Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue 2/15/23
2023-02-15 - 2023-03-14
Open Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue

February 15, 2023

Jason Beito sent this poem:

Cloud

Before you became a cloud, you were an ocean, roiled and
murmuring like a mouth. You were the shadow of a cloud
crossing over a field of tulips. You were the tears of a
man who cried into a plaid handkerchief. You were a sky
without a hat. Your heart puffed and flowered like sheets
drying on a line.

And when you were a tree, you listened to trees and the tree
things trees told you. You were the wind in the wheels of a
red bicycle. You were the spidery Maria tattooed on the
hairless arm of a boy in downtown Houston. You were the
rain rolling off the waxy leaves of a magnolia tree. A lock
of straw-colored hair wedged between the mottled pages of a
Victor Hugo novel. A crescent of soap. A spider the color
of a finger nail. The black nets beneath the sea of olive
trees. A skein of blue wool. A tea saucer wrapped in
newspaper. An empty cracker tin. A bowl of blueberries in
heavy cream. White wine in a green-stemmed glass.

And when you opened your wings to wind, across the
punched-tin sky above a prison courtyard, those condemned to
death and those condemned to life watched how smooth and
sweet a white cloud glides.

—Sandra Cisneros
*

Jinx

Trees spread their arms, birds open
their wings, rain falls on everyone,
and the wind brings breath to all.

When I’m lucky, do I mother my luck,
knowing how fragile fortune can be?
Am I generous and kind, letting luck
brim and flow, spill and splash to wash
everything I touch, everyone lucky enough
to stumble into this circle of light?

Or might I forget how happiness shuns
a place of no love, where luck leaks
from a fist clenched to keep it?

—Kim Stafford
*

Now I close my eyes,
and somewhere a butterfly
contemplates cocoon.

—Alex Tretbar
*

It’s Valentine’s Day. Love Day. I don’t know what love is, or where it comes from. It’s a Mystery! Wouldn’t it be lovely if everyone lived in love—if we all loved each other, and loved all the animals and plants and rivers and clouds and stones? Let’s try it and see what happens!

William Blake says:

Love to faults is always blind,
Always is to joy inclin’d,
Lawless, wing’d & unconfin’d,
And breaks all chains from every mind

—Johnny Stallings
*
Happy Valentine’s Day!
Loving Kindness Meditation goes hand in hand with Mindfulness says Thich Nhat Hanh.
Here is a link to Thay giving a rare Metta meditation for LovingKindness.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5luvQp–B8U
Is there a difference between being nice and being kind? After practicing LovingKindness meditation I’ve been feeling a pull to agree, to say yes, to be more present,.. Kindness itself is a practice that can make us become and feel more engaged – with others, in causes, and in our own true self as well. This feels like what it means to have meaning in our life.
“Just being nice will not be enough to save civility in today’s world. It will take the patience and focus of true and loving-kindness.” writes Donna Cameron. She has a book about her year of consciously Living Kindly. She continues:
“Kindness is how you see the world, and you be kind because it needs to be done. On the other hand, . . . You can remain distant and still be nice, but that’s not the case with kindness.
Kindness doesn’t mean becoming saintly!
No, we all are humans, and all of us tend to falter now and then. Just because you get angry and upset doesn’t mean you cannot or should not practice being kind.
Health benefits of kindness
Kindness has a major effect on our emotional, mental, and physical health. Studies have shown that kindness raises serotonin and oxytocin levels in our bodies, and these chemicals make us happier. This surge isn’t permanent, hence you have to keep practicing kind acts to keep the level up. These chemicals also help in reducing blood pressure and inflammation.
Not only that, kindness eases our relationships therefore drastically reducing our stress levels. Interestingly, witnessing a kind act also has the same impact on our body as performing a kind act does. Each act of kindness establishes neural pathways, therefore it becomes easier and more natural over time.”
Invitation: Think of a time you received a kindness, something small that may have changed you, or that you often think of even though you may have been young.
Or join a Monday night LovingKindness meditation with me and others. Here’s a link if you would like to sign in. It is free, every Monday 8-8:30 p.m. Drop in.
https://www.firstunitarianportland.org/events/lovingkindnessmeditation/
A metta practice for you: Thich Nhat Hanh says there is value in practicing Metta even 5 minutes a day.

May I be at peace.
May my heart remain open.
May I awaken to the light of my own true nature.
May I be healed.
May I be a source of healing for all beings.

Continue with loved ones – You, We, then one you may have a conflict with, then with the whole world.
May we know Peace. May we know love.

“Only your compassion and your loving kindness are invincible, and without limit.” “Smile, breathe and go slowly.” – Thay

— Katie Radditz

Katie also sent this poem by Juan Felipe Herrera:

Song Out Here

if i could sing
i’d say everything you know
from here on the street can you turn around
just for once i am here
right behind you
what is that flag what is it made of
maybe it’s too late i have
too many questions where did it all come from
what colors is it all made of everything
everything here in the subways
there are so many things and voices
we are going somewhere but i just don’t know
somewhere
but i just don’t know
somewhere
do you know where that is i want to sing
so you can hear me and maybe you can tell me
where to go so you can hear me and just maybe
you can tell me where to go
all those hands and legs and faces going places
if i could sing
you would hear me and i would tell you
it’s gonna be alright
it’s gonna be alright
it’s gonna be alright it would be something like that
can you turn around so i can look into your eyes
just for once your eyes
maybe like hers can you see her
and his can you see them i want you to see them
all of us we could be together
if i could sing we would go there
we would run there together
we would live there for a while in that tilted
tiny house by the ocean rising up inside of us
i am on the curb next to a curled up cat
smoking i know its bad for you but
you know how it is just for once can you turn around
a straight line falling behind you it’s me i want to sing
invincible bleeding out with love

just for you

— Juan Felipe Herrera
*

I keep what is sacred to me
safe in the heart of the sun.
The path is a maze of stairs
made for the ones I love.
All are welcome & if you’re
able all can come.
Just being yourself as
you were always meant to be.
Everyone is welcomed and
all are accepted by me.

—Rocky Hutchinson
*

The Pause

When I read a poem in the mornings
to the people in boxes on the screen,
dear people, beloved all,
they settle, they listen
and when I am done
they don’t look at each other,
or at me.

They look up.

Many times, depending of course
on the poem, there will be a half smile.

The threads the words weave
are a nest for us to rest in together
to ponder, wonder, absorb.

There is a pause.

We chat then briefly,
sometimes seriously,
sometimes frivolously,
about an image,
a confusion,
or something else entirely.

We learn about each other.

Then we disperse out into the day,
separate, yet connected by the resonant
imprint of a shared moment of apprehending
something we hadn’t thought of ourselves.

—Elizabeth Domike

A Midsummer Night's Dream in Prison Goes to Santa Fe!
2023-02-19 16:00 - 18:00 (America/Los_Angeles)
GREAT NEWS!!!
A Midsummer Night’s Dream in Prison will be shown at the Santa Fe Film Festival on February 19th, at 4 p.m. The festival runs from February 17-26, 2023. You can get tickets from the festival website: http://santafefilmfestival.com/index/festivals/2023-santa-fe-film-festival/
Actors William Foote and Allen Mills will be in attendance, along with the play’s director, Johnny Stallings.

Bibliophiles Unanimous! Snowed In!
2023-02-26 15:00 - 17:00
Beloved Bibliophiles!

On Sunday, January 26th, at 3 p.m. (PST) our theme will be: SNOWED IN! What are you reading? What’s a good book to read when you’ve got a lot of time on your hands? When you’re snowed in? What are your favorite (fat?) books of all time?
Here’s the Zoom link:

https://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058

peace & love
Johnny

peace, love, happiness & understanding 3/2/23
2023-03-02 - 2023-04-05
photograph by Kim Stafford

THE OPEN ROAD
peace, love, happiness & understanding

March 2, 2023

I invited some friends to…
…please send me one of your favorite poems and say a little bit about why you like it. Here’s what people sent:

Vernal Sentiment

Though the crocuses poke up their heads in the usual places,
The frog scum appear on the pond with the same froth of green,
And boys moon at girls with last year’s fatuous faces,
I never am bored, however familiar the scene.

When from under the barn the cat brings a similar litter,—
Two yellow and black, and one that looks in between,—
Though it all happened before, I cannot grow bitter:
I rejoice in the spring, as though no spring ever had been.

—Theodore Roethke

I think why I am so fond of this poem and tend to read it every spring, often many times, is that it captures perfectly my delight and joy as the subtle and sometimes not so subtle signs of spring emerge. And yes, “I (truly) rejoice in the spring, as though no spring ever had been.” This short poem seems almost perfect to me and brings me joy just as witnessing the first signs of the pussy willows, the first call of the returning robins, the glorious scent of daphne wafting over the damp air, enlivens me and gets my pulse slightly elevated. Roethke masterfully captures the delight that is so available in the ordinary!!. I believe that we all need to pay more attention to these ordinary miracles that reveal themselves if we pay attention.

Cheers my friend!

—Jeffrey Sher
*

After an Illness, Walking the Dog

Wet things smell stronger,
and I suppose his main regret is that
he can sniff just one at a time.
In a frenzy of delight
he runs way up the sandy road—
scored by freshets after five days
of rain. Every pebble gleams, every leaf.

When I whistle he halts abruptly
and steps in a circle,
swings his extravagant tail.
The he rolls and rubs his muzzle
in a particular place, while the drizzle
falls without cease, and Queen Anne’s lace
and Goldenrod bend low.

The top of the logging road stands open
and light. Another day, before
hunting starts, we’ll see how far it goes,
leaving word first at home.
The footing is ambiguous.

Soaked and muddy, the dog drops,
panting, and looks up with what amounts
to a grin. It’s so good to be uphill with him,
nicely winded, and looking down on the pond.

A sound commences in my left ear
like the sound of the sea in a shell;
a downward, vertiginous drag comes with it.
Time to head home. I wait
until we’re nearly out to the main road
to put him back on the leash, and he
—the designated optimist—

imagines to the end that he is free.

—Jane Kenyon

I like the designated optimist and think of him or her often.

—Elizabeth Domike
*

My favorite poems….of the moment!
And I’m cheating a bit as I am sending in two short ones, from two extremely different writers and I list the books they are from as the books are quite spectacular.

First:
Untitled. From Conflict Resolution for Holy Beings by Joy Harjo. Really the entire book is an intact work but here is a current favorite small poem. Harjo is Creek/Muskogee, writes intimately from within a native community, is a former US Poet Laureate and a jazz saxophonist.

I thought of all the doors that had opened and closed.
I thought of how so many I loved were no longer on
This earth. I thought of all my mother’s songs looking
For a place to live. I thought of all the Saturdays in the
World. I started with G and rounded the bend at B-flat.
I followed my soul.

—Joy Harjo

Second:
“A Meadow” from Facing the River by Czeslaw Milosz. Again the book is really a unit, written after returning to his native village after being in exile for fifty years. He grew up in then-Lithuania, now Poland, survived the Nazi invasion, the Soviet invasion and then Occupation. He first served with the Communist government but soon left. He won the Nobel prize for Literature.

It was a riverside meadow, lush, from before the hay harvest,
On an immaculate day in the sun of June.
I searched for it, found it, recognized it.
Grasses and flowers grew there familiar in my childhood.
With half-closed eyelids I absorbed luminescence.
And the scent garnered me, all knowing ceased.
Suddenly I felt I was disappearing and weeping with joy.

—Czeslaw Milosz

—Deborah Buchanan
*

The Waking

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.

Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.

—Theodore Roethke

Hands down my favorite poem. Every morning when I wake up, I try to not be in a rush, or have a plan, but let life take me slowly into the day, and learn from where it takes me.

—Dave Duncan
*

Here’s my submission to your beautiful request, and I will say it might not be my “favorite” poem but it is an artifact in my younger life when I somehow imparted the power of poetry to my two now grown daughters.

Easter, 1916

I have met them at close of day
Coming with vivid faces
From counter or desk among grey
Eighteenth-century houses.
I have passed with a nod of the head
Or polite meaningless words,
Or have lingered awhile and said
Polite meaningless words,
And thought before I had done
Of a mocking tale or a gibe
To please a companion
Around the fire at the club,
Being certain that they and I
But lived where motley is worn:
All changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.

That woman’s days were spent
In ignorant good-will,
Her nights in argument
Until her voice grew shrill.
What voice more sweet than hers
When, young and beautiful,
She rode to harriers?
This man had kept a school
And rode our wingèd horse;
This other his helper and friend
Was coming into his force;
He might have won fame in the end,
So sensitive his nature seemed,
So daring and sweet his thought.
This other man I had dreamed
A drunken, vainglorious lout.
He had done most bitter wrong
To some who are near my heart,
Yet I number him in the song;
He, too, has resigned his part
In the casual comedy;
He, too, has been changed in his turn,
Transformed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.

Hearts with one purpose alone
Through summer and winter seem
Enchanted to a stone
To trouble the living stream.
The horse that comes from the road,
The rider, the birds that range
From cloud to tumbling cloud,
Minute by minute they change;
A shadow of cloud on the stream
Changes minute by minute;
A horse-hoof slides on the brim,
And a horse plashes within it;
The long-legged moor-hens dive,
And hens to moor-cocks call;
Minute by minute they live:
The stone’s in the midst of all.

Too long a sacrifice
Can make a stone of the heart.
O when may it suffice?
That is Heaven’s part, our part
To murmur name upon name,
As a mother names her child
When sleep at last has come
On limbs that had run wild.
What is it but nightfall?
No, no, not night but death;
Was it needless death after all?
For England may keep faith
For all that is done and said.
We know their dream; enough
To know they dreamed and are dead;
And what if excess of love
Bewildered them till they died?
I write it out in a verse—
MacDonagh and MacBride
And Connolly and Pearse
Now and in time to be,
Wherever green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.

—William Butler Yeats

—Mark Danley
*

My favorite poem has often been one by T’ao Ch’ien (365-427 A.D. ), translated by David Hinton. Here is this one:

Together, We all go out Under the Cypress Trees in the Chou Family Burial-Grounds

Today’s skies are perfect for a clear
flute and singing koto. And touched
this deeply by those laid under these
cypress trees, how could we neglect joy?
Clear songs drift away anew. Emerald wine
starts pious faces smiling. No knowing
what tomorrow brings, it’s exquisite
exhausting whatever i feel here and now.

—T’ao Ch’ien

I feel T’ao Ch’ien as present as my Great Aunt Emma, who knew much deprivation but was so joyful that we would arrive for a visit to the Farm. We would sit out in the grass looking for four leaf clovers for hours, and she would bake us blackberry pies.

I like to write back to T’ao Ch’ien—over many years now. He has inspired me to stop, be in the wild, appreciate the moment as beauty at the same time, feeling all that’s been lost and is gone. And he led me to the Buddhist sutras!!

I also love to find another poet respond to him, like Billy Collins does, below. Though it may not be for T’ao Ch’ien himself, it’s across time and distance, enchanted still in the twentieth century by what they wrote in the the fifth.

Reading an Anthology of Chinese Poems of the Sung Dynasty, I pause to Admire the Length and Clarity of their Titles

It seems these poets have nothing
up their ample sleeves
they turn over so many cards so early,
telling us before the first line
whether it is wet or dry,
night or day, the season the man is standing in,
even how much he has had to drink.

Maybe it is autumn and he is looking at a sparrow.
Maybe it is snowing on a town with a beautiful name.

“Viewing Peonies at the Temple of Good Fortune
on a Cloudy Afternoon” is one of Sun Tung Po’s.
“Dipping Water from the River and Simmering Tea”
is another one, or just
“On a Boat, Awake at Night.”

And Lu Yu takes the simple rice cake with
“In a Boat on a Summer Evening
I Heard the Cry of a Waterbird.
It Was Very Sad and Seemed To Be Saying
My Woman Is Cruel—Moved, I Wrote This Poem.”

There is no iron turnstile to push against here
as with headings like “Vortex on a String,”
“The Horn of Neurosis,” or whatever.
No confusingly inscribed welcome mat to puzzle over.

Instead, “I Walk Out on a Summer Morning
to the Sound of Birds and a Waterfall”
is a beaded curtain brushing over my shoulders.

And “Ten Days of Spring Rain Have Kept Me Indoors”
is a servant who shows me into the room
where a poet with a thin beard
is sitting on a mat with a jug of wine
whispering something about clouds and cold wind,
about sickness and the loss of friends.

How easy he has made it for me to enter here,
to sit down in a corner,
cross my legs like his, and listen.

—Billy Collins

—Katie Radditz
*

May I never be complete
May I never be content
May I never be perfect

From Fight Club! I remember reading that over 10 years ago and being inspired by the hidden beauty of a concept like willing ones self to never want completeness… I’m going to always be learning growing struggling to figure out what the hell I am on this Giant beautiful rock… It’s not easy to accept flaws… growing… Being content as in settled in, not striving to learn… it’s a beautiful sentiment… That’s my fav poem… That I’ll prolly get tattooed someday.

—Jeff Kuehner
*

Max Ritvo is one of my favorite poets, and “Afternoon” is my favorite poem by him. He died young, of cancer, and he produced a great deal of work during his final years, while he was very sick. I find much to admire in this poem, but perhaps what stays with me the most, and will always stay with me, is the fountain. I won’t spoil it. Just read the poem and see for yourself.

Afternoon

When I was about to die
my body lit up
like when I leave my house
without my wallet.

What am I missing? I ask
patting my chest
pocket.
and I am missing everything living
that won’t come with me
into this sunny afternoon

—my body lights up for life
like all the wishes being granted in a fountain
at the same instant—
all the coins burning the fountain dry—

and I give my breath
to a small bird-shaped pipe.

In the distance, behind several voices
haggling, I hear a sound like heads
clicking together. Like a game of pool,

played with people by machines.

—Max Ritvo

—Alex Tretbar
*

Valentine

On the eve of the apocalypse,
the wild turkeys are tuning up for their dance, flared
stately stepping upon the new fallen snow
I continue to ponder

Ruby Crowned Kinglet.
He is fixed in my mind because
unknown to him,
set upon a background of olive green feathers
embering with gold and
floating above his brain there glows
a fire ruby jewel.

Like the mandalas radiating from ancient bodhisattvas,
the feathered crown of hunter gatherer peoples, branched trees on
the halos of saints, the heads of shamans
that they say all together,
look how I see you.
See how you look through my open heart.

—Ken Hunt

Ken Hunt is an artist, saddle-maker, horse-trainer living in a remote canyon in NE Oregon, and he has a vibrant sense of his place and the creatures there. He lives close to all kinds of wild beings, and in this poem brings them close to us, so close they can see through our eyes and hearts.

—Kim Stafford
*

Deb thought another poem would not go amiss, so she invited me to join your party this once.

Among lots of favorite poems, Frost’s “Mending Wall” has grown in depth to me for my whole life. Frost’s simple example demonstrates how we sabotage unity by drawing thick lines between groups and positions, and then fighting over them. The poem details how we carefully resurrect these divisions, where they aren’t needed. The conflict is merely hinted at.

Once, after I had written about the poem in my weekly blog, a friend told me that the PM of Israel, don’t recall which, had recently cited the poem to justify their apartheid: “good fences make good neighbors.” Of course, this is the antithesis of the poem, but how many tumultuous patriots would have known this? On behalf of Frost’s dignity and immense compassion, I humbly offer perhaps his greatest poem, though it does have competitors in his oeuvre.

Mending Wall

Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
‘Stay where you are until our backs are turned!’
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of out-door game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, ‘Good fences make good neighbors.’
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
‘Why do they make good neighbors? Isn’t it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offense.
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That wants it down.’ I could say ‘Elves’ to him,
But it’s not elves exactly, and I’d rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father’s saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, ‘Good fences make good neighbors.’

—Robert Frost

—Scott Teitsworth
*

That Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself” is my all-time favorite poem is a well-known fact (among my friends), but I have many favorite poems. In the not-too-distant past (five years ago, maybe?) I had the great good fortune to come upon the writings of Thomas Traherne (1637-1674). His poems and meditations were first published in 1903, ten years after they were rediscovered in manuscript—229 years after his death. I often start the day by reading a poem and/or a meditation by him. His wild delight is contagious. He helps me to get the day off to a glorious start. The first four poems in The Collected Works of Thomas Traherne are all sublime: “The Salutation,” “Wonder,” “Eden,” and “Innocence.” Here’s the first:

The Salutation

These little limbs,
These eyes and hands which here I find,
These rosy cheeks wherewith my life begins,
Where have ye been? behind
What curtain were ye from me hid so long?
Where was, in what abyss, my speaking tongue?

When silent I
So many thousand, thousand years
Beneath the dust did in a chaos lie,
How could I smiles or tears,
Or lips or hands or eyes or ears perceive?
Welcome ye treasures which I now receive.

I that so long
Was nothing from eternity,
Did little think such joys as ear or tongue
To celebrate or see:
Such sounds to hear, such hands to feel, such feet,
Beneath the skies on such a ground to meet.

New burnished joys,
Which yellow gold and pearls excel!
Such sacred treasures are the limbs in boys,
In which a soul doth dwell;
Their organised joints and azure veins
More wealth include than all the world contains.

From dust I rise,
And out of nothing now awake;
These brighter regions which salute mine eyes,
A gift from God I take.
The earth, the seas, the light, the day, the skies,
The sun and stars are mine, if those I prize.

Long time before
I in my mother’s womb was born,
A God preparing did this glorious store
The world for me adorn.
Into this Eden so divine and fair,
So wide and bright, I come His son and heir.

A stranger here
Strange things doth meet, strange glories see;
Strange treasures lodged in this fair world appear,
Strange all and new to me;
But that they mine should be, who nothing was,
That strangest is of all, yet brought to pass.

—Thomas Traherne

—Johnny Stallings
*

I Corinthians, Chapter 13, which ends:

Love never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tonguers, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away.
For we know in part, and we prophesy in part.
But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away.
When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.
For now we see through a glass darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part: but then shall I know even as also I am known.
And now abideth faith, hope, and love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.

—Ken Margolis

Bibliophiles Unanimous!: Memorize a Poem!
2023-03-12 15:00 - 17:00
Beloved Bibliophiles!

For Sunday, March 12th, at 3 p.m. (PST): MEMORIZE A POEM! Do you know any poems by heart? Did you used to know some poems that have gotten rusty? Is there a poem that you would like to learn and be able to recite? This is your chance!
Bring a poem or poems that you would like to share. (Extra points if you know the poem by heart.)
Here’s the Zoom link:

https://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058

I hope to see you there!

peace & love
Johnny

Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue 3/15/23
2023-03-15 - 2023-04-15
photo by Kim Stafford

Open Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue

March 15, 2023

Any object, intensely regarded, may be a gate of access to the incorruptible eon of the gods.

—from Ulysses by James Joyce, p. 340
*

All truths wait in all things.

—from “Song of Myself” by Walt Whitman
*

#344 To Cherish Your Beloved

“When we know that the person we love is impermanent, we will cherish our beloved all the more. Impermanence teaches us to respect and value every moment and all the precious things around us. When we practice mindfulness of impermanence, we become fresher and more loving.”
–from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh

It can be mighty hard to be constantly aware of our beloved’s impermanence—or of our own impermanence, and to be endlessly fresher and more loving. That can be exhausting, to be honest.

Another way to be reminded of cherishing your loved one is to have someone close to you die swiftly and unexpectedly. This is happening right now, in this moment. Kim is my dear friend, and her husband, who is/was my dear friend, too, just died two days ago. He collapsed at home while Kim and I were walking on the waterfront and having coffee in Hood River, as we do once a week or more. She returned home, intending to run errands with John and found him on the floor, unresponsive, unconscious. 911, Skyline Hospital, Emanuel Hospital in Portland, where doctors found a blood clot which had traveled to his brain from the left ventricle, causing multiple, massive strokes. And John is gone. How does one express shock and disbelief and utter grief… So here it is: Impermanence at work.

My heart and soul are with her right now. I love her and want to hold her close. But the one I also really want to hold close is my husband. I am instantly drawn to cherish him and all we have together, all we have had for 39 years together. He is in Arizona right now, and I will fly down next week. I call him and tell him I love him dearly, and thank him for the life we have together. I tell him I miss him and can’t wait to hold him and be held.

I am aware that this is how I always want to be with him, this expressive and caring and loving, and maybe, just maybe, I will be able to cherish my beloved due to the impermanence (and sacrifice) of another.

—Jude Russell
*

Small Offering

This evening I would be the emperor of delay
if I could order the small bird with bluish
plumage to drop his fish and look up
to see violet angels weave a tapestry
of dreams with the four evening elements.

Here at Sunset Point, the overlook
is high enough that mist hovers
in patches. Sunlight sweeps from above
highlighting the solid wall of mountains.
The bird dives again, silver flash in his beak.

—Elizabeth Domike
*

DHARMA

Six months after I turned seventy I moved into an ashram where I would reside for the next 9 1⁄2 years (2012-2021) of my life. I’d been assisting in the care of my mother for two years, and when she passed on, one week after her 96th birthday, I was in a state of ambivalence as to why I had no feeling of grief, or even the slightest indication of sadness. How could this be? I was her only son, and had dutifully been there for Her in these past years– cooking for her, reading to her, rubbing her swollen legs, heavy with edema; escorting her on shopping trips and pleasant drives through the golden wheat fields of her childhood in North Central Oregon. Was I experiencing a kind of release from a period of time that had kept me so preoccupied that my own needs for self-examination and intellectual stimulation were suffocating?

I had spent two years in England (1983-85) studying the metaphysical philosophy of Rudolf Steiner, but had not yet arrived at that internal place of a disciplined practice in study and meditation—of simplifying the material circumstances of my daily life; of coming to grasp the ego-transcendent state of the Eternal Self. And so when I was offered a room in the Portland ashram of the Sarada Ramakrishna Vivekananda order at the behest of the guru, Robert Kindler, I decided that a quiet and spiritually dedicated environment might inspire and deepen self-reflection. I might add that I had had the benefit of seven years of coming to know and respect the depth of the guru’s knowledge of the sacred texts of ancient India—the Upanishads, Bhagavad Gita, and the Puranas, as well as the Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna (most recent avatar of West Bengal (b. 1836-’86)—through frequent classes and retreats. And I was further inspired by his remarkable facility in speaking the ancient Sanskrit slokas (passages from scripture), as well as his gift of musicianship, having been a professional orchestral cellist with abilities to compose and perform hymns of praise offered to the deities of the Hindu spiritual tradition.

I took a small 12’ x 12’ room, and began an exploration of ashram regimen—sharing a simple and contemplative daily schedule of 6am/10pm meditation, vegetarian diet, weekly classes of scriptural study, and shared maintenance and cooking chores amongst the four of us—two men and two women—co-habitants upon the dharmic path. The intent was to “still” the restless mind to enable a depth of self-perception whereby the ephemerality/impermanence of day-to-day “reality” (regarded as Maya—the veil covering the eternal truths of aparanama (free of change) and ajativada (birthless/deathless)), could be grasped, and the elevated state of consciousness attained by the sages, seers, siddhis, yogis and saviors could be glimpsed.

My 9 1⁄2 years, grounded in a consistent daily meditation practice, and an inquisitive research into the philosophical richness of the sacred texts of India, as well as the offering of my service/work in maintaining the grounds and shrines, and serving as “the Abbot of the Ashram, has deepened my self- perception and brought me to a place of self-trust and contentment at a depth that I have never before experienced. And I am inspired to proffer this brief koan-like offering from my experiential Realizations (aparokshanubhuti)

THE YOGI SITS IN THE CAVE OF THE HEART,
ONE EYE OPEN

—Sam A. Muller
*

God Praying

Sometimes we are discouraged from praying,
we lose faith in the possibility of prayer,
everything seems blocked.
We have no trust in words,
in ourselves,
we feel exiled, distant.
There is no one to awaken compassion for us.
From within our despair
we can reveal a new opening,
a surprising one,
and ask God to pray for us,
to give words to our inner scream,
to have compassion on us in our exile.

—Rabbi Singer

This idea melts my mind. I thought it was to God I’ve been praying, and now Rabbi Singer (and others) suggest I now ask God to pray for me—to whom, though? To ask the Self-Existent One to peer into my deepest recesses, where I’m oft too scared to look, and express, for me, my deepest heart’s desires. It seems both ludicrous and sensible all at the same time. Can I just sit here with my self—all inclusive—and allow those hidden away hopes, dreams, feelings, memories, etc., to just percolate up for Divine consideration or attention. Truth is, God should already “know” these things—all knowing and all—which means I need only sit with and accept these pesky demons (self-made?) as part of my experience.

—Michel Deforge, February 4, 2023
*

Alex Tretbar sent this poem by Jessica Jacobs:

Godwrestling

The river has tasted the salt of your skin, has lapped
at your calves with its current. The river has swallowed

the press of your steps. There is no record of your crossing.
The river is between you and everything you call your life.

So you step into a stranger’s arms. Your shoulder fits
theirs like a bone in its socket. Your jaw notches theirs.

All around you, a profusion of oleanders beams
back the moonlight, offering a carpet of fallen petals.

In your arms, all the promises you’ve yet to keep, all
you’ve done that shames you. But what is wrestling

if not an embrace? It’s too dark to know
you have the same face and only like this, cheek to cheek,

each looking over the other’s shoulder, can you see
the world whole. Close, at first, as a slow dance,

you spin and spin, your tracks a tight coin; matched,
you step out, making a spear tip of your bodies; matched,

you step further, levered like rafters, needing the other
to stay aloft—your tracks trace widening circles, ringing

out through the fallen blossoms. Names are required
only when not alone. This stranger

does not give you a new name, just dippers up
the true one you tender in your chest. The day is breaking

the night’s hold. The far bank is calling.
On one side, you. On the other, your life. Join them.

—Jessica Jacobs
*

Any object, intensely regarded, may be a gate of access to the incorruptible eon of the gods.

–from Ulysses by James Joyce, p. 340

Here’s what Joseph Campbell has to say about this passage from Ulysses:

“I mentioned this basic theme before with respect to the esthetic experience: Any object can open back to the mystery of the universe. You can take any object whatsoever—a stick or stone, a dog or a child—draw a ring around it so that it is seen as separate from everything else, and thus contemplate it in its mystery aspect—the aspect of the mystery of its being, which is the mystery of all being—and it will have there and then become a proper object of worshipful regard. So, any object can become an adequate base for meditation, since the whole mystery of man and of nature and of everything else is in any object that you want to regard. This idea, the anagogical inspiration of Joyce’s art, is what we are getting in this little moment.”

—from Mythic Worlds, Modern Words: On the Art of James Joyce by Joseph Campbell, p. 130

Here’s one of my small poems that seems à propos:

a bowl of oatmeal
and a cup of coffee
did you think heaven was up in the sky somewhere?

—Johnny Stallings
*

More of my thoughts on LovingKindness meditation:

Before beginning Loving Kindness meditation practice each Monday, I center myself remembering my friend and teacher Bob Schaibly. His teaching mantra was, “What the World Needs from Us is our Non-Anxious Presence.” Reciting and listening to the Loving Kindness phrases these past couple of years, I have come to understand that this is what we are training ourselves to do. To find equanimity and to be able in the midst of changes—good or bad—to find stability in equanimity. This doesn’t mean being passive or uncaring, but to have courage, to not let our emotions make us frantic, to not react immediately with judgement. In this way we can stay present to whatever might arise. We can observe and check our fears and anger and deep sadness without causing harm to ourselves and others, without blocking our feelings.

Compassion in Sanskrit means being present—with yourself or with another. I have two stories that came to my mind about acts of kindness on a small scale that are examples of compassion in action. When I had a bookstore in downtown Portland, one day two people I hardly knew, came in and presented me with a rose. Just to say thank you for having the bookstore where they always felt happy to browse and meet up. I was stunned. They said they liked to go places that make them feel happy and take a flower or two. I also heard a story last week about a woman who wished she could do something for her sick uncle who lived far away. She sent him a bouquet of flowers. He called her and said that in his long life, no one had ever sent him flowers and he was so thankful.

Thich Nhat Hanh says it takes mindfulness training with loving kindness to bring compassion. He writes:

“Loving kindness should be practiced every day. Suppose you have a transistor radio. To tune into the radio station you like, you need a battery. In order to get linked to the power of loving kindness of bodhisattvas, buddhas, and other great beings, you need to tune in to the “station” of loving kindness that is being sent from the ten directions. Then you only need to sit on the grass and practice breathing and enjoying.

But many of us are not capable of doing that because the feeling of loneliness, of being cut off from the world, is so severe we cannot reach out. We do not realize that if we are moved by the imminent death of an insect, if we see an insect suffering and we do something to help, already this energy of loving kindness is in us. If we take a small stick and help the insect out of the water, we can also reach out to the cosmos. The energy of loving kindness in us becomes real, and we derive a lot of joy from it.

The Fourth Precept of the Order of Interbeing tells us to be aware of suffering in the world, not to close our eyes before suffering. Touching those who suffer is one way to generate the energy of compassion in us, and compassion will bring joy and peace to ourselves and others. The more we generate the energy of loving kindness in ourselves, the more we are able to receive the joy, peace, and love of the buddhas and bodhisattvas throughout the cosmos.”

Last Sunday, I heard a story about an acrobat flying from one trapeze bar to the next. It was a story about letting go of how things have been in the past in order to break free and into some new engagement. Even though we might not know what that will be. In Buddhism, the term for this refreshing process is “renunciation.” Rather than giving up things it is about what we practice in LovingKindness: becoming aware of where we might feel an aversion—a fear, a grudge, anxiety, resentment—by recognizing it, then softening our hearts, we can let these negative emotions have less power over us. Through that we find more equanimity and ability to act with compassion, with ourselves and for others. With that foremost in our minds, we can become unstuck and as Bob encouraged us, to participate fully in the midst of life’s difficulties with a non-anxious presence.

in love and peace,

—Katie Radditz

World Premiere of "In the Beginning": a film by Prabu Muruganantham
2023-03-26 14:00 - 16:00
“In the Beginning” is a 24 minute narrative short fiction that tells the story of a young man of color–newly released from prison–who returns to society with the hope of beginning a new life. He discovers on his solitary journey that the world sees him only as his crime.

Premiere Details:

When: March 26, 2023 at 2PM
Where: The Hollywood Theatre
Tickets and Trailer: Click here

The topic of the film is close to our hearts—some of the actors in this film have experienced incarceration in Oregon prisons themselves. The film screening will be followed by an artist-audience panel Q&A on the film and the challenges of post-prison life.

Proceeds will go to Open Hearts Open Minds, an Oregon-based non-profit organization that supports individuals serving prison sentences through arts and dialogue.

Looking forward to seeing you at the screening!

~Prabu

peace, love, happiness & understanding 4/6/23
2023-04-06 - 2023-05-03
The Rink

THE OPEN ROAD
peace, love, happiness & understanding

April 6, 2023

I invited some friends to write something about their favorite films…
When we read a great book, we want all our friends to read it. When we watch a great movie, we want all our friends to see it.
For the next issue of peace, love, happiness & understanding, which comes out on April 6th, write something about movies, films, or tv shows that you love.
*

Prabu’s film “In the Beginning” reminded me of the old, scratchy, haunting film “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge,” based on a civil war story by Ambrose Bierce. Much darker than what Prabu offered us, but a similar visual narrative of a man trying to negotiate a mysterious world.
https://vimeo.com/15147706

—Kim Stafford
*

At the top of my list is “Ted Lasso.” The improbable premise of this tv show is that the central character is nice. He’s generous to everyone. He has a corny sense of humor. He’s a good man. Whoever thought you could make stories about someone like that? The film that first came to mind is “Wings of Desire” by Wim Wenders. It’s about angels, who are invisible to most people, who help us to reduce stress and think positive thoughts by their presence. They are immortal, but they are missing out on many human pleasures, like the smell of coffee. Nancy and I love the films of Wes Anderson. Our favorite is “Moonrise Kingdom.” Of Coen brothers’ films, it’s a toss-up for me between “The Big Lebowski” and “Hail, Caesar!” I love the Australian film “Bliss” (1985), based on the novel by Peter Carey. Another classic is Terry Gilliam’s hilarious dystopian vision “Brazil” (also 1985!). I love the early silent films of Georges Méliès. “The Kingdom of the Fairies” (1903) is especially good. For physical comedy, Charlie Chaplin’s “The Rink” remains unsurpassed.

—Johnny Stallings
*

A favorite film of mine is, ‘The count of Monte Cristo’.
It embodies the tireless effort for justice, and a will to not give in to the deeds of those that seek ones demise.
The character, Edmond Dontez (later, the Count) is someone I could relate to while in captivity (prison). He spent 16 years seeking a way out, to avenge the wrongdoings of his peers.
He eventually did, and along the way, learned many other lessons about life and forgiveness.
Essentially for me, the story/film is an inspiration to never give up or give in. And to never forget where I came from, for it is fuel for my fire.

—Brandon Gillespie

Thanks for the invitation Johnny. A few ideas:

As for happiness, along with some heartbreak and comic flair, it’s hard to beat the book This Is Happiness by the Irish writer Niall Williams. I felt like I was living in a village in county Kerry the whole time I was reading the book. In the end I felt like I had made new friends, been wrapped in a prayer blanket, fed a good meal and sent home along a winding green path with a fiddle tune and a song. It made me hopeful, appreciative and aware of the happiness lurking in my own backyard. Superb writing!

As for film, “The Mission” (Robert Dinero) comes to mind not because of peace or happiness but because of understanding and the meaning of redemption and forgiveness. The music is sublime and the scenery stunningly beautiful. A sad reminder as well of what artistic and cultural creations might have been had peace, love, understanding and imagination prevailed over avarice and greed.

Opening day of baseball season always makes me happy. Here’s a poem I wrote about it. Love and Play Ball!!! Will

Why Baseball Matters

Because in a world obsessed with time, baseball is a past-time.
Because any game could theoretically last into eternity.
Because baseball is played on a diamond.
Because in a world obsessed by success even the best hitters fail two-thirds of the time.
Because, as George Carlin reminded us, football is about “ground and aerial attacks”, and “marching down the field” while baseball is about “staying safe and coming home.”
Because what other game has characters named “Goose, the Big Hurt, the Left Hand of God, the Splendid Splinter, The Say Hey Kid, the Sultan of Swat, Catfish, Hammerin’ Hank, Cool Papa, the Bird, Big Papi, The Man of Steal, Satchel, the Big Unit and the Iron Horse?”
Because the crowd takes a stretch and sings together at the ballpark.
Because despite all efforts to improve the game, baseball remains blessedly slow, wonderfully conversational, deceptively complex and enjoyably simple.
Because outside of going to the park, baseball is best experienced on a radio broadcast where gifted storytellers usher us daily into a theatre of imagination.
Because pitchers deliberately baffle, confuse and confound with “curves, sliders, splitters, sinkers, screwballs, knuckleballs, fastballs and change-ups.”
Because almost every day from April through October millions of boys and girls, women and men play a game made in America before the Civil War and now beloved from Japan and Korea to Cuba, Australia, Venezuela and beyond.
Because as Leo Durocher said: “Baseball is like church. Many attend, few understand.” Yet, I would add: all can be uplifted and enjoy.
Because as a Boston fan once said: “Baseball is not about life and death. But, the Red Sox are!”
Because these days it just feels good to shout: “Play ball!”

—Will Hornyak
*

For me, THE RULES OF THE GAME, by Jean Renoir, is a great humanist document that happens to be a movie rather than a novel or play….It is a luminous farce that depicts a weekend at a country estate. The classes, represented on the one hand by the owner and his guests, and on the other by members of the staff, especially a maid and a gamekeeper, are assiduously separated: one serves, the other receives. But at the same time, they all meet and merge as equals in games of love and deception. Renoir misses nothing, and forgives everything.
A more recent movie that moves me is THE RIDER, by Chloe Zhao, an almost-documentary that tells the story of some Pine Ridge “Indian cowboys”, who make brief and destructive livings as rodeo riders. The characters play themselves. I’ve watched this three times, and will watch it a fourth.
Oh, and also about RULES OF THE GAME; it’s funny as hell.

—Ken Margolis
*
What is it about peace that its story is not enduring?

Wings of Desire, a 1987 film directed by Wim Wenders

The aerial shots of Berlin so long before drones. The use of space both physically and visually. The plants in the library. The stand-up desks in the library. The angels in the library. The soft leather seats in the sports car in the showroom where the angels meet to compare notes. The desire for that car from the people looking in. The miracle of being able to watch this movie again in the kitchen 36 years later. The world of humans is in color. A friend and student expressing aversion to angels when I read a poem to a recent class that had a passing reference to them. The discussion that followed over days and walks about this dislike of angels she didn’t even know she had. The drawing on the wall at the circus behind the elephant. The robe on backwards to protect Marion’s chicken feather wings. Nick Cave on the portable phonograph. Looking for the right hat. The trapeze artist in a tuxedo cat suit with a long white tail. But the story of the grass, the sun, the leaping, and the shouting that is still going on as well. Sometimes beauty is the only thing that matters. Chest armor falling from the sky. The revelation and joy in color in a gray gray city. The mural of a ruined building on an intact one. The pile of sawdust the circus left behind. No one saw the carney go. The shared wine glass filled almost to the brim.

—Elizabeth Domike
*

This is a fun idea, Johnny.
I particularly like movies based on books. Even if I loved the book, I like watching how it was made into film. From the many Jane Austen’s to “Bridget Jone’s Diary,” in which Salmon Rushdie plays himself in a tiny part. The renditions of “A Room with a View” to “Little Dorrit.”
My favorite film, that stands up over 50 years, is “Heaven Knows, Mr. Allison,” directed by John Huston. Robert Mitchum and Deborah Kerr, a marine and a nun, are stranded on a Japanese-invaded island during WWII.
Bill likes old and new foreign films—Iranian, Japanese, French, Irish, Indian, the farther flung the better. Our favorite series ever is “Heimat”–that begins at the end of WWI with a family living above their cow in a small village, up through that family’s youngest living amongst his creative fellow artists in the city in the 50’s. Rotten tomato reviewer writes about it: “Edgar Reitz’s Heimat is not just a brilliant film about Germany. It is a brilliant film about our time, anywhere—perhaps about any time anywhere.
I’m excited to see everyone’s reviews!

—Katie Radditz
*

I want movies to move me.
Two films, totally opposite from one another on the surface, would be my faves of all time. The Crying Game and The Lives of Others are both about love, courage and compassion.
My short take on The Crying Game is that Love Conquers all; love remains love, in spite of its being turned on its head in a very unexpected way.
The Lives of Others, a German film, takes place in 1984, 5 years before the fall of the Berlin Wall. The Stasi, the German version of the Nazi SS, is in operation, and Captain Gerd Wiesler is assigned the job of spying on a couple suspected of national dissident activity. The Captain is dry, hardened, methodical and dispassionate in his work (as he has been his whole life). However, as time goes on, he begins to care for his subjects (to his own puzzlement and fear).
Ultimately, love and compassion conquer, and he does the right thing, makes the difficult, moral choice, to his own great peril. I love this.
Others have different viewpoints of both these movies; this is what makes them both compelling, and grand.
—Jude Russell
*

A Smile in Abjection
notes on the opening credits of Withnail and I

My favorite frame in cinema is this one: Paul McGann as Marwood, the “I” in Withnail and I, just one minute into the film. We have drawn closer and closer to him as he smokes a cigarette that clearly brings no pleasure, his eyes shifting and shifting and finding no solace. And as the saxophone of King Curtis carries us gently through a live cut of “A Whiter Shade of Pale,” Marwood appears to reach some far limit within himself, and his torment suddenly eases, or it pauses to breathe, or Marwood simply parts it like a blackout curtain. He lifts his eyes, and we perceive a smile that is almost not even there. Perhaps we have just imagined it. Perhaps Marwood himself has imagined it.

Can you see it? I can. It is the mark of a wild, mad hope. I am certain it is there, the smile, because I have been there, and I have smiled it. It is an abject smile, a desolate smile, a smile with sweat on its forehead. Undramatically, I tell you that it is no less than the smile you face death with. I have been hunted by forces within me and without, cornered and shivering in a sweater, smoking far beyond any desire to continue smoking. And yet I would also, in those midnights, hallucinate some star, some aberration of logic in which I could discern a reason to hope. Marwood is looking upon that star, smiling upon it, and I, too, have seen it.

—Alex Tretbar
*

Andrei Rublev:
Andrei Rublev is a biographical film about a medieval Russian iconic painter. In the movie you can hardly see Rublev touching the brush. It is a movie about the formation of Rublev as an artist, especially an artist living under an oppressive regime. It effectively shows that an artist is society’s conscience.

Tree of Life:
Terrance Malicks poetic masterpiece that attempts to capture all of existence through the lens of a boy growing up in the American midlands. As per the great film critic Roger Ebert “the only other film with this boldness of vision is Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey, and it lacked Malick’s fierce evocation of human feeling.”

—Prabu Muruganantham
*

Dear Reader
For next month (May 4th), send me something about books that changed the way you see, experience, or understand the world.

peace, love, happiness & understanding
—Johnny

Bibliophiles Unanimous! 4/9/23
2023-04-09 15:00 - 17:00
Beloved Bibliophiles!

For Sunday, April 9th, at 3 p.m. (PDT) our theme is:

“sweet spring is your
time is my time is our
time for springtime is lovetime
and viva sweet love”

Bring poems to read or recite about Spring!

Here’s the Zoom link:

https://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058

I hope to see you there!

peace & love
Johnny

Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue 4/15/23
2023-04-15 - 2023-05-14
Open Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue

April 15, 2023

Dear Mindful Meditators

Our Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue began on September 15, 2020. Recipients include people inside and outside prison walls. It is currently mailed to 10 men in prison and emailed to about 60 people who aren’t—including 9 men who were in prison in September of 2020 who are now out of prison! Hallelujah!

We are going to have our first get-together on Saturday, May 13th, from 2 to 4 p.m., at Taborspace in Portland: 5441 SE Belmont.

This will be an opportunity for people to get to know each other, and to have a dialogue about our life journey—what it means, what we love, what we do to nurture peace, happiness, goodness and understanding in our own life and in the lives of others.

I hope you can come! Bring a friend, if you like.

My friend Rocky Hutchinson, who is a member of our meditation & mindfulness community, called me the other day, and was excited to tell me about an author he had just discovered—Kahlil Gibran! Back in the day, The Prophet was an essential book in every hippie’s library. Rocky’s enthusiasm inspired me to re-read it (after 50 years). This quote from The Prophet relates to our upcoming gathering:

Your friend is your needs answered.
He is your field which you sow with love and reap with thanksgiving….
And let your best be for your friend.
If he must know the ebb of your tide, let him know its flood also.
For what is your friend that you should seek him with hours to kill?
Seek him always with hours to live.
For it is his to fill your need, but not your emptiness.
And in the sweetness of friendship let there be laughing, and sharing of pleasures.
For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed.

—Kahlil Gibran

peace & love, y’all
Johnny
*

Dreaming in Detail

The casting director for my dreaming
I can understand—bringing in my parents
from gone, grown children as infants again,
and a parade of strangers, each with a bit part
fraught with obscure purpose. The location scout
found familiar places, made them mythic, then
added an abundance of tunnels, caves, cities
in ruin, and a foggy coast. My costume director
surrenders to seasonal change—blues in spring
yielding to summer gray, and autumn black. But
why is the director of photography so obsessed
with effects of light both atmospheric and exact?
In one scene we see fine hairs on my father’s arm
glitter in low sun, then a heap of medieval coins,
then that lost button shining on a stone.

—Kim Stafford
*

A Fish Describes Water

There are prayers best said
only at night, in depths, water steps
rubies in the mouth.

Wind ripples across moon grass
longing to be released by washed
stones. The rowboat

is empty. What remains
is a song, a solitary gold-winged
warbler, the pattern of rain.

—Elizabeth Domike
*

What do you do to nurture peace, love and happiness in your life?

Recently I had a chance to sit in on a phone call with Johnny and Rocky Hutchinson. Rocky is one of our inmates in the dialogue group, and he is one of the dearest human beings I’ve ever known. He has been in prison for a long time, and has had quite a—well—rocky experience.

I asked him how he was doing, and what he was doing, and he told me he had just finished the Master Gardener program, and he was also training dogs for use with people with disabilities. He loves it, both the gardening and the dogs.

I said, “Rocky, you couldn’t have picked two more valuable activities for the soul than gardens and dogs!” And I realized that that is just how I feel: Gardens and dogs fill my heart and soul like nothing else.

You all might have heard that digging in dirt, the smell of dirt, of the soil, stimulates endorphins in the brain, the happiness endorphins. True! Of course, I don’t head to the garden thinking, uh oh, I think I need some of them endorphins about now! No, it’s just an instinct, a drive, that takes me there. And planting carrots, chard, beans; digging watery moats around the tomato plants (the smell of those tomato leaves!); cutting bouquets of coral colored peonies and lavender irises (the smell of irises!); picking green beans with glints of sunlight beaming through the vines—all of this settles in me and brings focus, joy, and quiet peace to my soul. Gardens, yes!!!

And dogs! Lolo! My love! Some friends took care of Lolo while we were gone and when I asked how she’d been, they said, “She had us with one look into her soulful eyes.” So true. She looks into your heart and understands when you’re sad, she rejoices when you’re happy, and every emotion is acknowledged with a loving and energetic lick on the face. Ick! you might say. Not at all—it’s the lick of love. Don’t you remember that Dusty Springfield song, “The Lick of Love..(is in your eyes…?”) Oh wait—maybe it was “The Look of Love.” Whatever.

Anyway, she’s a soft and fuzzy and uncharacteristically sweet-smelling dog! What more can you ask for?

SO: gardens and dogs. Rocky, you’re so right. But I must add that it’s you, Rocky, you and all the other men in our dialogue and theater group who bring peace, love and sheer happiness into my life, and I am forever grateful.

Addendum: But how could I have forgotten hiking??? Mt. Hood and Mt. Adams, my two sentinels. How could I have omitted family, and dear friends? Music!!! Riding my bike! Art! Books and reading!!!

What a topic!

—Jude Russell
*

To nurture peace, love and happiness I simply do nothing.

Each morning I take my coffee out on the porch and watch the daybreak. I say my little peace prayer. Then I do Nothing. I don’t analyze or plan or meditate or cogitate. I find myself surrounded by the sky. Maybe the moon is out, or the sun comes up. It’s a moment of peace and harmony, and I did nothing to get here. I merely stopped distracting myself.

I can’t spend the whole day sitting here. There’s still clutter in my life or my mind or my house that needs some tending to. But when the morning starts out this peacefully the rest of the day usually follows suit. Our natural state is peace and love, unless we sully it up. How can this not nurture some happiness?

Thanks, and love,

—Bill Faricy
*

In the chalice of the heart,
Lies love’s sweet essence:
Born of the seed of truth;
Watered by the tears of devotion;
Warmed by the sun of faith,
Through the fruit of days,
On the vine of humankind–
One and another,
All One Together…

—sam muller 14 April ’23
*

Michel is currenlty using a book by Pema Chödrön as the inspiration for his meditation journal. (I’m not sure which one, but it appears to be inspired by Chögyam Trungpa’s Training the Mind.)

March 9, 2023 #14 Seeing Confusion as the Four Kayas is Unsurpassable Shunyata Protection

Through meditation practice you begin to realize:

Thoughts just pop up out of nowhere—dharmakaya
Thoughts are never ceasing—sambhogakaya
They appear but are not solid—sambhogakaya
All together: no birth, no cessation, no dwelling—svabhavikakaya

This understanding gives unsurpassable protection of
realizing called shunyata—“complete openness.”
Nothing solid to react to.
You’ve made much ado about nothing!

I can relate to this one. The fancy names mean little, but the effort of meditation practice for complete openness is valuable—learning to not react to mental formations. Thoughts of mind are like mists or fog; the warm light of reality will dissipate all obstacles to reveal reality as it is. I’ve driven in misty, snowy, fog late at night and my vision played tricks on me, so I had to drive extra cautiously. During a clear day, the same road was easy to see and navigate. Mind plays the same tricks on me with reality; I need to slow down and pay careful attention—nothing changed except perception. Or did it? Surprises appear faster through foggy delusions. I can’t see them coming. Definitely: foggy, misty, delusions require proceeding cautiously until clearer.

March 13, 2023 #17 Practice the Four Strengths, the Condensed Heart Instrucions

Strong determination to train in opening heart and mind
Familiarization with practices helping you do this
Positive seed within, experienced as yearning to practice and wake up
Reproach, tricky for Western students, realizing ego-clinging causes suffering, delight in self-reflection, honesty, seeing where you get stuck
Aspiration to help alleviate suffering in this world, expressing that intention to yourself

I value each of these principles and judge they can be of benefit to any religious practice. I find, and imagine it is similar for many, that working with ego issues can be the most challenging of all, since our culture is all about cultivating a powerful ego. My experience reveals Western egoism is the central source of all our sufferings. It’s from here that we develop attractions (grasping) and aversions (pushing away), and this ego makes us blind to our faults and challenges which, once corrected, would release—at least diminish—suffering. Yet, we focus on and build up ego, wondering at our suffering. The “escape” is to practice breathing.

—Michel Deforge

Bibliophiles Unanimous!: Shakespeare Birthday Extravaganza!!! 4/23/23
2023-04-23 15:00 - 17:00
I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine:
There sleeps Titania sometime of the night,
Lull’d in these flowers with dances and delight;
And there the snake throws her enamell’d skin,
Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in:

Beloved Bibliophiles!

This year is the 400th Anniversary of the “First Folio” of Mr. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARES COMEDIES, HISTORIES, & TRAGEDIES. Shakespeare’s Birthday, April 23rd, falls on the day we do our next Bibliophiles Unanimous! Zoom gathering–at 3 p.m. (PDT). To celebrate, an all-star lineup of actors is going to read scenes and speeches from Shakespeare’s plays.

Here’s the Zoom link:

https://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058

DON’T MISS THIS!!!

peace, love & poetry

Johnny

Bottom. There are things in this comedy of Pyramus and Thisbe that will never please. First, Pyramus must draw a sword to kill himself, which the ladies cannot abide. How answer you that?

Snout. By’r lakin, a parlous fear.

Starveling. I believe we must leave the killing out, when all is done.

Bottom. Not a whit. I have a device to make all well. Write me a prologue, and let the prologue seem to say we will do no harm with our swords, and that Pyramus is not killed indeed. And for the more better assurance, tell them that I, Pyramus, am not Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver. This will put them out of fear.

peace, love, happiness & understanding 5/4/23
2023-05-04 - 2023-05-31
THE OPEN ROAD
peace, love, happiness & understanding

BOOKS THAT CHANGED THE WAY YOU SEE THE WORLD

May 4, 2023

When I first read Christina Stead’s The Man Who Loved Children, I realized that literature could be even more powerful than I had known. Powerful enough in this novel to make me feel acute embarrassment, shame, and humiliation–unsavory, and unforgettable emotions. It was, in that sense, one of the most unpleasant books that I have ever read–but I suffered those ugly emotions because I was in empathic thrall to the characters, which was thrilling. Christina Stead had such power over me that she could compel me to keep reading even against my own will. Sixty years later, the book stays with me.

—Ken Margolis
*

The Skull Mantra by Eliot Pattison

As the first book in the Inspector Shan series this book gave me a glimpse into the history and current status of the relationship between Tibet and China. It also gave a different perspective on Tibetan Buddhism, a more human practical one, and it opened me to a world of beliefs deeply different from those I had learned about in the West.

There are ten books in this series.

When I first met Andrew, he had an “Endlessly Connected” bumper stick on his car that was flanked by two Meander Knots. A simple design, the endless knot iconography symbolizes samsara—the endless cycle of suffering of birth, death, and rebirth within Tibetan Buddhism. The intertwining of wisdom and compassion. Also, the Interplay and interaction of the opposing forces in the dualistic world of manifestation, leading to their union, and ultimately to harmony in the universe.

The books have a starkness to them. As mysteries they are dark and sometimes brutal, but the characters, particularly the lamas have stuck around in my head since encountering them. Andrew and I read them at approximately the same time, sharing tidbits and references and when it came time to name our poetry press, little magazine and open mic, Meander Knot was the obvious choice.

We even got identical tattoos as both a branding exercise but also an expression of perhaps a deeper connection between us and the possible connection over more than one lifetime.

And then, when I started teaching yoga, I called the business “Meander Yoga”. The endless knot is not featured specifically in the books, (although I suspect it is mentioned. I am planning on re-reading them this year and will find out) it symbolizes to me the deep cultural richness in the books and how that richness has enhanced both my spiritual, but also my artistic life.

—Elizabeth Domike
*

Hi Johnny!

There are so many books that have changed me and/or inspired me but the one that comes to the top of my mind is Hope for the Flowers. I’ve read this book so many times and have shared it with so many people. It’s such a sweet and simple illustration of transformation but also of embracing who you are right now.

On a totally different note, I remember reading Johnny Got His Gun for the first time and being in awe. It was the first time I really sat and pondered what it means to be human and what makes life worth living.

Oh, and of course, Joseph Campbell’s The Power of Myth!

I’ll stop before I start listing 100 books.

—Nicole Rush
*

The Mahabharata retold by William Buck

I first thought Peter Brooke read this.
I found it falling apart in a free box or a yard sale.
I found I couldn’t read it.
It sat on the bookshelf for a couple of years. I kept an eye on it.

One morning in Parkrose neighborhood, on a north deck, watching the planes glide in over the trees and rooftops, following the river west to PDX, I saw the sun was shining after endless rain.
A cup of coffee was there, and the time had come to open the book of wonder.

—Charles Erickson
*

beautiful morning, Johnny. good question!

I immediately thought about how I felt after reading Green Mansions by William Henry Hudson. I had never had an English teacher in High School assign anything like it to read. I think I was the only one in the class who liked it or even read it. So for one thing it forged a bond with my fascinating lovely teacher.

Mainly it opened up a world of wonder about the wild, where savage had the meaning of wild/wyld people in a forest wilderness unmitigated by modern civilization. It is about true freedom compared to that of the birds.

Hudson writes with a clear style that matches his view of beauty and wonder being the essence of life. It is a love story as well as a tragedy of what would come of nature.

Now I’ve pulled it out to read once again. I had forgotten the main character’s name is Abel—my first son’s name! I think this story has stayed with me in my deep consciousness.

In the forward, John Galsworthy wrote in 1918 that Hudson was the most valuable author of his Age. He says of Hudson, who was a naturalist as well as an author: “his nomadic records of communing with men (women), birds, beasts, and Nature, has a supreme gift of disclosing not only the thing he sees but the spirit of his vision. Without apparent effort he takes you with him into a rare, free, natural world, and always you are refreshed, stimulated, enlarged, by going there.”

—Katie Radditz
*

About ten years ago a good friend of mine urged me to read Nicholas and Alexandra, by Robert Massie. I was reluctant, because, as I told her, “I don’t do history.” She said, “Well, do!” I said that because up until then the only history I’d read had been high school and college textbooks. I’d read, study, take a test and then forget everything (hopefully in that order). I read hundreds and hundreds of novels from junior high school on—Stendhal, Balzac, Dickens, Dostoevsky, etc.—so it wasn’t for a lack of love of reading, just no desire or aptitude for history.

But I read Nicholas and Alexandra and loved it! It’s the story of the last czarist Romanov dynasty and its fall. I’d never known much about Rasputin, but he figures in powerfully, with the strange spell he held over Alexandra and her hemophiliac son, Alexi. It was probably more biography than accounting of events. It led me to Peter the Great and Catherine the Great, both of which were also biographical, with dominion, control, conquest, acquisition and rule over dozens of countries in that region threaded into their stories.

So perhaps it’s biography rather than history that has opened up a new world of reading for me.

In that vein, I also read American Prometheus, the biography of J. Robert Oppenheimer, “father of the atomic bomb.” Strange reading material, eh? But he was such a brilliant polymath and was forever conflicted about how his genius was put to use.

Right now, it’s The Orientalist, by Tom Reiss, the life of Lev Nussimbaum, a Jew who transformed himself into a Muslim prince and became a best selling author in Nazi Germany. It looks at the early 20th century and the origins of our ideas of race and religious self-definition, and the beginning of modern fanaticism and terrorism.

So now it’s geography in addition to biography and history, and I’m sitting with the big World Atlas and a magnifying glass, scrutinizing Baku, the capital of Azerbaijan, the Caspian Sea, the Caucasus, Georgia, Turkey…

To wrap this up, explorations in readings of geography, biography, and history have expanded my vision, experience, and understanding of the world in these last ten years, thanks to my friend, Nikki! (But I still love novels.)

—Jude Russell
*

Alice Miller’s book For Your Own Good: Hidden Cruelty in Childhood and the Roots of Violence changed the way I look at individual acts of violence and collective acts of violence—war. The basic thesis is simple: abusing children—physically, psychologically, emotionally, sexually—wounds them. She says that when we grow up, we unconsciously and compulsively re-enact the violence that was done to us. Randy Newman’s song “I want you to hurt like I do” sums it up. The violence can also be directed against ourselves. There’s more to the story than the idea that we are, by our nature, violent apes. We certainly have the potential for violence, and we also have the potential to be loving and kind. It depends which seeds we water.

It follows from this that to the extent that we can be loving and kind to our children—instead of mean and cruel—the world will be transformed in positive ways. Conscious awareness of what we suffered and how it has affected us can help us to not act out the same things that were done to us. Her book helped me to better understand how “hurt people hurt people.” Instead of judging people for the suffering they’ve caused, I want to know about the pain they’ve suffered.

Susan Griffin’s book Woman and Nature brought home to me the relentless way in which men have defined, dominated and oppressed women over the centuries. Her book is also a visionary call for women’s (and men’s) emancipation from this tyranny.

Antler’s poem “Factory” changed the way I see the world around me. Having read the poem many years ago, it still manages to regularly remind me that the paint on the walls, the windows in the walls, the lightbulbs, the refrigerator, the glasses on my nose, the computer that I’m typing on—almost everything that surrounds me—was made by men and women working in (ugly, noisy) factories (which pollute the air, the water and the soil).

Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself” inspires me to see beauty everywhere, to love everyone, to be astonished by the miraculousness of everything I touch, taste, see, or imagine.

—Johnny Stallings
*

FOR YOUR OWN GOOD
Thanks for the reminder, Johnny,
You introduced me to that book ages ago, and I carried it around with me for a long time.
It says lots about childhood and being treated as a child by adults who are very busy in their own sphere.
It has left a lasting impression on me.
I’ll see if I can come up with another that has been useful as a life reference.

—Todd Oleson
*

In the recent Open Road letter you asked about life-changing books—or at least life-influencing ones. Many of the titles you sent me fall in this group. However, due to space limits, I’ve sent the most helpful ones home and forgotten the titles. Some others include: Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl, Writing My Wrongs: Life, Death, and Redemption in an American Prison by Shaka Senghor, The Master Plan: My Journey from Life in Prison to a Life of Purpose by Chris Wilson. I’m working through My Grandmother’s Hands: Racialized Trauma and the Pathway to Mending Our Hearts and Bodies by Resmaa Menakem—a bit “woke,” but still has relevance. Homecoming: Reclaiming and Championing Your Inner Child by John Bradshaw. Mmm…I’ll have to come back to this.

There’s a small-ish list of books I hope to read this next year—after ordering, of course. Some may trigger comments and feedback for others I’ll need/want to read, or even avoid: 48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene, How to Talk to Anyone by Leil Lowndes, something by W.E.B. Du Bois [his two most well-known books are The Souls of Black Folk and Autobiography of W.E.B. Du Bois—ed.], Hillbilly Elegy by J. D. Vance, Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates, Ordinary Magic: Resilience in Development by Ann S. Masten, Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving by Pete Walker, Say What You Mean: A Mindful Approach to Nonviolent Communication by Oren Jay Sofer, and Nonviolent Communication by Marshall Rosenberg.

Oh, The Body Keeps Score by Bessel van der Kolk, on trauma—this was helpful. So many helpful books, and all the best are at home. This is great for when I get out (15+ years), not great for now. Oh, and I have crossed the halfway on April 9th: 50% done, 15¾ years left.

—Michel Deforge
*

Dear Reader

Next month (June 1st), our theme is Peace.
Send me something.

peace & love
Johnny

War in Ukraine Dialogue 5/4/23
2023-05-04 10:00 - 12:00
PLEASE JOIN A DISCUSSION ABOUT U.S. INVOLVEMENT
IN THE WAR IN UKRAINE
The Open Road invites you to take part in a dialogue about the War in Ukraine, and our country’s role in it.
Thursday, May 4th, at 10 a.m.
The Gallery at Lolo Pass, 1616 East Burnside, in Portland
For questions or information call Ken: (503) 351-5891
“In the councils of government, we must guard against the acquisition of unwarranted influence, whether sought or unsought, by the military-industrial complex. The potential for the disastrous use of misplaced power exists and will persist.”
—President Dwight D. Eisenhower
Farewell Address to the Nation, January 17, 1961
FREE ADMISSION

Jon Bennett performs Fire in the Meth Lab at ADX
2023-05-06 20:00 - 21:30
The Open Road invites you to come and be astonished by Jon Bennett’s brilliant show: Fire In the Meth Lab, Saturday, May 6th, 8 p.m., at Art Design Xchange (ADX), 417 SE 11th. Doors at 7:30pm. Click here for tickets:

Jon Bennett has crafted a powerful story of addiction and family. When I saw this show, I laughed and cried as he took me on an unforgettable journey. Not to be missed!! –Jeffrey Sher

This is a benefit for Outside In. Since 1968, Outside In has transformed thousands of lives by helping to break the cycles of chronic homelessness, poverty, and poor health. Our health clinic and young adult programs strive to provide safe, caring, affirming spaces for our community to receive judgment-free care and support. MISSION: We help homeless youth and other marginalized people move towards improved health and self-sufficiency.

Thank you to Ronni Lacroute for sponsoring this event.

Bibliophiles Unanimous! 5/7/23
2023-05-07 15:00 - 17:00
from Liber Novus (The Red Book) by Carl Jung

Beloved Bibliophiles!

The theme for our next Bibliophiles Unanimous! Zoom dialogue is Psychology. Read any books on this subject? Got any insights? Please join us at 3 p.m. (PDT), Sunday, May 7th.

Here’s the Zoom link:

https://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058

peace, love & psychology

Johnny

Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue Gathering 5/13/23
2023-05-13 14:00 - 16:00
Dear Friends

You are invited to join us for our meditation & mindfulness community’s first live get-together, this Saturday, May 13, from 2 to 4 pm, in the Artspace Room at Taborspace, 5441 SE Belmont Street, in Portland.

In September of 2020 we began our Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue–sending it to friends inside and outside of prison walls. Many of the “insiders” have gotten out of prison since then. Currently, the Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue is mailed to ten men in prison, and is emailed to about 60 people who aren’t in prison. If you are getting this email, you are one of the 60 lucky “outsiders.”

This will be a lovely opportunity for everyone to have a dialogue and get to know each other better.

We hope you can join us!

peace, love & happiness from

Johnny Stallings & Katie Radditz

Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue 5/15/23
2023-05-15 - 2023-06-14
May 15, 2023

Let your heart speak to others’ hearts.
—tag on Yogi Tea bag

Gandhi Returns

As if he had said enough in life, he uttered
not a word where we stood in the station
in my dream, only a stillness in the bustle
all around us. Instead, he listened, turning
his bright young face in welcome to every
traveler as they made speeches of their own.
A mother told of her son, and in Gandhi’s eyes
the boy was hero. I told him how Ali in Tehran
had written me that poetry is oxygen, and in
Mahatma’s eyes, this was a truth no gun
could injure. One by one he summoned
witness from each pilgrim. Then, smiling,
in his folds of pale cotton he helped us
struggle with our luggage onto the steaming
train. And when I turned, I saw he had none.

—Kim Stafford
*

Alex Tretbar sent two translations of a poem by Rainer Maria Rilke—showing what a big difference a translator’s choices make. He prefers the Robert Bly version:

PALM

Interior of the hand. Sole that has come to walk
only on feelings. That faces upward
and in its mirror
receives heavenly roads, which travel
along themselves.
That has learned to walk upon water
when it scoops,
that walks upon wells,
transfiguring every path.
That steps into other hands,
changes those that are like it
into a landscape:
wanders and arrives within them,
fills them with arrival.

—translated by Stephen Mitchell

PALM OF THE HAND

Palm of the hand. Sole that walks now
only on feeling. It turns over,
becomes a mirror,
shows sky roads, which
themselves are walking.
It has learned to walk on water,
when it dips down,
moves on springs,
causes all roads to fork.
Comes forward into other palms,
those like itself
turn into a countryside,
through them it travels and arrives,
fills them with having arrived.

—translated by Robert Bly
*

I saw lots of Jet trails in the blue sky gaily criss-crossing
and wondered how many of us might be able to see them.
Then this poem, that our beloved friend and Zen teacher
Bob Schaibly liked, popped into my mind.

Love Note

Let us hire a hundred planes
Stuff them with hot cotton smoke
And write white poetry on the paper of the sky.
Let the ant people on the hot summer beaches look up squinting
Read feathery descriptions of your lips,
Traced by the sky writers.

We’ll pick a calm noontime,
Sun pressing wrinkles out of the steamy sea
Sky flat, receptive.
“Love,” I’ll write, and “mouth,” and silver words.
“Cling,” I’ll write, and “Stars,” and oh, don’t worry.
The words will all come easily enough.
It’s the idea that matters.

Then I’ll fly up in the highest plane’
And jump and parachute right through
The O in the word “Love”
And land in your backyard,
And kiss you – home again.

—Joseph Siebel

—Katie Radditz
*

And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels…
—Walt Whitman, Song of Myself

The Miraculousness of Everything

Because life is short and each day is precious, I like to begin each day by entering what I call “the Golden World”—a state of quiet joy. To do this, I often reflect upon the miraculousness of everything. Puffy white clouds floating by in the sky—how do they do that? Where did these coffee beans come from? The trees I see out my window have brand new bright green leaves. How did that happen? Our neighborhood is full of tulips. The irises and the rhododendrons are just starting to bloom. The daphne and the daffodils have had their glorious days. The laptop computer that I’m typing this on was undreamt of when I was a boy.

Maybe the most impossible and amazing thing of all is that I am alive and aware. My eyes, brain and nervous system somehow create the illusion of a three-dimensional world in full color. Scientists might say, “It’s just photons of light hitting the surface of the eye, sending an electrical current to your brain, where the synapses in your visual cortex something something something…” Huh? Photons? Synapses? Brain? What the heck are those? Where did they come from? One of my little poems goes like this:

there has never been
is not now
and will never be
anything more perfect
than this glass of water

Oops! Here I am again…in the Golden World.

—Johnny Stallings
*

#186 The First Noble Truth
“The Buddha told us to recognize the First Noble Truth, the truth of suffering, and to look deeply in order to discover the Second Noble Truth, the cause of suffering.That is the only way the Fourth Noble Truth, the path to transform suffering into happiness, can reveal itself. So we have to emphasize the role of suffering. If we are so afraid of suffering, we have no chance.”
—from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh

When I was in the midst of deep suffering, of course I couldn’t comprehend that this was a good thing, leading to happiness. Sure didn’t feel like that to me.

The suffering was thirteen years of marriage to a raging alcoholic—yes, “raging” is not an exaggeration. Trying to cover a black eye with makeup, wearing long-sleeved shirts to cover bruised arms, making humiliating excuses for his passing out on the floor in the presence of company, sharp, cutting words more lasting than any physical pain…on and on. I thought if I left, I would be seen as a failure in my parents’ eyes, so I stayed and endured and excused for, yes, thirteen years. Believe me, I was not thinking of these years as those leading to happiness. Upon divorce (thank you, Al Anon), I eventually became a new person—or I became who I had been before marriage, Jump-up Jude! I felt like a helium balloon released into the sky. Happiness and euphoria beyond belief. However, I lived periods of time (and still do!), infused with what I would now call PTSD: Once I clambered over audience-filled seats in a theater in Ashland to escape sitting through a play by Sam Sheppard about an alcoholic husband who goes to bars and trades his car for bags of green peppers, which he drunkenly spills on the kitchen table as he lurches home to his wife. I can’t watch the movie Elephant Man, or The Days of Wine and Roses. Much as I wanted to, I could not even sit and watch the delicious hunk, Bradley Cooper, starring in A Star is Born, as he devolves into violent and abusive alcoholism. And I just can’t be around drunk people. I feel like I’m suffocating.

So where does the happiness component come from that??? The happiness and benefit come from my ability to connect and empathize with others who have been traumatized by life experiences. The kids I mentored, the Indian woman whose family I helped for 18 years, and most especially, the men in prison I have spent time with for seven years; I have not lived their lives, nor have they lived mine, but we all have had deep trauma and all can relate to one another’s deep trauma in a blessedly bonding experience.

It truly is sheer happiness when one understands, and is understood by another, in experiences of trauma and suffering. I wouldn’t trade it for the world!

–Jude Russell
*

Out Here

We come out here to watch the stars
fade as Orion heads home towards
the horizon. Low lying mist obscures his
turning as waves curl and crash, foamy flow
up on newly deposited rocks, old wood,
yellow toes of bald eagles foraging
among crows, pink footed gulls.

Light comes up slowly burning mist
away. As we are away at the edge of the
known world. Beacons of cable laying ships,
barges full of earth slowly appear
as tide comes in. Now there is color
as sky settles into her blue cloak, hovers
protectively around the huge remnant

Rock of sister cape worn down, left
standing alone in calling distance of
shore. Before us feasting on starlight
the sword edge crescent moon glints
over barrier pine hills,
sweeps the way clear, for us to make
what we can of this fresh new day.

—Elizabeth Domike
*

Michel is using a book by Pema Chödrön, based on the slogans in her teacher Chögyam Trungpa’s book Training the Mind: And Cultivating Loving-Kindness, as inspiration for his April meditation and mindfulness journal. Here are some excerpts:

April 4, 2023 #35 Don’t try to be the fastest. Don’t compete with others.
I might offer a step further along: Don’t compare self to others—don’t get judgy, of anything. I’m finding this is one of the lasting legacies of Jake Merriman and OHOM in my life: the letting go of judgement words. To do this one has to follow Johnny Stallings’ trait—compassion for everyone. I find that letting go of obsessive need to categorize and judge, or sort out good/bad, like/dislike, etc. I will vie less and less against others, or even self, for prizes that do not exist. From this less judging space it becomes easier to understand and have compassion for an other, and eventually even for self.

April 20, 2023 #48 Train without bias in all areas. It is crucial to do this pervasively and wholeheartedly.
IT’S IMPORTANT TO INCLUDE EVERYONE AND
EVERYTHING YOU MEET AS PART OF YOUR PRACTICE.
THEY BECOME THE MEANS BY WHICH YOU
CULTIVATE COMPASSION AND WISDOM.
Who doesn’t want to cultivate compassion and/or wisdom? I certainly have been striving to do this. There are certain beings (things are also included in this teaching—sigh) with whom I have a very challenged relationship. I don’t like them, they don’t like me, and neither is open to changing this. Yet, I’m certain (from all my readings) these others are here for some greater purpose in my life; shouldn’t waste an opportunity to grow, I may not get another one—then what? Go about with a malformed (uncorrected) ego, as I do now? No thanks! I guess I better get busy with my work/training.

April 21, 2023 #49 Always meditate on whatever provokes resentment.
DO TONGLEN PRACTICE WHENEVER YOU FEEL RESENTMENT.
DO IT WITH SMALL THINGS ALL THE TIME. THEN YOU’LL BE
PREPARED TO WORK WITH THE BIG ONES WHEN THEY ARISE.
It seems wise to work with resolving one’s resentments, before they grow into “hates” for people, beings, or things. I believe all mindfulness practice is like this; sit now, in silent reverie, so amidst a fierce stormy barrage calm may prevail. Everything would simply build from there. Just breathe…

April 23, 2023 #49 Don’t be swayed by external circumstances.
WHATEVER YOUR CIRCUMSTANCES, PRACTICE TONGLEN.
WHATEVER IS WANTED, SEND THAT OUT; WHATEVER IS
UNWANTED, BREATHE IT IN AND EXPERIENCE IT FOR
YOURSELF AND ALL OTHERS IN THE SAME BOAT.
This speaks to equanimity—not allowing the outside storms of life to sway my little stuff. Currently, I am bracing for the eventual passing of my father, whom I’ve come to love very much. Alzheimer’s is taking a toll on his mind and personality. I don’t see it yet, but my mom has to deal with many of the challenges that are arising. There’s nothing I can do for either of them; letting those concerns frazzle me doesn’t help any. All I can do is keep doing as best as I can. I’m not ready to let him go, and at the same time he is already gone. My father I knew as a child is long gone—the one with whom I had so many conflicts and struggles—and the one I’ve come to know, love, and appreciate from prison, he, too, is now gone. What’s left is the husk of of a man I once knew for his strength and resolve. He’s not dead, nor has his mind gone completely yet. However, the inevitable reality of time’s ravaging of mind and body are no longer easily ignored. It is time to embrace each moment, as it may be the last one I get with him. Whether by phone, or if I get to see him once more face-to-face, truth is present that we all proceed apace to the same destiny—each on our own path and in our own time.

—Michel Deforge
*

Dear Mindful Meditators

Our Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue began on September 15, 2020. It is mailed to 10 people who are in prison and emailed to about 60 people who aren’t—including 9 men who were in prison in September of 2020 who are now out of prison! Hallelujah!

We had our first get-together on Saturday, May 13th, at Taborspace in Portland. In attendance were: Charles Erickson, Nicole Rush, Sam Muller, Nancy Scharbach, Katie Radditz & Johnny Stallings. We talked about how our “life journey” and our “spiritual journey” are the same thing. Everyone shared stories from their life. Abe Green visited us from Montana—via FaceTime. We all had a lovely time together.

May all people be happy.
May we live in peace & love.

—Johnny

Deck Boys Friday Night!
2023-05-19 19:00 - 21:00
Music Lovers!

This Friday, May 19th, 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.

Wanna have a good time?

This is the place to be.

peace, love & music

Johnny

Bibliophiles Unanimous! 5/21/23
2023-05-21 15:00 - 17:00
Nobel Prize-winning author, Doris Lessing

Beloved Bibliophiles!

The theme for our next Bibliophiles Unanimous! Zoom dialogue is Favorite Women Authors! Please join us at 3 p.m. (PDT), Sunday, May 21st.

Here’s the Zoom link:

https://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058

peace & love

Johnny

Johnny Stallings performs Walt Whitman's "Song of Myself" 5/27/23
2023-05-27 19:30 - 21:00
painting of Walt Whitman by Rick Bartow

For Walt’s 204th Birthday, Johnny Stallings will be performing

Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself”

at PAUSE

PAUSE is a meditation studio — 133 SW 2nd Ave., Suite 300, (door code 54445)

Saturday, May 27th, 7:30 p.m.

a benefit for the Open Road Film Fund
(for distributing Bushra Azzouz’s film “A Midsummer Night’s Dream in Prison”)

for info, call Johnny: 503-347-6869

peace, love, happiness & understanding 6/1/23
2023-06-01 - 2023-08-02
THE OPEN ROAD
peace, love, happiness & understanding

June 1, 2023

Art Degraded, Imagination Denied, War Governed the Nations.
—William Blake

PEACE

Early Morning Hours

From the house silence flows
to the ebony lawn
glittering like a river.
A small candle flickers,
mirroring the moon
sliding down night’s curve.
Fir branches stand against the sky,
the hours’ tall sentinels,
and the hum inside silence
fills each shadowed crevice,
the world inundated.

The Only Now

The stripped body lies burrowed
in a flower well, utterly still,
and one wonders
if it has died into the nectar.
Sheltered by night,
in the morning the bee resumes
sipping, covered in pollen
bumbling from flower to flower,
his home where he stops,
satiated with sugared gold,
his life and eating and bliss,
sleep and journey all one.

Unexpected

Rampant weeds crowd bee balm and hyssop,
dirt clings to roots, leaves bend
and in the midst of this fecundity,
I am digging, pulling, only
the sun’s heat on my back.
Moving through the afternoon quiet
a feathered sound of wings
is near, slower and closer,
and a light weight comes to rest on my head.
Could it be? I reach a hand up,
the wings lift, rise, and are gone.

The Tree in the Universe

Light glints off cherries in the branches
swaying slightly in summer breezes.

I too am swinging, shimmering, high
in the tree, resting in a dark trunk

adrift and asleep, the sky
dappling the light in the tree,

above the ground air my companion, birds
my companions, jumping and wondering,

all of us in the branches, in the light,
time a mystery that moves in the tree,

off the ground, as my vision,
my mind unrolls in front of me

carrying my heart forward and backward,
inward, time and space a single pulse

and the cherries shine, the tree grows
quietly upward and outward, carrying me,

the birds, and all around, all around,
right here in the branches, in time and in sight,

I see that, yes, yes, each particle,
each moment turning in the sky,

in the tree, flowing between us,
in us, what I imagined, what I dreamed

and dreaded and is now here—all of it divine.

—Deborah Buchanan
*

A couple months ago my friend Ken Margolis was listening to the news. He heard a report on the war in Ukraine. Both sides were said to be running low on ammunition, because they were both using 1,ooo artillery shells per day. Two thousand artillery shells per day! More than one per minute. It was insane. He told his friends, including me. He wondered: Is there is anything we can do to bring this war to an end? That question prompted me to choose the theme “Peace” for this month’s peace, love, happiness & understanding. The word “peace” has two main connotations: the absence of war, and a calm, quiet state of mind. When I invited people to contribute to this issue, I said the topic is “peace,” but didn’t specify which kind of peace.

For me, the “two kinds of peace” are not unrelated. In the early Eighties I wrote a fairly long essay called “The Ecology of Violence, the Ecology of Peace: A Lived Revolution—Personally, Locally, Globally.” In it, I explored topics like Authority, Poverty, Education, Cruelty, the Media, Meditation, Economics, Ideology, Ecology, Family, Culture, Community, and many more. One of the primary insights of Ecology is that everything is inter-related to everything else. The Buddhist teacher Thich Nhat Hanh spoke of “interbeing.” It seems to me that our “job” is to help to co-create a culture that nurtures all people, and to learn or re-learn how humans can live on this planet without destroying it—like all the other animals do.

My outlook on life has been shaped by the fact that instead of going to Vietnam to kill people, I went to India and studied with wise yogis. When I think of war, instead of thinking about brave soldiers fighting to make the world a better place, I think of that photograph of Vietnamese children who have been bombed with jellied gasoline. Every day the war goes on in Ukraine, more children die. More mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers die. It’s insane.

Here’s a poem I wrote:

My Foolproof Plan for World Peace

I hereby declare today to be International Love Day.
And a General Armistice.
All hostilities must cease on International Love Day.
Henceforward, every day is International Love Day.

—Johnny Stallings
*

Alex sent this poem by Tom Clark:

Bolinas

My wife’s recipe for a fairy:
Put buttercup pollen
And a canary feather
In a thimble. At midnight,
Immersed in my life’s current
However it may flow
In the giant life around it
That whispers like a tree
Rocked by evening light,
A tide of beams
Bears my dreambound boat.
The boughs drop peace,
A star wanders toward dawn
Over the dim wet leaves.

—Tom Clark

—Alex Tretbar
*

To me lately, peacefulness is just being a happy person and trying to make others understand happiness in just a few seconds of every moment. If one can achieve this their life will be happy. I found this secret on my journey to the golden path. A friend told me about the golden path years ago. I live there now and the town I live in on the golden path is called simple bliss.

I also find peace in the sweat of my brow from a job well done. I can’t wait to work hard for the ones I love. Peace is free and it lives inside of us and if you have it in you, my friends, give it to those that don’t.

—Rocky Hutchinson
*

Siddhartha’s prayer

When they asked why he left
his people and his palace,
the response rose like fragrance from summer’s garden.
There is peace in every breath, he said,
and every heartbeat
and every footstep
that will no longer be forgotten
or forsaken.
I wish every thought to be a prayer
every word to be a poem
every touch an act of love,
and all to be
as it already is.
– amen

—Bill Faricy
*

Surrounded
Memorial Day 2023

Perhaps there is the sound of water,
the feel of a light breeze, comfortable
warmth, rustling leaves.

Maybe the colors make harmonies,
smell of sandalwood, taste
of cardamom on the tongue.

The temptation of a ladder rung
to a nest above ruins sharp
edged with smoke, mist.

Missed. We’re here. This list
of all that’s lost, endless. Still
fingers uncurl from a fist.

In the end everyone was right.
All we wanted was a sense of
belonging, a path, not a fight.

Instead, a respite, for now.
Forever? The crowd surrounds us,
whether we are aware, or not.

—Elizabeth Domike
*
Peace Tree

My calling is to rise. My purpose is to reach.
Where buildings fall, I stand silent in the shouting.
Even in billowing dust, I begin the next peace. If
you splinter me, I will heal. After the battle, I will
silhouette dawn. I have seen seasons pass, the rising
of anger, fury of the storm, return of calm. I’m still
yearning for the sun, still delving into dark. Rooted
patriot of Earth, I drink the sky to give you breath.
Neutral in war, I shade both sides. Send my seeds
across the border, I will be your diplomat of green.
If you plant me beside the graves of soldiers, I will
say to their mothers with my leaves what they
might have said in the wind that stirs.

—Kim Stafford
*

Peace Within, Peace Without

Who doesn’t want to have peace within him or herself? Who doesn’t want to have world peace? I would say there are very few people in either category—a few, maybe, but not many.

Here is an inside aside:
Can you have peace without love?
Can you have peace without joy, either within yourself or in the ‘world?’
Is peace synonymous with love? Is love synonymous with joy?
Are there other words that define or are requirements for peace? Compassion? Connection?

Well, I’m just throwing these out there, as you can see, but let’s go back to peace within/peace without.

How can you be at peace within yourself and not be concerned about the world? It is overwhelming to think about trying to ‘fix’ the world, for sure. We all know how that feels. Might as well give up on that and just work on being at peace within yourself, right? Well, that is impossible, my friends. A spirit at peace is one who gnaws away, tackles, wrestles with—inch by inch, foot by foot—-some part of the exterior world that is hurting, be it other humans, other creatures, the world of nature. We do the work often never knowing whether or not we are achieving change, lessening hurt, creating love, creating bond and connection and unity. This is not why we do it; we do the work because the work itself is what grows peace within us. And—-we have to do it.

Ha ha—but don’t get the idea that it is easy. It can be frightening, hurtful, frustrating, and really hard; but something in us is propelled to keep on. And whatever that ‘something’ is, brings (paradoxically) an inner peace.

So we have to be in the world, doing our bit, small as it is; but always, all of it, from all of us is growing peace in the world. And just think if each and every one were to do this! World Peace!!!

Working on the peace without is essential for the peace within…and vice versa.

—Jude Russell
*

The trouble with peace seems to be that it isn’t enough for us. Of course, war is the ultimate step in a power struggle to determine who gets the gold and the throne. So, in that sense, battle skills are the most useful of all skills.

But there is something more. At the same time we fear war, we lust after it. We sing of arms and the man. War becomes the context for heroism, nobility, and deep companionship. It also destroys the beautiful, kills the innocent, and generates hatred in future generations.

In spite of Elon Musk and other technological self-deceivers, most people feel intuitively that life and death form some sort of continuum. To manifest its cycle of renewal, life needs death. Does peace need war in some mysterious way?

When we think of Heaven, we think No More War, green meadows and grandchildren on our knee, not the whole thing blown to bits by an incoming drone. War has its lobby, its advocates and advertisers, its prophets and profiteers. It’s only fair that a few of us take the other, apparently less popular side, and advocate for peace.

—Ken Margolis
*

“Peace has been a theme in some of our earlier issues. Take a look at the peace,love, happiness & understanding Archive on the Open Road website. Here’s from June 24, 2021:

https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-6-24-21/

For July, send me something about your own vision of Utopia or Paradise.

peace,
Johnny

Roadside Attraction at Friday Night Market 6/2/23
2023-06-02 17:30 - 19:30
Roadside Attraction, featuring Morgan Faricy, is playing at Friday Night Market in Milwaukie, on June 2nd, from 5:30 to 7:30.
The address is:
Milwaukie Floral
SE Lake Road

This is a benefit of Open Hearts Open Minds.

Bring your friends!

peace, love & music
Johnny

Bibliophiles Unanimous! 6/4/23
2023-06-04 15:00 - 17:00
Beloved Bibliophiles

We will have Poetry Reading! for Bibliophiles Unanimous! on Sunday, June 4th. The Featured Poets are Elizabeth Domike & Alex Tretbar.
The Zoom gathering commences at 3 pm (PDT). Here’s the link:

https://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058

Bring along a poem or two of your own.
See you there!

peace, love & poetry
Johnny

Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue 6/15/23
2023-06-15 - 2023-07-14
Open Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue

June 15, 2023

We were talking about the love we all could share
When we find it, to try our best to hold it there with our love
With our love, we could save the world….

And the time will come when you see we’re all one
And life flows on within you and without you

—George Harrison
*

In Fyodor Dostoevsky’s great novel The Brothers Karamazov there is a monk named Father Zossima. When I first read the novel, almost fifty years ago, I was impressed with the Father Zossima’s (Fyodor Dostoevsky’s) words. I still am:

Brothers, do not be afraid of men’s sin, love man also in his sin, for this likeness of God’s love is the height of love on earth. Love all of God’s creation, both the whole of it and every grain of sand. Love every leaf, every ray of God’s light. Love animals, love plants, love each thing. If you love each thing, you will perceive the mystery of God in things. Once you have perceived it, you will begin tirelessly to perceive more and more of it every day. And you will come at last to love the whole world with an entire, universal love….

My friends, ask joy from God. Be joyful as children, as birds in the air….

When you are alone, pray. Love to throw yourself down on the earth and kiss it. Kiss the earth and love it, tirelessly, insatiably, love all men, love all things, seek this rapture and ecstasy. Water the earth with the tears of your joy, and love those tears. Do not be ashamed of this ecstasy, treasure it, for it is a gift from God, a great gift, and it is not given to many, but to those who are chosen.

—Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov, translated by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky, pp. 338-341)

—Johnny Stallings
*

On June 12, I sat down to write a note on mindfulness; my computer said it was National Loving Day, which celebrates the right to marry or not marry the person we love. It led me to be most mindful today and this week about the person I have been married to for almost 50 years. To begin anew, with fresh eyes for the things about him I most cherish. Not just as a father of my children.

Unaware It was a week early, we celebrated Father’s Day last Sunday with our children and grandchildren by going to a baseball game. My husband, Bill, was happy all day, enjoying a day off from work and gardening, being in an element of his youth that he could share with the younger generation. It was so good to see him totally engaged.

Bill is an introvert, 98% according to the test, and so he can be easily satisfied living in a solitary way with little social involvement, enjoying his tea and crossword and books and garden and a movie online. But getting out of that can also easily give him a burst of energy.

Mindful of my extroverted side that includes many friends and adventures, I am accompanying him this week on his trip to the post office, or to the deli, or to the hardware/feed store. Then taking a few minutes aside for a picnic or a walk before sunset, or even to sit together in the garden and watch the teenage chicks practice flying. I’m aware of how grateful I am to have the freedom to have a loving relationship, and that we can share such simple joys. It’s so easy to take this for granted. Being mindful adds an extra spot of honey to our tea. And it makes others glad to be around us. As Thich Nhat Hanh liked to say, “Happiness is not an individual matter!”

Below is a link to the life-changing story of the Loving’s decision to marry:

https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/politics/2023/06/12/loving-day-supreme-court-interracial-marriage-loving-virginia/70313073007/

—Katie Radditz
*

#333 Recognizing Negative Energy
from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh

“Negative habit energy always tries to emerge, but if you’re mindful, you recognize it. Mindfulness helps us to recognize the habits transmitted by our ancestors and parents, or learned during our childhood. Often, just recognizing these habits will make them lose their hold on you.”

Last year I found a great children’s book called Fortunately, Unfortunately. It was a story about a little boy on his way to a birthday party. UNFORTUNATELY, a bear started chasing him and he dropped his present. FORTUNATELY, an eagle-eyed eagle swooped down and hooked the present’s bow in his beak and dropped it at the feet of the little boy. Gratefully, the boy scooped it up and continued on his way. UNFORTUNATELY, a gang of rascals…etc. etc. Finally, of course, FORTUNATELY, he ends up at the party and gives his present to the little girl.

So I read this story to my grandkids in Bozeman, and they loved it. Then I said, “Let’s make up our own story and draw a book and send it to your cousins in Arizona.” Which we did, and spent 3-4 hours writing, making art, and thinking up funny stuff.

So I thought, This is how I think, automatically! If something is wrong, or sad, or difficult, I say, “Yes, but just think of what ____ is going through everyday.” Or: “Yeah, it really is pouring rain today, but doesn’t everything smell so sweet now?” I have always done this; I’d never really thought about it until I read this story.

And then I thought—What a great topic for prison group dialogue! So I asked: “How do you react or respond in these cases?” Discussion discussion!!

And then the really fun part: We went around the circle and traded Fortunately/Unfortunately sentences, the crazier the better. There were giraffes involved, and badgers, and 100 foot deep wells, and 10,000 foot high mountains, and blonde wigs, and zits, and… Well, it was crazy and hilarious and so much fun, and it all told us a lot about all of us, almost all positive.

So that’s my take on recognizing negative energy.

—Jude Russell
*

Feeling Old

Leaves begin to curl. Limbs begin
to sag. The tree begins to lean. Know
the feeling? My buds—not so plump.
My heartwood—dry. My bark begins
to wither, my roots to lose their grip.

But hey—the sun shines bright as ever.
All that fell to earth has turned to treasure,
the sky’s still calling me to rise in praise,
and rain bestows that flavor fine as my
first sip when a sapling with no name.

—Kim Stafford
*

This amazing planet we live on is already Paradise. We can eat the grasses and the grains. Fruit fills the trees. There are fellow creatures to love and laugh with. This beautiful world is a gift.

We still live in the Garden of Eden. We just don’t take very good care of it.

All water is holy water. And every day is a holy day.

—Bill Faricy
*

Michel finished reading The Compassion Book by Pema Chödrön in early May, and for the rest of the month used Be Free Where You Are as the basis for the meditations in his journal. Be Free Where You Are is the record of a talk given by Thich Nhat Hanh at the Maryland Correctional Institute, which was published in May of 2002.

May 15, 2023 You are a Miracle (part 2)
“Dear Friends, you are nothing less than a miracle. There may be times when you feel that you are worthless. But you are nothing less than a miracle. The fact that you are here—alive and capable of breathing in and out—is simple proof that you are a miracle. One string bean contains the whole cosmos in it: sunshine, rain, the whole earth, time, space and consciousness. You also contain the whole cosmos.”

Do you “feel” like a miracle? Seriously! Do you feel the wonder and amazement of “be”ing alive, being able to breathe, move, exist? Each of us is valuable, even when we believe the lies that we are not. I know it is hard to drown out the noise of self-doubt and hate, wherever it arises from and for whatever cause; whatever the noise, it’s a LIE! You, me, all of us—we are a miraculous creation, here on Earth for some purpose. Fundamentally: to “be”—nothing more. Though many struggle to achieve even merely “be”ing, it’s what we are: “be”ings. We can add to that by breathing, walking eating…all our “do”ings too. Then, there’s passing on genes, knowledge, wisdom to the next generation. Yet, somehow, with all the noise of “do”ing, we forget “be”ing and how miraculous “be”ing is. I also believe we have one other purpose as we toddle along to our mouldering, and that is LOVE. Love as appreciation of the miracle that is life, appreciation for other “be”ings participating in the wonderful, miraculous, cacophony that is our life. (Certainly we’re averse to certain experiences, thus memories linger and trepidation arises about past and future. None of that is real any longer, nor will be.) Breathe, smile, “be” aware; there’s a special miracle in this world and it’s you. I know, sounds trite and contrived. And it is…if you and I refuse to see the miracle of the cosmos that each of us is; breathe (deliberately), smile (knowing this cosmological secret), and be aware (of what it takes for you or I to continue to exist…) “You are a miracle!” Me too!

—Michel Deforge

the dialogue continues...
2023-06-17 13:00 - 15:00
the dialogue continues…

This monthly gathering in the Artspace room at Taborspace in Portland, 5441 SE Belmont, is a continuation of the meaning of life dialogues we had in Oregon prisons–at Two Rivers, Columbia River & Coffee Creek. These Saturday dialogues are open to everyone.
The first one was on April 15th, 2023. The next two will be on Saturdays, at 1 p.m.: June 17th & July 15th. There will be snacks! You are invited!

Bibliophiles Unanimous! 6/18/23
2023-06-18 15:00 - 17:00
The Golden Age by Lucas Cranach the Elder

Beloved Bibliophiles

Our theme for Sunday, June 18th is Visions of Utopia & Paradise.
The Zoom gathering commences at 3 pm (PDT). Here’s the link:

https://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058

See you there!

peace, love & happiness
Johnny

Illuminated: Myths, Poems & Music for the Summer Solstice 6/18/23
2023-06-18 19:00 - 21:00
Storyteller Will Hornyak Presents

Illuminated

Myths, Poems and Music for the Summer Solstice

From fiery feathers and the longing for light, to tales of summer days ‘gone fishin,’ join us for a celebration of the longest, brightest days of the year. Special guest musician Jeffrey Sher joins in for a tribute to Father’s Day.

Sunday June 18 7 p.m.
Ross Island Grocery and Cafe
3502 SW Corbett Portland
Great Food and Drinks Available
$15.00 Advance Tickets Recommended:

https://www.eventbrite.com/e/illuminated-myths-poems-and-music-for-the-summer-solstice-tickets-646775501937

Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue 7/15/23
2023-07-15 - 2023-08-14
Open Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue

July 15, 2023

Johnny is traveling and sends his joy and news below.

And so dear friends, thank you for carrying on with your reflections and poems and stories for this edition of the Meditation and Mindfulness newsletter.

Thanks to Andy for his gorgeous contribution from his newly finished collected visions of the Hundred Verses of Self Instruction. Here is his commentary on the cover image:

Verse 9

Growing on both sides, in a blossoming state,

is the one vine which has come, spread out and risen to the top of a tree;

remember that hell does not come

to the man dwelling in contemplation beneath it.

–from Atmopadesha Śatakam (One Hundred Verses of Self Instruction) of Narayana Guru

The image of a contemplative seated beneath a flowering tree is practically universal in world religious art. Narayana Guru’s use of the image contains several details that tie it to the Indian tradition of Advaita Vedanta, and that would have been familiar to his original Indian audience. The tree is covered by a creeper that is two-sided, with roots that are concealed from view. The invisible origin of the creeper, with its attractive flowers hiding the supporting tree, is actually a metaphor for the structure of human consciousness, as outlined in greater detail in Vedantic writings such as the Mandukya Upanishad. There, wakeful experience is explained as a complex interaction of perceived form and conceptual name, with both name and form springing from a common hidden source of seeded memory. This structural picture is a fundamental understanding that underlies much of the Atmopadesha Śatakam.

Narayana Guru was not interested in philosophy for its own sake; he was instead concerned with helping his fellow beings find their own way to lasting happiness. His use of the ideogram of the tree and the meditating being provides profound clues about how the moment-to-moment flow of our experience assembles itself, how we can be caught by that flow, and about how a dimension of our innermost Being remains free from bondage.

We seldom question the validity of the ongoing flow of our experiences, with their sensory richness, or their linear organization in time. The birth of a child, or the death of a loved one can suddenly expose the unconscious nature of our routine forms of understanding. Our experiences can be afflicted in countless ways, through the thwarting of our exaggerated sense of personal control, through our habits of desire or aversion or the rigidities of habitual thinking. In the terms of the verse, the experiential world of names and forms, and the afflicted states that accompany them, are nurtured from sources that are invisible to us. Name, form and memory function collectively to conceal a deeper reality.

The emphasis of this verse is on noticing. The man dwelling in contemplation beneath the tree has discovered something priceless. He has learned that his own pure awareness permeates the entire field of the germination, growth and dissolution of phenomenal experience, and yet stands apart from it.

–Andy Larkin

*

Ah, Summer . . . . . The soft polka dot flowers of Spring have passed. Summer blossoms are exploding. Red dahlias with fiery petals, huge blue hydrangeas that droop with such languor. They make me as sleepy as Dorothy in the field of poppies. I pick them, arrange them in bouquets, give them as gifts. I like to drive with jars of flowers in the coffee cup holders. Their fading nature reminds me that beauty is constantly changing and re-emerging in new forms. Life is short. “But here we are again,” say these same but different flowers that come in summertime.

In the summer, I like to get out the book The Immense Journey (from 1957!), by Loren Eiseley, and re-read his essay, “How Flowers Changed the World.” Eiseley describes what he calls “a soundless, violent explosion” of seed-born plant life millions of years ago, just as the dinosaurs started to pass out and mammals arrived. At the heart of the explosion was a new kind of flora with magic seeds.

“Flowers changed the face of the planet. Without them, the world we know would never have existed. Today we know that the appearance of the flowers contained also the equally mystifying emergence of human life. Borne on the wind or attached to animal hides, the new plant life spread all over the world.

The fantastic seeds skipping and hopping and flying about the woods and valleys brought with them an amazing adaptability. . . . If our whole lives had not been spent in the midst of it, it would astound us. The old, stiff, sky-reaching wooden world changed into something that glowed here and there with strange colors, put out queer, unheard of fruits and little intricately carved seed cases, and, most important of all, produced concentrated foods in a way that the land had never seen before.

If it wasn’t for the high energy content of seeds produced by flowers humanity wouldn’t have flourished.”

“If it should turn out that we have mishandled our own lives as several civilizations before us have done, it seems a pity that we should involve the violet and the tree frog in our departure.”

— from Loren Eiseley, The Immense Journey

—Katie Radditz
*

Greetings from Lebanon!

I’m on the Open Road–visiting with my good friend Zeina Daccache in Lebanon. Some of you will remember when she came to see our production of “Twelve Angry Men” at Two Rivers prison in 2012. She had directed a production of the play at Roumieh prison in Lebanon and made a wonderful documentary about it: “Twelve Angry Lebanese.” We will be showing Bushra Azzouz’s film “A Midsummer Night’s Dream in Prison” here on Saturday, July 15.

I’ve been reading John Moriarty’s amazing book Dreamtime and studying clown philosophy from Slava Polunin. Here’s an excerpt from his book Alchemy of Snowness:

The Sixth Door

Feelings and Emotions

There is one door that ought to be kept shut. Or so we’re told. Even Pushkin taught us, “You shall be lord and master of your heart.” Behind this door live our FEELINGS and EMOTIONS, which must never be given free reign, if we are to believe the poet. There is a life of suppressed emotions, a rational, regular life, led by persons of good breeding, one that offers the most direct path to one’s goals. But it turns out that what we give up on this path is our own vitality: we become mere cogs in some sort of a giant mechanism. Only emotions can give us life in all its fullness. Just as in a child’s mind, any little thing can assume tremendous importance and take you on a wild ride at the slightest pretext. Passion, emotion, excitement, obsession with the least trifle—these are the things that make for a full life, because they demand utmost commitment and openness to the whole world around you. Such emotional perception of reality is fundamental to a human being, and theatre has the ability to inspire it.

To be honest, though, not every kind of emotion appeals to me in equal measure. I suspect this is true of most people.

I happen to like positive emotions. The more positive, the better.

Because a positive attitude actually makes the world a better place.

There is nothing mystical about this. Simply put, kindness and joy radiate a kind of energy that goes out into the world and has the ability to change it.

—from Alchemy of Snownessby Slava Polunin, pp. 76-77

–Johnny Stallings
*

The Garden

All this time I have been standing here

I’ve never seen these trees before.

All this time I have been living here

I’ve always thought to go out.

Out to find love, beauty, out to find

passion, the wisdom of the ages.

Out to feel, out to see, the wide sweep,

the hand of God.

Out to the woods, to the city,

messy, vibrant, all the hues, full of life.

Now I find standing here

looking at this garden,

it has everything.

Everything I have been longing for,

unfinished,

perfect.

-Elizabeth Domike
*

The Hammock

When I lay my head in my mother’s lap

I think how day hides the stars,

the way I lay hidden once, waiting

inside my mother’s singing to herself. And I remember

how she carried me on her back

between home and the kindergarten,

once each morning and once each afternoon.

I don’t know what my mother’s thinking.

When my son lays his head in my lap, I wonder:

Do his father’s kisses keep his father’s worries

from becoming his? I think, Dear God, and remember

there are stars we haven’t heard from yet:

They have so far to arrive. Amen,

I think, and I feel almost comforted.

I’ve no idea what my child is thinking.

Between two unknowns, I live my life.

Between my mother’s hopes, older than I am

by coming before me, and my child’s wishes, older than I am

by outliving me. And what’s it like?

Is it a door, and good-bye on either side?

A window, and eternity on either side?

Yes, and a little singing between two great rests.

–Li-Young Lee, from Book of My Nights
*

Reverence the highest, have patience with the lowest. Let this day’s performance of the meanest [most menial] duty be thy religion. Are the stars too distant? Pick up the pebble that lies at thy feet, and from it learn the all.

— Margaret Fuller
*

Following Navajo Songs

Beauty all around me

Beauty in front

Beauty behind

Beauty above, wind rustling the leaves

Beauty below, hard ground

Beauty in the air, soft, soft

Beauty in my eyes, tears

Beauty in my hands

fingers trailing pollen

Beauty in my footsteps

blossoms spring from the earth

Beauty in my heart

dark as thunder

Beauty in my heart

quiet as the last birds

in evening trees,

Beauty

Beauty

Beauty

–Deborah Buchanan
*

Yogi tea tag says today: “Uncage your heart, free your heart, let it be wild.”

East Side Footsteps (Sierra Nevada)

On those wild wide sandbars at Walker River,

we put toes into warm sand so fine

our feet sank to ankles

at each step. Summer’s end, September,

celebrating birthdays,

convening halfway between

my life in the Bay Area

and yours in Lone Pine.

Your great curly dog loped ahead.

Our toes caught split straws of earlier grasses

until they rounded over river rocks

so hot under foot,

we scurried and stumbled across them

to keep our feet from burning.

Then reached the cool mud at water’s edge,

where tiny frogs leapt from sedges,

alarmed by our thudding presence.

Rocks in that river were slippery with algae.

It took determination to find a level spot,

an eddy, where stones could not lurch us

to our knees, nor current upend us.

The air wafted sagebrush and river. Untamed.

Invigorating and peaceful, all at once.

Two friends’ brief pause

before ascending Sonora Pass.

–Gail Lester, (after William Stafford’s poem “Tamarisk”)
*

Desert Poem

Desert paintbrush shows no mercy

ravishing, red smoldering your eyes.

Come to your knees to receive it. See

how stems peg color to earth, where

prairie flowers wild in their differences

are loyal in their fit: lupine crazy blue,

yarrow dusky, shy pink on scattered

farewell-to-spring. Each flower whispers

fragrance to court small wings, tiny tongues.

From every twig, leaves offer gestures

of forgiveness to this wounded world.

Plants gather strands for our basket,

and prairie hills weave them all together.

In this place, each pilgrim’s goal

is to be lost in wonder, and

with all flowers softly howl.

— Kim Stafford
*

“Mind Consciousness gives rise to actions that lead to ripening.  The mind consciousness plays the role of  gardener, the one who sows, waters, and takes care of the earth.  The store consciousness is often described as the earth—the garden where the seeds that give rise to flowers and fruits are sown. Because mind consciousness can initiate an action that leads to the ripening of seeds in our store consciousness, it is important that we learn about, train, and transform our mind consciousness. We act and speak on the basis of our thinking, our cognition. Any action of body, speech, and mind that we take based on mind consciousness, waters either positive or negative seeds within us. If we water negative seeds, the result will be suffering. If we know how to water positive seeds, there will be more understanding, love, and happiness. If mind consciousness learns to see in terms of impermanence, nonself, and interbeing, it will help the seed of enlightenment to grow and bloom like a flower.”

from Thich Nhat Hanh’s Understanding Our Mind

*

“Be there truly. Be there with 100% of yourself. In every moment of your daily life. That is the essence of true Buddhist meditation. Each of us knows that we can do that, so let us train to live each moment of our daily life deeply. That is why I like to define mindfulness as the energy that helps us to be there 100 percent. It is the energy of your true presence.”
–from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh

Well. “…live each moment of our daily life deeply.” “…the energy of our true presence.”

It is about that time of year again. Every year, right around the middle of July, my senses are heightened to an acute level of awareness. Everything tingles. The morning sunlight is slightly different, its angle more oblique, its color more amber-toned. The word “mellow” comes to mind. The early mornings cooler and darker. The evening stars winking around 9:07 pm, then 9:04 pm…then 8:56 pm. Right around Bastille Day, July 14th, I send a text to sisters, daughter and close friends who understand what’s coming, every year… “Hey! Have you noticed how the sun is slanting differently? The mornings are a little cooler, and darker? Do you think it feels a little…like…Fall???” Oh, the roar of negation that follows: “Nooooo!!! No way! Stop it! Be quiet!!!”

I love Fall. I adore Fall. I am thinking and feeling and savoring Fall right now —on July 14th. I am in the moment but not in the moment.

Deep in the moment anticipation, deep in the moment change. In the mountains, August brings on the Fireweed and Gentians, saying goodbye to Lupine and Avalanche lilies. Huckleberry leaves stain the slopes burgundy red. I tingle and savor with love the utter feel of change in all the senses—smell, sight, feel/touch, hearing…taste? Sure! Who hasn’t bit into a warm peach, apple, or pear from an orchard and felt Fall in their bones?!

So right now I’m in the future, but more deeply in the present than at any other time of the year. Does that count as mindfulness? I hope you’ll say yes!

–Jude Russell

Hamlet at Canterbury Renaissance Faire 7/29 & 7/30
2023-07-29 - 2023-07-30
Puck’s Rude Mechanicals present Hamlet by William Shakespeare at the Canterbury Renaissance Faire on Saturday & Sunday, July 29 & 30.
Performances are at 11 a.m. & 1 p.m. both days.
The Canterbury Renaissance Faire is at 6569 Valley View Rd. NE, Silverton, OR 97381. For more info, and to buy tickets, go to the Canterbury Faire website at:

canterburyfaire.com

Robin Goodfellow (a.k.a. Allen Mills) directs this Rotten In Denmark Production. The stellar cast includes Jeff Kuehner and Josh Underhill.

Don’t miss this!!!

peace, love & happiness

Johnny

Bibliophiles Unanimous! 7/30/23
2023-07-30 15:00 - 17:00
Beloved Bibliophiles!

Our theme for Bibliophiles Unanimous! on Sunday, July 30th is: What’s Going On? What are some books that have given you insight into what’s happening culturally, politically, ecologically, historically, sociologically, spiritually, psychologically?
The Zoom gathering commences at 3 pm (PDT). Here’s the link:

https://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058

I hope to see you there!

peace, love & happiness
Johnny
