The Open Road: a learning community

Bibliophiles Unanimous! 10/22/23
2023-10-22 15:00 - 17:00 (America/Los_Angeles)
Grinnell Lake in Glacier National Park

Beloved Bibliophiles!

On Sunday, October 22nd, our theme is Peace & War.
What have you read–books, essays, poems–that illuminates this subject?
The conversation will not be limited to what we’ve read, but will also include what we’ve experienced and Will’s question: “How do you feed your soul in difficult times?”

The Zoom gathering starts at 3 pm (PDT). Here’s the link:

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

I hope to see you there.

peace, love & happiness

Johnny

Meditation & Mindfulness 10/15/23
2023-10-15 - 2023-11-14
Open Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue

October 15, 2023

Walk beautifully, talk beautifully, live beautifully.
Let your heart speak to other hearts.

—wisdom from Yogi Tea bags
*

Be joyful, though you have considered the facts.

—Wendell Berry
*

Some excerpts from a recent letter (8/31/23) from Rocky:

Today was a good day for me here. Almost everything ran smoothly. My dog Nelly is programming well & so am I. I’m on my way to being one of the primary trainers. That means I will also be training another A.I.C. [Adult In Custody]! Real work! All of this is going well.

My mind has been wondering & thinking about what we have been talking about in the whole relationship department. I’m not sure how all of that will happen. “Organically” I hope. But you do not have to worry about me trying to save anyone! I might be the one that needs to be saved. LOL. I’m getting out to a whole new world, one that I do not know too much about.

Honestly, I want someone I can admire and appreciate and muse over. A simple, kind love that is fun & sweet. That would be really…nice. Hummm…we will see how it goes! It should be hard to find her I think. LOL. I would like to know & love someone completely & be known & loved by them. Kind & gently & with happiness. I don’t feel I am damaged any longer. I can only feel the scars, which is really good. It took a long time for them to heal.

When I was 22 or 23 years old, I was working as a “cedar maggot.” We did not cut down living trees, but cut up and cleaned up what the old time pioneers left on the forest floor. You see, bugs don’t like cedar wood too much & cedar does not really rot too fast. The old timers would cut only the “clear” wood, from the stump to where the branches started, and leave the rest to rot. That’s where we came in. We cut all that left over stuff and we turned it into cedar bolts for shakes & shingles.

One morning I climbed up on a tall cedar stump to sharpen my saw. There, stuck in the stump, was a rusted old wedge & the head of an axe with a splintered handle! There were also five pieces of yellow glass and an aluminum ring laying in a pile of rust—the remains of an old time lantern! All that stuff had been there for a long time.

All of these moments we all have in our lives are what we are made of—strands of our hearts, links in our minds, reflections in our souls. I, in my mind, have returned to that stump, the smell of the woods, many times over the many years I’ve been in prison. My place of peace & solace when the weight of correction becomes much too much.

The place in the woods, the stump, wedge, axe & lantern glass are all lost, as they should be. Magic does not just linger in one place. Maybe I took it in my soul & that is a good thought & it’s true? I go there often & I could have captured it that day so long ago all for myself & that is a good thought. It makes me smile to think it’s all mine, & now yours too.

—Rocky Hutchinson
*

#363 Why Wait to be Happy?
“Many people in our society are not happy, even though the conditions for their happiness already exist. Their habit energy is always pushing them ahead, preventing them from being happy in the here and now. But with a little bit of training, we can all learn to recognize this energy every time it comes up. Why wait to be happy?”
—from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh

What makes me happy? What brings me joy? I’ll tell you, for me, it’s opening to love. Letting love in.

I have to admit, sometimes I have episodes of resentment, judgment, selfishness, defensiveness…more often than not, though, these episodes are brief and they just—melt away. The other day we were discussing Thanksgiving. I’d already offered to have Thanksgiving at our house, for ‘my side’ of the family, and then in passing, I offered and invited David’s sister and others on ‘his side.’ When Mary called to confirm, she breezily, albeit apologetically, announced that ‘everyone’ wanted to come, like fourteen people! ‘My side’ includes only five people. I had the distinct physical sensation of my heart balling up like a tight fist. ‘Fourteen,’ I kind of gasped. Did I gasp, or bellow? I’m not sure. I struggled for a bit with all those big negative feelings: resentment (pretty nervy to descend with fourteen people!), selfishness (‘my side’ will be engulfed!), judgment (they are not ‘my kind’ of people). But then the miracle happened: just as precipitously as my heart clenched into that hard fist, it spilled open and…love…poured out. I just relaxed into love and happiness. “Well, I think that will just be fine,” I said. And I meant it. To have all those people, young and old, want to come up to our home on the mountain all of a sudden was a wonderful thing. I felt such love and happiness and joy at the thought of twenty family—‘my side’ or ‘his side’—spending the day of Thanksgiving together in our warm, cozy home, fire in the fireplace, maybe even with a dazzling mountain view, or maybe with a few snowflakes drifting down…

This happens often; one moment I’m feeling a little ‘grrrr,’ the next moment I’ve dissolved into love, and happiness. Don’t ask me the formula, the key to unlocking—I don’t understand it myself. I sure recognize it every time it comes up, but don’t understand the radical nature of it. All I know is that I am in wonder of it myself and never fail to feel blessed.

—Jude Russell
*

past parentage or gender
beyond sung vocables
the slipped-between
the so infinitesimal
fault line
a limitless
interiority

beyond the woven
unicorn the maiden
(man-carved worm-eaten)
God at her hip
incipient
the untransfigured
cottontail
bluebell and primrose
growing wild a strawberry
chagrin night terrors
past the earthlit
unearthly masquerade

(we shall be changed)

a silence opens

—excerpt from “Silence” by Amy Clampitt

May we be at peace
May all be healed
May we be a source of healing for all beings.

love,
—Katie Radditz
*

Last Thursday, when friends had gathered for coffee and conversation, Will Hornyak asked: “What do you do to feed your soul in difficult times?” I passed that question along to some friends, and here is what they sent me:

Three poems from Kim for Gaza and Israel:

War for the Holy Land

You could say it’s Biblical, this fury
between the children of Yahweh and Allah,
this frenzy of rockets and bombs opening
the gates of hell for fire to take and take
where hungry Death stalks the streets.

Weak leaders need war, or else we would
require them to be wise and kind. Instead,
this fury allows them to say, “We wage war
because it’s the anniversary of war,” and
“We wage war because they wage war,”

and everyone else goes along with it,
an eye for an eye, a child for a child.

Peacenik, War-nik

When there are two sides,
and one side starts shooting,
what are the rest of us to do?
Peace-mongers may run and hide,

while war gives warriors a certain
clarity: be the implement between
command and death. Hawks seek
prey, while doves sort seed.

Flower child, thistle child—when
we hear an angry leader speak
of vengeance, of human animals,
then it’s up to all of us.

Armor

What armor can our hearts put on
when facts and photos find us, far war
hunting us from hiding? Now news
becomes an implement to pry us open
so we, too, carry children through smoke
and rubble. We bury victims of atrocity,
flee with only what we can carry. We find
our kinfolk heaped. We are the massacre.
We try to keep the beating drum from
giving in, giving up. We guard our capacity
for hurt, each wound proving we feel, proving
divisions are a lie, proving our complicity.
Old heart, let suffering prove we are kin.

—Kim Stafford
*

Navigation

In early morning dark, I could meditate.
I have done. 40 mornings. Sa Ta Na Ma.
The fingers of both hands in rhythm.
Awkward, fumbly. Good for the brain

They say. Integration of the hemispheres.
Instead, I feed the cat. Fend off the worst
of the arthritis with small movements
until I can sit upright at a keyboard.

No, not music. That would be lovely,
a little Chopin. A laptop. Precious tool,
dictation. I close my eyes. And talk.
If I look, I want to edit, dangerous walk

This revision thing. More conversational
this way. The petty indignities, frets from
days before, get out all the surface stuff,
the annoyances, so the sweet stuff

Has room to grow into the day.
An unexpected bloom of affection
or engagement with something
absurd and wonderful.

Did you know that if you smell
The inside of your elbow
It clears the nasal palate for all
The aromas the next encounter will bring?

Elizabeth Domike
*

In answer to Will’s question…

The times are always difficult. There is still the urgent question: How do you feed your soul? I try to nurture peace, love, happiness and understanding within myself. Without them, I don’t have much to offer my fellow mortals that might be helpful. And I enjoy them for their own sake. I try to live a life that is rich in meaning. Life is short. Each day, each moment, is precious. I try to pay attention. And not forget to say thank you thank you thank you.

—Johnny Stallings
*

I write. That takes many forms. Novel, screenplay, song, essay, memoir. Just whatever I’m currently doing, that has a world I can dive into, and let everything else fall away. If I’m too brain-tired to do any of that, I’ll do a crossword puzzle, and if that’s too much, I’ll go for Wordle. I lose myself in words, and if I’m doing a song, the music is extra bonus points.

—J Kahn
*

How to cope with a calamity, of which there seem to be a surfeit? I started to add “right now” but that is not true…there is always a surfeit of despair. One necessary action is to be involved in preventing or ameliorating the disaster. Often you can help others. It sustains all of us to mutually better situations and solve problems.

How else do we come to terms with difficulties? For me both music and poetry are deep sources of consolation. I started to list poems and then realized the list is endless. Follow your own loves and you will find many poems that speak to the heart. A good starting one is Wendell Berry’s:

The Peace of Wild Things

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

And, yes, being in the wild, whether a city park or untrammeled mountains, is a deep source of nurture. Not consolation. Nature can be wild and destructive but not cruel. It is a vital reminder of the nurture and persistence of the world.

Oliver Sacks said that music is the one art that is both abstract and emotional, it can elevate and reassure us, deeply touch the place where we have no words. That is certainly true, and my music may be very different than yours but both are the endless world of sound and silence that envelop us.

But above all: find what you love, give yourself to it, work through reward and pain and frustration. Give yourself to it. Your immersion will carry you through so many griefs. Don’t do it all alone. We need one another, we need community and its irreplaceable links. As the poet June Jordan often reminded us, we are a community in fact and in aspiration.

—Deborah Buchanan
*

Jill sent this poem:

The Red Wheelbarrow

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens

—William Carlos Williams

—Jill Littlewood

SILENCE written and performed by Johnny Stallings
2023-10-14 19:30 - 21:00
painting of Johnny by Nancy Scharbach

SILENCE
a theatre piece about meditation
written & performed by
Johnny Stallings
Saturday, October 14th, at 7:30 pm
at PAUSE * 133 SW 2nd, #300

Bibliophiles Unanimous! Mythic Ireland with Will Hornyak 10/8/23
2023-10-08 15:00 - 17:00
Beloved Bibliophiles!

On Sunday, October 8th, at 3 p..m. (PDT), legendary storyteller WILL HORNYAK will be our SPECIAL GUEST!
Here’s the link:

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

Mythic Ireland

Tales, Legends, Songs and Lore From the Emerald Isle

Ireland is deeply layered with the myths and tales of many peoples. The landscape is a living manuscript of the doings of countless gods and goddesses, hags, heroines, sorceresses and saints. According to the mythologist Michael Dames, “Each successive Irish culture seems to become mesmerized by the myths of the previous one. Nothing is rejected. Everything is synthesized.” So, over time the stories and plots have mixed and mingled infusing Ireland with a kind of psychic charge and a rich and soulful oral and written storytelling tradition. We’ll take a stroll through a few tales and ideas.

–Will Hornyak

peace, love, happiness & understanding 10/5/23
2023-10-05 - 2023-11-01
THE OPEN ROAD
peace, love, happiness & understanding

October 5, 2023

My friend, I am going to tell the story of my life, as you wish; and if it were only the story of my life I think I would not tell it….
It is the story of all life that is holy and is good to tell, and of us two-leggeds sharing it with the four-leggeds and the wings of the air and all green things; for these are children of one mother and their father is one Spirit….
Now that I can see it all as from a lonely hilltop, I know it was the story of a mighty vision given to a man too weak to use it; of a holy tree that should have flourished in a people’s heart with flowers and singing birds, and now it is withered; and of a people’s dream that died in bloody snow.
But if the vision was true and mighty, as I know, it is true and mighty yet; for such things are of the spirit…

—Black Elk Speaks by Black Elk, transcribed and edited by John G. Neihardt, pp. 1-2
*

Black Elk (Heháka Sápa) was born on December 1, 1863 near the Little Powder River in the Montana Territory. He was a holy man of the Oglala Lakota people. He was second cousin of Crazy Horse, fought in the Battle of Little Bighorn, participated in the Ghost Dance movement, survived the Wounded Knee Massacre and toured Europe with Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show. He is best known for the account of his life he gave to John G. Neihardt, which was first published in 1932, and remains in print to this day.
At the age of nine, Black Elk got a fever, and remained lying as if dead for twelve days. While absent from this world, he had a great vision. Here’s a brief excerpt:

All the universe was silent, listening; and then the great black stallion raised his voice and sang. The song he sang was this:

“My horses, prancing they are coming.
My horses, neighing they are coming;
Prancing, they are coming.
All over the universe they come.
They will dance; may you behold them.
(4 times)
A horse nation, may you behold them.
May you behold them.”
(4 times)

His voice was not loud, but it went all over the universe and filled it. There was nothing that did not hear, and it was more beautiful than anything can be. It was so beautiful that nothing anywhere could keep from dancing. The maidens danced, and all the circled horses. The leaves on the trees, the grasses on the hills and in the valleys, the waters in the creeks and in the rivers and the lakes, the four-legged and the two-legged and the wings of the air—all danced together to the music of the stallion’s song.
And when I looked down upon my people yonder, the cloud passed over, blessing them with friendly rain, and stood in the east with a flaming rainbow over it.
Then all the horses went singing back to their places beyond the summit of the fourth ascent, and all things sang along with them as they walked.
And a Voice said: “All over the universe they have finished a day of happiness.” And looking down I saw that the whole wide circle of the day was beautiful and green, with all fruits growing and all things kind and happy.
And a Voice said: “Behold this day, for it is yours to make. Now you shall stand upon the center of the earth to see, for there they are taking you.”
I was still on my bay horse, and once more I felt the riders of the west, the north, the east, the south, behind me in formation, as before, and we were going east. I looked ahead and saw the mountains there with rocks and forests on them, and from the mountains flashed all colors upward to the heavens. Then I was standing on the highest mountain of them all, and round about beneath me was the whole hoop of the world.* And while I stood there I saw more than I can tell and I understood more than I saw; for I was seeing in a sacred manner the shapes of all things in the spirit, and the shape of all shapes as they must live together like one being. And I saw that the sacred hoop of my people was one of many hoops that made one circle, wide as daylight and as starlight, and in the center grew one mighty flowering tree to shelter all the children of one mother and one father. And I saw that it was holy.

*Black Elk said the mountain he stood upon in his vision was Harney Peak in the Black Hills.” But anywhere is the center of the world,” he added.

—Black Elk Speaks by Black Elk, transcribed and edited by John G. Neihardt, pp. 41-43
*
In his vision six grandfathers who were “old like hills, like stars” blessed him and told him that he must save his people. He said: “I knew that these were not old men, but the Powers of the World.”
As a nine-year-old boy, he was unable to tell his people about his vision. By the time he was 17, his tribe re-enacted much of his vision. This was a very important event in Black Elk’s life. As an old man, he was heart-broken by what he had lived through and what had happened to his people. He was sad that he had been unable to make real the vision of peace and harmony that had been granted to him. At the end of his life he was a practicing Catholic. He also continued to perform the sacred rites of the Lakota people.
In 1947, Joseph Epes Brown met Black Elk. Concerned that his sacred tradition not be lost, Black Elk gave him an account of the seven sacred rites of the Oglala Sioux. In 1953, Brown published The Sacred Pipe. It is a treasure trove for indigenous peoples and for the rest of us, whose ancestors were surely indigenous at some point. John Trudell used to say: “We all come from tribes.”
Black Elk died in 1950. His vision and his wisdom live on.
*

Kim Stafford was Oregon’s Poet Laureate from 2018-2020.

All My Relations

I want to thank all my relations
for this chance to be on Earth
in her time of flourishing; to thank
the First People of this place, the
the Multnomah people, the Clackamas,
Molalla, Tualatin, and Chinook, to honor
their sovereignty in long and continuing
relation, still teaching us how we might
be here together; to thank my mother and father,
moon and sun, for setting me forth before
their own passing on; to thank my grandmother
who listened to me so eloquently I learned
to listen to my own heart and mind, to find
stories and songs there; to thank my family
and friends, and all citizens and travelers
who study and work for deeper kinship
in this place, with one another, and with
all creatures, one Earth, visible, palpable,
fragile, intricate, resonant, in need of our
better stories. I want to thank you
who have gathered to receive what I have
carried here—in hope that something
I have may meet something you need,
so all our relations may be strengthened
for the life we live together.

—from Singer Come from Afar by Kim Stafford
*

Joy Harjo is a member of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation. She was Poet Laureate of the United States from 2019-2022. She said about her work:

“I feel strongly that I have a responsibility to all the sources that I am: to all past and future ancestors, to my home country, to all places that I touch down on and that are myself, to all voices, all women, all of my tribe, all people, all earth, and beyond that to all beginnings and endings.”

My House is the Red Earth

My house is the red earth; it could be the center of the world. I’ve heard New York, Paris, or Tokyo called the center of the world, but I say it is magnificently humble. You could drive by and miss it. Radio waves can obscure it. Words cannot construct it, for there are some sounds left to sacred wordless form. For instance, that fool crow, picking through trash near the corral, understands the center of the world as greasy strips of fat. Just ask him. He doesn’t have to say that the earth has turned scarlet through fierce belief, after centuries of heartbreak and laughter—he perches on the blue bowl of the sky, and laughs.

—from Secrets from the Center of the World by Joy Harjo
*

John Trudell (1946-2015) was a member of the Santee Dakota tribe.

Grandfathers Whispering

Grandfathers whispering
In the wind
Rejoice at the life
You are a part of
Natural energy
Bound to natural laws
You will survive this
Temporary madness imposed upon you
Natural life is longer
Than oppressors illusionary insanity
Spirits experience human deeds
But need not end
This is just one place of changes

Spirit life is forever if you want
The universe is your home
You can survive here
Do not let them kill you
Keep your spirit strong
For distant stars and distant drums
Are the memories of spirit infancy
Children of earth let the spirit live
So you can grow in your place
In the universe

—from Lines from a Mined Mind by John Trudell
*

Gary Snyder won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1975.

MOTHER EARTH: HER WHALES

An owl winks in the shadows
A lizard lifts on tiptoes, breathing hard
Young male sparrow stretches up his neck
big head, watching—

The grasses are working in the sun. Turn it green.
Turn it sweet. That we may eat.
Grow our meat.

Brazil says “sovereign use of Natural Resources”
Thirty thousand kinds of unknown plants.
The living actual people of the jungle
sold and tortured—
And a robot in a suit who peddles a delusion called “Brazil”
can speak for them?

The whales turn and glisten, plunge
and sound and rise again,
Hanging over subtly darkening deeps
Flowing like breathing planets
in the sparkling whorls of
living light—

And Japan quibbles for words on
what kind of whales they can kill?
A once-great Buddhist nation
dribbles methyl mercury
like gonorrhea
in the sea.

Père David’s Deer, the Elaphure,
Lived in the tule marshes of the Yellow River
Two thousand years ago—and lost its home to rice—
The forests of Lo-yang were logged and all the silt &
Sand flowed down, and gone, by 1200 AD—

Wild Geese hatched out in Siberia
head south over basins of the Yang, the Huang,
what we call “China”
On flyways they have used a million years.
Ah China, where are the tigers, the wild boars,
the monkeys,
like the snows of yesteryear
Gone in a mist, a flash, and the dry hard ground
Is parking space for fifty thousand trucks.
IS man most precious of all things?
—then let us love him, and his brothers, all those
Fading living beings—

North America, Turtle Island, taken by invaders
who wage war around the world.
May ants, may abalone, otters, wolves and elk
Rise! and pull away their giving
from the robot nations.

Solidarity. The People.
Standing Tree People!
Flying Bird People!
Swimming Sea People!
Four-legged, two legged, people!

How can the head-heavy power-hungry politic scientist
Government two-world Capitalist-Imperialist
Third-world Communist paper-shuffling male
non-farmer jet-set bureaucrats
Speak for the green of the leaf? Speak for the soil?

(Ah Margaret Mead…do you sometimes dream of Samoa?)

The robots argue how to parcel out our Mother Earth
To last a little longer
like vultures flapping
Belching, gurgling,
near a dying Doe.

“In yonder field a slain knight lies—
We’ll fly to him and eat his eyes
with a down
derry derry derry down down.”

An owl winks in the shadow
A lizard lifts on tiptoe
breathing hard
The whales turn and glisten
plunge and
Sound, and rise again
Flowing like breathing planets

In the sparkling whorls

Of living light.
Stockholm, Summer Solstice 40072

——from Turtle Island by Gary Snyder
*

In his old age, Black Elk saw no contradiction between his traditional beliefs and those of Christianity:

We have been told by the white men, or at least by those who are Christian, that God sent to men His son, who would restore order and peace upon the earth; and we have been told that Jesus the Christ was crucified, but that he shall come again at the Last Judgment, the end of this world or cycle. This I understand and know that it is true, but the white men should know that for the red people too, it was the will of Wakan-Tanka, the Great Spirit, that an animal turn itself into a two-legged person in order to bring the most holy pipe to His people; and we too were taught that this White Buffalo Cow Woman who brought our sacred pipe will appear again at the end of this “world,” a coming which we Indians know is now not very far off.
Many people call it a “peace pipe,” yet now there is no peace on earth or even between neighbors, and I have been told that it has been a long time since there has been peace in the world. There is much talk of peace among the Christians, yet this is just talk. Perhaps it may be, and this is my prayer that, through our sacred pipe, and through this book in which I shall explain what our pipe really is, peace may come to those peoples who can understand, an understanding which must be of the heart and not of the head alone. Then they will realize that we Indians know the One true God, and that we pray to him continually.
I have wished to make this book through no other desire than to help my people in understanding the greatness and truth of our own tradition, and also to help in bringing peace upon the earth, not only among men, but within men and between the whole of creation.
We should understand well that all things are the works of the Great Spirit. We should know that He is within all things: the trees, the grasses, the rivers, the mountains, and all the four-legged animals, and the winged peoples; and even more important, we should understand that He is also above all these things and peoples. When we do understand all this deeply in our hearts, then we will fear, and love, and know the Great Spirit, and then we will be and act and live as He intends.

—from Black Elk’s Foreword to The Sacred Pipe, recorded and edited by Joseph Epes Brown

Bibliophiles Unanimous! 9/24/23
2023-09-24 15:00 - 17:00
Black Elk

The leaves on the trees, the grasses on the hills and in the valleys, the waters in the creeks and in the rivers and the lakes, the four-legged and the two-legged and the wings of the air—all danced together to the music of the stallion’s song.
–Black Elk

Beloved Bibliophiles!

On Sunday, September 24th, Johnny Stallings reads from:

Black Elk’s Great Vision

Followed by a dialogue, of course.

The Zoom gathering starts at 3 pm (PDT). Here’s the link:

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

I hope to see you there.

peace, love & happiness

Johnny

GOLDFINCHES!: a theatrical monologue by Johnny Stallings 9/17/23
2023-09-17 19:00 - 21:00
Goldfinches!

a theatrical monologue
by
Johnny Stallings

at PAUSE
PAUSE is a meditation studio—133 SW 2nd Ave., Suite 300
Sunday, September 17th, 7 p.m.

Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue 9/15/23
2023-09-15 - 2023-10-14
Open Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue

September 15, 2023

If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, infinite.
For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro’ narrow chinks of his cavern.
—William Blake, from THE MARRIAGE of HEAVEN and HELL
*

#103 A Garden of Poems

One day in New York City, I met a Buddhist scholar and I told her about my practice of mindfulness in the vegetable garden. I enjoy growing lettuce, tomatoes, and other vegetables, and I like to spend time gardening every day.
She said, “You shouldn’t spend your time growing vegetables. You should spend more time writing poems. Your poems are so beautiful. Everyone can grow lettuce, but not everyone can write poems like you do.”
I told her, “If I don’t grow lettuce, I can’t write poems.”

—from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh

This one really made me laugh. For me, it’s playing music, or drawing, or writing. If I don’t do these things it is difficult for me to think correctly in my day-to-day life. Everything is out of tune & I don’t feel right. One of the counselors here asked me about my drawings. I told her that I did not have time to draw anymore. She said, “NO! You must find the time to draw & express yourself, so you feel right!”

So I found the time & she was right. I can in fact think better now. My tasks run smoother and I just feel better. So I do get what Thich Nhat Hanh is saying here. We must do the things that we are passionate about & we must do the things that feed our being so we’re capable of doing all of the things we need & want to do.

Love you all so much.

—Rocky Hutchinson
*

#10 “Lotus in the Mud”

“The goodness of suffering is something real. Without suffering, there cannot be happiness. Without mud there cannot be any lotus flowers. So if you know how to suffer, suffering is okay. And the moment you have that attitude, you don’t suffer much anymore. And out of suffering, a lotus flower of happiness can open.”
—from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh

Before I ever read this, I believed this. Going back to my first marriage of thirteen years in an abusive, alcoholic relationship, I suffered in such a way that my mind and body simply shut down. I stopped talking, I stopped eating, I stopped feeling. It was the only way I could keep living—by not living. I suffered internally and externally, not understanding either condition.

It was only when I escaped the marriage that I was released from suffering and moved—no, vaulted, catapulted, jetted!—into joy, into happiness. Into gratitude. I had plenty of scars, physical and emotional, but I came to understand and rejoice in what I had lived through. I rejoiced in the suffering, because I was now living life. Getting unstuck from the mud of suffering is how I came to be grateful for the suffering. So to happiness, I would add gratitude as an ingredient that blossoms from the mud.

—Jude Russell
*

Holy Land

Where the angel gave black stone to the prophet,
where the old man woke under a tree, where
a king killed a worthy friend, first there is silence,
then singing, chanting, sweet smoke, and visions.

Where the bones of a frail saint lie, where a newborn
slept in straw, where a father did not slay his son—
pilgrims have passed by places without stories
by the thousands to be here weeping and praying.

It’s all in how you see it, how you tell it.
On this rocky hill, a peasant met a virgin girl.
On that one, he did not. Here a cathedral,
there only the wind twitching dry grass.

Under the sky in a burning world, how can
we choose what is holy and what is not?

—Kim Stafford
*

I have already seen red leaves on a tree! Autumn is lulling in even during this hot summer day. I think of this poem, as the beauty and sorrows in the world unfold together. And it helps me feel the expansive wonder of it all.

Three Times my Life has Opened

Three times my life has opened.
Once, into darkness and rain.
Once, into what the body carries at all times within it and
starts to remember each time it enters the act of love.
Once, to the fire that holds all.
These three were not different.
You will recognize what I am saying or you will not.
But outside my window all day a maple has stepped
from her leaves like a woman in love with winter, dropping
the colored silks.
Neither are we different in what we know.
There is a door. It opens. Then it is closed. But a slip of
light stays, like a scrap of unreadable paper left on the floor,
or the one red leaf the snow releases in March.

—Jane Hirshfield, from The Lives of the Heart: Poems

—Love and Peace, Katie Radditz
*

Ode to things (Oda a las cosas)

I have a crazy,
crazy love of things.
I like pliers,
and scissors.
I love
cups,
rings,
and bowls—
not to speak, of course,
of hats.
I love
all things,
not just
the grandest,
also
the
infinite-
ly
small—
thimbles,
spurs,
plates,
and flower vases.

Oh yes,
the planet
is sublime!
It’s full of
pipes
weaving
hand-held
through tobacco smoke,
and keys
and salt shakers—
everything,
I mean,
that is made
by the hand of man, every little thing:
shapely shoes,
and fabric
and each new
bloodless birth
of gold,
eyeglasses,
carpenter’s nails,
brushes,
clocks, compasses,
coins, and the so-soft
softness of chairs.

Mankind has
built
oh so many
perfect
things!
Built them of wool
and of wood,
of glass and
of rope:
remarkable
tables,
ships, and stairways.

I love
all
things,
not because they are
passionate
or sweet-smelling
but because,
I don’t know,
because
this ocean is yours,
and mine:
these buttons
and wheels
and little
forgotten
treasures,
fans upon
whose feathers
love has scattered
its blossoms,
glasses, knives and
scissors—
all bear
the trace
of someone’s fingers
on their handle or surface,
the trace of a distant hand
lost
in the depths of forgetfulness.

I pause in houses,
streets and
elevators,
touching things,
identifying objects
that I secretly covet:
this one because it rings,
that one because
it’s as soft
as the softness of a woman’s hip,
that one there for its deep-sea color,
and that one for its velvet feel.

O irrevocable
river
of things:
no one can say
that I loved
only
fish,
or the plants of the jungle and field,
that I loved
only
those things that leap and climb, desire, and survive.
It’s not true:
many things conspired
to tell me the whole story.
Not only did they touch me,
or my hand touched them:
they were
so close
that they were a part
of my being,
they were so alive with me
that they lived half my life
and will die half my death.

—Pablo Neruda, from Odes to Common Things, edited & illustrated by Ferris Cook, translated by Ken Krabbenhoft

love to all,
—Johnny Stallings

Bibliophiles Unanimous! 9/10/23
2023-09-10 15:00 - 17:00
Old Mother Hubbard’s dog playing the flute (19th Century illustration)

Beloved Bibliophiles!

Our theme for Sunday, September 10th is:

Mother Goose & Friends

What are your favorite nursery rhymes, poems for children, children’s folklore, nonsense & children’s literature? The Zoom gathering starts at 3 pm (PDT). Here’s the link:

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

I hope to see you there.

peace, love & happiness

Johnny

peace, love, happiness & understanding 9/7/23
2023-09-07 - 2023-10-04
One Happy Man (Rocky Hutchinson) with Eight Puppies (two are black)

THE OPEN ROAD
peace, love, happiness & understanding

September 7, 2023

If you help one person, you help humanity.
—Ai Weiwei

Ken Margolis sent this poem by Ai Qing, who is the father of the artist Ai Weiwei:

YARKHOTO
It’s almost as if a caravan is wending its way through town
A clamor of voices mingling with the tinkle of camel bells
The markets bustling as before
An incessant flow of carts and horses
But no—the splendid palace
Has lapsed into ruin
Of a thousand years of joys and sorrows
Not a trace can be found
You who are living, live the best life you can
Don’t count on the earth to preserve memory

—Ai Qing (1980)
*

A letter from Abe Green:

It’s early morning
I’m sitting in my backyard acquainting myself with the
richness of this new day
The sun bright and warm
The air intoxicatingly fresh [small feather taped to the page]
I gulp it with delight
A hundred thoughts clamor for my attention but I deny all in
anticipation of the song birds arrival at my feeder
I am patient
Suddenly a single wren swoops in alighting on the small
table next to my chair
Next to my arm
We both seem surprised and take cautious appraisal of
one another
She inspecting this mysterious land-bound creature
I observing her intricate feathering
Her tiny yet powerful legs and feet
And most of all her dark probing eyes

Gazing into those ebon portals I was confronted with the
full creative power of life
Did she see the same in mine?
Did she see the earth song in my heart?

How beautiful those few heartbeats were for me and
How beautiful was her perfection

Then with three resonant chirps as if clarifying an essential
truth with this benign human
She took wing to be about further business

How astonishing is creation in its continual
bursting forth with life

And how wonderful is the human experience to be

Astonished!

—Abe Green
*

Dear Johnny

Hey there, my friend. It’s been quite some time now since I’ve written you a letter. But you know that I’ve just been really busy. My skills that I’ve been obtaining the last few years have been shining through the last few weeks in my work. It’s an amazing thing to see all you can accomplish when you really apply your heart, mind & soul into life. The truth is, is that for me the difficulties are worth the accomplishments.

My lesson with the dog today went surprisingly well. The things I’m doing now are so hard to do, but my trainer is very good at this & is helping me to be better too. As I performed all the “get help” cues with the dog, I got to do them by the flowers I planted this Spring. As I gave direction to the dog with cues, my eyes took in the beauty of the gladioluses, brown eyed daisies, foxgloves & a rose bush. It was an enchanted few seconds, sacred in the pause of the mind. My hope is that my life will be this way once I’m out of here. I’m happy & wish to stay so.

We got to take pictures with the puppies & you’ll be getting some soon. As luck would have it, my favorite one, “Unique,” a 9 lb female black lab has moved into my cell “for a short stay.” She is a lot of work!! She is 41 days old & knows her name, comes, sits & potties on the pad. She will be doing rides & hills by 60 days old. They are an amazing litter….

I wanted to let you and Nancy know about a movie I caught a few days ago. It’s called “Maudie”! It’s about a Canadian folk artist that had arthritis badly. Very good movie…very humble life. When I see such things…it gives me a sense of calmness, knowing that the best lives are full of difficulties & that makes the joy we find in them all the sweeter for us, and maybe for those we touch.

Well, you can use this whole letter in the Open Road newsletter if you’d like. It’s all good & beautiful. I love you & miss you & hope to hear from you soon.

Beautiful things on the Golden path are like finding the best rocks in the river on a Summer’s day. The best things we all have in life are the joys we give & get & the love we let shine from our hearts that grow all the good things. It feels like I’ve got raven wings to fly on, shiny, strong and true, for carrying all the love I have to all the ones I love so true.

—Rocky Hutchinson (8/13/2023)
*

Prairie Radio

Way out on open hills we get
no reception—no news or message
gets through, so we listen to birds
explain existence, and by scent of dust
and flowers apprehend our chance.

Back home in cities, signals bombard
our tender minds with wars and other
troubles, air around us thick with
warnings and sorrows, light around us
thick with poisons for heart and mind.

But anywhere, if you turn your head,
wind delivers light across prairie hills
from far to inform your ancient soul.

—from Beauty So Intense You Shield Your Eyes by Kim Stafford
*

Scott Teitsworth recently read this inspiring passage from Brian Doyle’s essay “The Final Frontier” to some of his friends:

….I began, slowly and dimly, to realize that humble was the only finally truly honest way to be in this life. Anything else is ultimately cocky, which is either foolish or a deliberate disguise you refuse to remove, for complicated reasons perhaps not known even to you.

Of course you do your absolute best to find and hone and wield your divine gifts against the dark. You do your best to reach out tenderly to touch and elevate as many people as you can reach. You bring your naked love and defiant courage and salty grace to bear as much as you can, with all the attentiveness and humor you can muster. This life is after all a miracle and we ought to pay fierce attention every moment, as much as possible.

But you cannot control anything. You cannot order or command everything. You cannot fix and repair everything. You cannot protect your children from pain and loss and tragedy and illness. You cannot be sure that you will always be married, let alone happily married. You cannot be sure you will always be employed, or healthy, or relatively sane.

All you can do is face the world with quiet grace and hope you make a sliver of difference. Humility does not mean self-abnegation, lassitude, detachment; it’s a more calm recognition that you must trust in that which does not make sense, that which is unreasonable, illogical, silly, ridiculous, crazy by the measure of most of our culture. You must trust that you being the best possible you matters somehow. That trying to be an hones and tender parent will echo for centuries through your tribe. That doing your chosen work with creativity and diligence will shiver people far beyond your ken. That being an attentive and generous friend and citizen will prevent a thread or two of the social fabric from unraveling. And you must do all of this with the certain knowledge that you will never get proper credit for it, and in fact the vast majority of things you do right will go utterly unremarked. Humility, the final frontier, as my brother Kevin used to say. When we are young we build a self, a persona, a story in which to reside, or several selves in succession, or several at once, sometimes; when we are older we take on other roles and personas, other masks and duties; and you and I both know men and women who become trapped in the selves they worked so hard to build, so desperately imprisoned that sometimes they smash their lives simply to escape who they no longer wish to be; but finally, I think, if we are lucky, if we read the book of pain and loss with humility, we realize that we are all broken and small and brief, that none among us is ultimately more valuable or rich or famous or beautiful than another; and then, perhaps, we begin to understand something deep and true about humility.

This is what I know: that the small is huge, that the tiny is vast, that pain is part and parcel of the gift of joy, and that this is love, and then there is everything else. You either walk toward love or away from it with every breath you draw. Humility is the road to love. Humility, maybe, is love. That could be. I wouldn’t know; I’m a muddle and a conundrum shuffling slowly along the road, gaping in wonder, trying to just see and say what is, trying to leave shreds and shards of ego along the road like wisps of litter and chaff.

—One Long River of Song by Brian Doyle, pp. 58-59

Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue 8/15/23
2023-08-15 - 2023-09-14
Open Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue

August 15, 2023

Live righteously and love everyone.
—tag on a Yogi Tea bag

#32 Constant Transformation

“Impermanence and selflessness are not negative aspects of life, but the very foundation on which life is built. Impermanence is the constant transformation of things. Without impermanence, there can be no life. Selflessness is the interdependent nature of all things. Without interdependence, nothing could exist.”—from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh

A couple of things have happened in the last year or so that make this #32 of Constant Transformation jump out at me:

#1: I have a neighbor who uses people. It’s one thing to ask for favors and then offer some form of thanks or reciprocation—-no problem with that. This neighbor offers nothing, and often just asks for more. I have been very ticked off about this. Years ago she asked me to ‘just swing by and water my geraniums. You’ll be walking Lolo anyway, right?’ Okay, sure. But this meant watering 40 geraniums, several times a week—for five months! While she was in Arizona! So I did. In return, she gave me five lemons from her tree in Scottsdale. I did this for two years, with no small amount of growing resentment and internal grumbling, and then I politely but firmly refused, feeling really taken advantage of. This last year she asked again, and for some reason I said yes. This time I started admiring the bright red blooms in the pale, midwinter light. I rubbed the leaves with my fingers and smelled their pungent flavor. It took me back to my dad’s geraniums and gave me sweet memories of him and my mom. It became a welcome task to take care of the geraniums, and when she returned, with five more lemons, I thanked her gratefully for brightening up my wintertime. Because she did!

Second transformation: I love to hike. I love burbling streams, mossy banks, nodding trilliums, dark green branches of massive tree trunks. Oh no! Another bag of dog poop left at the foot of that tree! What is wrong with you people?!?!?! If you’re going to bring your dog, pick up your damned poop bags on the way out! Honestly, I know you know it’s there. You just decided it’s no big deal to leave it. Snarl, snarl, grumble, fume. The beauty fades and all I can think is…being pissed off! Well, what’s the point of that?

So one day I picked up the bag of poop and carried it out. I attached it to the rear windshield wiper of my car and took it home where I tossed it in the garbage can. Maybe they just didn’t see it when they were hiking out. You never know. Next time I picked up another bag. Somebody saw me carrying it and thanked me for carrying my dog’s poop bag out of the woods. Oh, it’s not my dog’s, it was just left on the trail, I said. You’re a saint, they said. Oh no, I murmured, modestly.

But aside from sort of feeling like a saint, I felt good about helping keep my beautiful woods clean. I kept thinking that you don’t know, maybe people do just forget or can’t find their dog’s poop bag. So I can help out and kind of keep things beautiful for me and for other hikers.

That was a couple of years ago, and now I do it all the time. I’m a little bit miffed that nobody’s called me a saint again, but I still get a good feeling when I see the clean and beautiful woods.

Complete transformation.

—Jude Russell
*

Jude, you’re a saint!
—(from the Editor)
*

Artificial Light

By bulbs and wires, porch lights insult dusk,
streetlights thieve stars from children, headlights
stab haste deep into wounded night.

By day, I squint by the pallor of false explanation,
the sickly glow of lies claiming illumination
while casting artificial darkness everywhere.

This light blinds my mind. I seek real dark,
no human spark’s denial. I need thin shoes
finding my path by feel, night stars, grope touch,

earth sleep, nocturnal dreams, then dawn.

—Kim Stafford 8-11-2023
*

Not Yet

A connoisseur of hands
(because hers are crippled)
said when looking at his
that they are the most beautiful
she had yet seen.

The fact that they will leave
this world soon may have had
something to do with this impression.

A glint of silver flashes as fish
leap headlong
out of the river into the sky.

—Elizabeth Domike
*

Midsummer night dreaming

It’s heating up—the Sun is beaming up there during the day. But the night sky is also fully alive with shooting stars. I’m sleeping outside to watch the Perseid meteor shower at its peak. It’s a new moon so a black sky, no clouds or rain to block the view. I know it can sometimes make us feel insignificant looking at the cold stars, but tonight I feel expansive, to be alive and witness the amazing cosmos. The cooling breeze makes me feel in tune with the cedar trees and the birch that surround our home. Even though there is only a narrow strip of sky, I can see the big dipper’s handle and there was one long streak of shooting star that seemed to welcome me to the party. I’m cooling down, slowing down.

I relate to this poem of Wendell Berry’s and am lucky to live where I can go out and lay down in the wild.

The Peace of Wild Things

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

—Wendell Berry

Dreaming about and longing for summer’s past, hiking in the snow-capped mountains, along fresh creeks we could drink from, having a young adult body with knees that could easily let me jump from boulder to boulder up McCord Creek in the Gorge.

Impermanence and desires – Thinking of Hermia and her many changing desires that are befuddling and too rapid. Finally they are debilitating, all these loves won then lost, until her legs fail her. This seems like a good Buddhist story. How important it is to not cling and be swept away, to slow down and enjoy what there is here now. To stop running after things till our legs give out.

I like the quiet implied in Wendell Berry’s poem. There aren’t sounds after the first one that wakes him. And so I lie down outside when the traffic has stopped and I can hear the soothing wind in the trees and the silent stars that I know are always there.

I hope you all stay cool somehow and enjoy Midsummer Night dreaming.

—Katie Radditz
*

In this excerpt from Centuries of Meditations, Thomas Traherne gives an account of how he experienced the world when he was a child:

The corn was orient and immortal wheat, which never should be reaped, nor was ever sown. I thought it had stood from everlasting to everlasting. The dust and stones of the street were as precious as gold: the gates were at first the end of the world. The green trees when I saw them first through one of the gates transported and ravished me, their sweetness and unusual beauty made my heart to leap, and almost mad with ecstasy, they were such strange and wonderful things. The Men! O what venerable and reverend creatures did the aged seem! Immortal Cherubims! And young men glittering and sparkling Angels, and maids strange seraphic pieces of life and beauty! Boys and girls tumbling in the street, and playing, were moving jewels. I knew not that they were born or should die; But all things abided eternally as they were in their proper places. Eternity was manifest in the Light of the Day, and something infinite behind everything appeared: which talked with my expectation and moved my desire. The city seemed to stand in Eden, or to be built in Heaven. The streets were mine, the temple was mine, the people were mine, their clothes and gold and silver were mine, as much as their sparkling eyes, fair skins and ruddy faces. The skies were mine, and so were the sun and moon and stars, and all the World was mine; and I the only spectator and enjoyer of it. I knew no churlish properties, nor bounds, nor divisions: but all properties and divisions were mine: all treasures and the possessors of them. So that with much ado I was corrupted, and made to learn the dirty devices of this world. Which now I unlearn, and become, as it were, a little child again that I may enter into the Kingdom of God.

—Thomas Traherne, Centuries of Meditations, Third Century, Meditation #3

—Johnny Stallings
*

Understanding Makes Compassion Possible (pt. 1)

Understanding is the substance out of which we fabricate compassion. What kind of understanding…? It’s the understanding that the other person suffers too. When we suffer, we tend to believe we’re the victims of others, that we are the only ones who suffer. This is not true—the other person also suffers. If we could only see the pain within him, we would begin to understand him. Once understanding is present, compassion becomes possible….The other person may be an inmate like us, or a guard. If we look, we can see there is a lot of suffering within him. Maybe he doesn’t know how to handle his suffering. Maybe he allows his suffering to grow…and this makes him and other people around him suffer. So with this kind of awareness or mindfulness, you begin to understand, and understanding will give rise to your compassion. With compassion in you, you will suffer much less, and you will be motivated by a desire to do something—or not do something—so the other person suffers less. Your way of looking or smiling at him may help him suffer less….

—Thich Nhat Hanh
(This might be from the book Be Free Where You Are, which is the record of a talk he gave at the Maryland Correctional Institution at Hagerstown—Ed.)

Sometimes I struggle to want to allow compassion for some to develop. Is it unreasonable to want those who (seem to deliberately) cultivate the means of suffering for others to have even more suffering—because their actions show their mis-managed suffering? I guess the answer is in the question: If they have more, then they will pass on more—hurt people hurt people. How sad this is, that our world, with all the advancements, can’t evolve (communally) past the concerns of toddler-hood. Such as, basic safety and hurting others to express our own pain. This was revealed for me in For Your Own Good and some other books Johnny shared with me. Compassion seems to be the path out, and mindful awareness is the key unlocking the gate thereto.

—Michel Deforge

Bibliophiles Unanimous! 8/13/23
2023-08-13 15:00 - 17:00
Beloved Bibliophiles!

Our theme for Sunday, August 13th is:

What Are Your Top Ten (or Fifteen) Favorite Novels of All Time?

The Zoom gathering starts at 3 pm (PDT). Here’s the link:

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

I hope to see you there.

peace, love & happiness

Johnny

peace, love, happiness & understanding 8/3/23
2023-08-03 - 2023-09-06
THE OPEN ROAD
peace, love, happiness & understanding

August 3, 2023

VISIONS OF UTOPIA & PARADISE

To create around ourselves the kind of world that we wish to live in–isn’t that the most important project of our lives?

–from Alchemy of Snowness by the Russian clown, Slava Polunin

GONZALO
Had I plantation of this isle, my lord—
ANTONIO
He’d sow ’t with nettle seed.
SEBASTIAN Or docks, or mallows.
GONZALO
And were the king on ’t, what would I do?
SEBASTIAN Scape being drunk, for want of wine.
GONZALO
I’ th’ commonwealth I would by contraries
Execute all things, for no kind of traffic
Would I admit; no name of magistrate;
Letters should not be known; riches, poverty,
And use of service, none; contract, succession,
Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none;
No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil;
No occupation; all men idle, all,
And women too, but innocent and pure;
No sovereignty—
SEBASTIAN Yet he would be king on ’t.
ANTONIO The latter end of his commonwealth forgets
the beginning.
GONZALO
All things in common nature should produce
Without sweat or endeavor; treason, felony,
Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine
Would I not have; but nature should bring forth
Of its own kind all foison, all abundance,
To feed my innocent people.
SEBASTIAN No marrying ’mong his subjects?
ANTONIO None, man, all idle: whores and knaves.
GONZALO
I would with such perfection govern, sir,
T’ excel the Golden Age.
SEBASTIAN ’Save his Majesty!
ANTONIO
Long live Gonzalo!

—from The Tempest by William Shakespeare, Act 2, scene 1

Here’s an excerpt from Magdalena Cieślak’s interview with Stratis Panourios about a production of Shakespeare’s The Tempest, which he directed at Korydallos prison in Athens:

MC: One of the central characters in your production is Gonzalo. Can you explain why this particular character is of such importance for your reading of the play? In what way are his ideas of a utopian state crucial for the social role of the project?

SP: Gonzalo, as Shakespeare mentions him in the list of characters, is an honest old advisor from Naples, and I see him the same way. Although he was appointed to dispose of Prospero and Miranda at sea, he actually helped them survive, giving them water, food, clothes and books that Prospero considered important….He is a positive thinker, who believes in the will of Heaven….

The participants are baptized again through the performance. For the duration of the rehearsals and their presence on stage, they are reborn. This is particularly visible in the participant who plays Gonzalo, as he becomes a different person, even if just for a few months. The inmates call him Gonzalo inside the prison. And during his famous monologue, when he says “And were the king of it, what would I do?”, he becomes a king, president or prime minister of the country. After this monologue he cannot be himself. He acquires respect and prestige, even if this is related to a theatrical monologue.

He is also given the opportunity to speak on behalf of all the prisoners—to say that he imagines their own world, outside the prison. A world that is “upside down” or “opposite” to today’s world. In the monologue, Gonzalo says: “I’ th’ commonwealth I would by contraries / Execute all things.” In our rehearsals we pondered on whether this world should be the norm and not the other way around….This verse opened a whole world to us.

Through extensive discussions during rehearsals we achieved a connection between the world of Gonzalo and Platonic ideals. Since the staging of our play not only involved rehearsals but also a lot of research, one of the participants took the initiative to guide us with a lecture, making an introduction to Plato’s work Politeia [The Republic]. As a modern Socrates, a prisoner, he spoke to us about the importance of justice and how much happier a righteous person is from an unjust one. He spoke to us about the definition of justice, the structure of society, property and privacy, and philosopher-kings; he spoke about Plato’s Allegory of the Cave and the importance of the truth for different regimes; and about art, utopias and dystopias. Our room was transformed into the “Gallipoli” of the book and all of us into philosopher-kings. We could talk for hours and hours about the issues in Plato’s Politeia, so we decided for the time being that maybe one of our future performances would have the theme of Politeia, where we could all study it thoroughly.

As reference books and texts on the ideal state, we studied Thomas Moore’s Utopia, written in 1516, presenting a story taking place on a strange island somewhere in the South Atlantic Ocean, off the coast of South America. We could not help but associate Shakespeare with the reading of this book, making sure that the decision to link the prison to Prospero’s Island was the right one. This reading was followed by references to the Biblical Garden in Eden, Sir Philip Sydney’s Arcadia (1580), a summary of Michel de Montaigne’s Of Cannibals (1580). We ended our study with texts written by the participants on the subject of their own vision of an ideal state. The adaptation of Gonzalo’s monologue in our show was based on the texts by the participants.

The participant who plays Gonzalo now had the opportunity to talk about his ideal state, a world without crime and prisons. Until then, his voice was heard only in his apology in court, while now his monologue was addressed to the spectators. And the spectators are by no means jurors. On the edge of the stage, he was free not only to apologize but to share something very important: his own discovery and the thoughts of an ideal utopia. His words are dominated by a big “if.” “If” the world was different, maybe he would not have to be in prison, he would have the opportunity to live like other people. He would live a normal life and his childhood would be full of wonder and hope. Because in the conversations we had, we likened this time to childhood, which for most prisoners may have existed as an idealized state. In the rehearsals, of course, we experienced this through the joy of creation.

—from Multicultural Shakespeare, vol. 26 (41) 2022
*

Alas!, there was no “peace, love, happiness & understanding” in July because I was on the open road—traveling to Athens and Beirut, where I showed Bushra’s film “A Midsummer Night’s Dream in Prison.” The conversations following the screenings were great! While in Athens, I saw a production of “The Persians” by Aeschylus at Korydallos prison, directed by my friend Stratis Panourios. One thing especially reminded me of our plays done in Oregon prisons. After the performances, love and happiness were in the air—in prison! A miracle!

At the end of the June issue of “peace, love, happiness & understanding,” I invited everyone to share their visions of utopia and paradise. The subject turns out to be so big that all I can manage are a few random thoughts. Here they are:

The word “utopia” was coined by Sir Thomas More for his novel Utopia. It is often said that it is a translation from Greek, and that it means “no-place,” but Thomas More was probably punning on two Greek words outopia, meaning “no-place,” and eutopia, meaning “happy place.” Most creators of literary utopias were imagining societies where life would be better than the societies in which they lived—happy places!

Plato’s Republic is a grand vision of an ideal society. I wouldn’t want to live there. Ernest Callenbach’s Ecotopia is more my speed. But of course not everyone wants to live in the hippie version of paradise.

In Christianity, the word “Paradise” refers to the Garden of Eden and to Heaven. In the Garden of Eden a naked man and woman live in innocence, without sin or death. There is just one rule: they can’t eat of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. Tempted by a talking snake, they do just that. They get kicked out of the Garden before they are able to eat of the Tree of Life—and gain immortality thereby. They are punished for the sin of disobedience to the God who created them. A number of other punishments ensue, but the most dramatic one is that they will die.

Probably the oldest story invented by humans is that when you die you don’t really die. You go somewhere else. In Christianity, the basic idea is that when you die you go to Heaven if you have been good—and if you believe in Jesus Christ, who died on the cross to save you from sin and death. If you have been bad—or are an unbeliever—you are damned and must go to Hell, which is a place of eternal punishment. The idea that the good are rewarded after death and the bad are punished is an idea that is found in many cultures, and in the writings of Plato. There’s a Tibetan board game called “Rebirth,” which features a number of hells, including “The Black Rope and Crushing Hells.” (Incidentally, most of the squares on the board—on your journey to Nirvana—are states of consciousness above the heavenly realms of the gods.)

There are lots and lots of visions of utopias, dystopias, paradises, and hell realms of one kind and another. A fundamental obstacle to achieving utopian societies is that one person’s utopia is another person’s dystopia. Recently the Lincoln Project posted a video on YouTube in which Marjorie Taylor Greene describes the nightmarish Socialist Big Government dystopia that Democrats like Joe Biden represent—addressing education, medical care, urban problems, rural poverty, transportation, food stamps, welfare, economic opportunity, labor unions, and environmental programs. This all sounds pretty good to some folks.

There are many dystopian visions these days, in books and films. Two of the most well-known dystopias of the Twentieth Century are George Orwell’s 1984 and Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World. Huxley’s utopian novel, Island, is less well-known. Dave Eggers has recently given us two novels set in a not-very-distant future, in which efforts to create a technological utopia give the reader a distinctly dystopian feeling—The Circle and The Every. In The Road, Cormac McCarthy imagines a future that is so ecologically devastated that human survival is in peril.

Cinematic dystopias abound. The series of Mad Max films is one example among many. Utopian visions are harder to come by. In Wim Wenders’ film Wings of Desire, one of the angel protagonists exchanges his immortality for an earthly existence, where he can enjoy the aroma of coffee and live with a beautiful trapeze artist. It’s like in the fairy tales where at least some of the people live happily ever after. This is also known as the “Hollywood Ending.” We leave the theater feeling good.

There were many utopian experiments in Nineteenth Century America—from the Oneida Community, which lasted for 33 years, to the Mormon Church, which is still going strong. More recently, lots of people started hippie communes. These days the term for people who get together to live more in accordance with their ideals is “intentional communities.”

There’s a dark side to utopian visions, especially when violence and coercion are used to “improve” the world. The Third Reich is a spectacular example. There are others.

Last weekend Nancy and I went to the Canterbury Renaissance Faire, where some of our friends were performing Hamlet. The whole festival was someone’s utopian vision. Thousands of people came who enjoy imagining themselves as fairies, medieval knights, and other natural and supernatural characters of one kind and another. A play is a magical world, whether it is performed at Korydallos prison or the Canterbury Faire. For a little while we are transported to another world.

If you think of it in this way, utopias are everywhere. Sometimes they are very brief. A perfect moment is paradise.

The Big World is an endlessly complex system of ever-changing forces. While some people work for peace, justice and ecology, there are many countervailing forces in play. We have, I think, an obligation to make efforts to make the world a better place for all people—and for elephants and butterflies.

In addition to this extremely challenging undertaking, we have a duty, day-by-day, to become better people—wiser, kinder, more happy, more loving, more free. Surrounded by dystopias and hells of one kind and another, we can bless the day, be thankful for our human life on earth, be helpful to our fellow mortals, create for ourselves and others moments when we find ourselves in Paradise.

—Johnny Stallings
*

My new friend Spiros in Athens sent this poem:

And people mix and separate and they take nothing from each other.
Because love is the most difficult way to get to know one another.
Because people, my friend, live in the moment they find a solace in the lives of others.
And then you understand why the desperate become the greatest rebels.
And we are suddenly defenseless,
like a victor in the face of death or a defeated one facing Eternity…

— Tasos Leivaditis, translated from the Greek by Spiros Chrisovitsianos
*

Kim wrote this poem this morning (8/3/23):

Borrowed Aura

In my dream, our shop dealt in dazzlings—
each soul’s essence distilled to mist
we could bottle and bestow to restore
balance, a hint of your verve to enliven
my calm, a whiff of my patience to guide
your eagerness, gifts sifted for exchange
until we each became whole.

Waking, I walked into the forest of dawn
where the scent of pitch brightened my mind,
ghostly lichen on a limb re-set my life clock,
a raven’s raspy shriek startled my pulse,
green light dazzled my numb soul,
as each turn in my pilgrim path
nudged me toward wisdom.

—Kim Stafford
*

Words for Cup and Water

Stepping through the dream-wall President Lincoln
cradles a cat named Bob. Droplets of rain shine
on the hemlock tree which reached
the bedroom window just this year.

All beveled mirrors still shimmer no matter
what they reflect, drugstore, library, bookshop
all carry magazines, hopes, and dreams,
one long loop running down

streamlets in the mist. I make a nest with my hands,
try to capture the mood of the mountain.
the President says, “Don’t bother, we have work to do.”
Instead, Bob washes, framed by evening light.

We pause for a moment.
Watch a female Harrier glide golden,
over marshy fields opening before our eyes.
Sleeves rolled up; possibilities begin to appear nearby.

—Elizabeth Domike
*

What an Angel Said
after Austin T. Holland

You better believe it,
kid: the arkless sea
is also a kind of ark.

My grief has endless credit
but I blew it all on craps
and now my eyes lack coins.

I never understood whether heaven-sent
meant from or to
that bright & high-rent place.

Divinate me. At the bottom
of every teacup (in the dregs)
you’ll find a death’s-head.

Tomorrow, you’ll risk laughter
when I ascend the compost pile
in a huff of regeneration.

Next century, I am
crowned with a wreath
of black dove & white raven

feathers.

—Alex Tretbar, first published in Anti-Heroin Chic
*

Perfect Day

it’s another perfect day on Planet Earth
I carried a heavy stone from the truck to the back yard
the bright flowers shouted at me
woke me up
reminded me
what is true

far away, in Washington D. C., they are making plans to kill more people
in order to get more money

and maybe oblivious to the blue sky
people in this city are charging off to work
preoccupied with all their problems

there are millions of ways to ignore
and even to try to destroy
the beauty that calls to us everywhere
from everyone
from every thing
on this perfect day

—Johnny Stallings
*

We shall study every philosophy, search through all the scriptures, consult every teacher and practice all spiritual exercises until our minds are swollen with the whole wisdom of the world. But in the end we shall return to the surprising fact that we walk, eat, sleep, feel and breathe, that whether we are deep in thought or idly passing the time of day, we are alive. And when we can know just that to be the supreme experience of religion we shall know the final secret and join in the laughter of the gods.

—Alan Watts, quoted in Wandering in Eden by Michael Adam

Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue 7/15/23
2023-08-02 08:00 - 17:00
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 cover image:

Verse 9

The Atmopadesha Satakam (Hundred Verses of Self Instruction) of Narayana Guru

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.

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 Satakam.

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 reemerging 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 reread 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!

Johnny writes: 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, 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 Snowness by 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

“The Hammock” 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

Extract from Thich Nhat Hanh’s Understanding Our Mind

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.

One Hundred Percent Your True Home   -Thich Nhat Hanh

“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.”

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 9:07pm, then 9:04pm…then 8:56pm. 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. l 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 Russel

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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
