny\, chilly day\, and the snowy mountain gleamed as white as the mounds of whipped cream on the pumpkin pies. Six kids under five years old caromed from wall to wall\, inside and outside. They poked at Lolo the dog’s nose and ears\, then shrieked and ran when she growled her old dog growl. We had to cook on the outside barbecue to get all the food ready; doors flung open and shut a hundred times. Cold air in\, warm air out. “Hey\, close that door!” “Can’t! Gotta’ heat up this ham because she has turkey in the oven!” Everyone\, it seems\, brought pies—pumpkin(s)\, apple\, peach\, blueberry/blackberry\, pecan…  One of the pumpkin pies had a huge slice carved out of it. Sister\, Holly\, waving her wine glass around\, announced\, “Pie before dinner is my motto!” \n  \nIn spite of all the chaos\, the meal went off without a hitch. Sisters and brother-in-law spent the night\, along with a few others who decided they were so comfortable they would\, too. \n  \nSo: Mindfulness? Not so much. Except for our singing of a round that my family has sung before each Thanksgiving meal since I was little. I passed out copies to groups of 4 or more; I sang for them to introduce the simple tune\, then instructed groups to chime in after a few bars. Everybody settled down\, and we sang. It sounded like a chorus of bells being rung. Ethereal. Holy. \n  \n    “Around the table now we praise the Lord of earth and heaven. \n     In grateful songs to thee we sing for all thy mercies giv’n.” \n  \nWe sang several rounds until the last group echoed away\,  “….for all thy mercies giv’n.” And there was silence for a hushed moment. I guess that was our “mindfulness moment\,” and we did all smile to each other\, and we were real. \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \nOpen the Door \n  \nOpen the door \nReceive the breath like a wave \nWeave a sense of calm \nWhisper soft and shallow \nResonate – an underground stream \nSmooth continuous deepening calm \nNourishing release \nFeet heavy\, lower legs settle \nStillness in the knees \nThighs heavy \nHips belly chest back \nSinking \nHands lower arms elbows upper arms \nShoulders – head heavy \nEffortless heaviness \nSilent silent \nPeace peace peace on the in breath \nPeace peace peace on the out breath \nBody infused with peace \nMind saturated with peace \nBecome peace \nAwareness \nPeace inside the body \nPeace outside the body \nPeace above the body \nPeace below the body \nSurrounding the body \nOn the breath – in the mind \nAbsorbed \nUnchanging \nUndisturbed \nThe source \n  \n—Elizabeth Domike \n* \n  \nClairvoyance \n  \nWhen you work in newspapers\, you’re always a few days in the future. On Tuesday you’re talking with your editor about Thursday\, and on Wednesday you’re talking about Friday. On Saturday I talk about nothing. I sit on the patio at 5 a.m. facing the eastern dark\, remembering how I tossed and turned in utero. I’m really not so intelligent as people think. I forget books as soon as I’ve read them\, articles as soon as I’ve written them. I got through all of Proust in five months but could tell you little about it\, other than how I superimposed my great loves over those of the narrator. When you work in newspapers\, “today” is always in the rear-view\, familiar but strange\, like your lover’s face when you see it in the mirror\, a speck of toothpaste in the corner of their backward smile. \n  \n—Alex Tretbar\, originally published in SAND \n* \n  \n5  “It was beginning winter” \n  \nIt was beginning winter  \nAn in-between time\,  \nThe landscape still partly brown: \nThe bones of weeds kept swinging in the wind\,  \nAbove the blue snow.  \n  \nIt was beginning winter\,  \nThe light moved slowly over the frozen field\,  \nOver the dry seed-crowns\,  \nThe beautiful surviving bones  \nSwinging in the wind.  \n  \nLight traveled over the wide field;  \nStayed.  \nThe weeds stopped swinging. \n The mind moved\, not alone\, \nThrough the clear air\, in the silence.  \n  \nWas it light?  \nWas it light within?  \nWas it light within light?  \nStillness becoming alive\,  \nYet still?  \n  \nA lively understandable spirit  \nOnce entertained you.  \nIt will come again.  \nBe still.  \nWait. \n  \n—from the poem “The Lost Son” by Theodore Roethke \n  \n“unto us a child is born” \nUnto all of us. Delana Nalin Kloster has been born unto us\, into our family and our loving\, wise tribe.  \nWe are blessed and so happy to have you friends around us. Even in this time that\, like all times\, is troubled and people feel hopeless—more war\, less water. \nBut a child comes into the world and all around this shining space\, there  \nis anticipation and hope!   \nA not so subtle shift; she comes like a force of nature\, hungry for life.   \n  \nDelana – named by her parents Kornvipa “Ying” and William Forest Kloster\, is an ancient name with many meanings in many cultures. It symbolizes the embodiment of beauty and love\, sunlight\, and resilience. \nNalin – in Sanskrit means Beautiful Lotus Flower. Named by her Thai Grandfather\, following the tradition of waiting in meditation for the right meaning\, \n  \nDelana Nalin arrives at Christmas time when millions of people are celebrating the birth of a child. \nMay she be a princess of Peace\, Love\, and Happiness \n  \n—Katie Radditz \n* \n  \nThis year is coming to an end. I just looked through the Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogues for 2023. It’s quite a treasure trove of beauty and inspiration! If\, from time to time you find yourself in need of either\, please visit the Meditation & Mindfulness Archive on the Open Road website: https://openroadpdx.com/event/open-road-meditation-mindfulness-archive/ \n  \nMuch love to everyone reading this!—now and in the year ahead. \n  \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-12-15-23/
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DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20240201
DTSTAMP:20260425T154239
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SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  1/4/24
DESCRIPTION:Happy Family \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nJanuary 4\, 2024 \n  \nLive righteously and love everyone\, \nyou will build up around you an aura of light and love \n  \n—tag on a Yogi Tea bag \n* \n  \nBecause you are alive\, everything is possible. \nWaking up this morning\, I smile. \nTwenty-four brand new hours are before me. \nI vow to live fully in each moment\, \nand to look at all beings with eyes of compassion. \n  \n—from “Buddha True Meaning of Life by Thich Nhat Hanh\,” on YouTube \n* \n  \nWell\, it’s a new year. I wish you all an abundance of peace and love and joy. I’m enjoying a quiet morning—quiet outside and quiet within. Looking out the window at the clear blue sky. Drinking coffee. Doing nothing. It’s perfect. \n  \nFor this coming year\, I’m thinking of every day as a Day of Celebration. Today (1/1/24)\, of course\, I’ll celebrate New Year’s Day. On Thursday (1/4/24)\, I’ll celebrate friendship with my weekly dialogue group. On the sixth is Epiphany—when the Wise Men arrived with gifts for the divine child. (Every baby is an incarnation of the Divine!) It’s also Twelfth Night. Shakespeare’s company performed his play Twelfth Night for Queen Elizabeth in 1602. That’s something to celebrate! This coming Saturday\, the sixth\, we will be showing Bushra’s film A Midsummer Night’s Dream in Prison at the First Unitarian Church. After a Q & A with some of the actors\, we will celebrate together all the people who contributed to the success of the film\, and of our prison theater programs. Nancy and I will be celebrating Valentine’s Day in Guanajuato. (In Mexico\, they have a fiesta almost every day of the year!) May 3rd is Buster Cornelius Day. (Listen to “Buster Cornelius” by The Colorblind James Experience on YouTube.) On May 31st\, I’ll celebrate Walt Whitman’s 205th birthday by performing “Song of Myself”—as I often do. These are just a few of the many celebrations ahead. \n  \nWhen I’m in need of wisdom and inspiration\, I often turn to the great Russian clown-philosopher\, Slava Polunin. He says: \n  \n“I think that theatre was created to open doors and passages in the blind walls of everyday reality—doors that lead into other worlds…. \n  \nThe First Door \n  \nCelebration \n  \nLook at the crowds of people at a celebration—their faces are beaming with almost giddy smiles of happiness. I love a festive theatre\, a theatre of spectacle. I love it when even the most serious matters are discussed—perfectly naturally and inadvertently\, as it were—under the cover of some common festive prank. I don’t want to live in the workaday world\, and especially not when I’m on stage\, because it is a depressing world\, painted in grey with a smell of stuffy rooms. I love rich and vivid colors\, the kind that children use to paint. I love the profusion of aromas\, like you find in Hawaii. I love the lushness of sound\, even if it’s only the sound of cicadas trilling in the night… \n  \nThis is the teeming\, brimming world of celebration. A world that delights and astonishes\, crawls under your skin and haunts you for a long time afterwards—until such time when you finally accept the fact that a life of celebration is far more attractive than the day-to-day routine\, and that it only takes a tiny effort to learn to transform one’s daily life into a holiday. The world of celebration is filled with creativity. In this world each and every one of us can endlessly recreate and reinvent himself. \n  \nI don’t want to do anything that doesn’t bring joy to me\, to my friends and my audiences. This is how I’ve arranged my life\, and this is how I assemble my team. Any time I see someone who is full of joy\, whose life is a celebration\, I drag him into my show. I’d rather pass over a brilliant expert\, if he happens to be of a different spirit. \n  \nIn general\, I collect festive people—they radiate a wondrous light! Such people are few and far between\, but they do exist\, and they are spectacular. No matter what happens to them\, they never lose their spirit of celebration. And I try to learn from them. This is why I do everything I can to have such people near me. \n  \nFestive people are a bit like ambulance paramedics\, because whenever they show up\, you feel like you’ve been given a shot of mysterious optimism. Maybe we ought to set up a kind of emergency mental health service staffed with these people. In any event\, whenever I have to put together a touring company\, I always make sure we have some holiday people on board. It is very important for the whole team to be in high spirits. It is essential to have the walls of whatever theatre we happen to be in shaking with our raucous laughter! \n  \nCelebration of life is an enormous and very important subject….For now I will only say that I love celebrations. And I can spend a great deal of my time and energy making sure we put on a fabulous celebration. \n  \nAS A MATTER OF FACT\, ALL I’VE EVER DONE IN LIFE IS PUT ON CELEBRATIONS—WHETHER IT BE PERFORMANCES\, PROJECTS\, FESTIVALS\, OR JUST PARTIES FOR MY FRIENDS. I REALIZED THAT MY GREATEST PROJECT IS CALLED ‘CELEBRATION OF LIFE’\, AND THAT ITS PURPOSE IS TO TRANSFORM THE GREY WORLD OF OUR EVERYDAY HUMAN LIVES INTO A RICH\, COLORFUL\, ARTISTIC CELEBRATION.” \n  \n—from The Alchemy of Snowness by Slava Polunin \n  \nIn the year ahead\, I want to gather together often with friends—live or online—to celebrate our friendship\, and anything else we can think of. When alone\, I want to celebrate the miracle of having a precious human life on Planet Earth. \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nKim sent this: \n  \nThought of you when I ran across this little blessing I sent to some youth “offenders” in a California prison a friend was working with…after they thanked me for some poems I had sent them: \n  \nI am with you.  \nWhat my breath made is for  \nyour breath. And the silence  \nbetween words–that too\,   \nis for you. For in silence  \nI exchange my sleepless nights   \nfor your day of release.  \nFor that moment I chant   \nevery morning on this page. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nThe Three Wise Men \n  \nMaybe \nWere not \nConsidered \nWise \nOr even \nIn possession \nOf all \nTheir senses \nAt first. \n  \nMen \nWho suddenly \nDepart from \nFriends and family \nLucrative enterprises \nPositions \nOf power \nAnd  \nPlush thrones \nFor \nLong camel rides \nOf indeterminate \nDistance and duration \nOver forbidding \nForeign terrain \nIn the \nDead of Winter \nDrawn by a \nDistant star \nAre seldom \nConsidered \nWise. \n  \nMad? \nFoolish? \nYes. \nBut wise? \nNot likely. \n  \nYet \nWisdom is \nDistilled \nDrop by drop \nSlowly  \nOver time \nNot manufactured \nOvernight \nAnd now \nAges hence \nWe drink \nThat intoxicating \nLiquor \nBrewed from \nA \nCourageous \nPlodding \nHumble \nPilgrimage \nMade \nBy men \nBearing gifts \nIn the \nDarkness \nTo where \nAnd \nFor whom \nThey \nKnew not \nKnew only \nTo leave \nAll they \nKnew \nFor a long \nNight Journey \nToward a  \nBeckoning star. \n  \n—Will Hornyak
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-1-4-24/
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