BEGIN:VCALENDAR
VERSION:2.0
PRODID:-//The Open Road:  a learning community - ECPv6.15.3//NONSGML v1.0//EN
CALSCALE:GREGORIAN
METHOD:PUBLISH
X-ORIGINAL-URL:https://openroadpdx.com
X-WR-CALDESC:Events for The Open Road:  a learning community
REFRESH-INTERVAL;VALUE=DURATION:PT1H
X-Robots-Tag:noindex
X-PUBLISHED-TTL:PT1H
BEGIN:VTIMEZONE
TZID:America/Los_Angeles
BEGIN:DAYLIGHT
TZOFFSETFROM:-0800
TZOFFSETTO:-0700
TZNAME:PDT
DTSTART:20240310T100000
END:DAYLIGHT
BEGIN:STANDARD
TZOFFSETFROM:-0700
TZOFFSETTO:-0800
TZNAME:PST
DTSTART:20241103T090000
END:STANDARD
END:VTIMEZONE
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20240606
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20240704
DTSTAMP:20260425T053550
CREATED:20240607T015715Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20240607T022313Z
UID:4729-1717632000-1720051199@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  6/6/24
DESCRIPTION:The Young Hare by Albrecht Dürer \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nJune 6\, 2024 \n  \nLive righteously and love everyone. \n  \n—tag on Yogi Tea bag \n* \n  \nAlex sent this poem: \n  \nThe Province of Clocks \n  \nThere aren’t many leaves left in the galaxy \nmagnolia planted on the museum grounds. \n  \nRavens explode from the county hospital \nroof as a result of internal pressure\, recalling \n  \nto me the nurse who caressed my hand \n-cuffed wrists at two in the morning \n  \nwhen I was sick and awaiting arraignment. She didn’t \nhave to do that. Now when I’m bored and uncurious \n  \nI try to remember what it was like to remember \nhow I held my face so close to the juniper\, redirected \n  \na moth from annihilation\, and asked my grief \nfor the hour. Contrary to popular belief\, clocks have more \n  \nto do with space than time\, and all guns really do is move \na thing very quickly into you. \n  \n—Alex Tretbar \n  \nfirst published in the journal Sixth Finch \n* \n  \nKen Margolis shared this: \n  \n“Literature has neglected the old and their emotions. The novelists never told us that in love\, as in other matters\, the young are just beginners and that the art of loving matures with age and experience. Furthermore\, while many of the young believe that the world can be made better by sudden changes in social order and by bloody and exhausting revolutions\, most older people have learned that hatred and cruelty never produce anything but their own kind. The only hope of mankind is love in its various forms and manifestations—the source of them all being love of life\, which\, as we know\, increases and ripens with the years.” \n  \n—from the “Author’s Note” to the book Old Love by Isaac Bashevis Singer \n  \nIsaac Bashevis Singer (1903-1997) won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1978—the only Yiddish writer to do so. \n* \n  \nI invited Elizabeth to write about her personal experience with blogs. Here’s what she wrote: \n  \nAbout Those Web Logs (Blogs) \n  \nI didn’t start writing regularly on the internet until the summer of 2000. Before then I had been posting poetry drafts for workshopping on a site called Open Diary. Not because I was workshopping the poems there. I was posting there because I met a couple of guys that wanted to workshop poems and instead of printing our poems out to share at our weekly coffeeshop meetings\, one of the guys suggested we use this online diary site. We could put our poems up\, we could see them\, critique them\, and hey maybe if we got lucky someone else would as well. \n  \nThat was in 1998. We used what we called “diary names”. There were three of us at that first meeting. When we put up our draft poems there was a front-page feature that folks out in the world would scroll through and click on something that interested them. There was the ability to leave notes on someone’s post. I think we had rudimentary hashtags too\, so people interested in poetry might find us that way. \n  \nI didn’t get much traffic\, but the two male poets got more\, and I would look at their notes and click on those people’s diaries. These were people writing regularly all over the world about their lives behind this porous wall of assumed anonymity. \n  \nThere was flirting\, there was drama\, as more and more folks coming to the local open mic readings found out we were doing this and joined. People started writing more than poetry and those of us still writing poetry and reading it were parsing it for the juiciest possible details about each other. Factions developed. Feelings were expressed. It was a free for all. \n  \nI was reading about the daily lives of people all over the English-speaking world that I stumbled upon or who had found me. I remember a particular day clearly\, keeping the poetry page\, I decided to set up a page to talk about myself and my life\, so I didn’t feel like I was lurking\, I was participating. There were ads but somewhere around 2003 or so we got the option to have no ads if we paid a modest amount either monthly or annually. \n  \nThere were various levels of privacy available too. You could have Friends Only; this is before Facebook became ubiquitous. But I decided to keep my writing public. This became an issue when my family and coworkers started reading what I was writing. Did I mention drama? Crazy drama with misinterpretation and envy and grudges and… \n  \nIt was kind of fun in an I know this probably isn’t a good idea transgressive sort of way. \n  \nNow you would think\, oh\, well the thing to do then is manage privacy to minimize the drama\, but being a person who likes a challenge I decided to figure out a way to write regularly about my life that my family and close friends could read and be okay with. This took a couple of years\, and I would say that the biggest lesson I learned is that the only story that is mine to tell is…mine. \n  \nStill to this day\, things can get a little slippery in this arena if I know someone isn’t reading my posts or a perceived affront occurs… but mostly\, I manage the impulse and keep things on the understated side. So… no trainwrecks. \n  \nOne of the poets I started this adventure with I became very close to\, and he pretty much only posted poetry. He didn’t have the diary impulse. His diary name was Mr. Finch and mine was (and still is) noko. Noko was my first cat\, a gorgeous Norwegian Forest Cat. Johnny’s diary name is Walt\, for obvious reasons. \n  \nBut oh\, Mr. Finch was able to create drama. And he had strong (right wing I might add) opinions. \n  \nAnd then he got sick. By then we were inseparable. I wrote about his illness. He had lung cancer that had spread to his brain. Taking care of him was this isolating thing. I was working full time and caring for him and I wrote about it all on this diary\, blog thing\, as often as I could. \n  \nPeople we had connected to all over the world were following along. They left unbelievably supportive and useful notes. We would read them together. And it helped. It helped us get through the hard days and the days where silly things happened and the days\, deep breath\, I needed to interact with his insane family full of alcoholics and one particularly challenging niece with M.S. and a crush on him. But we won’t go there\, okay. \n  \nAt some point the guy running the website decided he couldn’t do it anymore. There was much distress. Eventually another guy decided he would set up a new website and many of us went there. It is called Prosebox. It works a lot better than Open Diary ever did\, costs a modest sum to use without ads\, allows pictures if one hosts them elsewhere. \n  \nWhen Mr. Finch and I\, (we often called each other by our diary names) started a poetry press\, open mic reading\, we also started a Blogspot blog. We both wrote on that. It is a blogger’s blog called Meander Knot Press. I haven’t written on there since 2016 but it is still extant. \n  \nThe reach of the writing I do on Prosebox\, usually twice a week and noting every few days is small\, meaningful\, and broadly international. A number of people who “read me”\, I read as well and (for some of us 24 years) our communications have developed into deep caring connections. I have met some people in person over the years. Never a disappointment. \n  \nI have accounts on Facebook\, Instagram\, Medium and Substack. But I barely use any of them. I do read some accounts on Substack regularly. This has become the place where folks who are not part of a media organization go to say things they have to say. People put up a certain amount of content for free or you can subscribe for more. \n  \nSubstack has expanded recently to include podcasts. I love podcasts\, the voice is so intimate. \n  \nThe most popular Substack is by the historian Heather Cox Richardson:  https://heathercoxrichardson.substack.com/. It is called Letters From an American. If you give your email address you can have access for free to some material. There is now a feature where if you subscribe\, (I do for $5 a month) you get access to her reading her posts out loud. I wasn’t finding time to read them regularly\, but I can listen when I am doing chores and I happily do. \n  \nA popular independent and successful blog is The Marginalian by Maria Popova that I know a number of you subscribe to. You can find her here:  https://www.themarginalian.org/about/ \n  \nThe thing is… people are busy. When I get asked why I would write about myself regularly and make it public…that is crazy… I just smile. I don’t expect anyone to read what I write unless they find something to connect to there. I wrote a post a few hours ago with a picture of wild blackberries in bloom and a widow in Midland Canada who was born in Singapore and married a missionary and a retired maths teacher with partial dementia from Victoria Australia read it and left notes. \n  \nThe sweet serendipity of it all makes my heart sing a happy song. It appears the years of effort were worthwhile. \n  \n—Elizabeth Domike \n* \n  \n“The Marginalian” was originally called “Brain-Pickings.” I’ve been getting it in my Inbox for years. It is one of the inspirations for “peace\, love\, happiness & understanding.” I like to think of this as a “journal\,” rather than a “newsletter.” There’s no news in it. When Covid was arriving in early 2020\, Nancy and I were thinking about how it was going to make life in prison even worse! I thought some of our friends in prison might enjoy getting something in the mail every week\, especially something with upbeat\, inspirational content. (I rely on poems a lot.) These days it comes out on or about the first Thursday of the month. I mail it to about 2o people in prison\, and email it to a little over 100 people “on the outside.” (Does emailing it make it a “blog”?) Since the Spring of 202o\, a lot of our friends who were then in prison are out now. Hallelujah! \n  \nOn the Open Road website there is a peace\, love\, happiness & understanding Archive: https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-archive/. This is the 95th Issue! \n  \nWalt Whitman’s 205th birthday was on May 31st. We celebrated with a cake and I performed my hour-long version of his poem “Song of Myself.” I’ve been doing that for a long time. It seems to make everyone happy—including me.  \n  \nIt’s weird to me that 169 years after Walt wrote this poem\, it is not more widely read\, appreciated\, and enjoyed than it is. Many people I ask about the poem say they haven’t read it—or that they read it long ago\, in school. \n  \nChapter Two of the book Black Elk Speaks and “Song of Myself” seem to me to be the most important texts that have come from America. As a wisdom text\, I have found it to be more helpful in changing the way I see and feel and experience the world than the Sermon on the Mount\, the Bhagavad Gita\, or the Tao Te Ching. High praise!—but true\, I think\, for me. \n  \nHere are some things about Walt Whitman and “Song of Myself” from the Open Road website: \n  \nhttps://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-walt-whitman-issue-4-9-4-15/ \nhttps://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-6-2-22/ \nhttps://openroadpdx.com/event/friends-of-walt-an-archive/ \n  \nAnd there’s an essay titled “Walt and Me” in my book The Nonstop Love-In\, which is available from the Multnomah County Library: \n  \nhttps://multcolib.bibliocommons.com/v2/record/S152C2348579 \n  \nIt can also be ordered from Open Road Press \n  \nhttps://openroadpdx.com/open-road-press/ \n  \nand from Powell’s Books and Amazon. \n  \nWell\, that’s about it for this time. \n  \n  \nMuch love to y’all\, \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-6-6-24/
ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/06/flat750x075f-pad750x1000f8f8f8.jpg
END:VEVENT
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20240615
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20240715
DTSTAMP:20260425T053550
CREATED:20240616T181034Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20240616T183240Z
UID:4769-1718409600-1721001599@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness 6/15/24
DESCRIPTION:photo of Will Hornyak (and surroundings) by Michael Wetter \n\n  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n\n  \nJune 15\, 2024 \n  \nEvery day\, priests minutely examine the Dharma \nAnd endlessly chant complicated sutras. \nBefore doing that\, though\, they should learn \nHow to read the love letters sent by the wind and rain\, the snow and moon. \n  \n—Ikkyū (1394-1481)\, translated by John Stevens \n* \n  \n“Sometimes a conversation can be the greatest adventure of your life.” \n  \n—Lyn Slater (sent by Jill Littlewood) \n* \n  \nHow \n  \nsmall birds      flit \nfrom bough \nto bough to bough \n  \nto bough to bough to bough \n  \n—Gary Snyder\, from danger on peaks \n* \nThe Owyhee River \n  \nUshers us \n Through canyons \nA thousand feet deep \nTwo million years old \n Past sheer\, towering \n Basalt walls\, chalk hills \nAlive with the songs of \n Canyon wrens\, chukar partridge\, quail. \n  \nEons of weathering \nIce\, floods and wind \nYield cracks and crevices \nLedges and knolls \nPerfect perches \nFor eagles\, hawks \nRavens and falcons. \nNiches hold soil and seed \nBirth flowering shrubs. \nWhite phlox\, yellow arrowroot \nErupt from unlikely fissures  \nIn drab stone walls.   \n  \n Just below Montgomery Rapids \nThe river slows\, deepens \n We are engulfed  \nIn clouds of industrious cliff swallows \nDarting wildly around us \nDaubing mud\, sculpting nests  \n The ancient stone face \n Cradling new dwellings and  \nDelicate feathered life.   \n   \nThe days are long and generous \nHot springs\, cold plunges \nCoyote songs at dusk \nJust one rattlesnake! \nWe navigate rapids named \n “Read-it-and-Weep” \n“Upset\,” “Nuisance” and “Squeeze” \n And dozens more \nScouting those \nWhere disaster is a possibility \nTerror and joy flowing together.   \n  \nThe stars seems so close here \nThe night silence complete \nSave for the swirl of current \nThe occasional slap of a beaver tail. \nA touch of whiskey  \nLoosens the tongue \nFor conversation\, laughter \nThe medicine of friendship \nLike the rising moon \nRenews\, restores\, heals. \n    \n We drink morning coffee  \nAnd welcome first light \nTo sage-covered hills \n Sandstone cliffs and water. \nSoon we’ll begin the ritual \nOf gathering\, packing up \nStrapping down the gear \nCasting off and feeling  \nThe first tug of current \nThe river drawing us  \nTo itself once again \n An old friend \nShouldering our load \nShowing us the way. \n  \n  \n—Will Hornyak\,     June 2024 \n* \n  \nI was thinking about meditation the other day\, and wrote this letter to Rocky: \n  \nJune 5\, 2024 \n  \nDear Rocky \n  \nThis morning I want to write to you about meditation and mindfulness. I know you are very busy these days. I hope you are able to find some time each day—even if it’s just five minutes—to just sit. \nWords like “meditation” and “mindfulness” can be misleading. Maybe just think of it as “quiet time.” A time when you don’t have to do anything\, or be anyone. Awake and alert. That’s all. No past\, no future. \nNo thought. \nNo thought? \nIf a thought arises\, look at it as if it is a cloud passing through the sky of your mind. All thoughts are just thoughts. They come and go. \nWith thought and language we label everything. We name every thing. We take something which is very big—life!—and confine it in words. \nWe confine ourselves. We imagine that we are a “man\,” that we are “in prison\,” that we are happy or sad. That we are separate from other people and from “the world.” These are all just ideas. \nIn silence\, all these little ideas just fall away. Something is still happening\, but it has no name. \nAfter five minutes or an hour of silence\, we have to rejoin other people in the activities of life. We have to pretend to be “Rocky” or “Johnny\,” and do the things that Rocky and Johnny have agreed to do—the things that other people rely on us to do. \nWriting in a journal during “quiet time” can be helpful—reflecting on our life\, reminding ourselves of the things that are most important. Remembering to be grateful. Remembering that every thing is miraculous. Nurturing feelings of peace\, love & happiness. \nCertain texts are good for “quiet time\,” to bring us to “the peace which passeth understanding.” Your True Home is good. So is “Song of Myself.” Also\, Tao Te Ching and Hsin Hsin Ming. The poems of Han Shan and Hafiz. The Only Revolution by Krishnamurti. Poems and meditations of Thomas Traherne. My theater pieces “Silence” and “The Golden World.” (The latter is in my book The Nonstop Love-In\, which I hope has some things in it that people find inspirational.) \nSilence puts us in touch with the reality that is larger than our descriptions and explanations of reality—which are small and partial. This feeling of boundless being is truer than our ideas about the world and truer than our ideas about who we are. \n  \npeace & love \nJohnny \n* \n  \nOne Trick Pony \n  \nI’ll be the first to say it: Oh yes\, I can be \npredictable—rise\, write a little song\, then \nputter the day away. And my verses\, they \nlament\, or praise\, in small compass. Nothing \ntoo fancy\, nothing too long or elaborate. \nAs for ambitious reach\, let it pass me by. \nDoesn’t every tree have all summer\, \nevery singing bird the whole sky to fill? \nMeanwhile\, the sun\, born in the big bang\, \nremains content to roil and smolder\, now \nand then to flare\, before settling back \nto seethe. So I seethe and suffer\, need \nand wonder\, try scratching syllables \nof joy\, or sorrow\, hope\, or warning. \nWhat more can I do than this— \na slow burn\, singing and singing. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \n#19 Flowers and Garbage \n“Flowers and garbage are both organic in nature.So looking deeply into the nature of a flower\, you can see the presence of the compost and the garbage. The flower is also going to turn into garbage\, but don’t be afraid! You are a gardener and you have in your hands the power to transform garbage into flowers\, into fruit\, into vegetables. You don’t throw anything away\, because you are not afraid of garbage. Your hands are capable or transforming it into flowers\, or lettuce or cucumbers. \nThe same thing is true of your happiness and your sorrow. Sorrow\, fear\, and depression are all a kind of garbage. These bits of garbage are part of real life\, and we must look deeply into their nature. You can practice in order to turn these bits of garbage into flowers. It is not only your love that is organic; your hate is\, too So you should not throw anything out. All you have to do is learn how to transform your garbage into flowers.” \n—from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh \n  \nUgh. Garbage. I don’t even want to write about this\, because it just dredges up ugly\, old memories—memories of my first marriage and all of its ugliness\, fear\, chaos… But on reading Thich Nhat Hanh\, I realized that it was living through that ‘garbage’ is precisely what led me to my determination and devotion to loving and working on behalf of others who are considered ‘garbage’ by much of the world. Prison inmates\, rough teenagers\, Hispanic adults (documented or undocumented)\, the homeless\, the poor. I am called to be with these people and to instill in them the belief\, the understanding\, that they\, one and all\, have value and true worthiness and beauty in this world. \n  \nMy first husband let me know countless times (always in an alcoholic stupor) that I was a ‘piece of garbage.’ It is said\, and it is true\, that when you say something enough times\, the listener will come to believe it. And I did. Who was I to believe otherwise when the person closest to me told me over and over that I was useless\, stupid\, and…garbage. Nowadays it’s called gaslighting\, I think. Of course I was too ashamed to mention any of this to my dear\, concerned family or friends\, so it all just settled itself in my being and festered. \n  \nI escaped that marriage—and I flourished. (Latin—flor=flower). From the ‘garbage’ came the flower. I blossomed. I grew stronger and eventually I branched out and realized that that piece of  garbage could be valuable to others. Now I cultivate relationships with the ‘lost ones\,’ those denigrated and scorned and dismissed as worthless. I instill in them a sense of their value through love and attention and presence. I want to transform them all from garbage into flowers. \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \nMichel Deforge asked me to let everyone know that he has transferred to Oregon State Correctional Institution (OSCI) in Salem. He likes it much better there. Here are some excerpts from his journal: \n  \nMay 6\, 2024 \n  \n….Some things are not good for me\, and at the same time I don’t benefit from obsessive focus (aversion). I simply don’t need to give any more energy than is polite to acknowledge existence. For example: my cellie of late opines loudly—whines even. If (when) I give this energy by having my own opinion\, and then sharing it\, I see something odious develop in the opinion each holds\, and aversion arises. If\, instead\, I let him rave but do not form my own opinion\, or at least don’t share my thoughts\, aversion is less powerful in me. I may still find his ideas odious\, they vanish quickly enough; unfed they wither. \n  \nMay 7\, 2024 \n  \nAbraham rushed to Sarah’s tent and said\, “Hurry! Three measures of the finest flour! Knead it and make cakes.” Abraham ran to the cattle and chose a tender\, choice calf. He gave it to a young man who rushed to prepare it. [While recovering from circumcision!]  —Genesis 18:6-7 \n  \nIndolence is easy. The only requirement is do little-to-nothing\, and think less of it. To follow Abraham’s example\, hosting unexpected travelers\, during the most painful day of convalescence from a minor surgery\, is to fight the siren song of self and indolence. He didn’t just follow pro forma for these guests\, he ran out to meet them—away from the comfort of shade and recuperation—and then back again to prepare not just a light snack\, but a full banquet in honor of his guests. In his great discomfort\, Abraham sets himself the task of providing for others’ comfort instead of his own. Many\, if not all of us\, would not do half as much. We’ll tell ourselves we would. But we know\, in the end\, pain and our own discomfort will win out\, driving us back to our cozy convalescence. I don’t blame us! What Abraham did was extra-ordinary. That’s what ENTHUSIASM does to one\, shifting focus and priorities toward where one is aiming his intent. Someday\, maybe I could be ENTHUSIASTIC as was Abraham. “If not now\, when?” \n  \n—Michel Deforge \n* \n  \nKatie Radditz sent this poem by Rilke: \n  \nDear darkening ground\, \nyou’ve endured so patiently the walls we’ve built\, \nperhaps you’ll give the cities one more hour \nbefore you become forest again\, and water\, and widening wilderness \nin that hour of inconceivable terror \nwhen you take back your name from all things. \nJust give me a little more time! \nI want to love the things \nAs no one has thought to love them\, \nUntil they’re worthy of you and real. \n  \nRainer Maria Rilke\, 1875 – 1926 \n* \n  \nElizabeth Domike sent this poem by Stanley Moss: \n  \nBright Day \n  \nI sing this morning: Hello\, hello. \nI proclaim the bright day of the soul. \nThe sun is a good fellow\, \nthe devil is a good guy\, no deaths today I know. \nI live because I live. I do not die because I cannot die. \nIn Tuscan sunlight Masaccio   \npainted his belief that St. Peter’s shadow \ncured a cripple\, gave him back his sight. \nI’ve come through eighty-five summers. I walk in sunlight. \nIn my garden\, death questions every root\, flowers reply. \nI know the dark night of the soul \ndoes not need God’s eye\, \nas a beggar does not need a hand or a bowl. \n  \n—Stanley Moss \n* \n  \nOur Lady of the Mangoes \n  \nSeñora Mango \nDoña Mango \nholds court behind the counter  \nof her shop\, \na five minute walk \nfrom our casita. \n  \nMorning till past dark \nshe waits\, taciturn\, \ndoes not look up. \n  \nHer buyers approach her \nfor pronouncements of cost: \ntwo tomatoes \nor one potato\, a handful \nof eggs secured  \nin a produce bag. \n  \nMost days I find her  \nsipping Cup of Noodles\, \nglued to the soaps \non a tiny TV  \nbeside the withering lettuce. \nHer husband watches  \nfrom a produce crate \nout of view. \n  \nI am there for mangoes \nzucchini\, avocados\, tomatoes \nonions\, bananas \ngarlic\, limes \npapaya and pineapple \na profusion of necessities \nsome too extravagant to buy  \nat home. \n  \nShe frowns at my use of \nher plastic bags. \nI learn to bring my own. \n  \nThere’s no space on her counter \nfor all I want to buy. Over time \nrecognizing me\, she \nmotions me to hand her my \nshopping bags. She jots down  \nmy total and picks \nthe right coins from my hand. \n  \nI greet her always and thank her \nwhen I leave. One day \nas I turn to go I hear her call \nafter me “Qué la vaya bien.” \nI call out to her in return. \n  \nDid I catch just a hint of a smile \nin her eyes? We have made progress. \nI walk my mangoes home. \n  \n  \n—Gail Lester\, Guanajuato\, March\, 2024
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-6-15-24/
ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/png:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/06/unnamed.png
END:VEVENT
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20240616
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20240902
DTSTAMP:20260425T053550
CREATED:20220315T163359Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20240904T005015Z
UID:2628-1718496000-1725235199@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Open Road Meditation & Mindfulness Archive
DESCRIPTION:Avalokiteśvara from the Ajanta Caves \n  \n  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Community \n  \nIn September of 2020\, Open Road board members–Bill Faricy\, Deborah Buchanan and Katie Radditz–along with Howard Thoresen and I\, inaugurated the Open Road Meditation & Mindfulness Community\, for people who live in prison and for those who don’t. If you are interested in meditation and mindfulness\, you are welcome to join us. The idea of the Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue is to provide support and encouragement for your spiritual practice–that is\, whatever gives your life meaning. \n  \nWe are not promoting any religious tradition. We will just be sharing our thoughts\, experiences\, questions and friendship in order to support and encourage each other in living more peacefully and mindfully. To begin\, we will be using Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh as a jumping off point for dialogue. As we go along\, we will use other inspirational texts and poems\, along with everyone’s personal ruminations. \n  \nI will coordinate the writings of prison residents through the Open Road post office box\, and use email for everyone else. To begin\, everyone is invited to find one of the 365 meditations in Thich Nhat Hanh’s book that inspires you and write something in response to it. You can use other sources of inspiration as well. \n  \nOn the 15th of every month I will send out what I’ve collected from everyone to all the participants. You are free to respond to what other people write\, or just ponder it. \n  \nHere is the first Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue\, published on September 15\, 2020. \nHere’s the second Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue\, published on October 15\, 2020. \nHere’s the third Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue\, published on November 15\, 2020. \nHere’s the fourth Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue\, published on December 15\, 2020. \nHere’s the fifth Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue\, published on January 15\, 2021. \nHere’s the sixth Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue\, published on February 15\, 2021. \nHere’s the seventh Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue\, published on March 15\, 2021. \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for April 15\, 2021. \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for May 15\, 2021. \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for June 15\, 2021. \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for July 15\, 2021. \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for August 15\, 2021. \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for September 15\, 2021. \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for October 15\, 2021. \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for November 15\, 2021. \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for December 15\, 2021. \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for January 15\, 2022. \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for February 15\, 2022. \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for March 15\, 2022. \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for April 15\, 2022. \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for May 15\, 2022. \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for June 15\, 2022. \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for July 15\, 2022. \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for August 15\, 2022. \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for September 15\, 2022. \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for October 15\, 2022 \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for November 15\, 2022 \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for December 15\, 2022 \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for January 15\, 2023 \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for February 15\, 2023 \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for March 15\, 2023 \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for April 15\, 2023 \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for May 15\, 2023 \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for June 15\, 2023 \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for July 15\, 2023 \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for August 15\, 2023 \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for September 15\, 2023 \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for October 15\, 2023 \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for November 15\, 2023 \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for December 15\, 2023 \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for January 15\, 2024 \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for February 15\, 2024 \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for March 15\, 2024 \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for April 15\, 2024   \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for May 15\, 2024  \nMeditation & Mindfulness Dialogue for June 15\, 2024 \n  \nHere are two meditation texts:  \na talk on Beginner’s Mind by Shunryū Suzuki (1904-1971) \nthe earliest Zen text\, Hsin Hsin Ming\, by Seng Ts’an\, the Third Zen Patriarch (529-606 A.D.) \nIf you’d like to join our merry band\, email me and let me know. \n  \nJake was in segregation (solitary confinement) at Two Rivers prison when he wrote this: \n\n49 – What is a leaf?\n \nIs one of my favorites! In segregation we have paintings that are of different scenes. At first it was cool\, then I and others got over it. But since putting this wisdom of Thich Nhat Hanh in perspective you see more than a painting. For it opens my eyes to the time\, the painter\, the painter’s years of art skills\, everything down to what makes paint…paint. There are so many miracles that came together to make these paintings! It’s amazing. Now I try to be mindful of what miracles come into place to make people I meet\, foods I eat. Being conscious of what had to come together to create your best friend or your favorite food gives you much more appreciation for how they come to be in your life .\n \nThank you for giving me a chance\, Johnny. I’m really working on myself. My goal is day by day. (Today be less ego-oriented.) Trying to not care who judges me for being me. Because that’s not my problem\, I am happy and peaceful. It’s been a sacrifice\, but as I’m learning sacrifice is the way to a peaceful life!\n \nPeace Love Happiness\n \n–Jake\n\n\n\n\n\n\n  \n  \nMay all people be happy. \nMay we live in love. \n  \n–Johnny Stallings \nExecutive Director\, The Open Road
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/open-road-meditation-mindfulness-archive/
ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/08/Bodhi_Ajanta.jpg
END:VEVENT
END:VCALENDAR