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SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue  2/15/24
DESCRIPTION:  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n  \nFebruary 15\, 2023 \n  \nwhen the mind is still \nall views disappear \n  \ntrying to quiet the mind \nis just more activity \n  \n—Seng Ts’an \n* \n  \n“Abandoning concepts is of prime importance for a meditator.” \n  \n—from The Wisdom of Thich Nhat Hanh\, p. 319 \n* \n  \nAnd a favorite quote for Valentine’s Day: \n  \nLove to faults is always blind\, \nAlways is to joy inclin’d\, \nLawless\, wing’d & unconfin’d\, \nAnd breaks all chains from every mind. \n  \n—William Blake \n* \n  \n¡Greetings from Guanajuato! \n  \nThis morning (2/6/24) I was thinking about Thomas Traherne. He’s a Christian mystic from the Seventeenth Century. Naturally\, he believes in God. For him\, God created the heavens and the earth\, and everything that lives here–including us.* He’s terrifically pleased with all this\, grateful\, and eloquent. I enjoy reading his poems and meditations. In my mind\, I have to do some translating of what he says into ideas that are more congenial to me. So\, this morning\, instead of doing it in my head\, I tried a couple things in my journal. \n  \nIn Centuries of Meditations Thomas Traherne wrote… \n  \n58 \nThe Cross is the abyss of wonders\, the centre of desires\, the school of virtues\, the house of wisdom\, the throne of love\, the theatre of joys\, and the place of sorrows; It is the root of happiness and the gate of Heaven. \n  \n…which I changed to… \n  \n58 \nSilence is the abyss of wonders\, the center of desires\, the school of virtues\, the house of wisdom\, the throne of love\, the theater of joys\, and the place of sorrows; it is the root of happiness and the gate of heaven. \n  \nA longer passage from Thomas Traherne… \n  \n71 \nBut what life wouldst thou lead? And by what laws wouldst thou thyself be guided? For none are so miserable as the lawless and disobedient. Laws are the rules of blessed living. Thou must therefor be guided by some laws. What wouldst thou choose? Surely  since thy nature and God’s are so excellent\, the Laws of Blessedness\, and the Laws of Nature are the most pleasing. God loved thee with an infinite love\, and became by doing so thine infinite treasure. Thou art the end unto whom He liveth. For all the lines of His works and counsels end in thee\, and in thy advancement. Wilt not thou become to Him an infinite treasure\, by loving Him according to His  desert? It is impossible but to love Him that loveth. Love is so amiable that it is irresistible. There is no defense against that arrow\, nor any deliverance in that war\, nor any safeguard from that charm. Wilt thou not live unto Him? Thou must of necessity live unto something. And what so glorious as His infinite Love? Since therefore\, laws are requisite to lead thee\, what laws can thy soul desire\, than those that guide thee in the most amiable paths to the highest end? By Love alone is God enjoyed\, by Love alone delighted in\, by Love alone approached or admired. His Nature requires Love\, thy nature requires Love. The law of Nature commands thee to Love Him: the Law of His nature\, and the Law of thine. \n  \n…in my argot becomes… \n  \n71 \nIt is impossible not to love someone who loves you. Love is so amiable that it is irresistible. There is no defense against that arrow\, nor any safeguard from that charm. What life would you lead? By what would you be guided? We must have something to live for. What would you choose? Why not live in blessedness? Why not live in love? You must live for something. What more glorious than infinite love? Where there is infinite love there is infinite treasure. Choose the most amiable paths that lead to love and joy. By love alone is life enjoyed\, by love alone delighted in. Love is the essence of life. It is our true nature. \n  \n*Darwin’s version seems more plausible to me than the account given in the book of Genesis–where Adam is a clay figurine and Eve is created from his rib. \n  \npaz\, amor y felicidad \n  \nJuanito \n* \n  \nKim wrote in response—and sent a poem: \n  \nThank you\, Johnny\, for these thoughts and texts. What you have done seems to me a version of what every reader does–adapt a text into one’s own frame of reference. I like that you took the time to spell it out in your own lingo. \n  \nI remember my father telling me about the early Spanish priest deep in the Amazon jungle preparing to preach the Christian gospel to the local tribe. For them\, animals were gods. So the priest\, to tell the story of Christ\, began: “Once a jaguar was born in a nest of grass….” \n  \nThis form of radical transformation of a text in translation\, my father said\, was called “an economy.” That is\, an utterly thrifty and practical conversion of currency from one culture to another. \n  \nThis you have now done\, and all becomes a little more clear…. \nAll praise to the Jaguar. \n  \nKim \n  \n    Deep State II \n  \nAny songbird is a likely spy watching your \nevery move\, head turned to hear your thoughts\, \nowl on night watch channeling your dreams\, \nwheeling hawk agent in feathered surveillance  \non the payroll of the CIA (Compassion in All)  \nto know your part in the great extinction. If \nyou are complicit\, it’s not too late to change— \nswitch loyalty to Earth and earn exoneration. \nJoin the underground in radical solidarity with \ninsects serving the FBI (Friend Bond Intrinsic)  \nfor the long-game operation eons old\, code name \nConspiracy of Rivers trafficking in mist by secret  \ntransport hidden in plain sight\, sotto voce bats \nchanting dispatch passed along by moth wing  \nsemaphore for the sleeper cells of bees. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nPrayer for the Reader Who Photocopies This Prayer and Shares It with Friends and Sisters \n  \nDear Coherence: Thank You for beer and friends and pencils and socks and the Red Cross and cellos and Paul Desmond’s saxophone and Wiffle balls and elm trees and woodpeckers and transistor radios in the pockets of old men who are fishing for bass and perch but also keeping one ear on the baseball game. Thank You for suspenders and Larry Bird. Thank You for typewriter keys and stamps and windowpanes and coffeepots. Thank You for Rosemary Clooney’s voice especially in her later years. Thank You for photocopy machines and friends and sisters and the refrigerators on which we pin up small lovely strange things people we love send us in the mail. Thank You for teeth and earphones. Thank You for sand crabs and safety belts. Thank You for the way men pat their pockets while checking for their keys and wallets and phones. Thank You for the way people defer to each other while boarding the bus. Thank You for all the little things that are not little. Absolutely beautiful work there. If You had a supervisor I would so  be writing a letter of commendation for Your personal file\, but…And so: amen. \n  \n—from A Book of Uncommon Prayer by Brian Doyle \n* \n  \nWalt Whitman says: \n  \n…The smallest sprout shows there is really no death\, \nAnd if ever there was it led forward life\, and does not wait at the end to arrest it\, \nAnd ceas’d the moment life appear’d. \n  \nAll goes onward and outward\, nothing collapses\, \nAnd to die is different from what anyone supposed\, and luckier. \n  \n7 \nHas anyone supposed it lucky to be born? \nI hasten to inform him or her it is just as luck to die\, and I know it. \n  \nI pass death with the dying and birth with the new-wash’d babe\, and am not contain’d between my hat and boots\, \nAnd peruse manifold objects\, no two alike and every one good\, \nThe earth good and the stars good\, and their adjuncts all good. \n  \n—from “Song of Myself\,” sections 6 & 7 \n* \n  \n#318  “True Generosity” \n  \n“True generosity is not a trade or a bargaining strategy. In true giving there is no thought of giver and recipient. This is called ‘the emptiness of giving\,’ in which there is no perception of separation between the one who gives and the one who receives. \nThis is the practice of generosity given in the spirit of wisdom\, with the understanding of interbeing. You offer help as naturally as you breathe. You don’t see yourself as the giver and the other person as the recipient of your generosity\, who is now beholden to you and must be suitably grateful\, respond to your demands\, and so on. You don’t give so you can make the other person your ally. When you see that people need help\, you offer and share what you have with no strings attached and no thought of reward.”—from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh \n  \nI am not a good board member; I am especially not effective as a fundraising committee member. I would like to be helpful in that area\, but I am definitely a liability rather than an asset. In fact I have been quietly dropped from the two committees I’ve been on in the past. Let me explain. \n  \nDecades ago\, I volunteered to go door-to-door soliciting donations for the American Cancer Society to put on the ‘resume’ for our Lake Grove Garden Club\, to show others how charitable we were. I launched my campaign door-to-door\, and after about a dozen or so households\, I’d gathered a smattering of small checks and bills. Seemed like everyone had other needs for their money\, very understandable. I’d collected about $75 when I came to the last house for the day. An elderly woman greeted me sweetly. I told her my reason for being there\, and she whispered\, “Oh my dear\, I would love to help\, but I have just finished my last round of chemotherapy myself\, and I have not a penny left to my name\, but I do wish you luck.” Well\, I felt so terrible and could truly feel her pain\, so I rummaged through my envelope of donations and gave her $60 of my $75 collection of the day. It was evident that she needed that $60\, and much more; it was also evident that all the others I’d approached were in need themselves. Life is hard\, I explained to the club members when I turned over my $15.00. Soon after\, I was quietly taken off the fundraising committee and assigned to the cookie sales committee. \n  \nThe fundraising committee of the Portland Artquake board evidently had not learned of this when they assigned me a spot in their group. They discussed with me how it was an essential component  that we donate a portion of our artists’ sales profits to other organizations. This was followed by a heated discussion about what we would get in return for our donation: If we gave X amount\, could we expect to get X in return? Could we give less than X amount and still get what we wanted/needed in return? Could we get a particular in-kind\, non-fungible (I was 29 years old and just learning the definition of ‘fungible’) favor/gift? Would that qualify as an equal\, or more than a win-win for us? I was naive\, and puzzled. \n  \nDuring a moment of stony silence in the arguing\, I piped up\, “But isn’t this a gift? I thought you didn’t expect something in return for a gift. Isn’t it something you give with no expectation of some reward\, or return? It’d sure be easier that way.” The silence turned frigid\, and pitying. One man sneered at me in disbelief\, “You don’t think we do this crap for nothing\, do you? This is business\, sweetheart\, business!”  The light dawned and I nodded slowly\, knowingly. \n  \nDays later they told me everyone thought I’d be great on the arts display committee. They told me it was a promotion\, an honor—but I’ve always wondered… \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \nMirror \n  \nShipmates\, we float on a sea of story. \n  \nBooks become companions for a while\, \nsaving us from chaos in our minds \n  \nWe stay up to find \nout what in the end \nholds that particular narrative line.  \n  \nEven though we can guess\, \nthe thirst is there to know \nno matter how twisty we go. \n  \nJust not too. \n  \nNot too easy\, not too twisty\, \nnot too overblown\, or risky. \n  \nNot too sappy\, \npedestrian\, predictable \nand please\, not too happy. \n  \nA challenge or predicament \nmust engage \ncould be in the form of a wizened sage. \n  \nPerhaps there is a tiger \nunexpectedly on a raft \nor a talking spider \ncaught in an updraft. \n  \nA bear and his friends\, \nan unwholesome fish\, \nit could even be someone \ntrying to find the right sized dish. \n  \nThere are colors and places \nand narrow cramped spaces \nfull of smells \nand remarkably… tolling bells. \n  \nWherever we go \nwe are still here\, \nnever having gone and yet… \nthings become\, curiously\, more clear. \n  \n—Elizabeth Domike \n* \n  \nThese days I am taking care of my granddaughter about 2 hours a day. Delana is nine weeks old. She is so tiny she looks like a baby buddha\, with her mother\, Ying’s\, Thai genes. She looks more like a little old man than a girl when she is serious. My husband often refers to her as “he” even now. When my son Will\, her papa\, comes to pick her up\, his face transforms. He starts beaming when he looks into her eyes. And he exclaims\, “She is so darling! Even when she’s crying\, I think she is darling!” I see Will’s face shining\, as he remembers over and over that he’s totally\, unabashedly\, unconditionally in love.  It lights up the room! \n  \nAnd I think of this poem. I carry this poem with me\, I carry it in my heart!   \n  \n(i carry your heart with me) \n  \ni carry your heart with me(i carry it in \nmy heart)i am never without it(anywhere \ni go you go\,my dear;and whatever is done \nby only me is your doing\,my darling) \n                                                      i fear \nno fate(for you are my fate\,my sweet)i want \nno world(for beautiful you are my world\,my true) \nand it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant \nand whatever a sun will always sing is you \n  \nhere is the deepest secret nobody knows \n(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud \nand the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows \nhigher than soul can hope or mind can hide) \nand this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart \n  \ni carry your heart(i carry it in my heart) \n  \n—e. e. cummings \n  \n—Katie Radditz \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-2-15-24/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20240307
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20240404
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SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  3/7/24
DESCRIPTION:Tree of World Literature\, ceramic from Guadalajara\, Mexico \nCan you find…The Bible\, Moby Dick\, Don Quixote\, Romeo & Juliet\, The Little Prince\, Metamorphoses\, Aladdin\, Faust\, Les Miserables\, The Inferno\, The Iliad\, The Odyssey? \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nMarch 7\, 2024 \nAbundance! \n  \nThe road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom. \n  \n& \n  \nExuberance is Beauty. \n  \n—William Blake \n* \n  \nInsatiableness is good\, but not ingratitude. \n  \n—Thomas Traherne \n* \n  \nI was reading On Dialogue: an essay in free thought by Robert Grudin\, and it got me thinking about abundance in literature and in life—about too muchness. If I had a coat of arms\, this might be my motto: \n  \nLOVE  *  SILENCE  *  LIFE ABUNDANT! \n  \nI want to live my life to the full! I want my cup to runneth over! And it is! It is! I admire the fictional character Alexis Zorba\, from the novel Zorba the Greek by Nikos Kazantzakis. He’s based on a man Kazantzakis knew. Zorba loved “the whole catastrophe”! \n  \nIn Chapter 3 of On Dialogue\, “The Liberty of Ideas\,” Grudin talks about copia\, a Latin word that means “abundance\,” from which we get the words “copious” and “copiousness.” \n  \nLiterary copiousness is a kind of “overdoing it” that gives a special kind of delight. Grudin cites Rabelais as someone who uses copia for humorous effect. An example that came to my mind is this passage from King Lear: \n  \nOswald \nWhy dost thou use me thus? I know thee not. \nKent \nFellow\, I know thee. \nOswald \nWhat dost thou know me for? \nKent \nA knave\, a rascal\, an eater of broken meats; a base\, proud\, shallow\, beggarly\, three-suited\, hundred-pound\, filthy\, worsted-stocking knave; a lily-livered\, action-taking knave; a whoreson\, glass-gazing\, super-serviceable finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a bawd in way of good service; and art nothing but the composition of a knave\, beggar\, coward\, pander\, and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch; one whom I will beat into clamorous whining if thou deniest the least syllable of thy addition. \n  \nJames Joyce overdid it in his novel Ulysses\, and overdid overdoing it in Finnegans Wake. In Ulysses\, he describes a man\, “the citizen\,” sitting in a pub: \n  \nThe figure seated on a large boulder at the foot of a round tower was that of a broadshouldered deepchested stronglimbed frankeyed redhaired freelyfreckled shaggybearded widemouthed largenosed longheaded deepvoiced barekneed brawnyhanded hairylegged ruddyfaced sinewyarmed hero. From shoulder to shoulder he measured several ells and his rocklike mountainous knees were covered\, as was likewise the rest of his body wherever visible\, with a strong growth of tawny prickly hair in hue and toughness similar to the mountain gorse (Ulex Europeus). The widewinged nostrils\, from which bristles of the same tawny hue projected\, were of such capaciousness that within their cavernous obscurity the fieldlark might easily have lodged her nest. The eyes in which a tear and a smile strove ever for the mastery were of the dimensions of a goodsized cauliflower. A powerful current of warm breath issued at regular intervals from the profound cavity of his mouth while in rhythmic resonance the loud strong hale reverberations of his formidable heart thundered rumblingly causing the ground\, the summit of the lofty tower and the still loftier walls of the cave to vibrate and tremble. \n  \n—James Joyce\, Ulysses\, Chapter 12\, lines 151-167 \n  \nWalt Whitman overdoes it in “Song of Myself.” I’ve always been inspired by the loud “YES!” he sings to Life—and to Death. Here are a couple excerpts: \n  \nI believe in the flesh and the appetites\, \nSeeing\, hearing\, feeling\, are miracles\, and each part and tag of me is a miracle. \n  \nDivine am I inside and out\, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touched from\, \nThe scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer\, \nThis head more than churches\, bibles\, and all the creeds. \n  \n& \n  \nI am an acme of things accomplished\, and I an encloser of things to be. \n  \nMy feet strike an apex of the apices of the stairs\, \nOn every step bunches of ages\, and larger bunches between the steps\, \nAll below duly traveled\, and still I mount and mount. \n  \nRise after rise bow the phantoms behind me\, \nAfar down I see the huge first Nothing\, I know I was even there\, \nI waited unseen and always\, and slept through the lethargic mist\, \nAnd took my time\, and took no hurt from the fetid carbon. \n  \nLong I was hugged close—long and long. \n  \nImmense have been the preparations for me\, \nFaithful and friendly the arms that have helped me. \n  \nCycles ferried my cradle\, rowing and rowing like cheerful boatmen\, \nFor room to me stars kept aside in their own rings\, \nThey sent influences to look after what was to hold me. \nBefore I was born out of my mother generations guided me\, \nMy embryo has never been torpid\, nothing could overlay it. \n  \nFor it the nebula cohered to an orb \nThe long slow strata piled to rest it on\, \nVast vegetables gave it sustenance\, \nMonstrous sauroids transported it in their mouths and deposited it with care. \n  \nAll forces have been steadily employed to complete and delight me\, \nNow on this spot I stand with my robust soul. \n  \n—Walt Whitman\, from sections 24 & 44 of “Song of Myself” \n  \nPeace\, Love & Life Abundant! \n—Johnny \n* \n  \nHere’s a poem from Will: \n  \nSome Tides \n  \nJust ooze in  \nQuiet as a shadow \nRising slower than  \nOld fishermen  \nAt seasons end. \nOthers come \nQuick as cats \nWind-whipped\, hungry \nDevouring acres of mud flats \nIn minutes. \n  \nThis tide today \nPulled in to our little bay \nUnhurried \nDrew its soft\, green \n Blanket of brine \n Over beds of oysters \nBarnacled blocks of rip-rap \nKelp-strewn boulders \nBeaches of stones \nRounded by   \n Endless comings and goings \nThen \n Tucked itself in \n To every inlet \nComing to rest at last \nBeneath dark\, overhanging \nFir and Cedar boughs.    \n  \nA family of seals arrived \nDrawn no doubt  \nTo a feast of edibles \nWithin this swelling sea  \nThey approached my canoe \nWary but curious \nFifteen dark heads \nFifteen whiskered mouths \nFifteen pairs of eyes  \nSo intent\, so familiar \nI couldn’t help but talk to them \nWatch them surface\, submerge\, resurface.  \n  \nThen\, Bufflehead ducks\, Mergansers\, Canada geese arrived \nTo this watery place of plenty  \nAlong with those peerless hunters \nGreat Blue Herons\, perched on a single leg \nIn the shallows\, beaks poised waiting  \nFor that one careless minnow. \n  \nThen\, far above\, in a blue\, cloudless sky  \nA Raven flew over the brimming bay  \nIts shrill cry reminding us all \nThat Raven made these seas to rise and fall \nThat Raven holds the rope to let loose their ebb \nAnd pull forth their flood  \nThat he has done so since the beginning of time \n“And look\,” he says\, in his ancient tongue   \n“Caw! I have done it again today.” \n  \n—Will Hornyak\,  February 2024 \n* \n  \nI was talking with Kim about abundance\, and he thought of “lagniappe.” This is the Preface to his book of poems The Lagniappe: \n  \nPreface \n  \nThe title of this book\, lagniappe\, is a resonant word heard in New Orleans\, where it means “a little extra…a bonus…a gift.” This term was first the Quechua word yapa (“to add\, to increase\, to help”) heard buy the hungry conquistadores in the Inca markets of the Andes. It meant a little gift smuggled into the bargaining for potatoes or grain. They took this word to Mexico\, where it became Spanish: ñapa. And then to New Orleans\, where it became French: lagniappe—as in\, “Why did Irene pay for our dessert?” “It’s the lagniappe.” \n  \nSo\, as I age\, I seek the bonus\, the little extra. I hope to become a graceful ruin\, if I am lucky\, lasting past my prime into the years of bending lower\, withering\, and yet—if I choose the path of luck—in possession of lagniappe\, some gifts of insight to offer to the young. \n  \nWho wrote the manual for growing old with grace? Who took time to compose the encyclopedia of life’s attritions\, to gather the scripture of the elder age\, to list the acts of aging apostles\, to pen the proverbs that might guide our passage\, to proffer the gospel for the elder soul? I look around to see who has done this\, or who will do this\, and it appears it may be me. Hence this draft of essential terms. \n  \n—Kim Stafford\, 70 \n* \nBrian Doyle exemplified Blake’s aphorism: “Exuberance is Beauty.” In his enthusiasm he sometimes wrote sentences that went on and on and on. In the posthumous collection of essays One Long River of Song\, the first sentence of his essay on “Pants” contains 379 words! The final essay\, “Last Prayer\,” teaches us about living and dying in Abundance: \n  \nI could complain a little here about the long years of back pain and the occasional awful heartbreak\, but Lord\, those things were infinitesimal against the slather of gifts You gave mere me\, a muddle of a man\, so often selfish and small. But no man was ever more grateful for Your profligate generosity\, and here at the very end\, here in my last lines\, I close my eyes and weep with joy that I was alive\, and blessed beyond measure\, and might well be headed back home to the incomprehensible Love from which I came\, mewling\, many years ago. \n  \n—Brian Doyle\, from One Long River of Song
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-3-7-24/
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DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240307T190000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240307T210000
DTSTAMP:20260425T120827
CREATED:20240127T002642Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20240327T034730Z
UID:4399-1709838000-1709845200@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:A Midsummer Night's Dream in Prison at Lewis & Clark Law School  3/7/24
DESCRIPTION:  \nA Midsummer Night’s Dream in Prison\, a documentary by Bushra Azzouz\, will be shown at Lewis & Clark Law School\, (Room 7 or 8 Wood Hall Basement)\, on Thursday\, March 7th\, at 7 p.m. Following the screening there will be a Q & A with Brandon Gillespie (actor) and Johnny Stallings (director). \n  \nHere’s a trailer for the film: \n  \n  \n \n  \n  \n  \nDON’T MISS THIS! \n  \npeace\, love & happiness \n  \nJohnny \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/a-midsummer-nights-dream-in-prison-at-lewis-clark-law-school-3-7-24/
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