BEGIN:VCALENDAR VERSION:2.0 PRODID:-//The Open Road: a learning community - ECPv6.15.3//NONSGML v1.0//EN CALSCALE:GREGORIAN METHOD:PUBLISH X-WR-CALNAME:The Open Road: a learning community 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;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240630T150000 DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240630T170000 DTSTAMP:20260425T090402 CREATED:20240629T162340Z LAST-MODIFIED:20240629T164711Z UID:4812-1719759600-1719766800@openroadpdx.com SUMMARY:¡Bibliophiles Unanimous! 6/30/24 DESCRIPTION:  \n¡Beloved Bibliophiles! \n  \nOn June 30th\, our topic will be Books That Cheer You Up. \n  \nHere’s the Zoom link: \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058 \n  \n  \nI hope to see you there! \n  \npeace\, love & happiness \nJohnny \n  URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-6-30-24/ END:VEVENT BEGIN:VEVENT DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240622T190000 DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240622T210000 DTSTAMP:20260425T090402 CREATED:20240613T180518Z LAST-MODIFIED:20240616T202651Z UID:4764-1719082800-1719090000@openroadpdx.com SUMMARY:BLACK ELK'S VISION read by Johnny Stallings 6/22/24 DESCRIPTION:  \nJohnny Stallings \nreads \n  \nBLACK ELK’S VISION \n  \nSaturday\, June 22nd\, 7 pm \nMuir Hall in Taborspace\, 5441 SE Belmont\, Portland \n  \nthis Open Road event is free \n  URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/black-elks-vision-read-by-johnny-stallings-6-22-24/ END:VEVENT BEGIN:VEVENT DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240621T190000 DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240621T210000 DTSTAMP:20260425T090402 CREATED:20240610T232047Z LAST-MODIFIED:20240610T232047Z UID:4755-1718996400-1719003600@openroadpdx.com SUMMARY:The Fabulous Deck Boys 6/21/24 DESCRIPTION:Music Lovers!\n \nOn Friday\, June 21st\, from 7 to 9 pm\, Deck Boys (https://www.deckboys.com)–featuring the inimitable Jeffrey Sher!–are gonna rock the Ross Island Grocery & Cafe\, 3502 S. Corbett\, Ave\, in Portland.\n \nIf you want to have a good time\, this is the place to be.\n \n \npeace\, love & music\n \nJohnny URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/the-fabulous-deck-boys-6-21-24/ ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/04/DeckBoys.png.jpg END:VEVENT BEGIN:VEVENT DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240616T150000 DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240616T170000 DTSTAMP:20260425T090402 CREATED:20240607T183134Z LAST-MODIFIED:20240629T162210Z UID:4737-1718550000-1718557200@openroadpdx.com SUMMARY:¡Bibliophiles Unanimous! 6/16/24 DESCRIPTION:  \n“The real joy of a book lies in reading it over and over again\, and always finding it different\, coming upon another meaning\, another level of meaning.” \n–from Apocalypse by D. H. Lawrence \n  \n¡Beloved Bibliophiles! \n  \nOn June 16th\, our topic will be Books That Give You Something New Every Time You Read Them. \n  \nHere’s the Zoom link: \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058 \n  \n  \nI hope to see you there! \n  \npeace\, love & happiness \nJohnny \n  URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-3-16-24/ END:VEVENT BEGIN:VEVENT DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20240606 DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20240704 DTSTAMP:20260425T090402 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;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240602T150000 DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240602T170000 DTSTAMP:20260425T090402 CREATED:20240601T174046Z LAST-MODIFIED:20240607T183340Z UID:4702-1717340400-1717347600@openroadpdx.com SUMMARY:¡Bibliophiles Unanimous! 6/2/24 DESCRIPTION:painting of Walt Whitman by Rick Bartow \n  \n  \n¡Beloved Bibliophiles! \n  \nOn May 31st\, Walt Whitman turned 205! We celebrated at Taborpsace with a birthday cake and “Song of Myself.” This Sunday at 3 p.m. (PDT)\, we will read together from Song of Myself and talk about the passages that delight and inspires us. \n  \nHere’s the Zoom link: \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058 \n  \n  \nI hope to see you there! \n  \npeace\, love & happiness \nJohnny URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-6-2-24/ ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/06/IMG_1346.jpeg END:VEVENT BEGIN:VEVENT DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240531T193000 DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240531T210000 DTSTAMP:20260425T090402 CREATED:20240507T211441Z LAST-MODIFIED:20240507T212842Z UID:4668-1717183800-1717189200@openroadpdx.com SUMMARY:Johnny Stallings performs Walt Whitman's Song of Myself DESCRIPTION:painting of Walt Whitman by Rick Bartow \n  \n  \nJohnny Stallings \nperforms \n  \nWalt Whitman’s \n  \nSong of Myself \n  \nFriday\, May 31  *  7:30 p.m.  *  Muir Hall at Taborspace   \n5441 SE Belmont \n  \nthis event is free \n  \n  URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/johnny-stallings-performs-walt-whitmans-song-of-myself/ ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/05/IMG_0945-2.jpg END:VEVENT BEGIN:VEVENT DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240521T180000 DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240521T193000 DTSTAMP:20260425T090402 CREATED:20240521T180840Z LAST-MODIFIED:20240521T180840Z UID:4697-1716314400-1716319800@openroadpdx.com SUMMARY:AS THE SKY BEGINS TO CHANGE: Kim Stafford Poetry Reading DESCRIPTION:Hey Everyone!\n \nKim will be reading from his latest book at Broadway Books (1714 NE Broadway) this evening (5/21/24) at 6 pm.\n \nIt will be wonderful!\n \n \npeace\, love & poetry\n \nJohnny URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/as-the-sky-begins-to-change-kim-stafford-poetry-reading/ END:VEVENT BEGIN:VEVENT DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240519T150000 DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240519T170000 DTSTAMP:20260425T090402 CREATED:20240506T223349Z LAST-MODIFIED:20240601T174200Z UID:4662-1716130800-1716138000@openroadpdx.com SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous! 5/19/24 DESCRIPTION:  \n¡Beloved Bibliophiles! \n  \nOn Sunday\, May 19th\, at 3 p.m. PDT\, our theme will be Old Poems! What are some of your favorite poems that were written before 1900? \n  \nHere’s the Zoom link: \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058 \n  \n  \nI hope to see you there! \n  \npeace\, love & happiness \nJohnny URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-5-19-24/ ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/05/gardenoflove.jpg END:VEVENT BEGIN:VEVENT DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20240515 DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20240615 DTSTAMP:20260425T090402 CREATED:20240515T233014Z LAST-MODIFIED:20250717T212820Z UID:4683-1715731200-1718409599@openroadpdx.com SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue 5/15/24 DESCRIPTION:  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n  \nMay 15\, 2024 \n  \nKatie sent this: \n  \nDo all the good you can\, \nBy all the means you can\, \nIn all the ways you can\, \nIn all the places you can\, \nAt all the times you can\, \nTo all the people you can\, \nAs long as ever you can. \n  \n–John Wesley (1703-1791) \n* \n  \n     For so long I wandered in the darkness and stayed from the light\, I was safe there\, I was out of sight. \n     Not knowing what it was that led along in life\, a thread pulled on my heart\, some would call it luck\, I am alive. \n     Whatever it is\, I’ve always followed my heart and when I’ve not done so…things don’t work out so well for me. \n     We all have a passion inside of us; driven by it\, great things come from each of us for others\, for all we love in life. \n     To give to each other the love we have in our hearts\, is truly what is important in life\, it keeps all of us together. \n  \n—Rocky Hutchinson  4-18-24 \n* \n  \n#16  Embrace Them With Great Tenderness \n  \n“Do not fight against pain and do not fight against irritation or jealousy. Embrace them with great tenderness\, as though you were embracing a little baby. Your anger is yourself\, and you should not be violent toward it. The same goes with all of your emotions.” \n—Thich Nhat Hanh\, from Your True Home \n  \nOh how important it is to remember this! I am so glad that Thich Nhat Hanh is here to verify\, to validate this aching truth for me. \n  \nAfter fifteen years of inexpressible joy with my dear pooch\, my dear dog\, Lolo (yes\, named for Lolo Pass in the mountains\, to replace her shelter name of…Tiffany)\, she is deteriorating rapidly\, and I doubt we have six more months with her. Where once not long ago she could hike 10-12 miles with me\, now she can walk only a couple short walks around our property. Her kidneys are failing and her hind legs wobble and collapse until I prop her up and give her a little pep talk.  \n  \nMy heart is breaking. Yes\, we’ve had 15½ joyful years with her\, so true\, but now comes what I have dreaded—accompanying yet another dog through the death process. \n  \nMy heart is breaking\, and yet I realized that this great sadness is so filled with love that it is beautiful\, that I am fortunate to be feeling this sadness\, because it is all love for this creature. My heart is full\, and whether it is sadness or joy\, the important thing is that my heart is full\, and alive. \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \n     Beauty Blind \n  \nHave I grown blind to the attractions of the ordinary? \nHave I lost the mundane matrix in background weave \nof common days\, where the blossom distracts me \nfrom the stem’s grace\, which distracts me \nfrom the leaf’s holy hue\, which distracts me \nfrom earth\, essential earth\, each crumb of origin? \n  \nAny bright young face in the crowd can steal \nmy attention from all beautiful variations \nof the human tribe\, from the honest old\, the brutal \nbroken\, the pluck and persistence of the unseen. \nWake up\, sleepy wisdom. See as sky sees\, \npouring light in bounty over all of us. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nWhy should I be unhappy? Every parcel of my being is in full bloom. \n—Rumi \n  \nAs is the world right now! \n  \n—Jill Littlewood\n* \n  \nFrom the Rubaiyat: \n  \nThe Bird of Time has but a little way \nTo fly—and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing. \n—Omar Khayyam \n  \n—J Kahn \n* \n  \nRhododendrons are in bloom! Our whole neighborhood is a gigantic garden. \n  \nUnder the greenwood tree \nWho loves to lie with me \nAnd turn his merry note \nUnto the sweet bird’s throat\, \nCome hither\, come hither\, come hither. \n     Here shall he see \n     No enemy \nBut winter and rough weather. \n  \nWho doth ambition shun \nAnd loves to live i’ th’ sun\, \nSeeking the food he eats \nAnd pleased with what he gets\, \nCome hither\, come hither\, come hither. \n     Here shall he see \n     No enemy \nBut winter and rough weather. \n  \n[“Who” here means “Anyone who”] \n  \nThis song comes from Shakespeare’s play As You Like It. The play and the song belong to the pastoral tradition in literature\, where rural life is imagined as idyllic and innocent. Usually shepherds are involved. William Blake’s Songs of Innocence are in that tradition. \n  \nThis morning I’m thinking about how we live inside the worlds we imagine. In our lives\, innocence gives way to experience. And then maybe…I don’t know what…another kind of innocence. Here’s a poem from my book The Nonstop Love-In that may be about that: \n  \nlet’s pretend \n  \ninstead of pretending that we are afraid \nthat we must improve \nthat we have enemies \nthat the future will arrive someday \n  \nlet’s pretend everything is sacred \npretend this is Paradise \npretend every moment is precious \npretend we love everyone \n  \npretend our joy knows no bounds \npretend we are the whole wide world \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nGRATITUDE \n  \n“The Hebrew term for gratitude translates as ‘recognizing the good.’ Myriad benefits come to us every day\, but most of us find it easy to overlook them and instead focus on what we lack. This trait is an invitation to sensitize yourself to the good and to the gifts that are certain to be present in your life at every moment\, even if at the same moment there happen to be difficulties. \n  \n—AWAKEN TO THE GOOD AND GIVE THANKS \n  \nPRACTICE: Say ‘thank you’ to every person who does even the slightest thing that is helpful or beneficial to you.” \n—Alan Morinis\, from Every Day\, Holy Day \n  \nIt is easy to obscure my daily Positive experiences or overlook the seemingly-small kindnesses of others during the day. Yet\, I know from previous experience (now lapsed) that any effort to see and appreciate these moments only expands my joy and positive experiences throughout the day. I enjoy the mantra for today. Giving thanks is the easy part\, mostly. The seeing of good or Positives—thus awakening—is my threshold of challenge. I can’t help but recall the Robin Williams movie\, “Awakenings”; noticing how easy it is to fall into a torpor of catatonia for others’ kindnesses—not even “seeing” that which is slapping my face\, repeatedly. Like the patients\, I need an “L-Dopa” therapy to shock me from my torpor to sharp alert and to fully present experience of my world and life as it is. Here’s to awakenings for even slight helps\, benefits or “good” moments Today! \n  \nI’ve wanted a “new” mindfulness practice: Providence has afforded me this Mussar practice—combining Judaism\, meditation and mindfulness into a regular practice. I learned recently in a read on Hasidis that Zen\, which I practiced earlier (2014-2020)\, is very akin to Jewish Kabbalah practices\, and now I have Mussar exercises for my meditation moments daily!  \n  \nP.S. Having an audience for writing is a helpful focus and—THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR SUPPORT! \n  \n—Michel Deforge URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-5-15-24/ ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/07/IMG_6581-scaled.jpeg END:VEVENT BEGIN:VEVENT DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240505T150000 DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240505T170000 DTSTAMP:20260425T090402 CREATED:20240505T041959Z LAST-MODIFIED:20240506T223056Z UID:4654-1714921200-1714928400@openroadpdx.com SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous! 5/5/24 DESCRIPTION:  \n¡Beloved Bibliophiles! \n  \nOn Sunday\, May 5th\, at 3 p.m. PDT\, our theme will be Sci-Fi! What are your favorite Science Fiction books and movies? \n Here’s the Zoom link: \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058 \n  \n  \nI hope to see you there! \n  \npeace\, love & happiness \nJohnny URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-5-5-24/ END:VEVENT BEGIN:VEVENT DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20240502 DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20240606 DTSTAMP:20260425T090402 CREATED:20240503T184641Z LAST-MODIFIED:20240503T191806Z UID:4641-1714608000-1717631999@openroadpdx.com SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding 5/2/24 DESCRIPTION:THE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nMay 2\, 2024 \n  \nKatie sent this poem. Joy Harjo was Poet Laureate from 2019-2022. \n  \nRemember \n  \nRemember the sky that you were born under\, \nknow each of the stars’ stories. \nRemember the moon\, know who she is. \nRemember the sun’s birth at dawn\, that is the \nstrongest point of time. Remember sundown \nand the giving away to night. \nRemember your birth\, how your mother struggled \nto give you form and breath. You are evidence of \nher life\, and her mother’s\, and here. \nRemember your father. He is your life\, also. \nRemember the earth whose skin you are: \nred earth\, black earth\, yellow earth\, white earth \nbrown earth\, we are earth. \nRemember the plants\, trees\, animal life who all have their \ntribes\, their families\, their histories\, too. Talk to them\, \nlisten to them. They are alive poems. \nRemember the wind. Remember her voice. She knows the \norigin of this universe. \nRemember you are all people and all people \nare you. \nRemember you are this universe and this \nuniverse is you. \nRemember all is in motion\, is growing\, is you. \nRemember language comes from this. \nRemember the dance language is\, that life is. \nRemember. \n  \n—Joy Harjo \n* \n  \nBirthing Your Secret Self \n  \nMusic can get you without being seen. \nPainting can move you without a word. \nPoetry works because you can’t explain. \nDrawing distills your vision’s blur to lines. \nWith film\, you swim a different river. \nLive theater plucks you from time’s prison. \nPuppets lift you into antic life. Dance \ntugs your dreams from darkness to stand \nand stamp\, pivot\, swoon and swirl. So\, \nfreed from gravity\, from barren facts\, \nyour spirit sings its colors hid too long. \nBy art\, slow days are quickened\, and \nall your torn hopes healed as by these \nmagic acts to your inner eye at last \nrising tall you stand revealed. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nNot So Much \n  \nI used to be captured by longing. \nNot so much anymore. The ghost \nof it resonates\, rain on an \nindustrial drum outside a warehouse \nnear an old dock\, quiet on a Sunday afternoon. \n  \nThe place the ache left remains. \nWind comes up then whistles \nthrough big sky\, open horizon. \nThe possibilities aren’t quite as endless \nas they used to be. Blue petals \n  \nof a flower open anyway. \nThere is a break in the clouds. \nI go for a walk. \nEven if it is just in my mind. \nMore space has opened up to roam. \n  \n—Elizabeth Domike \n* \n  \n“MAD” \n  \nIt never makes Sense. \nOnce you’re down the rabbit hole\, \nYou’ll never come up. \n  \nOh no! I must be morbidly mad; \nFor can’t you see that everything that falls upon me— \nthe good\, the bad\, the pretty\, the ugly was eloquently \nenvisioned to carry me (no\, not you! Rather simply just me.) \nthrough the event horizon to a new reality? \n  \nMy mind\, it ebbs and it flows on the shore with the \nrocks. I mustn’t be late! Tick…Tock…alas it \ndoes seem\, I am in need\, of a new “cuckoo” clock. \n  \nThe stars in the sky\, they seem so high. \nThat is of course unless you view them from my \nmind’s eye. A light year’s not far\, and an eon’s not \nlong. \n  \nWill you come with me to a new dimension? \n  \n—Brandon Lee Roy \n* \n  \n3-26-24 \n5:40 a.m. \nDear Johnny \n  \nIt’s a beautiful rainy Spring morning here. I just wanted to start sending pieces for both newsletters again. I should never be too busy for this. \n  \nWhen I read “The Open Road” & “Mindfulness  & Meditation” I feel the Love & emotions that every one has in them. The amount of wisdom I get is…stunning\, to say the least. To me they are works of art from everyone’s heart. Nothing in these compilations we all participate in are simple information; they’re complex\, beautiful & cultivate positive growth within each of us in some way. In some way each of us needs some piece of them to complete some part of us…for me\, that’s how it feels. \n  \nLove You All \nLove\, Rocky \nAll of the ways I’ve seen\, all the paths I’ve walked\, all that life was\, is & will be—can it be that I have found in it all the paths that set my heart ablaze with love and the will to be free from self doubt & self limitations? \n  \nEven confined within the concrete walls\, the fences\, the endless spools of razor wire\, through the fightings\, cuttings\, stabbings and broken bones\, the lying\, backstabbing\, manipulations\, and the fear of the prison guards who play with our lives\, minds and souls\, I’ve found this path. \n  \nThe path is not an easy one to navigate all the time. Every day has its distractions & traps to overcome\, same as life outside the walls of prison. But the golden path is the path I’m on\, and no one can take me off of it but me. I’ve no plans of trekking away from it any time soon. \n  \nThe world keeps spinning\, eclipses happen like a cosmic clock\, my heart is like yours—limited beats full of wounds\, love and joy. It rages like a thunderstorm on the sea in my chest\, the engine of my soul driving along my golden daily path. \n  \n—Rocky Hutchinson \n* \n  \nHere’s an old poem: \n  \nWe Are Seven \n  \n—-A simple Child\, \nThat lightly draws its breath\, \nAnd feels its life in every limb\, \nWhat should it know of death? \n  \nI met a little cottage Girl: \nShe was eight years old\, she said; \nHer hair was thick with many a curl \nThat clustered round her head. \n  \nShe had a rustic\, woodland air\, \nAnd she was wildly clad: \nHer eyes were fair\, and very fair; \n—Her beauty made me glad. \n  \n“Sisters and brothers\, little Maid\, \nHow many may you be?” \n“How many\, Seven in all\,” she said\, \nAnd wondering looked at me. \n  \n“And where are they? I pray you tell.” \nShe answered\, “Seven are we; \nAnd two of us at Conway dwell\, \nAnd two are gone to sea. \n  \n“Two of us in the church-yard lie\, \nMy sister and my brother; \nAnd\, in the church-yard cottage\, I \nDwell near them with my mother.” \n  \n“You say that two at Conway dwell\, \nAnd two are gone to sea\, \nYet ye are seven! I pray you tell\, \nSweet Maid\, how this may be.” \n  \nThen did the little Maid reply\, \n“Seven boys and girls are we; \nTwo of us in the church-yard lie\, \nBeneath the church-yard tree.” \n  \n“You run about\, my little Maid\, \nYour limbs they are alive; \nIf two are in the church-yard laid\, \nThen ye are only five.” \n  \n“Their graves are green\, they may be seen\,” \nThe little Maid replied\, \n“Twelve steps or more from my mother’s door\, \nAnd they are side by side. \n  \n“My stockings there I often knit\, \nMy kerchief there I hem; \nAnd there upon the ground I sit\, \nAnd sing a song to them. \n  \n“And often after sun-set\, Sir\, \nWhen it is light and fair\, \nI take my little porringer\, \nAnd eat my supper there. \n  \n“The first that died was sister Jane; \nIn bed she moaning lay\, \nTill God released her of her pain; \nAnd then she went away. \n  \n“So in the church-yard she was laid; \nAnd\, when the grass was dry\, \nTogether round her grave we played\, \nMy brother John and I. \n  \n“And when the ground was white with snow\, \nAnd I could run and slide\, \nMy brother John was forced to go\, \nAnd he lay by her side.” \n  \n“How many are you\, then\,” said I\, \n“If they two are in heaven?” \nQuick was the little Maid’s reply\, \n“O Master! we are seven.” \n  \n“But they are dead; those two are dead! \nTheir spirits are in heaven!” \n’Twas throwing words away; for still \nThe little Maid would have her will\, \nAnd said\, “Nay\, we are seven!” \n  \n—William Wordsworth (April 7\, 1770-April 23\, 1850) \n  URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-5-2-24/ ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/05/0.jpeg END:VEVENT BEGIN:VEVENT DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240426T190000 DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240426T210000 DTSTAMP:20260425T090402 CREATED:20240425T051339Z LAST-MODIFIED:20240425T052121Z UID:4632-1714158000-1714165200@openroadpdx.com SUMMARY:Fabulous Deck Boys! 4/26/24 DESCRIPTION:  \nThe Fabulous Deck Boys! \nfeaturing Jeffrey Sher \nwill be rocking Ross Island Grocery & Cafe \n3502 S. Corbett Ave. \nthis Friday from 7 to 9 pm. URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/fabulous-deck-boys-4-26-24/ ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/0.jpeg END:VEVENT BEGIN:VEVENT DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240417T190000 DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240417T203000 DTSTAMP:20260425T090402 CREATED:20240402T171537Z LAST-MODIFIED:20240402T171827Z UID:4553-1713380400-1713385800@openroadpdx.com SUMMARY:The Nonstop Love-In Book Reading & Signing 4/17/24 DESCRIPTION:  \n¡Dear Friends! \nThere will be a Book Reading & Signing of The Nonstop Love-In by Johnny Stallings at Belmont Books\, 3415 SE Belmont\, in Portland\, on Wednesday\, March 17th\, at 7 pm. \nI hope you can come! \n  \npeace\, love & happiness \nJohnny URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/the-nonstop-love-in-book-reading-signing-4-17-24/ ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/02/unnamed.jpg END:VEVENT BEGIN:VEVENT DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20240415 DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20240515 DTSTAMP:20260425T090402 CREATED:20240415T184245Z LAST-MODIFIED:20240415T185109Z UID:4615-1713139200-1715731199@openroadpdx.com SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue 4/15/24 DESCRIPTION:photo by Abe Green \n  \n  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n  \nApril 15\, 2024 \n  \nJude wrote this for the March issue: \n  \nTOUCH THE EARTH \n  \n“Walking is a form of touching the earth. We touch the earth with our feet\, and we heal the earth\, we heal ourselves\, and we heal humankind. Whenever you have an extra five\, ten\, or fifteen minutes\, enjoy walking. With every step it’s possible to bring healing and nourishment to our body and to our mind. Every step taken in mindfulness and freedom can help heal and transform\, and the world will be healed and transformed together with us.”  —Thich Nhat Hanh\, from Your True Home  #232 \n  \nI am so\, so lucky to live where I do. Every morning\, rain or shine—or snow—I take my dog\, Lolo\, and we walk up to the irrigation canal (or the ditch\, as most ingloriously call it) and walk for at least a half hour\, usually more. Most mornings the mountain is accompanying us. Some mornings her cloudy cloak is covering her shoulders; if so the cloak is tinged with pink and peach with the rising sun. I hear an owl\, a red-winged blackbird. I smell the red-flowering currant and the heady mock-orange draping the path.  \n  \nBut it’s what’s at my feet that settles my heart: moss and grasses\, ferns\, frilly lichens\, maybe the golden newts wriggling to escape my footsteps. The path itself is made up of pine needles\, fir needles\, smushed oak leaves\, aspen leaves—all of which exhale their delicious scents at each step. There’s the earth itself\, the dirt: moist and crumbly in the spring\, dry and powdery in the summer\, muddy after a fall rain. \n  \nAnd winter? I try to celebrate winter up here in the snowy woods. It is beautiful—for awhile. The sculpting snow transforms and heightens and softens every branch\, every shrub\, every leaf. The ‘for awhile’ part last…for awhile; but come early March\, when crusty\, pockmarked snow still covers my trail\, I long for all those delectable senses of the earth uncovered. I am more than ready now! C’mon SPRING! \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n3/18/24 \n5:30 a.m. \nHAPPY SPRING TIME \n\nDear Johnny \n  \nHello and good day to you my friend\, it’s a beautiful morning here so far. I’m in the day room now and the TV is still off! So nice and peaceful. I really don’t like the TV very much…most of the time. \n  \nI’ve been thinking…the day I get out—if I release from here or Columbia River [prison]—I need to stop at Multnomah Falls\, “or any waterfall\,” & stand under it and let it wash over me. I just have this overwhelming feeling that I need to stand under a waterfall\, let it cleanse my soul. \n  \nFor almost a year now I’ve been having these subtle changes take place in me. All of the prison “things” that seem to plague everyone\, stress\, anger\, frustrations\, turmoil\, etc.\, for me most of them have slipped away. All of those things just don’t matter as much & it’s sad to see others stuck in this frame of mind in here when you really don’t have to be at all\, anytime. It’s really only a choice of a state of mind…. \n  \nIn two years from now I will be starting my new chance at life\, a re-birth\, the spots & stains from my past remain as a reminder of where I came from\, never will go back to. \n  \nAll of the things in the world that used to call on me have become mute and they have no appeal to me at all. I can feel the calling of a beautiful path\, full of simple joys\, filled with friends and a family\, like I’ve never had in my life before. For the first time in my life good things await me. \n  \nThe sun is just now filling the sky with its colors…the beauty we witness and have is a universal gift to everyone. Life can be so beautiful…if we look. Coming from a dark place in life\, the beauty of it all for me always seems to be a gift from within the veil\, wrapping me in itself. Thank you for giving my heart eyes to see the things only few can see\, my friends! \n  \nLove\, \n  \nRocky Hutchinson \n* \n  \nKen Margolis shared this poem by Billy Collins: \n  \nAimless Love \n  \nThis morning as I walked along the lake shore\, \nI fell in love with a wren \nand later in the day with a mouse \nthe cat had dropped under the dining room table. \n  \nIn the shadows of an autumn evening\, \nI fell for a seamstress \nstill at her machine in the tailor’s window\, \nand later for a bowl of broth\, \nsteam rising like smoke from a naval battle. \n  \nThis is the best kind of love\, I thought\, \nwithout recompense\, without gifts\, \nor unkind words\, without suspicion\, \nor silence on the telephone. \n  \nThe love of the chestnut\, \nthe jazz cap and one hand on the wheel. \n  \nNo lust\, no slam of the door— \nthe love of the miniature orange tree\, \nthe clean white shirt\, the hot evening shower\, \nthe highway that cuts across Florida. \n  \nNo waiting\, no huffiness\, or rancor— \njust a twinge every now and then \nfor the wren who had built her nest \non a low branch overhanging the water \nand for the dead mouse\, \nstill dressed in its light brown suit. \n  \nBut my heart is always propped up \nin a field on its tripod\, \nready for the next arrow. \n  \nAfter I carried the mouse by the tail \nto a pile of leaves in the woods\, \nI found myself standing at the bathroom sink \ngazing affectionately down at the soap\, \n  \nso patient and soluble\, \nso at home in its pale green soap dish. \nI could feel myself falling again \nas I felt its turning in my wet hands \nand caught the scent of lavender and stone. \n  \n—Billy Collins \n* \n  \nJill Littlewood sent a quote and a poem: \n  \nThere’s no money in poetry but then there’s no poetry in money either. \n—Robert Graves \n* \n  \nBecause These Failures Are My Job \n  \nThis morning I failed to notice the pearl-gray moment  \njust before sunrise when everything lightens; \nfailed also to find bird song under the grinding of garbage trucks\, \nand later\, walking through woods\, to stop thinking\, thinking\, \nfor even five consecutive steps. Then there was the failure to name \nthe exact shade of blue overhead\, not sapphire\, not azure\, not delft\, \nto savor the soft squelch of pine needles underfoot. \nLater I found the fork raised halfway to my mouth \nwhile I was still chewing the last untasted bite\, \nand so it went\, until finally\, wading into sleep’s thick undertow\, \nI felt myself drift from dream to dream\, \nforever failing to comprehend where I am falling from or to: \nthis blurred life with only moments caught \nin attention’s loose sieve — \ntiny pearls fished out of oblivion’s sea\, \nlaid out here as offering or apology or thank you \n  \n—Alison Luterman \n* \n  \nThoughts on presence and absence \n  \nAs I age and find that this appears to be a time of perpetual loss—of friends\, loved ones\, abilities—and all of the minor affronts and assaults that living a fairly long life brings\, I have spent some time in reflection about the importance of remaining aware and grateful for what remains present in my life. I believe it is all too easy to reflect on the unavoidable losses and become consumed with what is absent. And of course this is not merely an affliction of the aging and aged. In my years as a psychotherapist\, I often noticed how people often focused upon what was absent in their lives: the job lost\, the fractured friendship ended\, the fantasy trip not taken\, etc. And with this focus on what was absent\, what was both actually or potentially present and the vitality and affirmation of the potential current richness always still available was lost. Yes\, I can no longer run a marathon\, but I can walk along the river and be grateful for that opportunity. Shall I mourn and obsess over the loss of a friendship for reasons that I never understood\, or shall I rejoice in the meaningful friendships that I do have? I think there is always a choice to put one’s emotional energy and focus on what is missing— Absence—or what is available right now—Presence. And in attending to what is present a deep sense of Gratitude often emerges. While I am not a formal meditator\, this is my practice. Give it a try sometime! \n  \n—Jeffrey Sher \n* \n  \nOn Friday\, Johnny and I spent a Day of Mindfulness\, in dialogue and meditation practice on keeping our hearts open. \n  \nWe read this poem together in our group of 24 people:    \n  \nKindness \n  \nBefore you know what kindness really is\nyou must lose things\,\nfeel the future dissolve in a moment\nlike salt in a weakened broth.\nWhat you held in your hand\,\nwhat you counted and carefully saved\,\nall this must go so you know\nhow desolate the landscape can be\nbetween the regions of kindness.\nHow you ride and ride\nthinking the bus will never stop\,\nthe passengers eating maize and chicken\nwill stare out the window forever. \n  \nBefore you learn the tender gravity of kindness\nyou must travel where the Indian in a white poncho\nlies dead by the side of the road.\nYou must see how this could be you\,\nhow he too was someone\nwho journeyed through the night with plans\nand the simple breath that kept him alive. \n  \nBefore you know kindness as the deepest thing inside\,\nyou must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.\nYou must wake up with sorrow.\nYou must speak to it till your voice\ncatches the thread of all sorrows\nand you see the size of the cloth.\nThen it is only kindness that makes sense anymore\,\nonly kindness that ties your shoes\nand sends you out into the day to gaze at bread\,\nonly kindness that raises its head\nfrom the crowd of the world to say\nIt is I you have been looking for\,\nand then goes with you everywhere\nlike a shadow or a friend. \n  \n— Naomi Shihab Nye \n* \nI have been thinking of Naomi—how her heart is aching for her Palestinian friends and family\, her  loved-ones. I feel her warmth and hear her voice\, reading the poems in her 2019 book\, The Tiny Journalist. \n  \nSome excerpts from My Wisdom: \n  \nWhen people have a lot \nthey want more \n  \nWhen people have nothing \nthey will happily share it \n  \nNo bird builds a wall \n  \nOpen palms \nhold more \n* \n  \n In Some Countries \n  \nThere were people who had a hundred handbags \nPeople who hired maids to take care of their maids. \n  \nYou could float down the Rhine and see castles. \nDogs wore coats for daily walks in Central Park.  \n  \nA dog’s diamond collar glistened.  \nWe were not dreaming of these things for ourselves.  \n  \nWe needed basics\, starting small. \nHello\, you look like a human being to me. \n  \nIt’s hard to know what open roads mean \nif you’ve always had them.  \n  \nWe can’t imagine  \nthe luxury of open reads. \n  \n—Naomi Shihab Nye \n  \n—Katie Radditz \n* \n  \nAfter Hours \n  \nLately I have been too cold by furnace\, \nwarm as I shoulder the bag of ice \n  \nin the aisle of ignored announcement: \nit is closing time\, and no clerk \n  \ncan I convince that I have already gone\, \nam home\, removing every bulb \n  \nwith ceremony\, with a touch like hers\, how \nwhen something is removed it is itself \n  \nagain\, holy in the original sense \nof being set aside\, and always when I wake \n  \nit is like this\, my bed more public a place \nthan I should like it\, a bird or bothered person \n  \nin conversation I cannot parse\, machines \nare being fixed all around me\, and I like it: \n  \nto be broken and unreachable\, to be a camera \nwithout film and yet recording. \n  \n—Alex Tretbar  \n(first published in Colorado Review) \n* \n  \nKatie Radditz and Pat Malone led “A Day of Mindfulness” at First Unitarian Church last Friday. It was a lovely way to spend a day. Several people said they “needed it\,” because they felt overwhelmed—mostly by the daily news. Katie and I started this monthly Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue in September of 2020 as a way of reaching in to friends in prison with support and encouragement for their spiritual practice. (“Spiritual practice” can be anything that gives our lives meaning.) Since then\, a lot of our prison friends have “graduated.” This currently goes to 10 men in prison and about 70 people “on the outside.” It comes out on the 15th of every month. If you get this\, feel free to contribute.  \nHere are some things from my “Translating Traherne” project: \n  \n26 \nAll things are spiritual—being objects not just of the eye\, but of the mind. The more you value each thing\, the happier you will be. Pigs eat acorns\, but don’t consider the sun and rain and soil that nourished the tree from which the acorns came. We can appreciate the endless miracles of life and live in joy\, or live in ignorance and be miserable. \n  \n27 \nYou never enjoy the world aright\, till you see that a grain of sand is a perfect miracle. Everything is here for your delight—not just because things are beautiful\, or useful\, but because our life is woven into the tapestry of all that is. Wine quenches more than our thirst when we feel it to be one of the countless miracles which are ours to enjoy\, and give thanks. When the happiness of others makes us happy\, life is good. To be grateful for all our blessings is to be blessed\, to live in Paradise. \n  \n28 \nYour enjoyment of the world is never right till every morning you awake in Paradise—until you look upon the earth and sky with boundless joy. If you are grateful for everything\, no one who ever lived has more reason to be happy than you. \n  \n29  \nYou never enjoy the world aright\, till the sea flows in your veins\, till you are clothed with the heavens\, and crowned with the stars—till you perceive yourself to be the sole heir of the whole world\, and more than so\, because people are in it who are every one sole heirs as well as you. Till you can sing and rejoice and delight in all of creation\, as misers do in gold\, you never enjoy the world. \n  \n—Thomas Traherne (1636-1674) from Centuries of Meditations\, versions by Johnny Stallings \n  \n  \npeace & love\, y’all \nJohnny URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-4-15-24/ END:VEVENT BEGIN:VEVENT DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240412T093000 DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240412T150000 DTSTAMP:20260425T090402 CREATED:20240407T183958Z LAST-MODIFIED:20240407T190305Z UID:4581-1712914200-1712934000@openroadpdx.com SUMMARY:Day of Mindfulness Retreat with Katie Radditz 4/12/24 DESCRIPTION:  \n  \nHello all you on the Open Road \n  \nI wanted to let you know of a Day of Mindfulness I’m offering on Friday\, April 12th\, from 9:30 to 3 at the First Unitarian Church in Portland. (The entrance is on SW Salmon Street\, between 11th & 12th.) \n  \nBring a sack lunch! \n  \nThe focus will be on developing equanimity and practices for opening our hearts. Inspired by Loving-Kindness practice and the Open Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue. \n  \nI would love to see you there. I hope you will be able to come!   \n  \nlove and peace\, \n  \nKatie Radditz \n  \n  \nThe event is free\, but please click on this link to register:\n\n  \n  \n\n\n\n https://www.firstunitarianportland.org/events-calendar/\n\n\n  \n  \n  URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/day-of-mindfulness-retreat-4-12-24/ END:VEVENT BEGIN:VEVENT DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240407T150000 DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240407T170000 DTSTAMP:20260425T090402 CREATED:20240402T160402Z LAST-MODIFIED:20240505T041706Z UID:4538-1712502000-1712509200@openroadpdx.com SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous! 4/7/24 DESCRIPTION:  \n¡Beloved Bibliophiles! \n  \nOn Sunday\, April 7th\, at 3 p.m. PDT\, our theme will be Mysteries! What are your favorite mystery stories and novels? \n Here’s the Zoom link: \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058 \n  \n  \nI hope to see you there! \n  \npeace\, love & happiness \nJohnny URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-4-7-24/ END:VEVENT BEGIN:VEVENT DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20240404 DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20240502 DTSTAMP:20260425T090402 CREATED:20240405T042533Z LAST-MODIFIED:20250718T135754Z UID:4569-1712188800-1714607999@openroadpdx.com SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding 4/4/24 DESCRIPTION:  \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nApril 4\, 2024 \n  \nCreativity! \n  \nKim sent some helpful words on the subject of creativity by Martha Graham\, a couple of poems\, and an essay: \n  \nLetter from Martha Graham to Agnes deMille \n  \nThere is a vitality\, a life force\, a quickening that is translated through you into action\, and because there is only one of you in all time\, this expression is unique. \nAnd if you block it\, it will never exist through any other medium and be lost. The world will not have it.  \nIt is not your business to determine how good it is; nor how valuable it is; nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly\, to keep the channel open. \nYou do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep open and aware directly to the urges that motivate you. \nKeep the channel open… \nNo artist is pleased… \nThere is no satisfaction whatever at any time.\nThere is only a queer\, divine dissatisfaction; a blessed unrest. \n  \n(Martha Graham was a revolutionary dancer and choreographer in New York in the mid-twentieth century\, here writing a letter to her friend Agnes deMille) \n* \n  \n                       Wild Visioning \n  \nThey say her name is Susan\, and she holds these  \n“Why not?” sessions somewhere east\, up the Gorge.  \nShe’ll ask\, Why should we believe only one can say\,  \n“I have a dream…”? She says\, “Why have freedom  \nif we don’t sing out loud the best we could ever say?” \n  \nSo they practice wild imagining. People get fierce  \nand joyful\, saying\, “What if I…What if we…?”  \nThey start with dark news\, and turn it inside out.  \nThey vision\, then they plan\, and then they act.  \nOnce they shake things up\, they’re hard to stop. \nThey summon mayors. Then city councils catch \nthe fever. Then voters start to see things otherwise. \nSome friends went to learn what it’s all about. They  \nnever came back. Now they’re comets\, lighting  \nour way across the sky. —And you? And I? \n  \n* \n  \n           How to Make a Poem \n  \nLet it open like a flower—but you won’t  \nneed the bud\, blossom\, scent\, or petals. \n  \nLet it beat like a heart—without naming \nanatomy\, blood\, valves\, counting the pulse. \n  \nLet it be warm as sunlight fingering  \nthrough storms to find you shivering. \n  \nAnd may it address the world of silences\,  \nof kinship short a few right words. \n  \nNow take down the scaffold. Let it grow  \nby brevity: Open hearts warm the world. \n  \n* \n  \nKim does a good deed every day. He writes a poem. In addition to being a writer\, Kim has been a teacher of writing for many years. He is a treasure trove of ideas on this subject. He even sent an essay on someone else’s essay!: \n  \nCreativity \nHow Naomi Shihab Nye does it…for example in her essay “Maintenance” \n  \nShe likes eccentrics and she remembers details about them. She looks at her subject—housework\, order\, maintenance—sideways\, while looking directly at people. The essay begins as a catalog of people\, with each including observation\, location\, dialog\, and now and then an oblique observation on maintenance\, and the deeper meaning of maintenance: keeping a place for the life of the spirit. \n  \nOne trick is to keep changing categories as a way of keeping the range of interest broad\, the opportunity to include rich details wide\, the essay in the realm of daily life: “Barbara has the best taste of any person I’ve ever known—the best khaki-colored linen clothing\, the best books\, the name of the best masseuse.” \n  \nThe narrative voice can move from one topic to another—maintenance\, feminism: “I never felt women were more doomed to do housework than men; I thought women were lucky. Men had to maintain questionably pleasurable associations with less tangible elements—mortgage payments\, fan belts and alternators\, the IRS. I preferred songs\, and the way people who washed dishes immediately became exempt from after-dinner conversation.” \n  \nShe takes every opportunity to bring detail to her sentences: on Thoreau\, “A wealthy woman with a floral breakfast nook once told me I would ‘get over him\,’ but I have not—documented here\, I have not.” \n  \nAnd she lets Marta Alejandro have the last word. “Is your house still as big as it used to be?” \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n  \n(If you want a copy of Naomi Shihab Nye’s essay “Maintenance\,” let me know and I can mail or email it to you.)—JS \n* \n  \nActor\, writer and director Keith Scales sent a couple of quotes and a poem on the subject of creativity: \n  \nHere’s from William Faulkner’s Nobel prize acceptance speech: \n  \n(His output was the result of) “a life’s work in the agony and sweat of the human spirit\, not for glory and least of all for profit\, but to create out of the materials of the human spirit something that did not exist before.”   \n  \nThe Choice \n  \nThe intellect of man is forced to choose \nperfection of the life\, or of the work\, \nAnd if it take the second must refuse \nA heavenly mansion\, raging in the dark. \nWhen all that story’s finished\, what’s the news? \nIn luck or out the toil has left its mark: \nThat old perplexity an empty purse\, \nOr the day’s vanity\, the night’s remorse. \n  \n—W.B. Yeats \n  \nAnd: \n  \n“Don’t talk about it or you’ll lose it:” \n  \n—Ernest Hemingway\, from The Sun Also Rises \n  \n—Keith Scales \n  \n* \n  \nDeborah Buchanan wrote about her creative process: \n  \nMy Process of Creativity \n  \nI waste a lot of time. I do the laundry. I cook something. I procrastinate—I’m a champion at waiting for another hour\, another day\, maybe another lifetime. All the while I am pondering\, turning ideas and phrases over in my head. Or maybe I turn my attention aside and let whatever the idea is gestate in darkness. Many\, many slips of paper with little notes on them. Look at my kitchen counter right now—phrases\, words\, topics\, the beginnings of poems. Some I come back to and a flash happens. Other times I wonder\, What could I have been thinking? I listen for a dream. In fact\, some of my best poems began as a dream\, a voice that spoke to me. In all this\, time doesn’t matter. Some poems wait for years\, others die on the vine. All of that is okay. I remind myself that Stanley Kunitz wasn’t particularly prolific—he said he only wrote a poem that spoke to him\, he didn’t force things. There is also a quote from Theodore Roethke that I have repeated to myself countless times. It goes something like this: “A poet spends his life standing outside in the rain\, waiting for the lightning to strike.” A perfect image in the Northwest.  \n  \nHere is one poem I wrote about the process. \n  \nHer Gaze Never Drops \n  \nThe muse is angry\, \nher words sting\, \nshe wants to be inside you\,  \na deep place you rarely find. \nIt is like a seed\, the shell broken. \nThrough the cracks\, words. \nHere\, this is yours\,  \nsee the clear tunnel. \nWhere have you been? \n  \nThe fist can be hot\, the sound hard. \nWe stand in the open\,  \ncrackling vibrations around us\, \nlistening our only option. \n  \nAnother poem\, which comes with a story. Many years ago I was at the Gurukula Botanical Reserve in India’s Western Ghats. Wolfgang was showing me around\, plant lover to plant lover. When we were in the orchid area he pointed to some dirt and said\, “This is where the underground white orchid flower blooms.” Well\, as an earth sign I went wild. I tried and tried to write a poem about that. Only nine years later as I was at a workshop and learning about the fungus on plant roots did an idea come. This is the result. \n  \nwhite orchid \n  \nwaxy petals unfurl slowly against the tropical earth pale insects burrow in \ndrawn by fragrance escaping molecule by molecule through soft loam \nsurrounding the tendril of whitened stem piercing soil branching off \na flower then another creeping underground this life unseen unheeded \nabove ground our life drawing sustenance from the dark explosion \n  \nAnd a final story and poem. One summer I spent a week camping out on the Zumwalt Prairie as part of Fishtrap’s annual workshop. In a discussion I used the phrase retroactive prayers. A friend said\, What a great poem idea. Again\, many years passed and I couldn’t think of any way to use those two words. Then this last winter I wrote the following poem as part of a song cycle. \n  \nSo my advice: Pay attention to suggestions\, forget time\, let the world offer itself to you.  And delete\, delete\, delete. \n  \nRetroactive Prayers \n  \nMoist pads on frog feet turn leathery\,  \nstreams and ponds evaporate\, \nwater’s flow drains\, then vanishes. \n  \n     We didn’t think of them\, we turn trying to see \n  \nAnts and beetles\, roaches and worms too numerous  \nto count\, all refugees from untallied worlds\, wander this \ndamaged landscape—habitats scorched\, flooded—buried. \n  \n     We turn\, we turn trying to see \n  \nFlocks of birds drawn to the sky\, called by season’s  \nchange\, by earth’s magnetic lines— overcome  \nby heat and ash countless bodies drop to earth. \n  \n    We didn’t think of them\, we didn’t think \n  \nWanting what is lost\, our prayers reach out  \nto these abandoned lives\, reach to recover and embrace\,  \nto become each other’s prayer of remembrance. \n  \n—Deborah Buchanan \n* \n  \nAndy Larkin shared some thoughts about creativity from the ancient Mexicans: \n  \nHere through art I shall live forever…\nA singer\, from my heart I strew my songs\nI carve a great stone\, I paint thick wood\nMy song is in them…\nI shall leave my song-image on earth \n  \nToltecayootl a ycaya ninemiz ye nicã ayyo.\nAc ya nechcuiliz ac ye nohuan oyaz onicas a anniihcuihuana ayayyan cuica-nitl y yehetl y noxochiuh nõcuicayhuitequi on teixpã ayyo.\nHueyn tetl nictequin Tomahuac quahuitl nic ycuiloa yã cuicatl ytech aya oncan no mitoz in quemanõ in can niyaz nocuicamachio nicyacauhtiaz in tlpc \n  \n–Nahuatl poem (circa 1570)\nCantares Mexicanos\, fol. 27r-27v \n  \nThe Cantares Mexicanos is a collection of lyrical poetry from the courts of the Triple Alliance (Aztec). I think the poet was the philosopher-king of Texcoco\, Nezahualcoyotl (Fasting Coyote). He’s the tough-looking guy on the Mexican 100 peso note. \n  \nAlso: \n  \nThe Artist \n  \nThe artist: disciple\, abundant\, multiple\, restless.\nThe true artist\, capable\, practicing\, skillful; \nmaintains dialogue with his heart\, meets things with his mind. \n  \nThe true artist: draws out all from his heart;\nworks with delight\, makes things with calm\, with sagacity\,\nworks like a true Toltec\, composes his objects\, works dexterously\, invents; arranges material\, adorns them\, makes them adjust. \n  \nThe carrion artist: works at random\, sneers at the people\,\nmakes things opaque\, brushes across the surface of the face of things\, works without care\, defrauds people\, is a thief. \n  \n-Nahuatl poem from the Codex Matritensis\,\nfol. 115 v. (208)\, ca. 1540—1585 \n  \n—Andy Larkin \n* \n  \nElizabeth Domike is a poet and yoga teacher: \n  \nSisters \n  \nWe’ve talked about boundaries as sisters to creativity. These days I lean on them heavily. Not teaching yoga for an institution\, but for the specific students who have been drawn to the material I share\, some of the boundaries I have are defined. Say for time. \n  \nEvery week I send a reminder with a theme for the next five days. And I head that with a photograph\, one I have (most often) taken during the previous week. This is something I hold close when out and about it the world. What would work\, what would set the tone\, represent the world here and now in this place. \n  \nEvery weekday morning I choose a poem to read at the end of class. I’ve tried doing this in advance and it doesn’t work as well as those spontaneous moments reading poems in the early dark. It is a kind of meditative practice after writing 750 Words and exploring the nature of my thoughts and emotions there so close to the dream state. For the poem I choose a key word or words\, like relief\, or old trees\, or hyacinth. And then I read what comes up and choose one that has the length and tone that I think might work and might inspire an image or thoughtfulness to carry us all through the day… a tiny bit richer. \n  \nThen during the class\, although I do prepare\, (sometimes for hours\, depending on the material)\, I let go\, responding to who is there and what their needs might be. Each practice\, an all-consuming creative act. This took years for me to be confident enough to do. It is a kind of free fall\, with the invisible ropes being the structure I have spent time revisiting again and again.   \n  \nThese practices have taught me that everything I do\, can in some way\, be expressed creatively. And most times is\, without me even trying. Any experience of connecting to the sources we carry within and translating them into the language of the present moment is\, in my opinion\, an offering\, a gift\, a blessing for us all.   \n  \n—Elizabeth Domike \n* \n  \nHere are a few of my poems that might relate to the subject of creativity in some way: \n  \nThe trick of a poem is: \nDon’t say too much. \nIf you do \n* \n  \ni want to go to the place where poems come from \n* \n  \nthe unwritten poem \nis completely useless \n* \n  \nif i could put into words what i see out this window \ni would do with language what no one has yet done \nif i could say what this bean plant means \neveryone would fall down and worship my poem \nwell\, probably not \nbecause\, as it is\, we don’t kneel before the bean plant \nand water its roots with our tears \n  \nholy holy holy is the bean plant \nthe cup of coffee \nthe stuffed animals on the window sill  \nthat have been loved unto baldness \nthe song sparrow \nthe sunlight \nand even the man sitting with his laptop \nfailing once again to say the unsayable \n* \n  \nLike all good topics\, the subject of “creativity” is endless. Many creative people have written about what they do\, but most of the inspiration we get from them comes directly from the poems they’ve written\, the paintings they’ve painted\, the music they’ve played\, the dances they’ve danced\, the meals they’ve cooked\, the gardens they’ve grown\, the films they’ve made. A couple inspiring documentaries about artists at work are “Rivers and Tides” (2001) and “Shangri-La” (2019). \n  \nOn Saturday\, March 23rd\, there was a wonderful book launch for my first book\, The Nonstop Love-In: poems\, stories\, essays & other writings. It was a Love-In! The Multnomah County Library has ordered some copies. Check it out! You can get a copy at Belmont Books in Portland. You can order a copy by emailing me at: stallingsjohnny@gmail.com. It’s also available from the websites of Powell’s\, Barnes & Noble\, Amazon & IngramSpark. Coming soon to Powell’s Books on Hawthorne! \n  \n  \npeace\, love & happiness \n—Johnny Stallings URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-4-4-24/ END:VEVENT BEGIN:VEVENT DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240323T180000 DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240323T200000 DTSTAMP:20260425T090402 CREATED:20240312T171541Z LAST-MODIFIED:20240312T202457Z UID:4493-1711216800-1711224000@openroadpdx.com SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous Live! Book Launch for The Nonstop Love-In by Johnny Stallings 3/23/24 DESCRIPTION:Dear Friends! \n  \nI’m excited to be publishing my first book–The Nonstop Love-In! The release date is Saturday\, March 23rd\, 2024. \nThere will be a Book Launch that very evening at Ross Island Grocery & Cafe\, 3502 S. Corbett Ave. Food & drink from 6 to 7. Reading and signing from 7 to 8. \n  \nFrom the back cover: \n  \nIf you know Johnny\, you will love this book. If you don’t\, after reading\, you will want to meet him—by reading this book. Who else can provide such a good-humored\, big-hearted\, modern Socratic quest into the nature of human happiness\, and the myriad paths to finding joy? Johnny lived in India—and in the remote Eastern Oregon town of Ashwood. He’s spent years in prison—as a generous visitor creating dialog circles to bring lively thought to shadowed lives. And all the time he was writing these zesty morsels of insight\, poem\, story\, meditation\, and manifesto just for you. \n  \n—Kim Stafford\, author of As the Sky Begins to Change  \n  \nI hope to see you there!!! \n  \nThe book is available now to pre-order\, from Powell’s… \n  \nhttps://www.powells.com/book/the-nonstop-love-in-9798989801107 \n  \n  \nBarnes and Noble… \n  \nhttps://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-nonstop-love-in-johnny-stallings/1144757191 \n  \nand Amazon! \n  \nOrder yours today! \n  \npeace\, love & happiness \n  \nJohnny URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-live-book-launch-for-the-nonstop-love-in-by-johnny-stallings-3-23-24/ ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/02/unnamed.jpg END:VEVENT BEGIN:VEVENT DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240323T180000 DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240323T200000 DTSTAMP:20260425T090402 CREATED:20240201T205203Z LAST-MODIFIED:20240326T023706Z UID:4422-1711216800-1711224000@openroadpdx.com SUMMARY:Book launch for The Nonstop Love-In by Johnny Stallings! 3/23/24 DESCRIPTION:  \nDear Friends! \n  \nI’m excited to be publishing my first book–The Nonstop Love-In! The release date is Saturday\, March 23rd\, 2024. \nThere will be a Book Launch that very evening at Ross Island Grocery & Cafe\, 3502 S. Corbett Ave. Food & drink from 6 to 7. Reading and signing from 7 to 8. \n  \nFrom the back cover: \n  \nIf you know Johnny\, you will love this book. If you don’t\, after reading\, you will want to meet him—by reading this book. Who else can provide such a good-humored\, big-hearted\, modern Socratic quest into the nature of human happiness\, and the myriad paths to finding joy? Johnny lived in India—and in the remote Eastern Oregon town of Ashwood. He’s spent years in prison—as a generous visitor creating dialog circles to bring lively thought to shadowed lives. And all the time he was writing these zesty morsels of insight\, poem\, story\, meditation\, and manifesto just for you. \n  \n—Kim Stafford\, author of As the Sky Begins to Change  \n  \nI hope to see you there!!! \n  \nThe book is available now to pre-order\, from Powell’s… \n  \nhttps://www.powells.com/book/the-nonstop-love-in-9798989801107 \n  \n  \nBarnes and Noble… \n  \nhttps://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-nonstop-love-in-johnny-stallings/1144757191 \n  \nand Amazon! \n  \nOrder yours today! \n  \npeace\, love & happiness \n  \nJohnny URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/book-launch-for-the-nonstop-love-in-by-johnny-stallings-3-23-24/ ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/02/unnamed.jpg END:VEVENT BEGIN:VEVENT DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20240323 DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20240424 DTSTAMP:20260425T090402 CREATED:20240326T024517Z LAST-MODIFIED:20240918T214211Z UID:4519-1711152000-1713916799@openroadpdx.com SUMMARY:The Nonstop Love-In by Johnny Stallings DESCRIPTION:  \nDear Friends! \nI’m excited to be publishing my first book! The Nonstop Love-In: poems\, stories\, essays & other writings is published by Open Road Press. \nThere was a Book Launch at Ross Island Grocery & Cafe on March 23\, 2024. There was a Book Reading & Signing at Belmont Books\, in Portland\, on April 17. \nYou can buy a copy of the book from Belmont Books. \nMultnomah County Library has ordered 12 copies. You can place a hold now! It’s also available as an ebook from Multnomah County Library\, or on Kindle from Amazon. \nYou can order a copy of the book from Open Road Press. Make out your check for $20 (includes shipping) to “Open Road Press” and mail it to: \nOpen Road Press \n4110 SE Hawthorne Blvd.\, PMB 268 \nPortland\, OR  97214 \n  \nYou can also get a copy by emailing me at: \nstallingsjohnny@gmail.com. \n  \nThe book can be ordered from the websites of: \nIngramSpark \nPowell’s \nBarnes & Noble \nAmazon \n  \nA portion of the proceeds goes to Open Road Press to seed future publications. \nThe release date was Saturday\, March 23rd\, 2024. \nWe had a great Book Launch that very evening at Ross Island Grocery & Cafe. It was a total Love-In! \n  \nFrom the back cover: \n  \nIf you know Johnny\, you will love this book. If you don’t\, after reading\, you will want to meet him—by reading this book. Who else can provide such a good-humored\, big-hearted\, modern Socratic quest into the nature of human happiness\, and the myriad paths to finding joy? Johnny lived in India—and in the remote Eastern Oregon town of Ashwood. He’s spent years in prison—as a generous visitor creating dialog circles to bring lively thought to shadowed lives. And all the time he was writing these zesty morsels of insight\, poem\, story\, meditation\, and manifesto just for you. \n  \n—Kim Stafford\, author of As the Sky Begins to Change  \n  \nGet your copy today! \nMakes a great gift! \n  \npeace\, love & happiness \n  \nJohnny URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/how-to-order-the-nonstop-love-in/ ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/02/unnamed.jpg END:VEVENT BEGIN:VEVENT DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20240315 DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20240415 DTSTAMP:20260425T090402 CREATED:20240315T172353Z LAST-MODIFIED:20240315T183755Z UID:4501-1710460800-1713139199@openroadpdx.com SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue 3/15/24 DESCRIPTION:photograph by Elizabeth Domike \n  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n  \n  \nMarch 15\, 2023 \n  \nOut breath \nand in breath— \nknow that they are \nproof that the world \nis inexhaustible. \n  \n—Ryōkan  (1758-1851) \n* \n  \nYoga \n  \nYoga is Love \n  \nThere are many ways to learn how to tolerate being uncomfortable. \n  \nYoga has been one of those ways for me.  I’d taken a few classes here and there and watched Lilias! as a teenager. I read then\, too\, voraciously about the austerities that the yogis performed along with some Buddhist texts. But it wasn’t until 1999 that I found myself going to a yoga class at my gym with a girlfriend of a work colleague who didn’t want to go alone. \n  \nIt was that one class and the most unusual teacher\, an older fellow\, shaggy beard\, who had been teaching martial arts until he was involved in a car accident from which he learned to rehabilitate himself from\, by practicing yoga. Not your normal teacher in a gym\, for him it was a short-term gig but after that first class I took every class he taught until one day he was gone. \n  \nHis replacement was a Russian woman in her 30’s who came over on a visa to compete in fitness competitions and found a way to stay. Born is Siberia\, trained as a grade schoolteacher she was able to have tea with our original teacher and find out the bones of what he had been teaching us. \n  \nSome classes we would spend an hour on our feet\, another day\, our necks. \n  \nMy partner at the time told me after maybe the second class that he liked that I was going\, which was unusual as he was a bit particular about time with me. He said I will take you any time you want to go\, you are so much “nicer” afterwards. \n  \nOlga\, my new teacher\, did (and does) not have the common American affliction of low self-esteem. \n  \nAfter teaching at the gym for six months she told us she had engaged studio space nearby and was going to teach independently and had found a new teacher for herself and was transitioning from a more fitness-based style to a spine and breath centered style that was developed in India and transmitted to her teacher there. \n  \nOver the next four years she trained with him while we followed her around from studio space to studio space until she was fully certified as a yoga therapist and opened her own dedicated studio. \n  \nI was happy taking class from her and at my local studio for the next 13 years.   \n  \nThat is what I did\, I worked\, I wrote and read poetry and practiced yoga. Always curious\, but (for a number of reasons) not interested in traveling either to India or to high priced retreats or trainings. I read\, asked questions\, and attended a few local workshops with visiting “master” teachers. Including Olga’s own\, Gary Kraftsow. He trained in India with the family that trained BKS Iyengar and Pattabhi Jois. \n  \nOlga finally started grandfathering me into her classes and workshops for teachers because I wanted to know stuff. \n  \nIt was kind of a joke\, just me\, the perpetual student\, and all the teachers. Eventually though it became clear that the only way I was going to retain the Sanskrit and more esoteric teachings was to take on the challenge to teach them myself. I took that training and began\, much to my surprise\, to teach right away\, at work\, of all places. \n  \nAfter all those years of showing up and taking class and feeling better in my body and avoiding injury and helping my nervous system stay on an even keel\, I realized that I loved sharing the teachings with others. \n  \nThe movement\, the meditation\, the breathing\, the profound deep relaxation. This isn’t a metaphor\, teaching for me is love. I love the folks who show up for class and I love being there as a guide for them into their own journey of discovery. Of course\, I have my own practice\, separate from teaching as well. \n  \nHow many of us have the opportunity to fall in love every weekday over and over\, in love with the shared experience\, in love with the creativity (I now read a poem at the end of my morning classes)\, in love with the community the classes provide\, in love with the intoxicating flow during class that is like taking a vacation from the doubts and tribulations of our lives as they are these days? \n  \nEach practice is new\, even if the movements are similar. Each day is new\, the body is a mystery manufacturing plant\, astonishing in its ability to throw us for a loop and catch us as we spiral around back towards balance and integration once again. \n  \nIn the intervening years discomfort has been there\, always a companion\, but so has the yoga. \n  \nI can vaguely make them out\, holding hands\, heading along the path ahead that leads towards the mystery just over the next rise; the one to which we all one day will return. \n  \n–Elizabeth Domike \n* \n  \nWalk so that your footprints bear only the marks of peaceful joy and complete freedom. To do this\, you have to learn to let go – let go of your sorrows\, let go of your worries. That is the secret of walking meditation. \nWalk as if you are kissing the Earth with your feet. \n                                                                                   —Thich Nhat Hanh \n  \nWhen I was 11 years old\, in the course of a devastating accident\, I had an out-of-body experience. 30 years later\, parasailing in Hawaii\, I recognized the perspective. From a great height I could view my entire neighborhood. I could see residents coming out of their houses and running in the direction of some intense  activity happening far below me. After a time\, I heard distant screaming. Then\, it was me screaming. \n  \nI might have been unconsciously trying to assimilate this experience a couple of years later when my mother came home from her book club with Forever Young\, Forever Healthy\, by Indra Devi; a kind of autobiography with instructions in the practice of yoga asanas. Devi had been the wife of a Czech diplomat in India. She had become an Indian movie star (hence the name) and had convinced the famous yogi Krishnamacharya to take her as a student—perhaps making her the first woman ever accepted into a yoga ashram. Years later\, she opened a studio in Hollywood and taught yoga to movie stars and other famous people. Her book was a success and she followed it up with Yoga For Americans\, a six week yoga course in book form. I was intrigued and began a practice of the asanas\, which has continued more-or-less unbroken for 60 odd years. \n  \nDevi made some reference to the meditative aspect of yoga\, but it was an encounter with another book\, Autobiography of a Yogi\, by Paramahansa Yogananda\, that convinced me to adopt yoga—an idiosyncratic yoga to be sure—as my way of life. Devi’s yoga was basically exercise. She taught a progressive series of asanas adapted for Western people. Yogananda\, on the other hand\, created a syncretic religion focused on meditation and the attainment of “cosmic consciousness” or “oneness with God.” He named it Self-Realization Fellowship. \n  \nIn the hyperbolic language of yogic literature\, dedicated practice gives the yogi power over life and death. The authoritative Yoga Sutras lists eight primary siddhis\, or magical powers\, and many minor ones. Yogananda tells intoxicating stories of healings\, appearing in two places at once\, walking through walls\, stalling passenger trains\, and having casual conversations with God\, whether in the form of Krishna\, Jesus\, Buddha\, or an articulate glowing light. This was heady stuff for a 13 year old nerdy American boy with no athletic prowess and a considerable capacity for self-depreciation\, and I became a committed “devotee.” \n  \nAs the months and years went by\, I noticed that I wasn’t feeling particularly integrated or powerful. While some “meditative experiences” did occur\, I actually seemed to be moving in the opposite direction. I was not becoming more integrated\, but less. At first I attributed this dissolution to weakness in my practice\, but as time went on the Buddhist analysis of the self and of the intention of meditation seemed to confirm my experience. (This is\, of course\, an extremely condensed picture of my development.) At the university I encountered the Prajnaparamita literature and the Mahayana teachings of emptiness\, no-self\, and dependent origination or interbeing. \n  \nIn 1968 I was drafted. The United States involvement in Vietnam was surging\, and the anti-war movement was in full oppositional flower. Now\, the first axiom of Yoga\, philosophically and in practice\, is ahimsa or harmlessness—“not to injure any creature by thought\, word or deed”—and I applied for Conscientious Objector status\, ascribing my dissent to this principle. As part of my application\, I had to gather reference letters from as many people as possible. To my genuine surprise\, the Self Realization Fellowship refused to support my appeal. The flamboyant Yogananda\, with his long hair and ocher robe\, had perhaps wisely required his followers to assume a conservative demeanor. The small organization did not want to become the object of government scrutiny. (Conversely\, they may have actually believed in so-called conservative values.)  \n  \nAn FBI agent was assigned to my case. He spoke with friends and neighbors\, teachers\, acquaintances\, and\, in the end\, he concluded I was sincere. The local draft board turned me down. I appealed to the State Board. An investigation followed; again the investigator concluded I was sincere and the board refused me. This sequence was repeated with the National Board and a Presidential appeal. I was able to read through these various reports due to the Freedom of Information Act. I steeled myself to go to prison. One evening\, a friend  advised me to write to my senator\, Henry “Scoop” Jackson\, a hawkish Democrat who was a strong supporter of US involvement in Vietnam. I felt it was futile\, but I wrote to him stating that I thought an injustice was about to occur. To everyone’s surprise\, Jackson asked that my  case be reviewed. Two days later I received my Conscientious Objector status. Thus yogic ahimsa was made a precedent in claiming CO standing. \n  \nThere are many stories about how yoga came into the world. One of my favorites is that Shiva\, the Lord of Yoga\, created all the forms of life by assuming the appropriate asana for each being. The practice of yoga asanas is an act of identifying with the god\, and through him identifying with all creation. In a typical asana session one becomes a dog\, a cat\, a frog\, a cobra\, an eagle\, a mythic hero\, a baby Krishna\, a tree—even an abstract being such as a triangle. There is no limit to the possibilities of identification. \n  \nTo me\, the practice of Hatha Yoga is a form of meditation\, no different from sitting still or from the  practice of walking described in the quotation above. It should never be done as mere exercise or as a bitter medicine that is supposed to be good for one. I think it’s hilarious when someone refers to me as “disciplined.” For me\, yoga is play\, something so enjoyable I begin to smile the moment my foot kisses the mat. I never hurt myself “doing my yoga”. I don’t stretch or pull my muscles beyond my capacity. Whether in sitting meditation or in asana practice\, I like the sports phrase “playing the edge”—testing one’s limits without trying to go beyond them. Hanging out\, exploring the edge of possibility\, that edge expands without effort. Ahimsa\, the first principle of Yoga\, applies to oneself as well as others.  \n  \nAlthough I studied yoga somewhat extensively\, I was not one of those western pioneers of the ‘60s who journeyed to the east and practiced at the feet of the gurus. I remained in America\, was a dilentantic student at best\, and devoted more time to the study and practice of theater than to Indian metaphysics. Any interpretations I have of Yoga or of Buddhist theory and practice are likely\, in the language of Harold Bloom\, to constitute a misreading. Nevertheless I am bold enough to claim to be a yogi with a small “y”.  The study and practice of Yoga as I understood it has been an unqualified blessing in my life. Whether “kissing the Earth with my feet” or turning the World topsy turvy by standing on my head\, I find stability in insecurity and certainty in not-knowing. To anyone who thinks of yoga as a remote or inaccessible regimen\, I invite you in this moment to bring your attention to how you are sitting (or standing) and breathing. In a moment of attention without any effort to improve\, you can experience yoga\, which is the ending of division and conflict.  \n  \n—Howard Thoresen \n* \n  \nI initially began a serious yoga practice shortly after the birth of my first daughter. It began as an escape. I had gone from an independent\, young woman pursuing my education and supporting myself\, to partnered with a child in a short time. I was looking for something that could be mine. Looking back\, I see I needed to grieve for my life before children—for my former identity—and I was searching for a way to complete my metamorphosis. I was looking to relieve the spiritual suffering I couldn’t articulate at the time.  \n  \nI met a woman teaching Kundalini yoga. I was drawn in from the first class and started going as often as I could. I liked using mantras and the resonance of speaking these new and foreign powerful words aloud and in community. It felt like tangible strength. I was reconnecting. I was breathing and transforming. And with a flexibility of body comes a flexibility of mind.  \n  \nThroughout the years my practice ebbed and flowed. I went from Kundalini to Ashtanga to shadow yoga and back to Ashtanga. There were times I was practicing daily separated by periods with little to no time on the mat. But yoga has been a part of my life since that first class. There is asana and there is everything else. It is the inner practices of yoga (concentration\, meditation) that have been the most profound for me. What is striking about yoga to me is its ability to gently guide. I make better\, more conscious decisions\, as a yogini.  \n  \nIn 2018\, I traveled to Kathmandu to become a certified yoga and meditation teacher. I had no intention of teaching. I simply desired to dive deep and solidify what I began so many years ago – to take a new shape as a person content with the unknown. I am happy\, as I now understand that gratitude and presence is love in action and are accessible any time.  \n  \nYoga has now led me to the healing potential of Ayurveda and I am now an Ayurvedic Wellness Counselor\, committing myself to a life of balance and wonder. I continue to practice meditation daily and asana on a regular basis and imagine I will do so for the rest of the days within my one wild and precious life.  \n  \nIn gratitude and light \n—Nicole Rush URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-3-15-24/ ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/03/0.jpeg END:VEVENT BEGIN:VEVENT DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240310T150000 DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240310T170000 DTSTAMP:20260425T090402 CREATED:20240229T232650Z LAST-MODIFIED:20240402T160530Z UID:4465-1710082800-1710090000@openroadpdx.com SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous! 3/10/24 DESCRIPTION:Ceramic Tree of World Literature from Guadalajara\, Mexico. \nTop center: The Bible. Bottom center: Moby Dick. \nUpper left: Dante’s Inferno. Upper middle: Don Quixote & Sancho Panza. \nUpper right: Franz Kafka’s Metamorphosis above Aladdin from Arabian Nights. \nMiddle left: Faust & Mephistopheles. Middle: Shakespeare above Romeo & Juliet. \nMiddle right: Edgar Allen Poe & Jean Valjean from Les Miserables. \nLower left: Borges above Ulysses and the Sirens. \nLower right: Ruben Dario above Homer’s Trojan Horse. \n  \nBeloved Bibliophiles! \nOn Sunday\, March 10th\, at 3 p.m. PST\, our theme will be World Literature. Here’s the Zoom link: \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058 \n  \n  \nI hope to see you there! \n  \npeace\, love & happiness \nJohnny URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-3-10-24/ ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/02/IMG_6330-scaled.jpeg END:VEVENT BEGIN:VEVENT DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240307T190000 DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240307T210000 DTSTAMP:20260425T090402 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/ ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/01/DSC_7307-donkey-titania1-cropped-2.jpg END:VEVENT BEGIN:VEVENT DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20240307 DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20240404 DTSTAMP:20260425T090402 CREATED:20240307T165920Z LAST-MODIFIED:20240307T170040Z UID:4483-1709769600-1712188799@openroadpdx.com 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/ ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/02/IMG_6330-scaled.jpeg END:VEVENT BEGIN:VEVENT DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240225T150000 DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20240225T170000 DTSTAMP:20260425T090402 CREATED:20240216T165627Z LAST-MODIFIED:20240229T233303Z UID:4440-1708873200-1708880400@openroadpdx.com SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous! 2/25/24 DESCRIPTION:Alokananda Roy \n  \nBeloved Bibliophiles! \nOn Sunday\, February 25th\, at 3 p.m. PST\, our theme will be Who do you admire\, and why? It could be an author\, a fictional character\, someone you’ve read about–or someone completely unrelated to books. I’ve got a long list–including Alokananda Roy (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lz1VlS-w9Co). I’m eager to hear who you admire. Here’s the Zoom link: \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058 \n  \n  \nI hope to see you there! \n  \npeace\, love & happiness \nJohnny URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-2-25-24/ ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/png:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/02/Alokananda-Roy.png END:VEVENT BEGIN:VEVENT DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20240215 DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20240315 DTSTAMP:20260425T090402 CREATED:20240215T172007Z LAST-MODIFIED:20240215T172103Z UID:4434-1707955200-1710460799@openroadpdx.com 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/ ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/02/IMG_3827-scaled.jpeg END:VEVENT BEGIN:VEVENT DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20240201 DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20240307 DTSTAMP:20260425T090402 CREATED:20240201T202951Z LAST-MODIFIED:20240201T203127Z UID:4414-1706745600-1709769599@openroadpdx.com SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding 2/1/24 DESCRIPTION:  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nFebruary 1\, 2024 \n  \n¡Saludos from sunny México! \n  \nRecently\, I asked some friends: “Over the years\, and right up to now\, what experiences\, people\, books\, movies have enlarged your world?” Kim sent this: \n  \nThe Key to Sweden \n  \nIn July of 1969 I was hitchhiking north into Sweden\, after spending a few days at a commune called Dragon Houses just across the strait from Copenhagen. I had a small rucksack containing a sleeping bag\, a camera\, my journal\, and a recorder\, which I played inexpertly while waiting for a ride on the increasingly empty roads of Sweden stretching into the interior. I was nineteen. \n     A woman driving alone picked me up. She didn’t speak English\, and seemed very preoccupied\, as we drove north along what turned out to be a narrow peninsula stretching out into a great lake. At the end of the road\, we got out\, and I looked around. She made a rather halting speech in Swedish\, then awkwardly got in the car and drove back south\, leaving me there. All afternoon I waited. It was a dead-end road. Maybe no one else ever came there. Finally\, in the evening\, three French lads arrived in a little car\, we all went for a swim\, and then they drove me back to the main road\, and left me at an improbable English-themed pub standing alone in a field\, far from anything. Clearly\, I was meant to enter. \n     Inside it was loud. Lots of young travelers\, a scruffy lot like me. A din of languages. Lots of beer going down. Shouting and laughter. Long benches pulled up to long tables\, and smoke from many cigarettes wafting up toward the rafters. I bought a beer at the bar\, found an empty seat at one of the long tables\, and settled in to nurse my silence. I was so solitary in those days\, and sick with grief about it. \n     As I hunched over my half-empty glass\, the traveler beside me — a boy about my age\, from England\, by his voice — turned to me out of the blue and shouted the wanderer’s existential question into my ear: Where are you going? \n     I leaned over and shouted into his ear: Göteborg\, just then deciding. \n     He shouted to me: Do you have a place to stay? \n     I shook my head. But before I could turn back to my beer\, a young woman on the bench behind me rose to her feet\, and extended her hand toward me. In her hand was a key. She bent close to shout in my ear\, I will not be using it. Then she took the pen from my pocket\, and wrote an address on my palm\, put the key there\, closed my fingers around it\, and stepped away. In a moment\, she had disappeared into the crowd. \n     I hitched to Göteborg\, found the address\, opened the door to a snug refuge\, lived there three days\, baked bread\, read a copy of The Grapes of Wrath I found on her shelf\, cleaned the place as an act of gratitude\, left the key on the kitchen table\, and pulled the locked door shut behind me. \n     For decades now\, I have carried that moment of generosity and trust as a talisman for the possibility of human kindness. When young people ask me\, “What was it like in the 60s?” I tell about the key to Sweden\, and the address written on my hand by a trusting stranger. \n  \n—from Little Book of Common Good by Kim Stafford\, (Little Infinities\, 2018) \n* \n  \nProust’s In Search of Lost Time has enlarged my world more than any other book. It taught me the vastness of life. \n  \n—Alex Tretbar \n* \n  \nFor a number of years I facilitated dialogue groups at Two Rivers prison. The name I gave to the dialogue program was: “The Stories We Tell Ourselves: How Our Thinking Shapes Our Lives.” I am obsessed with stories—especially what they do to us. We live inside of stories. We tell ourselves stories all day long—stories about who we are\, about the world in which we live\, and our relationship to it. Individually and collectively\, we have worldviews\, which are subject to change. \n  \nStories can define and confine us. They can rob us of the joy that is our birthright. We can live in fear. And we can live in love. \n  \nThe question I asked my friends—“what has enlarged your world?”—arose out of my own quest to see through the ideas\, opinions\, prejudices and dogmas that imprison me. I’m always wondering: what can make me wiser\, kinder\, happier\, more generous\, more loving\, more free? I ask again and again: “What’s going on here?” I’m constantly on the lookout for the next book that will give me new insights and deepen my understanding\, the next film that will make me laugh or break my heart\, the next friend who will do…whatever it is that friends do. Love me? Enliven me? Correct me? Inspire me? \n  \nIt’s a long way from Whitefish\, Montana to Udhagamandalam\, Tamil Nadu. Looking back on my life journey\, I can see that Indian yogis made my life bigger and better. Also\, American yogis\, like Howard Thoresen\, Alan Benditt & Walt Whitman. \n  \nShortly after escaping from high school\, I encountered people in books and in “real life” who changed the way I see the world. J. Krishnamurti spoke of “freedom from the known\,” and from authority (including religious authority)\, and from fear. In Autobiography of a Yogi\, Paramahansa Yogananda made India seem like a magical place. He wrote about meditation and spiritual ecstasy—samādhi. I wanted that! Instead of going to college or to Vietnam\, in my twenties\, I spent a lot of time with two Indian yogis\, Nitya Chaitanya Yati and Nataraja Guru\, in Udhagamandalam and elsewhere. There is an old idea in India\, that one’s true self is not other than the All—which has no beginning or end. I spent a lot of time meditating on that. \n  \nDuring the years I was studying Indian Philosophy\, I always had Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass in my back pocket. In the poem “Song of Myself\,” Walt says: \n  \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  \nIt doesn’t sound like something an Indian yogi would say. But the next lines of the poem sorta do… \n  \n“Divine 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  \nI don’t know of anything that has enlarged my world more than Walt’s poem. Back in the day—before the Internet!—the Looking-Glass Book Store was full of books that blew my mind. The Whole Earth Catalog\, the I Ching\, the Tao Te Ching\, and the books of Jack Kerouac\, Carlos Castaneda\, Buckminster Fuller\, Shunryu Suzuki\, Hermann Hesse\, Alan Watts\, Carl Jung and Nikos Kazantzakis come to mind. \n  \nMore recently\, paradoxically\, going into the confined space of prisons made my world bigger. I made many friends there. Friends continually enrich my world—too many to name here. However\, Nancy Scharbach\, more-than-a-friend\, deserves special mention. \n  \nAs an actor and director\, William Shakespeare has given me boundless gifts. \n  \nThat’s enough for now. \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nThis morning\, I opened “my” blog that is kind of like a diary site online called Prosebox. I have been writing like this since 1998 and read notes and writings from my Icelandic friend who lives in Sweden and writes horror fiction and takes amazing photographs. There is a retired child minder grandmother who lives in a comfortable cottage town near Edinburgh who has a troubled adult son that is mentally ill. \n  \nThere is something pretty much every day from my friend\, a recent widow\, who since the beginning of the pandemic and Zoom\, also is now my yoga student. She lives in Peterborough Australia\, (a flyspeck of a town she calls it) about as far north of Adelaide as Seattle is from Portland.   \n  \nThere is my friend who is a retired maths teacher living in Victoria Australia\, a fifth-grade teacher in a Catholic School outside Calgary Alberta\, a journalist writing for a prestigious medical journal on mental health and related topics in Washington D.C. who is obsessed with birds\, all kinds. \n  \nThere is a paper artist in San Diego\, an inn keeper in rural South Africa who co-authored a book last year on native plants\, a recent empty nester\, fiddle player\, master gardener and homeschooler (both kids now in college) in rural Maine. \n  \nThe affiliation is loose and unstructured. \n  \nWe don’t use our “real” names but over the years most of us have exchanged addresses and links to things in our lives. Interestingly\, all our pets are described using their real-world names. My cat Carlo is internationally known. \n  \nBecause of the way of these things\, the original site we used closed down about seven years ago\, but someone set up another less annoying one and many of us moved over there. \n  \nWe talk about all sorts of things. Big things. Life changing things\, small things\, an annoying drawer\, dogs barking in the night. Over the years we have learned what to share (so as not to annoy our loved ones) and what not to. I have had occasion to meet some of the people as they have passed through town. Mostly at Powell’s coffeeshop\, because\, why not? \n  \nOne of the lovely things about all this\, besides knowing what the weather is like all over the place each day\, is that we know each other well. One of us has developed dementia in the meantime and she uses her old posts to help her remember friends and events and we act as a kind of collective memory for her. \n  \nIt is a joy. And a bit weird. And not at all like Facebook. It has most determinedly enlarged my world. \n  \n—Elizabeth Domike \n* \n  \nI’ve still been thinking about the Dalai Laman’s top suggestion for cultivating Joy in one’s life. If we are suffering\, the Dalai Lama suggests that we get a wider perspective\, to see the bigger picture. \n  \nAfter reading the newsletter a few months ago with Black Elk’s vision and telling of the midwest Native massacres\,  I discovered i knew nothing of the Trail of Tears in the Willamette Valley.  \n  \nI read in National Geographic that a Mountain in the Cascade foothills near Cottage Grove was being renamed. From Mt. Swastika to Mt. Halo\, it was renamed for Chief Halo who had refused to move his family from his homeland in 1856.  From Tualatin to the Southern  Oregon border\, the indigenous People were forced to the coast where they were promised all the food they could eat. Most of the people died from disease or starvation along the route. The survivors ended up at two camps\, one on the southern coast and the other that is now the Confederated Tribes of Grand Ronde.   \n  \nIt is a paradox that to read this history and have more understanding  feels expansive.  It is easy to relate the stories to what is happening now in the Middle East\, and what has gone on for centuries. I can’t say it brings me Joy\, but it does make me have a broader view as well as deep compassion that will find a way to compassion in action. \n  \nReparation takes a long time\, but we do hear now recognition of those who lived on this land before European conquest. There is more awareness\, and realization that there are descendants that are struggling to keep their culture. And there are stories of returning land to tribe members from those who have benefited for years from  living on what was stolen.  \n  \nThere are books on this history\, written by Americans\, about the settlers and the US military and the tribes; about the Applegates\, the Indian government authorities\, and the Kalapuya. But now there is a book by scholar David Lewis\, a member of the Confederated Tribes of Grand Ronde.  Tribal Histories of the Willamette Valley tells the rich history and systematic removal of The Kalapuyans who lived in the Valley for thousands of years.  It opened my heart and mind to their/our ongoing story.  \n  \nAs we get older there is some letting go of despair over terrible news. Annie Lamott wrote about it this way recently\, about aging and insight\,  \n  \n“In my younger days when the news was too awful\, I sought meaning in it. Now not so much. The meaning is that we have come through so much\, and we take care of each other and\, against all odds\, heal\, imperfectly. We still dance\, but in certain weather\, it hurts. \nThe portals of age also lead to the profound (indeed earthshaking) understanding that people are going to do what people are going to do” \n  \nSo this leaves me with feeling that kindness on an everyday basis\, cultivating joy for the sake of those around me\, enjoying nature and art especially books are the things that matter most.  \n  \nMay we be healed\, may we be a source of healing for all beings. \n  \n—Katie Radditz \n  URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-2-1-24/ ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/02/0-1.jpeg END:VEVENT BEGIN:VEVENT DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20240115 DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20240215 DTSTAMP:20260425T090402 CREATED:20240117T214345Z LAST-MODIFIED:20240117T214513Z UID:4381-1705276800-1707955199@openroadpdx.com SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness 1/15/24 DESCRIPTION:  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n  \nJanuary 15\, 2023 \n  \nThe mind is its own place\, and in itself \nCan make a Heav’n of Hell\, a Hell of Heav’n. \n  \n—from “Paradise Lost” by John Milton \n* \n  \nA couple poems from Kim. I’d like to read the imaginary book that he wrote this prologue for: \n  \n                   Prologue \n  \nThis book should probably be banned \nbecause the author not only believes in  \nfreedom\, but practices freedom by talking  \nabout hard things that may distract you.  \nYou should probably not read this book  \nif you are afraid to see things in a new way\,  \nencounter ideas that require thought\, or  \ncome to know people you have discounted. \nIf anyone sees you reading this book\, they \nmay judge you in ways you can’t control.  \nThis book could cause young people to  \ndevelop open minds\, then—who knows \nwhat might happen? Maybe close this book  \nright now—unless you feel brave\, and free. \n  \n  \n                   Be Alive \n  \nSometimes you see it on the street \namong the many pedestrian pedestrians \ndragged by errands\, slouching toward work— \nthis one youth skipping with joy. \n  \nOr in the store where shoppers lean on carts  \nheaped with plunder\, one bright-eyed\,  \ngray-haired wisp of woman humming\,  \nbuoyant in the baking aisle. \n  \nDon’t die before you die. It’s possible\, even  \nin dark days to wake in wonder\, lift your gaze\,  \nmake them stare\, amaze the sleeping multitudes  \nby how you swim through air.  \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nI bless the redbrick \nobsolete city center \nfrom the nineteenth floor. \n  \n—Alex Tretbar \n* \n  \n#352  “Why Hurry to the Grave?” \n“There is no need for us to struggle to arrive somewhere else. We know that our final destination will be the cemetery. Why are we in a hurry to get there? Why not step in the direction of life\, which is in the present moment?” \n—from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh \n  \nHahaha! Oh\, that Thich Nhat Hanh has a funny bone in his body! Why hurry to the grave\, indeed?! There’s way too much living to do: too many dahlias to plant; too many dogs to save; kids to teach\, and kids to learn from; prisons to badger; trails to find\, or trails to find me; bike routes to tackle; Asian dishes to cook—wait! African and Indian dishes to try; short stories to write…. \n  \nEvery day is a new day. Every moment is a new moment.  \n  \nI want to take up cardiac surgery; there are a few hearts I’d like to transplant. \n  \nSo I’d better get moving—this January 29th I will be 80 years old. Ack!!! Oh well\, my dad was planting 10” Christmas tree seedlings when he was 90 years old. \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \nJill sent this quote: \n  \nBe kind to people; you never know what they’re going through. They might look perfectly normal\, but if you could see into their heart of hearts\, you might discover that they’re a poet\, forced to wander the world noticing\, noticing\, noticing\, until they’re hearts give out. I should know: my brother is one such unfortunate. So you never can tell. \n  \n—Sofia Warren \n  \n—Jill Littlewood \n* \n  \nThe Pelican \n  \nFinding oneself alone \nlocked out\, just after dark \nin snow\, 15 degrees\, \nwith only one’s clothes and one’s wits \nsharpens awareness of vulnerability. \n  \nA bit like a knife finds one’s weak spots. \n  \nBut this is about wittering\, \nor lack thereof. \nThe longing for much \nmaligned chit chat \nthat is the crack in a door left slightly open \nfor a glimpse of loss\, grief\, loneliness. \n  \nThat’s where the brown pelican \ncomes in\, prehistoric\, living \ndinosaur chasing an osprey\, \nterrifying huge bucket of a mouth open \nto catch\, hopefully\, a dropped fish. \n  \nWe sit with it. \n  \nThe fear\, the maw\, the missing\, \nthe nature of things. \n  \nAnd then we get up \ngo to the dining hall or grocery \nand make a joke to the person \nahead of us in line. \n  \nAbout the weather. \n   \n—Elizabeth Domike \n* \n  \nClear blue sky this morning. It’s cold out. Snow on the ground. Wondering what to write for the Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue—what to say about the unsayable. Emily’s poem pops into my mind\, and says what I want to say better than I can: \n  \nThe Infinite a sudden Guest \nHas been assumed to be — \nBut how can that stupendous come \nWhich never went away? \n  \n—Emily Dickinson \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nWe are experiencing snow with our original nature of AWE like we were children. \n  \nFurry Bear \n  \nIf I were a bear\,\n   And a big bear too\,\nI shouldn’t much care\n   If it froze or snew;\nI shouldn’t much mind\n   If it snowed or friz—\nI’d be all fur-lined\n   With a coat like his! \n  \nFor I’d have fur boots and a brown fur wrap\,\nAnd brown fur knickers and a big fur cap.\nI’d have a fur muffle-ruff to cover my jaws\,\nAnd brown fur mittens on my big brown paws.\nWith a big brown furry-down up to my head\,\nI’d sleep all the winter in a big fur bed. \n  \n—A.A. Milne \n  \n“When somebody has access  \nwho did not previously have access\,  \nthat’s powerful . . .” \n  \nI read this sign on the front of the Metro Newsletter about where to hike in Portland. The lead article was about who has access to the rivers and the hiking paths. Metro is creating more accessible paths for people with difficulty walking. How essential is our ability to wander in the woods\, to be in the wild\, by running water?   \n  \nI was reflecting on this quote on the way to the showing of Bushra’s film “A Midsummer Night’s Dream in Prison” at First Unitarian Church last Saturday. There was a wonder-full audience of receptive people who were astonished and moved by the beautiful experience of being able to see this story unfold. And I realized the profundity of access\, not only to people imprisoned\, but also to the friends\, mothers\, fathers\, daughters and sons who have not been able to visit their loved ones in prison. How powerful it is to have access to theater\, reading\, Shakespeare\, performing\, music\, visitors\, freedom\, transformation\, spectacle \, joy\, laughter\, hugging\, love—to feel so alive and engaged in life! \n  \nI received a new year poem from Kim and Perrin – “Be Alive” so timely. We have access to so much that can make us happy to be alive. Even when the power goes out\, branches are breaking\, the internet is disabled\, water only runs cold. When you wake in the dark under piles of quilts to stay warm\, as Perrin and Kim write in their poem\, “it’s possible\, even in dark days to wake in wonder.” \n  \nThis storm will pass.  \n  \nWith love and thanks to you all and our expanding community.   \n  \n—Katie Radditz \n  URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-1-15-24/ ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/01/IMG_5980-scaled.jpeg END:VEVENT BEGIN:VEVENT DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20240115 DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20240301 DTSTAMP:20260425T090402 CREATED:20240115T191521Z LAST-MODIFIED:20240115T193234Z UID:4368-1705276800-1709251199@openroadpdx.com SUMMARY:Martin Luther King Day! (1/15/24) & Black History Month in February DESCRIPTION: \n\n\n\n\nToday is Martin Luther King Day!\n\n\n\n\n \n \n\n\n\nBlack History Month is coming up in February!\n\n\n\n\n \n \n\n\n\nBelow is a link to a speech Dr. King gave a few days after Rosa Parks was arrested for not sitting at the back of a bus in Montgomery\, Alabama\, in 1955. As far as I know\, it is the earliest recorded speech of of his. The quality of the recording is not very good\, but it’s a miracle that we have it. This YouTube video contains a transcription of the speech. \n \nSomething happens near the end. The people in the church realize that in this moment\, in this place\, the world is going to change. The roof comes off the church.\n \nI’ve listened to this recording many times. I cry every time\, without fail.\n\n\n\n \n\n\n\n\nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5TmoFoG5P-U\n \n \n\npeace\, love & justice\n\nJohnny URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/martin-luther-king-day-black-history-month/ END:VEVENT END:VCALENDAR