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SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  10/2/25
DESCRIPTION:The Harvesters by Pieter Bruegel the Elder \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nOctober 2\, 2025 \n  \nCrossing a bare common\, in snow puddles\, at twilight\, under a clouded sky\, without having in my thoughts any occurrence of special good fortune\, I have enjoyed a perfect exhilaration. I am glad to the brink of fear. \n  \n—from Nature\, by Ralph Waldo Emerson \n* \n  \nThe Turn \n  \nThere are the asters\, of course \nbarnyard hollyhocks\, determined \nsky blue chicory flowers hanging on \nMostly though it’s the light \nfiltered through lingering fire haze \nsharp and soft all at the same time \n  \nBathe in the light\, air freshening \nrain\, as green turns inward \nleaves glisten yellow gold\, red \n  \nA stoplight of sorts. Time to \nget out the big books\, deep \nreflections\, collars up and warm \n  \nAgainst the chill\, that is\, \nsurely\, on its way. \n  \n—Elizabeth Domike\, October 2025 \n* \n  \nGail Lester shared this poem: \n  \nGift \n  \nA day so happy\nFog lifted early\, I worked in the garden\nHummingbirds were stopping over honeysuckle flowers\nThere was nothing on earth I wanted to possess.\nI knew no one worth my envying him.\nWhatever evil I had suffered\, I forgot.\nTo think that once I was the same man did not embarrass me.\nIn my body I felt no pain.\nWhen straightening up\, I saw the blue sea and sails. \n  \nBerkley\, 1971 \n  \n—Czeslaw Milosz (1911-2004) \n* \n  \nSomeone wrote in the last [August] PLHU that Peace Love Happiness and Understanding are all related\, inseparable—and I agree. \n  \nMy ‘journey’ started with a search for Understanding—learning to understand those different from myself. It led me to five trips to the deep South to learn more about relations between whites and African Americans. Then to work with and mentor rough teenagers. Then to befriend a Native American woman and her family—and remain a friend for eighteen years. To work in the Hispanic community of Hood River as a tutor in English. To tutor severely dyslexic teenagers and adults (a very poignant experience!). To facilitate a discussion group of fifteen to twenty men at Two Rivers Correctional Institution (a life-changing experience!).  \n  \nAnd now (since my beloved prison group is no more)\, I am learning to understand imminent death as a Hospice volunteer. I am a ‘companion’ to two people\, a 90 year old woman and (sadly) a 63 year old man. My conversations with the woman are jewel-like; she is a jewel. We have so much in common and we have become very close. My conversations with the man \, after the first visit\, have been non-existent; he is a paraplegic and bound in a hospital bed in his home\, with his dear wife. He didn’t have the strength to talk\, so I sit by his side\, give him frequent fluids\, watch 1980 reruns of Emergency!—- and give his wife the time to take a much-needed nap. \n  \n  \nAll of these journeys of Understanding result in Love for all those I meet\, Peace in my heart that I can feel the love\, and Happiness that this life can encompass so much richness. \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \nRocky is now at Oregon State Correctional Institution in Salem\, with seven months to “the gate.” Here are excerpts from some of his letters: \n  \n8-21-25 \n  \nWhen we reach out with our hearts\, yearning to become entwined like ivy\, spinning\, climbing\, and gently becoming together as one\, like Baucis and Philemon\, we show the world what love looks like. \n  \nI see it in nature\, I see it all around\, the way the soil meets the trees. It’s a relationship they share\, made out of love—the way the sea is in love with the shore. \n  \nIf you look closely at all the world and everything around\, there’s a relationship that has no bounds. The harmony of love that keeps all things together is plain to see. It’s written in the mountains\, rivers\, clouds\, rocks & upon our very own hearts. \n  \n8-22-25 \n  \nIt’s important to me to maintain a good amount of love and joy and acceptance of others & their feelings & emotions. My dream & my outlook is to experience as much wellness\, beauty & love as possible with the people in my life. I want to support and love my friends & my new family as much as my being will allow. I would like to have deeply intellectual\, witty\, kind and smart relationships\, to share my heart openly\, unafraid of people—just love and be loved. \n  \n9-1-25 \n  \nI remember back then…how badly I wanted forgiveness & did not know how to give it to myself & how you all showed me the way to do it\, and how I still fought it\, so I could beat myself up for all my wrongs. I can look back & now look at the present & see that if I just live and be love and accept all for what it is & do the best I can in all of it\, I’m going to do good for my life & for the lives of others too. I can truly say that I like who I am and what I’ve become. I can’t wait to live a new life with a new me. I’m ready. \n  \n9-3-2025 \n  \nI feel that the simple way of living a day-to-day life is one of the keys to a truly successful utopian society. We all work as one to achieve life…a happy life\, full of quality & love. I’ve got ideas of what it should be\, part of me thinks it is more of a state of mind. Living from an inner peace\, a utopia inside each of us\, and if that’s the case it would hopefully spread like fire. \n  \n9-13-2025 \n  \nMy first letter from OSCI…. \n  \nOn the way here I could see out of the window of the bus the change of nature. Right by Cascade Locks\, the dark deep green of the forest & the fog and mist in the tops of the Douglas Firs were breathtaking. I could feel the mist in my lungs & it made memories of times past flood back into my mind. We have such a beautiful place on Earth. It’s enchanting & fills the soul with beauty…. \n  \nIn my heart of hearts\, the want is always growing in my mind’s eye to share moments of joy & love amongst everyone. To have simple conversation that reveal what is deepest in our own beings. Never being held back\, but showing our hearts to all who wish to see them. I want to be open to others when I’m no longer in a cage. \n  \nA cage I’ve outgrown so long ago. \nI want to love what I do \nI want to love who I want \nand be loved in kind. \nI want to see the world in \neveryone’s eyes\, feel the love \nin their hearts\, & know the \nbeauty we have in our minds. \nThe rain has cleansed the soul. \n  \n—Rocky Hutchinson \n* \n  \nLast Saturday (9/27)\, Katie Radditz and I invited friends to get together to talk about the Essential Hippie Library. We all talked about where we were and what we were doing between 1968 and 1972. It was fun! This morning (9/29)\, I sent an email to Katie and Howard Thoresen and Charles Erickson. Here it is: \n  \nIf you’re going to San Francisco \nBe sure to wear some flowers in your hair \nIf you’re going to San Francisco \nYou’re gonna meet some gentle people there \n  \nFor those who come to San Francisco \nSummertime will be a love-in there \nIn the streets of San Francisco \nGentle people with flowers in their hair \n  \n—“San Francisco\,” by John Edmund Andrew Phillips; popularized by Scott McKenzie \n  \ndear Howard & Katie & Charles \n  \ni had a thought this morning… \na lot was happening between 1968 and 1972 \nto mention a few things: women’s liberation\, black liberation\, native american liberation\, gay liberation\, the vietnam war and the anti-war movement\, jimi hendrix\, country joe and the fish (etc.\, etc.)\, magical mystery tour\, marijuana\, psychedelics\, looking glass bookstore\, birth control pills\, the first earth day\, hermann hesse\, carlos castaneda\, whole earth catalog (etc.\, etc.)\, hitchhiking\, communes\, crunchy granola\, yoga\, long hair\, vegetarianism… \none thing we all remember were the vibes–they were friendly and laid back and gentle \nyou were supposed to DO YOUR OWN THING \nand we did \nthinking back on that time\, what influenced me (and many others) most profoundly was THE EAST \nthe beatles went to india \nalan watts and joseph campbell and gary snyder and r. h. blyth and allen ginsberg and richard alpert had all been to the east \nand there were all those yogis and zen teachers–shunryu suzuki\, krishnamurti\, thich nhat hanh\, nitya chaitanya yati\, yogi bhajan\, bhaktivedanta prabhupada\, maharishi mahesh yogi\, rajneesh\, swami satchidananda\, sasaki roshi (etc.\, etc.) \nwe read the tao te ching and consulted the i ching \nit has always seemed incredible to me that there is no word for dhyāna in any of the european languages \nwe use the english word “meditation\,” but it’s original meaning meant something like “to think about\,” and dhyāna is about being awake and alert with a quiet mind \nanyhow\, here’s this morning’s new (to me) idea… \nin addition to meditation and yoga\, one of the big things we got from THE EAST was the idea of nonviolence—ahimsa \nseems incredible\, but…the west has always been so warlike \nso not only did we not have the idea of sitting in silence\, we didn’t have the idea of non-hurting—although there was the occasional oddball vegetarian\, like leonardo da vinci and mary & percy bysshe shelley \nmartin luther king was inspired by gandhi \nand his nonviolence helped to inspire the peace movement–the largest one in the history of this country up to that time \ngentle people with flowers in their hair \nas far as i know\, vegetarianism traces its origin to buddha and mahavira–about 500 b.c. in india \nit has been a part of buddhist and hindu beliefs ever since \nand it changes the way you see the world \nit changes the way you feel \ni know why i became a vegetarian \nit was because i read autobiography of a yogi and yogananda was a vegetarian\, and i wanted to be like him! \ni’m sure that people have tried to get out of going to war since the beginning of time–even odysseus tried to get out of going to troy by pretending to be insane— \nbut during the hippie era millions of young men all had the same feeling:  \n“i don’t want to kill anyone” \nand the fact that there were lots of other “gentle people” that didn’t want to do that made it easier to say “no” to war \njoan baez and her sisters pauline and mimi had a poster of themselves with the slogan: GIRLS SAY YES to boys who say NO \nwell\, that’s my thought for this morning \n  \npeace & love \njohnny \n* \n  \nJohnny put together a gathering of old hippies\, whether we identify as that or not\, to discuss the books of the Sixties and Seventies that were important to us.  We piled our books and comix on the center table like an altar. Some changed our lives and helped us along a new path.  Reflecting on our stories made me go back to some origins of non-conformism in literature and the influence in art from those seers and brave souls bearing witness.    \n  \nI love Thoreau\, who influenced me when i took a break my senior year of college and lived in a cabin in the Mt Hood Forest\, my own little pond near by Camp Creek. \n  \nThoreau was criticized ferociously by his capitalist\, conventional townspeople. They could not fathom the value of taking a retreat to pay close attention to his surroundings\, to take a break from some prescribed working path. Out of that experience he wrote the first seminal ecology book and journals used now to study climate changes in agriculture. He was the first person to publish a Buddhist text in America\, with the translation help of Elizabeth Peabody. He looked deeply at the consequences of cutting down the forest and shipping trees away on the new railroad lines. He wrote “Civil Disobedience\,” which inspired Gandhi\, Martin Luther King\, and Thich Nhat Hanh in changing the world with nonviolent protest of social injustice.  \n  \nComing up to the Sixties\, there was the confluence of movements that led to a counterculture revolution. There was Women’s Liberation\, and books like Sexual Politics. We ate “natural foods.” Food Co-Ops sprung up. Communes developed. There was Mother Earth News\, Monday Night Class and Whole Earth Catalog. We protested against the Vietnam War and read Underground Comix—Mr. Natural and The Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers. There were psychedelic posters of rock concerts at the Fillmore Auditorium.  \n  \nAt Looking Glass Bookstore in downtown Portland\, we distributed alternative magazines and comix mainly in the Pacific Northwest to record stores and bookstores and Natural Food stores. There was only one news distributor in town then\, and every store got whatever the distributor gave them.  Mother Earth News was considered “radical”—dangerous to the status quo. Just imagine what people thought of Coevolution Quarterly and Whole Earth Catalog! We broke out of an era of accepted censorship that was not even realized by most people except artists. \n  \nThere was also the Spiritual Revolution\, when Yoga and the yogis came to the West Coast\, bringing teachings and books first published in India\, and later in the U.S. In Oregon we had our own bright lights: Ursula Le Guin\, Gary Snyder\, the Staffords\, Ken Kesey and the Merry Pranksters—to name some of the game changers.  \n  \nMusic and Theater and Literature made the counterculture a joyful intellectual and soulful revolution—out of the 50’s\, into an era of freedoms. The government was so afraid. Feels very familiar to our current situation.   \n  \nI remember going to college in 1968\, and for the first time\, girls did not have to wear skirts to school or on campus. We just showed up with jeans and bicycles after a summer of love and enlightenment.  \n  \nOn reflection from our talk Saturday\, i realized how the counterculture spread up and down the East and West coasts. But much was not available across the Midwest\, which might help to account for the divide we see today. How do we share the beauty of living without such experience to draw on? Art is the most important medium to cross and embrace communities! Censorship is the dark shut down.  \n  \nAt the end of our gathering on Saturday\, Andy Larkin consulted the I Ching\, asking: How shall we live? The hexagram was number 8\, Pi / Holding Together: “What is required is that we unite with others\, in order that all may complement and aid one another through holding together.” It also warned of the great danger of having a corrupt leader at the center. Sigh. . . \n  \nI look forward to rereading some of the great books of hippie times: Hesse\, Le Guin\, Susan Griffin. And making bread again from The Tassajara Bread Book!  Thank you\, Johnny\, for holding us together\, and taking a long view.    \n  \nHere is a poem from those days ringing true now.   \nGary agrees it’s a good one\, and sends his regards. \n  \nI Went into the Maverick Bar \n  \nI went into the Maverick Bar    \nIn Farmington\, New Mexico. \nAnd drank double shots of bourbon \n              backed with beer. \nMy long hair was tucked up under a cap \nI’d left the earring in the car. \nTwo cowboys did horseplay \n             by the pool tables\, \nA waitress asked us \n                         where are you from? \na country-and-western band began to play    \n“We don’t smoke Marijuana in Muskokie”    \nAnd with the next song\, \n                         a couple began to dance. \n  \nThey held each other like in High School dances    \n                         in the fifties; \nI recalled when I worked in the woods \n                         and the bars of Madras\, Oregon.    \nThat short-haired joy and roughness— \n                         America—your stupidity.    \nI could almost love you again. \n  \nWe left—onto the freeway shoulders— \n                         under the tough old stars— \nIn the shadow of bluffs \n                         I came back to myself\, \nTo the real work\, to \n                         “What is to be done.” \n  \n—Gary Snyder \n  \n—Katie Radditz \n* \n  \nKim and Perrin just got back from a trip to Iceland\, England & Ireland. Here’s a poem: \n  \nThe Weather Will Change \n  \nSometimes you stagger with the wind \nagainst your face\, rain in a river down \nyour back\, and you begin to wonder \nhow it’s fair to suffer so. But the weather \nwill change\, sun come your way\, and you \nwill wander easy once again. Sometimes \nlife is good\, it all goes your way\, luck \nfollows luck for days and days. But then \nyour weather changes\, and you will \nfind it strange to suffer like the others \nyou passed by. Sometimes your country \nfalters\, leaders lead astray\, and all the old \nassumptions for the good are gone. But \nthe weather will change\, and we will \nfind it strange to remember our gloom \nwhile it rained and rained and rained. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nKim & Perrin shared this letter that Nick Cave wrote to a friend who had asked: “Where do you stand?” \n  \nDear Alastair\, \n  \nI acknowledge that this may be\, to you and your friends\, an unhelpful admission\, but I’m not entirely sure where I stand on anything these days. As the ground shifts and slides beneath us\, and the world hardens around its particular views\, I become increasingly uncertain and less self-assured. I am neither on the left nor on the right\, finding both sides\, as they mainly present themselves\, indefensible and unrecognizable. I am essentially a liberal-leaning\, spiritual conservative with a small ‘c’\, which\, to me\, isn’t a political stance\, rather it is a matter of temperament. I have a devotional nature\, and I see the world as broken but beautiful\, believing that it is our urgent and moral duty to repair it where we can and not to cause further harm\, or worse\, willfully usher in its destruction. I think we consist of more than mere atoms crashing into each other\, and that we are\, instead\, beings of vast potential\, placed on this earth for a reason—to magnify\, as best we can\, that which is beautiful and true.  I believe we have an obligation to assist those who are genuinely marginalized\, oppressed\, or sorrowful in a way that is helpful and constructive and not to exploit their suffering for our own professional advancement or personal survival. I have an acute and well-earned understanding of the nature of loss and know in my bones how easy it is for something to break\, and how difficult it is to put it back together. Therefore\, I am cautious with the world and try to treat all its inhabitants with care. \n  \nI am comfortable with doubt and am constitutionally resistant to moral certainty\, herd mentality and dogma. I am disturbed on a fundamental level by the self-serving\, toddler politics of some of my counterparts—I do not believe that silence is violence\, complicity\, or a lack of courage\, but rather that silence is often the preferred option when one does not know what they are talking about\, or is doubtful\, or conflicted—which\, for me\, is most of the time. I am mainly at ease with not knowing and find this a spiritually and creatively dynamic position. I believe that there are times when it is almost a sacred duty to shut the fuck up. \n  \nI’m not particularly concerned about where people stand—I’ve met some of the finest individuals from across the political spectrum. In fact\, I take pride and immense pleasure in having friends with divergent views. My life is significantly more interesting and colorful with them in it.  \n  \nPerhaps this all amounts to very little\, but I suppose\, in the end\, I value deeds over words. I see my own role as a musician\, songwriter\, and letter writer as actively serving the soul of the world\, and I’ve come to understand that this is the position that I must adopt in order to attempt to cultivate genuine change. In fact\, I am now beginning to understand where I do stand\, Alistair—I stand with the world\, in its goodness and beauty. In these hysterical\, monochromatic\, embattled times\, I call to its soul\, the way musicians can\, to its grieving and broken nature\, to its misplaced meaning\, to its fragile and flickering spirit. I sing to it\, praise it\, encourage it\, and strive to improve it—in adoration\, reconciliation\, and leaping faith.  \n  \nLove\, Nick
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SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  11/6/25
DESCRIPTION:The Good Samaritan by Vincent Van Gogh \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nNovember 6\, 2025 \n  \nThe Stories We Tell Ourselves \n  \nThese are really the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands\, they are not original with me\, \nIf they are not yours as much as mind\, they are nothing… \n  \n—Walt Whitman\, from “Song of Myself” \n* \n  \nA man is what he thinks about all day long. \n  \n—Ralph Waldo Emerson \n* \n  \nWe are what we think. \nAll that we are arises with our thoughts. \nWith our thoughts we make the world. \n  \n—Buddha\, from Dhammapada \n* \n  \nethnosphere: “the sum total of all thoughts\, beliefs\, myths and institutions made manifest today by the myriad cultures of the world.” \n  \n–Wade Davis\, from Light at the Edge of the World\, p. x \n* \n  \nMortals suppose that the gods are born\, and wear clothes\, and have voice and form like themselves. \n  \nBut if cattle and lions had hands\, and could paint with their hands\, and fashion images\, as men do\, they would make pictures of their gods in their own likeness; horses would make them like horses\, cattle like cattle.             \n  \n—Xenophanes (570-478 B.C.) \n* \n  \nI…peruse manifold objects\, no two alike and every one good\,  \nThe earth good and the stars good\, and their adjuncts all good.  \n  \n—Walt Whitman\, from “Song of Myself” \n* \n  \n…this our life\, exempt from public haunt\, \nFinds tongues in trees\, books in the running brooks\, \nSermons in stones\, and good in every thing. \n  \n—Duke Senior in Shakespeare’s As You Like It\, Act 2\, scene 1 \n* \n  \nI believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. (Nobel Prize speech\, 1964) \n  \nI have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear. \n  \nHate paralyzes life; love releases it. Hate confuses life; love harmonizes it. \n  \nI know that love is ultimately the only answer to mankind’s problems. \n  \n—Martin Luther King \n* \n  \nwhat we think is who we are \nas indivduals \nand collectively \n  \nFor more than twenty years\, i’ve been turning this phrase over in my mind:  \n  \nthe stories we tell ourselves \n  \nI’m fascinated by how each of us constructs an identity and a worldview—stories about who we are and about the world and our relationship to it. Each of the things I’ve chosen for this “peace\, love\, happiness & understanding” suggests a story—a way of experiencing or understanding our life. My own felt sense of things is that Johnny Stallings is a fictional character\, and from moment to moment I’m dreaming the world in which I live. \n* \n  \nA Story that Could be True \n  \nIf you were exchanged in the cradle and\nyour real mother died\nwithout ever telling the story\nthen no one knows your name\,\nand somewhere in the world\nyour father is lost and needs you\nbut you are far away. \nHe can never find\nhow true you are\, how ready.\nWhen the great wind comes\nand the robberies of the rain\nyou stand on the corner shivering.\nThe people who go by—\nyou wonder at their calm. \nThey miss the whisper that runs\nany day in your mind\,\n“Who are you really\, wanderer?”—\nand the answer you have to give\nno matter how dark and cold\nthe world around you is:\n“Maybe I’m a king.” \n  \n—William Stafford \n* \nThe parable of the good samaritan: \n  \n25 And\, behold\, a certain lawyer stood up\, and tempted him\, saying\, Master\, what shall I do to inherit eternal life? \n26 He said unto him\, What is written in the law? how readest thou? \n27 And he answering said\, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart\, and with all thy soul\, and with all thy strength\, and with all thy mind; and thy neighbour as thyself. \n28 And he said unto him\, Thou hast answered right: this do\, and thou shalt live. \n29 But he\, willing to justify himself\, said unto Jesus\, And who is my neighbour? \n30 And Jesus answering said\, A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho\, and fell among thieves\, which stripped him of his raiment\, and wounded him\, and departed\, leaving him half dead. \n31 And by chance there came down a certain priest that way: and when he saw him\, he passed by on the other side. \n32 And likewise a Levite\, when he was at the place\, came and looked on him\, and passed by on the other side. \n33 But a certain Samaritan\, as he journeyed\, came where he was: and when he saw him\, he had compassion on him\, \n34 And went to him\, and bound up his wounds\, pouring in oil and wine\, and set him on his own beast\, and brought him to an inn\, and took care of him. \n35 And on the morrow when he departed\, he took out two pence\, and gave them to the host\, and said unto him\, Take care of him; and whatsoever thou spendest more\, when I come again\, I will repay thee. \n36 Which now of these three\, thinkest thou\, was neighbour unto him that fell among the thieves? \n37 And he said\, He that shewed mercy on him. Then said Jesus unto him\, Go\, and do thou likewise. \n  \n—Luke 10:25-37  (KJV) \n* \nHere’s a more recent version of the same story\, by E. E. Cummings: \n  \na man who had fallen among thieves\nlay by the roadside on his back\ndressed in fifteenthrate ideas\nwearing a round jeer for a hat \nfate per a somewhat more than less\nemancipated evening\nhad in return for consciousness\nendowed him with a changeless grin \nwhereon a dozen staunch and leal\ncitizens did graze at pause\nthen fired by hypercivic zeal\nsought newer pastures or because \nswaddled with a frozen brook\nof pinkest vomit out of eyes\nwhich noticed nobody he looked\nas if he did not care to rise \none hand did nothing on the vest\nits wideflung friend clenched weakly dirt\nwhile the mute trouserfly confessed\na button solemnly inert \nBrushing from whom the stiffened puke\ni put him all into my arms\nand staggered banged with terror through\na million billion trillion stars \n  \n—e. e. cummings \n* \nThis is an old folktale: \n  \nThe Shirt of a Happy Man \n  \nOnce there was a king who wanted to be happy. His wise counselors informed him that he needed to acquire the shirt of a happy man. So\, he sent his soldiers out in quest of such a shirt. One by one they returned empty-handed. None of them could find a happy man. Finally\, the last soldier returned.  \n  \nThe king asked\, “Did you find a happy man?”  \n  \n“Yes\,” the soldier said.  \n  \n“Where’s his shirt?\,” asked the king.  \n  \n“He didn’t have one.” \n* \n  \nCheck out the Playing for Change version of “Peace Train” by Yusuf/Cat Stevens on YouTube! \n  \n* \nMy dad liked this poem: \n  \nAbou Ben Adhem \n  \nAbou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!) \nAwoke one night from a deep dream of peace\, \nAnd saw\, within the moonlight in his room\, \nMaking it rich\, and like a lily in bloom\, \nAn angel writing in a book of gold:— \nExceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold\, \nAnd to the presence in the room he said\, \n“What writest thou?”—The vision raised its head\, \nAnd with a look made of all sweet accord\, \nAnswered\, “The names of those who love the Lord.” \n“And is mine one?” said Abou. “Nay\, not so\,” \nReplied the angel. Abou spoke more low\, \nBut cheerly still; and said\, “I pray thee\, then\, \nWrite me as one that loves his fellow men.” \n  \nThe angel wrote\, and vanished. The next night \nIt came again with a great wakening light\, \nAnd showed the names whom love of God had blest\, \nAnd lo! Ben Adhem’s name led all the rest. \n  \n—Leigh Hunt \n* \n  \nPlato told this story: \n  \nSome people are in a cave. They are chained up in such a way that they can’t move\, and can’t turn their heads. They are all looking straight ahead.  \n  \nBehind them are people with torches who are carrying things back and forth and talking to each other. The cave-dwellers see shadows on the wall in front of them—their own shadows and the shadows of the objects that are being carried back and forth. As far as they know\, the only reality is these shadows and the conversations that the shadows appear to be having with each other. \n  \nOne man escapes from his bondage and is able to turn around and see what’s going on in the cave. Then he leaves the cave and sees the sun illuminating an amazing world. \n  \nHe wants to tell the people in the cave about what he has seen and understood. He goes back down into the cave. When he tries to tell the people what he has seen\, they think he is mad. \n* \n  \nHere’s one from William Blake: \n  \nThe Garden of Love \n  \nI went to the Garden of Love\, \nAnd saw what I never had seen: \nA Chapel was built in the midst\, \nWhere I used to play on the green. \n  \nAnd the gates of this Chapel were shut\, \nAnd ‘Thou shalt not’ writ over the door; \nSo I turn’d to the Garden of Love\, \nThat so many sweet flowers bore.  \n  \nAnd I saw it was filled with graves\, \nAnd tomb-stones where flowers should be: \nAnd Priests in black gowns\, were walking their rounds\, \nAnd binding with briars\, my joys & desires. \n  \n—William Blake \n* \n  \nThese are a few or my favorite passages from my favorite poem\, Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself: \n  \n20 \n…Why should I pray?  Why should I venerate and be ceremonious? \n  \nHaving pried through the strata\, analyzed to a hair\, counseled with doctors and calculated close\, \nI find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones. \n  \nIn all people I see myself\, none more and not one a barley-corn less… \n  \n24 \n…I 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  \nEach moment and whatever happens thrills me with joy…. \n  \nA morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books. \n  \n30 \nAll truths wait in all things… \n  \n31 \nI believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars\, \nAnd the ant is equally perfect\, and a grain of sand\, and the egg of the wren\, \nAnd the tree-toad is a masterpiece for the highest\, \nAnd the running blackberry would adorn the parlors of heaven\, \nAnd the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery\, \nAnd the cow crunching with depressed head surpasses any statue\, \nAnd a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels. \n  \n44 \nImmense have been the preparations for 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. \n  \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  \n48 \n…whoever walks a furlong without sympathy walks to his own funeral drest in his shroud… \nAnd to glance with an eye or show a bean in its pod confounds the learning of all times… \nAnd there is no object so soft but it makes a hub for the wheeled universe…. \n  \nWhy should I wish to see God better than this day? \nI see something of God each hour of the twenty-four\, and each moment then\, \nIn the faces of men and women I see God\, and in my own face in the glass\, \nI find letters from God dropt in the street\, and every one is signed by God’s name\, \nAnd I leave them where they are\, for I know that wheresoe’er I go \nOthers will punctually come for ever and ever. \n  \n—Walt Whitman \n* \n  \nThomas Traherne was a Seventeenth Century Christian mystic. I love his ecstatic poems and meditations! In this meditation he is writing about how he experienced the world as a small child: \n  \nThe corn was orient and immortal wheat\, which never should be reaped\, nor was ever sown. I thought it had stood from everlasting to everlasting. The dust and stones of the street were as precious as gold: the gates were at first the end of the world. The green trees when I saw them first through one of the gates transported and ravished me\, their sweetness and unusual beauty made my heart to leap\, and almost mad with ecstasy\, they were such strange and wonderful things. The Men! O what venerable and reverend creatures did the aged seem! Immortal Cherubims! And young men glittering and sparkling Angels\, and maids strange seraphic pieces of life and beauty! Boys and girls tumbling in the street\, and playing\, were moving jewels. I knew not that they were born or should die; But all things abided eternally as they were in their proper places. Eternity was manifest in the Light of the Day\, and something infinite behind everything appeared: which talked with my expectation and moved my desire. The city seemed to stand in Eden\, or to be built in Heaven. The streets were mine\, the temple was mine\, the people were mine\, their clothes and gold and silver were mine\, as much as their sparkling eyes\, fair skins and ruddy faces. The skies were mine\, and so were the sun and moon and stars\, and all the World was mine; and I the only spectator and enjoyer of it. I knew no churlish proprieties\, nor bounds\, nor divisions: but all proprieties and divisions were mine: all treasures and the possessors of them. So that with much ado I was corrupted\, and made to learn the dirty devices of this world. Which now I unlearn\, and become\, as it were\, a little child again that I may enter into the Kingdom of God. \n  \n—Thomas Traherne\, from Centuries of Meditations \n* \n  \nIn Dostoevsky’s great last novel\, The Brother’s Karamazov\, there is a monk named Father Zossima. When I first read the novel\, fifty years ago\, I was impressed with the words of Father Zossima\, which are of course Dostoevsky’s words: \n  \nBrothers\, do not be afraid of men’s sin\, love man also in his sin\, for this likeness of God’s love is the height of love on earth. Love all of God’s creation\, both the whole of it and every grain of sand. Love every leaf\, every ray of God’s light. Love animals\, love plants\, love each thing. If you love each thing\, you will perceive the mystery of God in things. Once you have perceived it\, you will begin tirelessly to perceive more and more of it every day. And you will come at last to love the whole world with an entire\, universal love…. \n  \nMy friends\, ask joy from God. Be joyful as children\, as birds in the air…. \n  \nWhen you are alone\, pray. Love to throw yourself down on the earth and kiss it. Kiss the earth and love it\, tirelessly\, insatiably\, love all men\, love all things\, seek this rapture and ecstasy. Water the earth with the tears of your joy\, and love those tears. Do not be ashamed of this ecstasy\, treasure it\, for it is a gift from God\, a great gift\, and it is not given to many\, but to those who are chosen.  \n  \n—Fyodor Dostoevsky \n* \n  \nHere are some recent small poems from my journal: \n  \nwalking on the earth \nevery step a prayer \n* \n  \nraspberries say what i want to say \nbetter than i can \n* \n  \nhow did i get to be old? \ni used to be young  \nwhat the hell happened? \n* \n  \nbriefly visiting book after book \ni’m like a hummingbird going from flower to flower  \n* \n  \nstart your day with hummingbirds \nnot the new york times \n* \n  \nthe problem with being one-with-everything  \nis all the misery \n* \n  \nmodern farming \n  \nget up early \nfeed the tofurkys \nmilk the oats \n* \n  \nit’s the most beautiful day since the world began \na bumblebee is on the lobelia \n* \n  \ni’m transitioning \nfrom happiness \nto bliss \n* \n  \nLet’s end with a brief passage from the book Peace Is Every Step by the Vietnamese Zen teacher Thich Nhat Hanh. Like many of the things here\, it’s a story in the sense that it is a way of experiencing and understanding our precious life on this beautiful planet  \nHere’s a thought: \nIf you find yourself feeling ungrateful\, you might remind yourself that the average surface temperature on the planet Venus is 867 degrees Fahrenheit. \n  \nInterbeing \n  \nIf you are a poet\, you will see clearly that there is a cloud floating in this sheet of paper. Without a cloud\, there will be no rain; without rain\, the trees cannot grow; and without trees\, we cannot make paper. The cloud is essential for the paper to exist. If the cloud is not here\, the sheet of paper cannot be here either. So we can say that the cloud and the paper inter-are. “Interbeing” is a word that is not in the dictionary yet\, but if we combine the prefix “inter-“ with the verb “to be\,” we have a new verb\, inter-be.  \n  \nIf we look into this sheet of paper even more deeply\, we can see the sunshine in it. Without sunshine\, the forest cannot grow. In fact\, nothing can grow without sunshine. And so\, we know that the sunshine is also in this sheet of paper. The paper and the sunshine inter-are. And if we continue to look\, we can see the logger who cut the tree and brought it to the mill to be transformed into paper. And we see wheat. We know that the logger cannot exist without his daily bread\, and therefore the wheat that became his bread is also in this sheet of paper. The logger’s father and mother are in it too. When we look in this way\, we see that without all of these things\, this sheet of paper cannot exist. \n  \nLooking even more deeply\, we can see ourselves in this sheet of paper too. This is not difficult to see\, because when we look at a sheet of paper\, it is part of our perception. Your mind is in here and mine is also. So we can say that everything is in here with this sheet of paper. We cannot point out one thing that is not here—time\, space\, the earth\, the rain\, the minerals in the soil\, the sunshine\, the cloud\, the river\, the heat. Everything co-exists with this sheet of paper. That is why I think the word inter-be should be in the dictionary. “To be” is to inter-be. We cannot just be by ourselves alone. We have to inter-be with every other thing. This sheet of paper is\, because everything else is. \n  \n—Thich Nhat Hanh\, from the book Peace Is Every Step
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