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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20220925
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20221009
DTSTAMP:20260425T093307
CREATED:20220923T163859Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20220929T203306Z
UID:3261-1664064000-1665273599@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!: POETRY  9/25/22
DESCRIPTION:  \n \npoem written and engraved by William Blake\, from “Songs of Innocence” \n  \n  \nBeloved Bibliophiles!  \n  \nOn September 25th we read poems to each other via Zoom. Here are some of the poems we read: \n  \nMartha read this poem  by Andrea Hollander: \n  \nOverture   \n Portland\, Oregon\, February 2012   \n  \nSo I stepped off the streetcar   \nand walked to the bus stop\,   \nmarveling at the city around me\,   \nand at the young woman I could never be   \nstanding as if beautiful   \nwith her tattooed neck   \nand metal studs through her nose and ears\,   \nand actually she was beautiful\,   \nsinging a familiar tune\, its notes of grace   \nfilling the space between the two of us\,   \nand suddenly too a limping man   \nwith his cardboard WILL-WORK-FOR-FOOD sign   \nlike the title of a poem and not his life\,   \nbut who was he then\,   \nbecause he began to hum\, and the woman\,   \nteeth not yellow like his\, smiling at him\,  \n reached into the breast pocket   \nof her denim jacket while she sang\,   \nand fluttered a five-dollar bill toward him   \nlike some butterfly\, which reminded me   \nof my mother\, who sang on the bed of her death   \nas if song could keep her alive\, or maybe   \nit was I who imagined this\, a prayer   \nnot for the dead but from the dying\,   \nmy mother in her purple gown   \nsinging as if Death were not the name   \nof anything\, but part of an overture\,   \nher brown eyes earnest like those   \nof the woman at the bus stop in my new city   \nwhere I did not yet know who I would become   \nbut now it seemed I was at least a singer   \nat a bus stop\, for my own voice joined in   \nwithout my permission and the three of us hovered   \nin the mellifluous air on the darkening sidewalk   \nas the bus came to us and lifted us   \ntogether and away.   \n  \n—Andrea Hollander \n* \n  \nJude read a poem by Vern Rutsala and some Autumn-themed haikus: \n  \nThe Fat Man \n  \nI call everyone  \nshriveled. Dried apples \nfit for cellars\, \nnothing more. \nThey have no folds\, \nNo flesh to touch— \nGangling reminders \nof the grave. \n  \n Existence melts \nin my mouth. \nI relish\, I taste \nthe sweet jams of life; \nI gorge and worship \nthe place of love: \nall kitchens everywhere. \n  \n Diet is sin: \nan effort \nto turn limbs \nto razors that slice \na lover’s hands. \nRight angles \npierce my eye; \nI love the arc \nsoft ovals\, the curve— \nthings molded \nto be touched\, \nthe soothers of sight. \n  \n I feel at least  \nten souls \nswimming in my flesh\,  \nI feed them  \nwith both hands. \nSomeday \nI will become  \na mountain. \nI eat the world. \n  \n–Vern Rutsala \n* \nThe Boddhisattva’s Necklace \n  \nWhen from the moor the autumn mists have fled\, \nA spider’s web holds dew on every thread. \n  \n–Hakuyu \n  \nInspiration  \n  \nThe autumn wind: leaves patterning the air; \nAnd for the poet\, haiku everywhere. \n  \n–Kyoshi \n  \nSacrilege  \n  \nBefore this perfect white inviolate \nChrysanthemum—the scissors hesitate. \n  \n–Buson  \n* \n  \nElizabeth read this poem by Margaret Atwood: \n  \nThe Loneliness of the Military Historian \n  \nConfess: it’s my profession \nthat alarms you. \nThis is why few people ask me to dinner\, \nthough Lord knows I don’t go out of my way to be scary. \nI wear dresses of sensible cut \nand unalarming shades of beige\, \nI smell of lavender and go to the hairdresser’s: \nno prophetess mane of mine\, \ncomplete with snakes\, will frighten the youngsters. \nIf I roll my eyes and mutter\, \nif I clutch at my heart and scream in horror \nlike a third-rate actress chewing up a mad scene\, \nI do it in private and nobody sees \nbut the bathroom mirror. \n  \nIn general I might agree with you: \nwomen should not contemplate war\, \nshould not weigh tactics impartially\, \nor evade the word enemy\, \nor view both sides and denounce nothing. \nWomen should march for peace\, \nor hand out white feathers to arouse bravery\, \nspit themselves on bayonets \nto protect their babies\, \nwhose skulls will be split anyway\, \nor\, having been raped repeatedly\, \nhang themselves with their own hair. \nThese are the functions that inspire general comfort. \nThat\, and the knitting of socks for the troops \nand a sort of moral cheerleading. \nAlso: mourning the dead. \nSons\, lovers\, and so forth. \nAll the killed children. \n  \nInstead of this\, I tell \nwhat I hope will pass as truth. \nA blunt thing\, not lovely. \nThe truth is seldom welcome\, \nespecially at dinner\, \nthough I am good at what I do. \nMy trade is courage and atrocities. \nI look at them and do not condemn. \nI write things down the way they happened\, \nas near as can be remembered. \nI don’t ask why\, because it is mostly the same. \nWars happen because the ones who start them \nthink they can win. \n  \nIn my dreams there is glamour. \nThe Vikings leave their fields \neach year for a few months of killing and plunder\, \nmuch as the boys go hunting. \nIn real life they were farmers. \nThey come back loaded with splendour. \nThe Arabs ride against Crusaders \nwith scimitars that could sever \nsilk in the air. \nA swift cut to the horse’s neck \nand a hunk of armour crashes down \nlike a tower. Fire against metal. \nA poet might say: romance against banality. \nWhen awake\, I know better. \n  \nDespite the propaganda\, there are no monsters\, \nor none that can be finally buried. \nFinish one off\, and circumstances \nand the radio create another. \nBelieve me: whole armies have prayed fervently \nto God all night and meant it\, \nand been slaughtered anyway. \nBrutality wins frequently\, \nand large outcomes have turned on the invention \nof a mechanical device\, viz. radar. \nTrue\, valour sometimes counts for something\, \nas at Thermopylae. Sometimes being right— \nthough ultimate virtue\, by agreed tradition\, \nis decided by the winner. \nSometimes men throw themselves on grenades \nand burst like paper bags of guts \nto save their comrades. \nI can admire that. \nBut rats and cholera have won many wars. \nThose\, and potatoes\, \nor the absence of them. \nIt’s no use pinning all those medals \nacross the chests of the dead. \nImpressive\, but I know too much. \nGrand exploits merely depress me. \n  \nIn the interests of research \nI have walked on many battlefields \nthat once were liquid with pulped \nmen’s bodies and spangled with exploded \nshells and splayed bone. \nAll of them have been green again \nby the time I got there. \nEach has inspired a few good quotes in its day. \nSad marble angels brood like hens \nover the grassy nests where nothing hatches. \n(The angels could just as well be described as vulgar \nor pitiless\, depending on camera angle.) \nThe word glory figures a lot on gateways. \nOf course I pick a flower or two \nfrom each\, and press it in the hotel Bible \nfor a souvenir. \nI’m just as human as you. \n  \nBut it’s no use asking me for a final statement. \nAs I say\, I deal in tactics. \nAlso statistics: \nfor every year of peace there have been four hundred \nyears of war. \n  \n–Margaret Atwood\, from  Morning in the Burned House (1995) \n* \n  \nNick read this poem he wrote: \n  \nextreme close-up  \nsleight of hand \nwhen the unique individual life cycle of a plant or animal has run its course \n there’s a significant final event that triggers the return of its physical form \nto an elemental state releasing any remaining life-energy to parts and \ndimensions that can be seen as scientific or metaphysical or both \nmeanwhile the swift dispersal of animating energy and \nthe timely return of the physical form to its essential state \nare familiar steps in the universal process of renewal \na creative procedure so routine \nthat we barely notice \nand seldom \ncelebrate \nits seamless \nefficiency \nas in the larger domain of \nimploding stars and merging galaxies \nwhen the relentless wheel of cosmic creation \nspins the remains of a failing form into a new possibility \nactive energies are released and recombined in chaotic harmony \nwith those fundamental laws of physics we humans have managed to grasp \nas well as laws still drifting beyond the firelight of our understanding \nmicroscopic or galactic \nevery combination or collision or expansion of originating energies \ngenerates a new creative surge in the essential power \nthat keeps our universe expanding and unfurling \nacross potentially endless time and space \nextreme close-up sleight of hand \noccurring everywhere \nalways \nNick Eldredge \n2022 \n* \n  \nDave read Bitter Sweet Symphony by The Verve: \n  \nBittersweet Symphony \n\n\n\n‘Cause it’s a bittersweet symphony\, that’s life\nTryna make ends meet\nYou’re a slave to money then you die\nI’ll take you down the only road I’ve ever been down\nYou know the one that takes you to the places\nWhere all the veins meet yeahNo change\, I can change\nI can change\, I can change\nBut I’m here in my mold\nI am here in my mold\nBut I’m a million different people\nFrom one day to the next\nI can’t change my mold\nNo\, no\, no\, no\, no\nHave you ever been down?Well I’ve never prayed\nBut tonight I’m on my knees yeah\nI need to hear some sounds that recognize the pain in me\, yeah\nI let the melody shine\,\nLet it cleanse my mind\,\nI feel free now\nBut the airwaves are clean and there’s nobody singing to me nowNo change\, I can change\nI can change\, I can change\nBut I’m here in my mold\nI am here in my mold\nAnd I’m a million different people\nFrom one day to the next\nI can’t change my mold\nNo\, no\, no\, no\, no\nHave you ever been down?\nI can’t change it you know\nI can’t change it‘Cause it’s a bittersweet symphony\, this life\nTryna make ends meet\nTryna find some money then you die\nI’ll take you down the only road I’ve ever been down\nYou know the one that takes you to the places\nWhere all the veins meet yeahYou know I can change\, I can change\nI can change\, I can change\nBut I’m here in my mold\nI am here in my mold\nAnd I’m a million different people\nFrom one day to the next\nI can’t change my mold\nNo\, no\, no\, no\, noI can’t change my mold\nNo\, no\, no\, no\, no\nI can’t change my mold\nNo\, no\, no\, no\, no[Ad-libs:]\nYou’ve gotta change my mold\, no\, no\, no\nIt’s just sex and violence\, melody and silence\nGotta\, can’t change my violence\, melody and silence\nI’ll take you down the only road I’ve ever been downBeen down\nEver been down\nEver been down\nEver been down\nEver been down\nHave you ever been down?\nHave you ever been down? \n\n\n\n–Richard Ashcroft \n*\n\nJohnny read this poem by Wordsworth and a couple poems by William Stafford:\n\n\n\n\n\n\nWe Are Seven\n  \n-—A simple Child\, \nThat lightly draws its breath\, \nAnd feels its life in every limb\, \nWhat should it know of death? \n\nI met a little cottage Girl: \nShe was eight years old\, she said; \nHer hair was thick with many a curl \nThat clustered round her head. \n\nShe had a rustic\, woodland air\, \nAnd she was wildly clad: \nHer eyes were fair\, and very fair; \n—Her beauty made me glad. \n\n“Sisters and brothers\, little Maid\, \nHow many may you be?” \n“How many? Seven in all\,” she said\, \nAnd wondering looked at me. \n\n“And where are they? I pray you tell.” \nShe answered\, “Seven are we; \nAnd two of us at Conway dwell\, \nAnd two are gone to sea. \n\n“Two of us in the church-yard lie\, \nMy sister and my brother; \nAnd\, in the church-yard cottage\, I \nDwell near them with my mother.” \n\n“You say that two at Conway dwell\, \nAnd two are gone to sea\, \nYet ye are seven! I pray you tell\, \nSweet Maid\, how this may be.” \n\nThen did the little Maid reply\, \n“Seven boys and girls are we; \nTwo of us in the church-yard lie\, \nBeneath the church-yard tree.” \n\n“You run about\, my little Maid\, \nYour limbs they are alive; \nIf two are in the church-yard laid\, \nThen ye are only five.” \n\n“Their graves are green\, they may be seen\,” \nThe little Maid replied\, \n“Twelve steps or more from my mother’s door\, \nAnd they are side by side. \n\n“My stockings there I often knit\, \nMy kerchief there I hem; \nAnd there upon the ground I sit\, \nAnd sing a song to them. \n\n“And often after sun-set\, Sir\, \nWhen it is light and fair\, \nI take my little porringer\, \nAnd eat my supper there. \n\n“The first that died was sister Jane; \nIn bed she moaning lay\, \nTill God released her of her pain; \nAnd then she went away. \n\n“So in the church-yard she was laid; \nAnd\, when the grass was dry\, \nTogether round her grave we played\, \nMy brother John and I. \n\n“And when the ground was white with snow\, \nAnd I could run and slide\, \nMy brother John was forced to go\, \nAnd he lies by her side.” \n\n“How many are you\, then\,” said I\, \n“If they two are in heaven?” \nQuick was the little Maid’s reply\, \n“O Master! we are seven.” \n\n“But they are dead; those two are dead! \nTheir spirits are in heaven!” \n’Twas throwing words away; for still \nThe little Maid would have her will\, \nAnd said\, “Nay\, we are seven!” \n\n\n\n\n\n  \n–William Wordsworth \n* \n  \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nAt the Un-National Monument along the Canadian Border \n  \n\n\n\nThis is the field where the battle did not happen\,\nwhere the unknown soldier did not die.\nThis is the field where grass joined hands\,\nwhere no monument stands\,\nand the only heroic thing is the sky.\n\nBirds fly here without any sound\,\nunfolding their wings across the open.\nNo people killed—or were killed—on this ground\nhallowed by neglect and an air so tame\nthat people celebrate it by forgetting its name.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n&\n\nGod snaps your picture–don’t look away–\nthis room right now\, your face tilted\nexactly as it is before you can think\nor control it. Go ahead\, let it betray\nall the secret emergencies and still hold\nthat partial disguise you call your character.\n\nEven your lip\, they say\, the way it curves\nor doesn’t\, or can’t decide\, will deliver\nbales of evidence. The camera\, wide open\,\nstands ready; the exposure is thirty-five years\nor so–after that you have become\nwhatever the veneer is\, all the way through.\n\nNow you want to explain. Your mother\nwas a certain–how to express it?–influence.\nYes. And your father\, whatever he was\,\nyou couldn’t change that. No. And your town\nof course had its limits. Go on\, keep talking–\nHold it. Don’t move. That’s you forever.\n\n–William Stafford\n*\n\nBecause Halloween is coming soon\, Todd read this poem by Robert Frost:\n\n\nThe Witch Of Coos \n  \nI staid the night for shelter at a farm  \nBehind the mountains\, with a mother and son\,  \nTwo old-believers. They did all the talking.  \n  \nMOTHER: Folks think a witch who has familiar spirits  \nShe could call up to pass a winter evening\,  \nBut won’t\, should be burned at the stake or something.  \nSummoning spirits isn’t ‘Button\, button\,  \nWho’s got the button\,’ I would have them know.  \nSON: Mother can make a common table rear  \nAnd kick with two legs like an army mule.  \nMOTHER: And when I’ve done it\, what good have I done?  \nRather than tip a table for you\, let me  \nTell you what Ralle the Sioux Control once told me.  \nHe said the dead had souls\, but when I asked him  \nHow could that be – I thought the dead were souls\,  \nHe broke my trance. Don’t that make you suspicious  \nThat there’s something the dead are keeping back?  \nYes\, there’s something the dead are keeping back.  \nSON: You wouldn’t want to tell him what we have  \nUp attic\, mother?  \nMOTHER: Bones – a skeleton.  \nSON: But the headboard of mother’s bed is pushed  \nAgainst the’ attic door: the door is nailed.  \nIt’s harmless. Mother hears it in the night  \nHalting perplexed behind the barrier  \nOf door and headboard. Where it wants to get  \nIs back into the cellar where it came from.  \nMOTHER: We’ll never let them\, will we\, son! We’ll never !  \nSON: It left the cellar forty years ago  \nAnd carried itself like a pile of dishes  \nUp one flight from the cellar to the kitchen\,  \nAnother from the kitchen to the bedroom\,  \nAnother from the bedroom to the attic\,  \nRight past both father and mother\, and neither stopped it.  \nFather had gone upstairs; mother was downstairs.  \nI was a baby: I don’t know where I was.  \nMOTHER: The only fault my husband found with me –  \nI went to sleep before I went to bed\,  \nEspecially in winter when the bed  \nMight just as well be ice and the clothes snow.  \nThe night the bones came up the cellar-stairs  \nToffile had gone to bed alone and left me\,  \nBut left an open door to cool the room off  \nSo as to sort of turn me out of it.  \nI was just coming to myself enough  \nTo wonder where the cold was coming from\,  \nWhen I heard Toffile upstairs in the bedroom  \nAnd thought I heard him downstairs in the cellar.  \nThe board we had laid down to walk dry-shod on  \nWhen there was water in the cellar in spring  \nStruck the hard cellar bottom. And then someone  \nBegan the stairs\, two footsteps for each step\,  \nThe way a man with one leg and a crutch\,  \nOr a little child\, comes up. It wasn’t Toffile:  \nIt wasn’t anyone who could be there.  \nThe bulkhead double-doors were double-locked  \nAnd swollen tight and buried under snow.  \nThe cellar windows were banked up with sawdust  \nAnd swollen tight and buried under snow.  \nIt was the bones. I knew them – and good reason.  \nMy first impulse was to get to the knob  \nAnd hold the door. But the bones didn’t try  \nThe door; they halted helpless on the landing\,  \nWaiting for things to happen in their favour.’  \nThe faintest restless rustling ran all through them.  \nI never could have done the thing I did  \nIf the wish hadn’t been too strong in me  \nTo see how they were mounted for this walk.  \nI had a vision of them put together  \nNot like a man\, but like a chandelier.  \nSo suddenly I flung the door wide on him.  \nA moment he stood balancing with emotion\,  \nAnd all but lost himself. (A tongue of fire  \nFlashed out and licked along his upper teeth.  \nSmoke rolled inside the sockets of his eyes.)  \nThen he came at me with one hand outstretched\,  \nThe way he did in life once; but this time  \nI struck the hand off brittle on the floor\,  \nAnd fell back from him on the floor myself.  \nThe finger-pieces slid in all directions.  \n(Where did I see one of those pieces lately?  \nHand me my button-box- it must be there.)  \n  \nI sat up on the floor and shouted\, ‘Toffile\,  \nIt’s coming up to you.’ It had its choice  \nOf the door to the cellar or the hall.  \nIt took the hall door for the novelty\,  \nAnd set off briskly for so slow a thing\,  \nStill going every which way in the joints\, though\,  \nSo that it looked like lightning or a scribble\,  \nFrom the slap I had just now given its hand.  \nI listened till it almost climbed the stairs  \nFrom the hall to the only finished bedroom\,  \nBefore I got up to do anything;  \nThen ran and shouted\, ‘Shut the bedroom door\,  \nToffile\, for my sake!’ ‘Company?’ he said\,  \n‘Don’t make me get up; I’m too warm in bed.’  \nSo lying forward weakly on the handrail  \nI pushed myself upstairs\, and in the light  \n(The kitchen had been dark) I had to own  \nI could see nothing. ‘Toffile\, I don’t see it.  \nIt’s with us in the room though. It’s the bones.’  \n‘What bones?’ ‘The cellar bones- out of the grave.’  \nThat made him throw his bare legs out of bed  \nAnd sit up by me and take hold of me.  \nI wanted to put out the light and see  \nIf I could see it\, or else mow the room\,  \nWith our arms at the level of our knees\,  \nAnd bring the chalk-pile down. ‘I’ll tell you what-  \nIt’s looking for another door to try.  \nThe uncommonly deep snow has made him think  \nOf his old song\, The Wild Colonial Boy\,  \nHe always used to sing along the tote-road.  \nHe’s after an open door to get out-doors.  \nLet’s trap him with an open door up attic.’  \nToffile agreed to that\, and sure enough\,  \nAlmost the moment he was given an opening\,  \nThe steps began to climb the attic stairs.  \nI heard them. Toffile didn’t seem to hear them.  \n‘Quick !’ I slammed to the door and held the knob.  \n‘Toffile\, get nails.’ I made him nail the door shut\,  \nAnd push the headboard of the bed against it.  \nThen we asked was there anything  \nUp attic that we’d ever want again.  \nThe attic was less to us than the cellar.  \nIf the bones liked the attic\, let them have it.  \nLet them stay in the attic. When they sometimes  \nCome down the stairs at night and stand perplexed  \nBehind the door and headboard of the bed\,  \nBrushing their chalky skull with chalky fingers\,  \nWith sounds like the dry rattling of a shutter\,  \nThat’s what I sit up in the dark to say-  \nTo no one any more since Toffile died.  \nLet them stay in the attic since they went there.  \nI promised Toffile to be cruel to them  \nFor helping them be cruel once to him.  \nSON: We think they had a grave down in the cellar.  \nMOTHER: We know they had a grave down in the cellar.  \nSON: We never could find out whose bones they were.  \nMOTHER: Yes\, we could too\, son. Tell the truth for once.  \nThey were a man’s his father killed for me.  \nI mean a man he killed instead of me.  \nThe least I could do was to help dig their grave.  \nWe were about it one night in the cellar.  \nSon knows the story: but ’twas not for him  \nTo tell the truth\, suppose the time had come.  \nSon looks surprised to see me end a lie  \nWe’d kept all these years between ourselves  \nSo as to have it ready for outsiders.  \nBut to-night I don’t care enough to lie-  \nI don’t remember why I ever cared.  \nToffile\, if he were here\, I don’t believe  \nCould tell you why he ever cared himself-  \n  \nShe hadn’t found the finger-bone she wanted  \nAmong the buttons poured out in her lap.  \nI verified the name next morning: Toffile.  \nThe rural letter-box said Toffile Lajway. \n  \n—Robert Frost (1922) \n* \n\n\npeace\, love & happiness  \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-poetry-9-25-22/
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END:VEVENT
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20220915
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20221015
DTSTAMP:20260425T093307
CREATED:20220915T231129Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20220915T231534Z
UID:3250-1663200000-1665791999@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue  9/15/22
DESCRIPTION:photo by Howard Thoresen \n  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n  \nSeptember 15\, 2022 \n  \nThe corn was orient and immortal wheat\, which never should be reaped\, nor was ever sown. I thought it had stood from everlasting to everlasting. The dust and stones of the street were as precious as gold: the gates were at first the end of the world. The green trees when I saw them first through one of the gates transported and ravished me\, their sweetness and unusual beauty made my heart to leap\, and almost mad with ecstasy\, they were such strange and wonderful things. The Men! O what venerable and reverend creatures did the aged seem! Immortal Cherubims! And young men glittering and sparkling Angels\, and maids strange seraphic pieces of life and beauty! Boys and girls tumbling in the street\, and playing\, were moving jewels. I knew not that they were born or should die; But all things abided eternally as they were in their proper places. Eternity was manifest in the Light of the Day\, and something infinite behind everything appeared: which talked with my expectation and moved my desire. The city seemed to stand in Eden\, or to be built in Heaven. The streets were mine\, the temple was mine\, the people were mine\, their clothes and gold and silver were mine\, as much as their sparkling eyes\, fair skins and ruddy faces. The skies were mine\, and so were the sun and moon and stars\, and all the World was mine; and I the only spectator and enjoyer of it. I knew no churlish proprieties\, nor bounds\, nor divisions: but all proprieties and divisions were mine: all treasures and the possessors of them. So that with much ado I was corrupted\, and made to learn the dirty devices of this world. Which now I unlearn\, and become\, as it were\, a little child again that I may enter into the Kingdom of God. \n  \n—Thomas Traherne (1636-1674)\, writing about his childhood\, from Centuries of Meditations\, Third Century\, Meditation 3 \n* \n  \nSlowness \n  \n Eighteen years ago I was living in a small homesteader’s cabin in Central Oregon. One day I was chopping vegetables\, preparing a meal with great efficiency\, when for some reason\, or no reason\, I suddenly slowed down. Instead of moving rapidly from cutting board to stove\, I walked s-l-o-w-l-y. And something happened. It was quiet. I hadn’t noticed it\, but my mind had been busy with something or other\, while I was busy preparing dinner. Now I wasn’t “preparing dinner.” As I took each step\, my bare feet felt the floor. It felt like a blessing to be walking\, to be alive. The broccoli was beautiful. Everything was perfect. \n  \nI have performed this experiment thousands of times since then. I know that if I slow down I see what I’m looking at. I taste what I’m eating. Every thing is beautiful. Perfect. \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nWill We Wake? \n  \nThe main project of life is to wake from the dark— \nto rise up\, to step forth foraging for the good. Do we \nhave it in us now? When the newsreel at the Sunday \nmatinee is a bad dream\, you leave the theater\, right? \nYou decide it’s high time to choose a different story. \nWhy worship lies\, denial\, heartless swagger\, when\, \noutside\, the sun shines on both suffering and true joy? \nAren’t we here to leave the cave of fables\, help \nthe hurt\, and begin to repair the injured Earth? \n  \nAm I preaching to the choir? Yes\, I speak to \nthose already singing. Sing ever more ravishing  \nsongs\, I say\, so sleepers may awake. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \n#292 Every Step a Prayer \n  \n“In the spirit of Buddhism\, anything you do that is accompanied by mindfulness\, concentration\, and insight can be considered a prayer. When you drink your tea in forgetfulness\, you are not truly alive because you’re not there\, you’re not mindful\, and you’re not concentrated. That moment is not a moment of practice. \n    When you hold your cup and drink your tea in mindfulness and concentration\, it’s like you’re performing a sacred ritual\, and that is a prayer. When you walk\, if you enjoy every step\, if every step nourishes and transforms you\, then every step is a prayer. When you sit in solidity and freedom\, when you breathe in and out in mindfulness\, when you touch the wonders of life\, that is meditation and that is also prayer.” \nfrom Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh \n  \n    Well\, I love this idea: every step a prayer\, anything done in mindfulness\, concentration and insight can be considered a prayer\, a meditation. \n    Sometimes just the word\, ‘meditation’ can sound daunting and not attainable—or attainable only with difficulty. And the idea of prayer\, the same. Does meditation require a Buddhist temple\, a zafu\, half-closed eyes\, touching fingertips? Does prayer require a church\, prayer book\, kneeling in a pew\, fingers steepled solemnly? Thank goodness—no! \n    It simply requires paying attention to whatever you’re doing\, in that moment\, and always. It may be difficult\, but it isn’t daunting. I can breathe deeply and place each boot on the trail and look up at the mountain in front of me and feel the cool air bathing my arms and listen to the chuckle of the creek beside me… \n    And that is prayer? That is meditation?  Piece of cake! I’m on it! \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \nAugust 7\, 2022  #328  Anywhere You Go (from Your True Home) \nI like Thây’s point that mindful practice isn’t limited to an ashram\, zendo\, or other “formal” space for practice. First\, I settle in and pay attention to my breath. Then\, I open up my awareness to all that is around me—without any judgement and/or without assigning any “meaning” to the NOW moments as they pass. And\, that’s it. I can participate in the NOW by simply (and only) attending to my breath—grounding in the NOW— and not spinning stories about what is going on around me. I can simply breathe and simply enjoy the experience of NOW. Nothing more is needed. \n  \nAugust 8\, 2022  #329  A New Holiday (from Your True Home) \nI like this one! It reminds me of an aphorism my friend Carl likes to share from time to time—it’s his view of birthdays. In essence he expresses the same ideal. Why wait for a “special” day to celebrate a friend’s life and import in one’s own life? Celebrate every day. Happy un-birthday all! Thây’s idea goes only one small step further: Why not celebrate every day by living NOW?—breathing deeply of each moment\, touching Earth\, seeing sky\, hearing all life as it surrounds\, leave nothing out. \n  \nEmbrace the NOW for all it has to offer. Celebrate life as it is\, NOW. We can let go of how we “want” or “think” life should be and embrace it for what it is NOW. We can celebrate alone or with others\, as much or as little as we choose. Let us enter Today (NOW)\, live fully within\, celebrate through conscious\, deliberate breath and touch NOW. \n  \nAugust 9\, 2022  #330  A Loving Community of Two (from Your True Home) \nThis is simple life guidance. It expresses the ideal of “real” love requires and external object of love; therefore\, love is action\, or requires action to be seen\, felt and known. Love can’t simply be spoken\, or\, worse\, unspoken. (Some operate from there. “Oh\, she knows I love her.” My reply: “Oh really?! How?”) \n  \nI thought\, recently\, that I had finally found one who would draw me out of my shell. One who would challenge my façades and masks. One who would “complete me.” One in whom I could trust and with whom I could\, as Thây suggests today\, practice (learn) being a two-person community of love. Instead…well\, it wasn’t what I hoped for; it was more infatuation with my own ideals embodied in another person—(Was I even on the right track? I don’t know any more.)—than a joining together of mutual love\, respect and admiration. But it gave me hope—hope that someday I will find a person who is a positive match\, and with whom I can build a loving community. \n  \n—from the meditation journal of Michel Deforge
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-9-15-22/
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DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20220911T150000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20220911T170000
DTSTAMP:20260425T093307
CREATED:20220910T220542Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20220910T223928Z
UID:3241-1662908400-1662915600@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!  9/11/22
DESCRIPTION:  \nBeloved Bibliophiles!  \n  \nOn Sunday\, September 11th\, at 3 pm\, we will gather together on Zoom once again. Todd suggested that we read things that we have written\, so our topic is Read Something You Wrote. If you don’t want to do that\, you have the option for reading something that someone else wrote. \n  \nHere’s the link:  \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058 \n  \nI hope to see you there!  \n  \npeace\, love & happiness   \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-9-11-22/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20220901
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20221006
DTSTAMP:20260425T093307
CREATED:20220901T222217Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20220901T232801Z
UID:3219-1661990400-1665014399@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  9/1/22
DESCRIPTION:The River of Life by William Blake \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n\nSeptember 1\, 2022 \n  \nWilliam Blake \n  \nI must Create a System or be enslav’d by another Man’s. \n—William Blake \n  \nWilliam Blake might be the most imaginative person who ever lived. Along with Wordsworth\, Coleridge\, Keats and Shelley\, he is considered one of the major English Romantic poets. His paintings\, drawings and etchings are enshrined in museums around the world. He is a Christian\, but his Christianity is unique to him. In the English poetic tradition\, he saw himself as part of a tradition that included Chaucer\, Shakespeare and Milton. As a prophet\, he saw himself as in the tradition of Isaiah\, Ezekiel\, Jesus\, John of Patmos\, Dante and Milton. He created his own mythology. \n  \nIn issue #16 (July 2\, 2020) of peace\, love\, happiness & understanding\, I included three poems by Blake: “Infant Joy\,” “Laughing Song\,” and “The School Boy.” These poems illustrated the theme of innocence and experience that I was exploring in that issue—especially how we lose the innocence of our childhood\, and the question of whether we can regain that lost innocence  \n  \n(https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-7-2-20/). \n  \n \n  \nHere are some of my favorite poems\, quotes and writings of William Blake: \n  \nLove to faults is always blind; \nAlways is to joy inclin’d\, \nLawless\, wing’d and unconfin’d\, \nAnd breaks all chains from every mind. \n* \n  \nArt Degraded\, Imagination Denied\, War Governed the Nations. \n* \n  \nChildren of the future Age \nReading this indignant page\, \nKnow that in a former time \nLove! sweet Love! was thought a crime. \n* \n  \nThe GARDEN of LOVE \n  \nI went to the Garden of Love\, \nAnd saw what I never had seen: \nA Chapel was built in the midst\, \nWhere I used to play on the green. \n  \nAnd the gates of this Chapel were shut\, \nAnd “Thou shalt not” writ over the door; \nSo I turn’d to the Garden of Love \nThat so many sweet flowers bore; \n  \nAnd I saw it was filled with graves\, \nAnd tomb-stones where flowers should be; \nAnd Priests in black gowns were walking their rounds\, \nAnd binding with briars my joys and desires. \n* \n  \n \n  \nTo see a World in a Grain of Sand \nAnd a Heaven in a Wild Flower\, \nHold infinity in the palm of your hand \nAnd Eternity in an hour. \n* \n  \nSome aphorisms from “THE MARRIAGE of HEAVEN and HELL”: \n  \nThe road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom. \nHe whose face gives no light\, shall never become a star. \nEternity is in love with the productions of time. \nIf the fool would persist in his folly he would become wise. \nPrisons are built with stones of Law\, Brothels with bricks of Religion. \nOne thought fills immensity. \nThe thankful receiver bears a plentiful harvest. \nThe soul of sweet delight can never be defil’d. \nAs the catterpiller chooses the fairest leaves to lay her eggs on\, so the priest lays his curse on the fairest joys. \nExuberance is Beauty. \n* \n  \n \n  \nFrom the Preface to Blake’s poem “Milton”: \n  \nShakespeare & Milton were both curb’d by the general malady & infection from the silly Greek & Latin slaves of the Sword. \nRouze up\, O Young Men of the New Age! set your foreheads against the ignorant Hirelings! For we have Hirelings in the Camp\, the Court & the University\, who would\, if they could\, for ever depress Mental & prolong Corporeal War. \n* \n  \nThe Little Vagabond \n  \nDear Mother\, dear Mother\, the Church is cold\, \nBut the Ale-house is healthy & pleasant & warm: \nBesides I can tell where I am us’d well\, \nSuch usage in heaven will never do well. \n  \nBut if at the Church they would give us some Ale\, \nAnd a pleasant fire our souls to regale\, \nWe’d sing and we’d pray all the live-long day\, \nNor ever once wish from the Church to stray. \n  \nThen the Parson might preach\, & drink\, & sing\, \nAnd we’d be as happy as birds in the spring; \nAnd modest dame Lurch\, who is always at Church\, \nWould not have bandy children\, nor fasting\, nor birch. \n  \nAnd God\, like a father rejoicing to see \nHis children as pleasant and happy as he\, \nWould have no more quarrel with the Devil or the Barrel\, \nBut kiss him\, & give him both drink and apparel. \n* \n  \nFrom “THE MARRIAGE of HEAVEN and HELL”: \n  \nThe ancient Poets animated all sensible objects with Gods or Geniuses\, calling them by the names and adorning them with the properties of woods\, rivers\, mountains\, lakes\, cities\, nations\, and whatever their enlarged & numerous senses could perceive.  \nAnd particularly they studied the genius of each city & country\, placing it under its mental deity; \nTill a system was formed\, which some took advantage of\, & enslav’d the vulgar by attempting to realize or abstract the mental deities from their objects: thus began Priesthood; \nChoosing forms of worship from poetic tales. \nAnd at length they pronounc’d that the Gods had order’d such things. \nThus men forgot that All deities reside in the human breast. \n* \n  \nFrom Enion’s lament from “The Four Zoas\, Night the Second”: \n  \n“…What is the price of Experience? do men buy it for a song? \nOr wisdom for a dance in the street? No\, it is bought with the price \nOf all that a man hath\, his house\, his wife\, his children. \nWisdom is sold in the desolate market where none come to buy\, \nAnd in the wither’d field where the farmer plows for bread in vain. \nIt is an easy thing to triumph in the summer’s sun \nAnd in the vintage & to sing on the waggon loaded with corn. \nIt is an easy thing to talk of patience to the afflicted\, \nTo speak the laws of prudence to the houseless wanderer\, \nTo listen to the hungry raven’s cry in wintry season \nWhen the red blood is fill’d with wine & with the marrow of lambs. \nIt is an easy thing to laugh at wrathful elements\, \nTo hear the dog howl at the wintry door\, the ox in the slaughter house moan; \nTo see a god on every wind & a blessing on every blast; \nTo hear sounds of love in the thunder storm that destroys our enemies’ house; \nTo rejoice in the blight that covers his field\, & the sickness that cuts off his children\, \nWhile our olive & vine sing & laugh round our door\, & our children bring fruits & flowers. \nThen the groan & the dolor are quite forgotten\, & the slave grinding at the mill\, \nAnd the captive in chains\, & the poor in the prison\, & the soldier in the field \nWhen the shatter’d bone hath laid him groaning among the happier dead. \nIt is an easy thing to rejoice in the tents of prosperity: \nThus could I sing & thus rejoice: but it is not so with me.” \n* \n  \nTwo passages from “A Vision of the Last Judgment”: \n  \nMen are admitted into Heaven not because they have curbed & govern’d their Passions or have No Passions\, but because they have Cultivated their Understandings. The Treasures of Heaven are not Negations of Passion\, but Realities of Intellect\, from which all the Passions Emanate Uncurbed in their Eternal Glory. The Fool shall not enter into Heaven let him be ever so Holy. Holiness is not The Price of Enterance into Heaven. Those who are cast out are All Those who\, having no Passions of their own because No Intellect\, Have spent their lives in Curbing & Governing other People’s by the Various arts of Poverty & Cruelty of all kinds. Wo\, Wo\, Wo to you Hypocrites. \n  \nand:  \n  \nThe Last Judgment is an Overwhelming of Bad Art & Science. Mental Things are alone Real; what is call’d Corporeal\, Nobody Knows of its Dwelling Place: it is in Fallacy\, & its Existence an Imposture. Where is the Existence Out of Mind or Thought? Where is it but in the Mind of a Fool? Some People flatter themselves that there will be No Last Judgment & that Bad Art will be adopted & mixed with Good Art\, That Error or Experiment will make a Part of Truth\, & they Boast that it is its Foundation; these people flatter themselves: I will not Flatter them. Error is Created. Truth is Eternal. Error\, or Creation\, will be Burned up\, & then\, & not till Then\, Truth or Eternity will appear. It is Burnt up the Moment Men cease to behold it. I assert for My Self that I do not behold the outward Creation & that to me it is hindrance & not Action; it is as the Dirt upon my feet\, No part of Me. “What\,” it will be Question’d\, “When the Sun rises\, do you not see a round disk of fire somewhat like a Guinea?” O no\, no\, I see an Innumerable company of the Heavenly host crying ‘Holy\, Holy\, Holy is the Lord God Almighty.’ I question not my Corporeal or Vegetative Eye any more than I would Question a Window concerning a Sight. I look thro’ it & not with it. \n* \n \n  \nBlake created a mythology that he elaborated in what are known as his “prophetic” poems. Carl Jung spoke of four basic functions: thinking\, feeling\, sensing (sense perception)\, and intuition. Blake had a similar idea. He said: “Four Mighty Ones are in every Man.” These four “zoas” are Los (Imagination)\, Luvah (Love or Emotion)\, Urizen (Reason)\, and Tharmas (the Senses or Body). The biggest difference is that Jung uses the term “intuition\,” while Blake uses the term “imagination.” For Blake\, a healthy person\, or a healthy Humanity\, should have these four things in balance. In his day\, he felt that Reason had usurped the throne\, and everything was tyrannizing over everything else. Imagination\, especially\, was in prison. \n  \nThis is just the tip of the iceberg. If these quotes have piqued your interest\, start by exploring Blake: Complete Writings\, edited by Geoffrey Keynes. Abridged versions of Blake\, leave out all kinds of treasures that he wrote in his notebooks\, et cetera. A good introduction to William Blake is Eternity’s Sunrise by Leo Damrosch. If you want to really get into William Blake\, the best book is Northrop Frye’s Fearful Symmetry. S. Foster Damon’s A Blake Dictionary is a helpful guide to Blake’s mythology. You can find out about Zoas and Enion and Albion and Vala and Nobodaddy and the Eyes of God\, et cetera… \n  \n  \nThe tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the Eyes of others only a Green thing which stands in the way. \n—William Blake (November 28\, 1757-August 12\, 1827)
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-9-1-22/
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DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20220828T190000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20220828T203000
DTSTAMP:20260425T093307
CREATED:20220824T182638Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20220824T182822Z
UID:3210-1661713200-1661718600@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Max Walter performs Spirit of Carl Sandburg
DESCRIPTION:Max Walter will perform his solo show “Spirit of Carl Sandburg” this Sunday\, August 28th\, at 7 pm (PDT). The performance is in Bellingham\, Washington. For those of us who can’t be there\, here is the link to the website from where you can live stream the performance:\n  \nSpirit of Carl Sandburg – Center for Spiritual Living Bellingham (csl-bellingham.org)\n \n  \nI’m really looking forward to this! \n  \n  \npeace & love \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/max-walter-performs-spirit-of-carl-sandburg/
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DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20220828T150000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20220828T170000
DTSTAMP:20260425T093307
CREATED:20220820T002001Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20220910T220703Z
UID:3201-1661698800-1661706000@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!  8/28/22
DESCRIPTION:painting by Mark Andres \n  \nBeloved Bibliophiles!  \n  \nOn Sunday\, August 28th\, at 3 pm\, we will gather once again on Zoom to talk about books and other things. We will attempt to answer the question: Read Any Good Books Lately?  \n  \nHere’s the link:  \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058 \n  \nI hope to see you there!  \n  \npeace\, love & happiness   \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-8-28-22/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20220815
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20220915
DTSTAMP:20260425T093307
CREATED:20220816T040133Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250717T155620Z
UID:3185-1660521600-1663199999@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue  8/15/22
DESCRIPTION:  \n  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n  \nAugust 15\, 2022 \n  \nWe are what we think. \nAll that we are arises with our thoughts. \nWith our thoughts we make the world. \n  \n—opening lines from The Dhammapada\, sayings of the Buddha\, translated by Thomas Byrom \n* \n  \nOur goal should be to live life in radical amazement\, [to] get up in the morning and look at the world in a way that takes nothing for granted. Everything is phenomenal; everything is incredible; never treat life casually. To be spiritual is to be amazed. \n  \n—Abraham Joshua Heschel  (thanks to Mark Alter for this) \n* \n  \nThe Patience of Ordinary Things \n  \nIt is a kind of love\, is it not? \nHow the cup holds the tea\, \nHow the chair stands sturdy and foursquare\, \nHow the floor receives the bottoms of shoes \nOr toes. How soles of feet know \nWhere they’re supposed to be. \nI’ve been thinking about the patience \nOf ordinary things\, how clothes \nWait respectfully in closets \nAnd soap dries quietly in the dish\, \nAnd towels drink the wet \nFrom the skin of the back. \nAnd the lovely repetition of stairs. \nAnd what is more generous than a window? \n  \n—Pat Schneider\, shared by Jeffrey Sher \n* \n  \nYou are enough \n  \nPeace Is This Moment Without Judgment  \n~Dorothy Hunt \n  \nDo you think peace requires an end to war?  \nOr tigers eating only vegetables?  \nDoes peace require an absence from your boss\, your spouse\, yourself? …  \nDo you think peace will come some other place than here?  \nSome other time than Now? In some other heart than yours? \n  \nPeace is this moment without judgment.  \nThat is all. This moment in the Heart-space  \nwhere everything that is is welcome.  \nPeace is this moment without thinking  \nthat it should be some other way\,  \nthat you should feel some other thing\,  \nthat your life should unfold according to your plans. \n  \nPeace is this moment without judgment\,  \nthis moment in the heart-space where  \neverything that is is welcome. \n  \nI’ve been thinking a lot about equanimity in conversation and relationships lately and where that often breaks down. Our choice of words\, tone of voice and sometimes the decision to speak or not speak—all contribute to our ability to cultivate equanimity.  \n  \nIt is difficult enough sometimes when we are alone to create a space for equanimity to enter. It can be much more difficult to create that space when we are inside of an interaction with another person who is having their own experience. They are on their own journey. A journey you have no control over.   \n  \nAn interaction does not have to be a reaction. This is where\, when things get heated in a conversation\, I often break down. My ego says\, “Prove your point!” “Tell her how you are right and she is wrong!” Or “Don’t stop until you win the argument!”  \n  \nThe ego can fool us into believing that we are not enough and can make things appear black and white.  \nIf I’m right\, he’s wrong. \nI either want something or I don’t. \n  \nBut there is a gray area. It begins with awareness.  \nAwareness shows up as an open mind\, flexibility\, lack of bias and positive expectations. \nAwareness is knowing that you are enough.  \n  \nUnderstanding what we carry within us and thoughtfully using our words to express ourselves is a huge practice.  \n  \nPema Chödrön says that when feelings of attraction or aversion arise\, we can “use our biases as stepping-stones for connecting with the confusion of others.” When we become intimate with and accepting of our own feelings\, we see more clearly how everyone gets hooked by their hopes and fears. From this\, “a bigger perspective can emerge.” \n  \nToday\, start with knowing that you are enough.  \n  \nPractice \n  \nI invite you to imagine a calming\, blue circle of light within your throat. The throat being the place of right speech\, the ability to communicate clearly and effectively.  \n  \nWith every inhale\, imagine the blue light gaining more and more clarity. \nWith every exhale\, allowing your light to be shared. \n  \n—Nicole Rush \n* \n  \n#152  The Biggest Obstacle \n  \n“Often it is our own knowledge that is the biggest obstacle to us touching suchness. That is why it’s very important to learn how to release our own views. Knowledge is the obstacle to knowledge. If you are dogmatic in your way of thinking\, it is very difficult to receive new insights\, to conceive of new theories and understandings about the world.”  \n—from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh \n  \n“Learning how to release our own views…”  Indeed! This is a big one. \n  \nI must admit that I am sometimes snide\, judgmental and knee-jerk defensive. This I am ashamed to admit. I have to say that it comes from a long ago place—older sister comes to mind\, but my overall nature is one of positivity\, connection\, engagement and desire for understanding. The negative part—might I say ‘sliver?’—comes from a lack of knowledge or understanding on my part. I know that. And I am very aware when it arises in my mind. \n  \nI seek understanding. I seek connection. Almost every Saturday I make the drive out I84 to Umatilla to Two Rivers Correctional Institution. Every week I pass by the small towns of Biggs\, Rufus\, pass the signs to Ione and Heppner\, Irrigon. I understand that in these towns just the word ‘liberal\,’ or ‘liberalism’ in its present day connotation (even though ‘liberal’ comes from the Latin\, liber\, meaning free\, which don’t we all\, conservative or otherwise\, believe in?) can conjure uncertainty\, mistrust\, fear\, often anger in the hearts and minds of many of these residents—across the country. David and I enjoy riding our bikes in the wide open country surrounding these quiet places. When we drive into town\, bikes instead of guns hitched to the back of our car\, wrapped in Spandex instead of Carhartts\, I stifle the urge to ask for a  soy latte and go for black coffee every time. Still\, don’t we just scream ‘liberal yuppies’ to the locals? Yet each time I’m faced with this I try to engage and find commonalities: ‘I see you have peach pie on the menu. Do you bake them all yourself? Yes? I bet it’s the best! I‘ve never quite been able to get the consistency right; can you give me some tips?’  Like that. I’m sincere\, and it usually works. It’s an ice breaker. There are always commonalities. \n  \nMore on releasing our views: When I arrive at TRCI\, I make my way to room 19-27 and meet with our group of 12-20 men. I love them. I love being with them\, listening to their thoughts\, their hopes and fears. I admire them; I believe in them. We do not talk about politics or religion—that is part of the understanding. If we were to talk about politics\, undoubtedly I would find some BIG differences in our views. BUT!!! I would still love them! And because of this\, I would be able to listen to them open-mindedly if we were to talk about politics. I have no doubt.  \n  \nOne more on releasing our own views: After the stunning screening of Midsummer Night’s Dream last Sunday\, I floated out of the theater. There on the sidewalk I saw one of our released men who had been in the theater. He called out\, ‘Hey\, Jude!’ I cried out and gave him a big hug. His head was shaved\, he had earphones slung around his neck\, underneath his tank top he was covered with tatts. Clearly\, if I had seen him on the street and didn’t know him\, I might have clutched my purse closer\, shifted my eyes\, hurried my step\, perhaps even crossed the street. Scary (a little). But I know him. He is a wonderful man! I love him!  \n  \nWhether it’s knowledge about things or people\, being open to differences\, taking the time to learn\, to introduce ourselves\, talk to and understand others not like us is the basis of love. It all leads to love. \n  \n“One’s life has value so long as one attributes value to the life of others\, by means of love\, friendship\, indignation\, compassion.”  Simone de Beauvoir   \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \nJuly 17\, 2022 \n  \nFirst\, let me say that I believe I am going out tomorrow for surgery on my hip. (One or the other\, don’t know yet which is first.) I am feeling excited\, nervous—all butterfly-tingly with uncertainty because this is all new to me. \n  \nThis is my first major hospital thing; invasive\, life-altering surgery ever….It’s going to take weeks to heal and recover. And\, no one (who is special to me\, or who really cares about me) is going to be there with me. In fact I can’t even call or email anyone\, even though I’m 98% certain it’s tomorrow\, because “If I know then they ‘HAVE TO RESCHEDULE\,’ because I’m not supposed to know. Yet\, I know! \n  \nSo\, it’s also exciting because it’s something new and scary. I’ll have a story to tell—soon. I’m certain all will go well\, everything will be “normal.” BUT\, what if it’s not?! (dramatic voice for effect and heightened suspense…) Oh! So\, what if?  Even death is a great adventure. I’d be wherever the next step lands. No matter what. I’d be where I am. My only death-fear is the process of lingering in a slow\, agonizing sort of death. (I’m just back from theatre and feeling a bit dramatic-excited too.) \n  \nSo\, that’s me. That’s my moment\, right now. That’s where I’m starting…. \n  \nJuly 19\, 2022 \n  \nI thought yesterday was to be my surgery. Turns out it was the final consult to confirm the procedure and answer any remaining concerns. So\, I’ll go soon\, just not yesterday. I\, at first\, was excited/anxious at the thought of getting this done and the recovery adventure started. By the time I was called out at 12 p.m. I was nervous. Then\, when I was told it was only another consult—well\, I was needing to focus on breathing and contemplate what the heck was transpiring….There was lots of energy to funnel or transform through breathing. By the time I saw the doctor I was at ease. \n  \nJuly 25\, 2022 \n  \nTomorrow should\, most likely (I hope) be my first hip replacement. I am very much feeling the excitement of anticipation for the long awaited “good” thing. I would liken this to what I felt on Christmas Eve: going to bed early\, believing all the myths surrounding\, only to wake early (too early! Like 4 or 5 a.m. too early) and anxiously await my parents’ “sleeping in” and late waking before I could selfishly dig in for a “big-haul.” \n  \nJuly 29\, 2022  #322 Concentrated Pleasure (from Your True Home) \n  \nWell\, I’m recovering from hip replacement. While I’m not a “great” practitioner—i.e. meditating frequently—I have managed to survive two challenging nights so far\, through deliberate breathing. It helps. Pain is still a challenge\, but that will fade as healing continues. \n  \nIt’s peculiar how at each turn of my life GOD places just what I need to read or hear right in the midst of my path. Today’s comments from Thây are no different. I am at the phase where I make many small walking journeys. Journeys to the toilet\, eight feet away; or to my door and back\, ten-plus feet; or up and down the long haul of the Infirmary\, 50 or more for the whole trip. Any one\, and each one\, will be a perfect chance to focus 100% of my attention on what I’m doing—i.e. walking fully with both sides. It isn’t as easy as I desire\, but it is a thing I can do…. \n  \n323  \nThe Kingdom of God Is Right Here \n  \nThe Kingdom of God is not a mere notion. It is a reality that can be touched in everyday life. The Kingdom of God is now or never\, and we all have the ability to touch it—not only with our minds\, but with our feet. The energy of mindfulness helps you with this. With one mindful step\, you touch the Kingdom of God.   \n—Thich Nhat Hanh\, from Your True Home \n  \nJuly 31\, 2022  #323  The Kingdom of God Is Right Here \n  \nI am in day 4\, over 100 hours from my hip replacement on Wednesday\, July 27th\, from 7:30 a.m. to about 8:40. It has been an interesting and challenging journey since. \n  \nPain was a piece of the early challenges and it has since faded to a memory of what I once knew as an intensity never before felt pre-surgery. My balance is not back to 100%\, but I am strengthening as I can\, as often as I can. I have been blessed by Creator GOD with a strong healthy body and mind\, and a quick recovery. I anticipate seeing the provider on Monday\, August 1st\, and moving back to my unit shortly thereafter….So\, for all my friends\, well-wishers and benefactors\, I am well on my way to a full and lasting recovery from surgery. \n  \nToday’s reading is accurate. The Kingdom of God is now. Many have taught that it is later. I fear this is due to a refusal or inability to see living in the NOW as part of life as it was created to be. Each of us can experience “Heaven on Earth” in the now\, through mindfulness. I also hope and suspect (believe) that a paradise\, aka heaven\, nirvana\, etc.\, will be awaiting us as this life ends. Thanks to religious syncretism it may be impossible to know for certain\, until we transition to the next stage of life—after death. \n  \nLike Thây\, I think it is possible to perceive\, “taste\,” sample\, get a sense of that life in the NOW through mindfulness…. \n  \nI haven’t written much this month….I wish each one well\, as TRCI has “outbreaks” and further quarantining…I hope your journey into NOW is as life affirming and assisting as I’ve experienced. \n  \n(Yesterday (8/14) I got an email from Michel Deforge. (JS)) \n  \nI’m two weeks\, five days since [hip] surgery and I’m doing great! Today\, I walked for 20 minutes while carrying my walker\, instead of using it for balance. The last 3 minutes were balanced without even taking the walker with me. I was able to do 10 stand ups (reverse squatting – getting up from sitting surface)\, along with some leg raises earlier this morning. So\, yes I’m doing quite well on my recovery! I hope to get the other one done in early September. TBD… \n  \n—Michel Deforge \n* \n      Prophets to Live By \n  \nSuch great days for the prophecy business— \nin news and views it’s hard to choose one voice \nthat rings true\, someone to put your money on\, \nsomeone whose claims might go the distance \n  \nThe best is yet to come! shout redwings teetering \non cattail spires\, while in cedar shadows raven scoffs \nThings will only get worse. Which will you believe \nwhen the crows begin\, It shall come to pass…and list \n  \ntheir raucous tabloid hints\, while from the shadows \nunknown voices whistle\, hoot\, and shriek? How can you \nkeep your own counsel then? How can you take them all \nwith a grain of salt\, but seek your own conclusions when \n  \nthere’s a moment of silence\, a dusky breath held\, then \na song sparrow chants\, Did anyone notice dawn? \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nI enjoy books\, especially books that change the way I see\, experience and understand the world. Many books have helped me on my spiritual journey. Autobiography of a Yogi by Paramahansa Yogananda got me interested in meditation\, on a quest for samādhi. Many meditators of my generation learned about zazen\, “sitting meditation\,” from Shunryu Suzuki’s book Zen Mind\, Beginner’s Mind. I read a lot of books by J. Krishnamurti\, whose original approach to “freedom from the known” is very stimulating. My favorites among his many books are The Only Revolution and Krishnamurti’s Notebook. Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself” expanded my vision in many ways. Many religious traditions make a distinction between “the spirit\,” which is sacred\, and “the flesh\,” which is not. For Walt\, everyone and everything is sacred. People can spend years striving to achieve enlightenment. In Talks With Ramana Maharshi\, the South Indian sage reminds people again and again that there is nothing to strive for since our true self is always already Divine. Similarly\, Bankei (1622-1693) taught that our “unborn Buddha nature” is our true nature. It’s who we are. Norman Wadell’s translation of Bankei’s talks\, The Unborn is excellent. My favorite ancient wisdom text is Tao Te Ching. The translation by Gia-fu Feng and Jane English is my favorite\, along with its gorgeous black and white photographs. A book I like to read and re-read is Zen in English Literature and Oriental Classics by R. H. Blyth. The past couple years I’ve been listening to lively audio recordings of talks by Alan Watts\, and reading the poems and meditations of Thomas Traherne\, the Seventeenth Century Christian mystic. Thich Nhat Hanh is one of my favorite guides for living a life soaked in peace\, love and happiness. I long ago lost count of how many people I’ve given his book Your True Home. Well\, that’s a few of my favorites for now. \n  \nMay all people be happy. \nMay we live in peace & love. \n  \n—Johnny Stallings
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-8-15-22/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20220804
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20220901
DTSTAMP:20260425T093307
CREATED:20220807T040044Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20220807T040243Z
UID:3167-1659571200-1661990399@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  8/4/22
DESCRIPTION:Edith Mirante in Chin State\, Burma \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \nAugust 4\, 2022 \n  \nADVENTURE TALES! \n  \nI asked some friends to send in stories of adventures they had. First to reply was Edith Mirante\, who is a member of the Society of Women Geographers: \n  \nThe Society of Woman Geographers was established in 1925 at a time when women were excluded from membership in most professional organizations\, such as the Explorers Club\, who would not admit women until 1981. It is based in Washington\, D.C.\, and has 500 members. \n  \nThe society was organized by four friends\, Gertrude Emerson Sen\, Marguerite Harrison\, Blair Niles and Gertrude Mathews Shelby\, to bring together women interested in geography\, world exploration\, anthropology and related fields. Membership was restricted to women who had “done distinctive work whereby they have added to the world’s store of knowledge concerning the countries on which they have specialized\, and have published in magazines or in book form a record of their work.”   \n  \n—from Wikipedia \n  \nHere’s what Edith wrote: \n  \nBeing an adventurer is intrinsic to my personality. I’ve always sought the “unsafe path” and accepted the dangers & misadventures that come with that. I try to use those reckless proclivities for good\, investigating human rights issues and environmental crises in remote\, sometimes war torn\, regions — especially the frontiers of Burma (Myanmar). My three books\, Burmese Looking Glass\, Down the Rat Hole and The Wind in the Bamboo are adventure stories as much as political & historical narratives.  \n  \n======= \n  \nIn the Pines\, Burma \n  \nI had gotten used to riding on the back of small motorbikes\, which had only recently replaced study mountain ponies in Chin State\, a rugged\, mostly roadless region of western Burma (Myanmar.) I managed not to upset the balance — or fall off — even on convoluted dirt tracks and rickety bamboo bridges\, as I researched the region’s environmental issues in 2016 with the assistance of some motorbiking local enviro activists. \n  \nMining (nickel and other minerals) was of particular interest to me. I had read in a local news outlet that Valvum\, a village reachable from Tedim town was the site of “ongoing coal mining work managed by a Japanese company.” Low-grade\, highly polluting coal is mined in some areas of Burma and with coal’s disastrous climate-changing effects for the whole world\, the Valvum operation was certainly worth investigating.  \n  \nGunning the bikes up and down narrow\, rock-strewn trails\, we got to Valvum mid-morning. I drank tea with some women who were smoking cheroots in a dark\, smoky house. Burma was enjoying a period of relative freedom for civil society after decades of brutal military dictatorship. But those changes were recent and I was concerned about possible scrutiny of our visit\, whether by government agents or mining company thugs. So I tried to make sure I wouldn’t be getting anyone in trouble by visiting the mine. A village representative reassured us: “It is no problem to go there. They are expecting you there.” \n  \nPast the village the swerve\, wobble and roll of our bikes disturbed the silence of khasi pine and rhododendron forest until a fence appeared and a couple of mine employees waved us through the gate. The owner\, a 70 year old Japanese eccentric married to a local woman\, was away\, they told me. But they were happy to show me the operation: “Here are the four ovens where we make the coal.” So it turned out to be not a coal mine at all. This was a charcoal making project. The words for coal and charcoal are very similar in Burmese\, as in English.  \n  \nAlthough charcoal is used for household cooking throughout Burma\, this product was apparently for export to Japan\, where special charcoals are often used as air freshener\, commanding high prices for small amounts. I was certainly relieved that it was not a coal mine. But I learned that this charcoal business was having its own environmental impact: depleting the area around Valvum of four types of trees\, described in the local language as thal sing\, lim sing\, nai sing and se sing.  \n  \nI mentioned that bamboo\, a plentiful and thoroughly renewable resource\, could be used instead for export quality charcoal. In Japan bamboo charcoal is prized and costly\, for incense or just displayed in a bowl to purify the air. Chin State reminded me of Appalachia in many ways (the rhody forests\, the Christian hymns resounding in mountain churches\, those blue ridges\, hollers and mines.) One place’s pollution or deforestation is another part of the world’s clean breath of air.  \n  \nLeaving Valvum we reached the main road\, where I had to wrap up in scarves like a nomad raider to keep the dust out of my lungs. Six years on\, that entire region has become a horrifying conflict zone. Since the Feb. 1\, 2021 coup in Myanmar\, entire towns and villages have been burned across Chin State by the shock troops of the regime. Civilians fled to neighboring India. The young environmentalists I knew and other activists fight back with guerrilla tactics\, as armed convoys invade their land. The pine forests are now resistance strongholds.  \n  \n—Edith Mirante\, 2022 \nfor more about Chin State: \nhttps://www.projectmaje.org/chin_report_2021.htm \n* \n  \nVW Bug in Mud \n  \nWe had this bright idea to take a short cut on a road that faded from gravel to dirt to mud. “Maybe if we go fast enough we can get through that big puddle.” Nope. We were stalled with wheels spinning\, car body resting in muck. Did I mention we were ten miles from anywhere…my baby sister was with us…it was dusk? Well\, we gathered a heap of flat rocks\, lifted the car high enough to place pavers under each wheel (playing mighty Archimedes with a dead tree we plucked from the ground)\, laud down stones to fill the ruts\, revved it\, and roared onward…arriving home to the frightened family around midnight. A sturdy lesson in foolishness and self-reliance. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \na seagull conversation     \n  \non a chilly autumn afternoon \nwith the barest minimum of experience \nI’m cautiously paddling a kayak  \naround and among a group of small islands  \noff the jagged coast of Connecticut \ngently encouraged and accompanied by \nan athletic younger brother and his mate  \neach in their own kayak  \nmaneuvering with skill far superior to my own \n  \nat the moment  \nI have unintentionally wandered out of their sight   \nsuddenly alone in an unfamiliar domain \nI calm a rising concern with assurances  \nmy partners are almost certainly  \non the far side of the next small island  \nor the island just beyond  \n  \nmeanwhile  \nI contemplate the territorial agreement  \nthe local cormorants and seagulls appear to have made  \noccupying alternate perching rocks  \ntwelve to fifteen feet apart \nthat surround the island I’m slowly moving past \n  \nclenched postures and cold stares make it clear \nagreement has also been reached  \nthat my presence is entirely unwelcome \n  \nas I round the narrow end of the island  \none of the gulls hunkered on a rock just ahead  \nconfronts me with the abrasive\, demanding cry  \nthat seems to express the hardcore seagull personality  \n  \nafter a tense moment\, I try to soften the mood \nwith a modestly accurate but gentler seagull impression \n  \nthe gull’s harsh scream in response  \nis a furious reply to a personal insult  \n  \nmy attempt to back away with a shorter\, less ragged cry \nbrings a jagged challenge to deadly combat \n  \nmy third pass at making peace is cut short \nby a piercing shriek that must be a crippling curse  \n  \nand the gull lifts its wings and rises from its perch  \n  \nI pause and drift for a moment \nresting the double-blade paddle across my lap \nand watch the departing gull fly slowly but deliberately  \nin a remarkably straight line away from the nose of my kayak  \n  \nI’m just beginning to consider the possibility  \nof feeling guilty about disturbing this gull in the first place \nwhen the bird makes a tight turn mid-air \nprecisely reversing its course \nnow heading on a line directly toward my kayak  \n  \nin the time it takes to think: what the hell?  \nI see a slender rope of firm black and white matter  \nalmost two feet long and growing  \ndescending from beneath the bird’s tail  \n  \nswiftly lengthening and steadily on-coming  \nthis two-tone cord of seagull rebuke   \nis truly surreal and completely unnerving  \n  \nas the gull and dangling cord close in     \nI panic and thrust the right side of my paddle into the air  \nhoping to deflect the incoming projectile  \n  \nmy awkward parry is completely mistimed \nand the sudden movement sends the kayak tipping wildly to the left  \nI manage to right the boat but a generous amount of ocean water  \nhas washed into the kayak’s snug seating compartment  \n  \nthe frigid ocean stings as it soaks into my pants \nbut I can’t take my eyes off the approaching nightmare cord  \nwhich the gull suddenly releases  \ndropping it into the water a couple of feet in front of my kayak  \n  \nrelief begins to flood my mind before I realize   \nthis cunning seagull has very nearly \nsent me tumbling into the icy autumn Atlantic \n  \nlater that evening\, in warm dry clothes   \ncomes the bottom line: \nif the intruder’s pants are wet  \nthe seagull’s point is made   \n  \n—Nick Eldredge   2022 \n* \n  \nI’ve had an adventure or two in my day. Most of them a long time ago. I lived in India for a couple years. I was a gold miner in Northern California. I had a job where I was paid for sleeping. Another job was testing beet pulp pellets for hardness\, durability and fine particle content. Once\, when free climbing in the Wallowa Mountains\, I found myself on a rock ledge from where I could not go up and could not go back down. Somehow\, I lived to tell the tale. But that is not the tale I’m going to tell now… \n  \nI was awakened by a phone call in the middle of the night in the Fall of 1998. It was World Class Oddball Ken Campbell calling from London. “Johnny\,” he said. “Would you like to enroll in the School for Phils?” “I don’t know\, Ken. What is the School for Phils?” Ken explained that the little voices inside his head were telling him that it was important to usher in the Millennium by performing The Warp every weekend of 1999\, and that he needed to train up a team of Phils\, because if someone tried to play the part of Philip Masters every weekend for a year\, it would kill them. \n  \n“When does the School for Phils begin?” “One week from today.” “It’s tempting. I’d have to quit my job…” “Are you in?” \n  \nA week later\, I found myself in a smoke-filled basement in Camden Town. There were about six guys\, besides myself. Oliver Senton was giving us a briefing. He had played the part of Philip Masters. According to the Guinness Book of  World Records\, it is the longest part in the longest play in the English language. After a few days\, enrollment in the School for Phils had dwindled to one. Me. \n  \nThe Warp is a play unlike any other. It’s Neil Oram’s autobiography\, from 1959 to 1979\, in roughly the same way that Jack Kerouac’s On the Road is autobiographical. As in Kerouac’s book\, the names have been changed\, but the events recounted actually happened. At least this was Neil’s version of what happened and he was completely sincere when he said he didn’t make anything up. Neil Oram has the most astonishing memory of anyone I have ever met. When he wrote his play in 1979\, he could remember conversations he had fifteen and twenty years earlier. \n  \nRehearsals couldn’t begin until I was “off book.” It took me four months to learn my lines. I started every day at 8 a.m.\, seven days a week\, and worked on my lines till midnight. When I got tested\, it took more than eight hours to say my lines\, with someone giving me just my cues. The other actors all knew their parts. We only rehearsed for five days\, with everyone lining up to do their scenes with me. When we performed the play at the Roundhouse\, the performance began at 8 pm on Saturday and ended at 7 pm the following day. I was onstage the whole time. \n  \nA play that is more than 20 hours long sounds like it might be boring. When Ken directed The Warp there was not a dull moment. He was a comic genius\, the funniest man I have ever known. I don’t know how Neil felt about this\, but Ken directed his earnest account of his life journey for maximum laughs.  \n  \nThe first time I saw the play\, I was playing a small part\, Ralph Beak. He doesn’t come onstage for at least the first twelve hours\, so I got to watch the first half of the play as an audience member\, and it was the most exhilarating theatrical experience of my life. The energy that the actors brought to every scene was incredible! There are dozens of characters and more than 120 scenes. In every scene the actors were trying to outdo the previous scene. After eight hours of this barrage on my nervous system I was in a state of ecstasy. I felt like I had died and gone to Theater Paradise. \n  \nI had a little time off from line-learning\, when our theater company would perform Macbeth in Pidgin English at the Piccadilly Theatre on London’s West End. \n  \nI performed the part of Philip Masters in The Warp three times\, in early 1999\, before returning to The States. At the end of the 23 hour-long performances\, the audience stood up and shouted and cheered for about ten minutes. It’s the only time in my acting career that I got to feel what rock stars must feel when the crowd goes wild. \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nReflections On the Art of “The Adventure” \n  \nThe Oxford Dictionary suggests adventure might be a “daring enterprise\,” describes adventurism as a “tendency to take risks\,” and offers up synonyms such as “audacious\, brave\, reckless\, valiant\,” and “risky.” \n  \nDefining adventure seems very subjective and individual to me. Certainly one person’s daring is another person’s ho-hum. I do feel (for myself) it requires “loose ends\,” cannot be over-planned\, must include improvisation and unknowns\, and necessitates I be “in the moment.” Thus I might say our entire life is an adventure as we navigate the surges\, eddies\, and constant strivings that are elements of being alive. \n  \nRather than describe one specific episode of bravado\, I’ve conceived a list of possibilities I hope will touch many: \n  \n—(Here’s the big one) Being with “me”…phew! (Can you relate?) \n—Family reunions (‘nough said) \n—First stroke of brush on canvas \n—The turn of a thought \n—Being member of Johnny’s dialogue group \n—Hiking in bear country \n—Being a part of OHOM circle of friends \n—Making new friends \n—Imagining in new ways \n—Prison \n—Going to the library/book store \n—Writing first word of poem/essay \n—Stepping onstage in front of an audience \n  \nHere’s a few more: \n  \n—Agreeing \n—Listening \n—Changing \n—Loving \n—Smiling \n—Commitment \n—Birth/Death \n  \nAnd as a last thought: \n  \n—This moment! \n  \nConclusion: we all\, at every moment are engaged in the living act of \n“The Adventure” \n  \nPeace and Love To All \n  \n—Abe Green  2022 \n  \n(Note to readers: peace\, love\, happiness & understanding now comes out on the first Thursday of every month\, instead of every other Thursday.)
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-8-4-22/
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DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20220724T150000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20220724T170000
DTSTAMP:20260425T093307
CREATED:20220722T163133Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20220722T163329Z
UID:3071-1658674800-1658682000@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!  7/24/22
DESCRIPTION:  \nBeloved Bibliophiles!\n \nWe had so much fun last time with AUTHORS AND WRITINGS THAT MAKE YOU HAPPY! that we’re doing it again on Sunday\, July 24th\, at 3 p.m. (PDT).\n \nNovels\, stories\, poems and plays that make you laugh\, lift your spirits\, give you a feeling of well-being. Which authors are the most reliable for cheering you up?\n \nHere’s the link for the Zoom gathering:\n \n \n\nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058 \n\n\n\n  \nI hope to see you there.\n \nMay all people be happy!\n \n \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-7-24-22/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20220715
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20220815
DTSTAMP:20260425T093307
CREATED:20220716T172631Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20220716T172631Z
UID:2974-1657843200-1660521599@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue  7/15/22
DESCRIPTION:photograph taken in Iceland by Kim Stafford \n  \n  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n  \n  July 15\, 2022 \n  \nRemember? \n  \nRemember that day \nwhen the war ended \nand you climbed \nfrom your trenches \nand we oozed \nfrom our bunkers \nleaving \ngrenades\, guns \nbullets and bayonets \nbehind? \nRemember how we \nall sang in the streets \ndanced in the fountains \ncrazy with joy? \nRemember how \nclouds lifted \nhearts rose \nhatred\, vengeance \nbitterness and rage \nfell away like \ngrave clothes? \nRemember how \nwe stood \ntall and happy \nin the morning \nlight \neyeing the world \nand one another \nwith new eyes? \nRemember how \nin that ecstasy \nwe forgot \nif ours was \na red state \nor blue \nliberal cause or \nconservative stand? \n  \nRemember \nhow easily \nwe remembered \nwho we were \nfrom whence we had come \nwhere we were going \nwhy we were here \nand what we should do? \n  \nI will never forget \nthat day \nwhen the war ended \nand trust sprouted \nand spread like \na green \nsea of grass \nacross every divide \nover every division \nuniting all \ninto one state \nof grace \nindivisible \nat peace \nunder heaven. \n  \n —Will Hornyak   July 10\, 2022 \n* \n#223  Benefit From The Positive Elements  \n  \n“If the presence of the other is refreshing and healing to you\, keep hold of this presence and nourish yourself with it. If there are negative things around you\, you can always find something that is healthy\, refreshing and healing\, and with your mindfulness you can recognize its presence in your life. \n  \nYou need to recognize that these kinds of positive elements exist and that you can benefit from their refreshing and helpful presence. If you are facing a sunset\, a marvelous spectacle\, give yourself a chance to be in touch with it. Give yourself five minutes\, breathing deeply\, and you will be truly there. Touch the beauty of nature in a deep way. That will do your body and mind a great deal of good.” — Thich Nhat Hanh \n  \nWendell Berry’s poem\, “The Peace of Wild Things” is the embodiment of this page from Your True Home\, and I speak it silently to myself each day on entering my time of meditation. \n  \nI can’t deny that I am often agitated and fearful about the world\, particularly about our country\, when I sit down to meditate. And I quietly breathe in\, and out\, and remind myself: \n  \nThe Peace of Wild Things \n  \nWhen despair for the world grows in me\nand I wake in the night at the least sound\nin fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be\,\nI go and lie down where the wood drake\nrests in his beauty on the water\, and the great heron feeds.\nI come into the peace of wild things\nwho do not tax their lives with forethought\nof grief. I come into the presence of still water.\nAnd I feel above me the day-blind stars\nwaiting with their light. For a time\nI rest in the grace of the world\, and am free. \n  \n—Wendell Berry \n  \nI am so fortunate to be surrounded by beauty. I look to the north and see snow-clad Mt. Adams\, and to the south\, fleecy Mt. Hood —my two sentinels. To the east the sun rises over Surveyor’s Ridge and to the west it sets over Mt. Defiance. And above me either the “day-blind stars\, waiting with their light\,” or the visible blaze of stars in the deep and silent night sky. \n  \nWendell Berry and Thich That Hanh know the score. \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \nI read Thomas Traherne’s poem “Silence” this morning. It begins: \n  \nA quiet silent person may possess \nAll that is great or high in Blessedness. \nThe inward work is the supreme… \nA man who seemeth idle to the view \nOf others\, may the greatest business do. \n  \nLater in the poem\, he describes Adam\, in the Garden\, before the Fall: \n  \nThe first and only work he had to do\, \nWas in himself to feel his bliss\, to view \nHis sacred treasures\, to admire\, rejoice\, \nSing praises with a sweet and heavenly voice\, \nSee\, prize\, give hourly thanks within\, and love\, \nWhich is the high and only work above \nThem all. \n  \nTraherne felt that\, as a child\, he lived in that same Paradise: \n  \nA world of innocence as then was mine\, \nIn which the joys of Paradise did shine: \nAnd while I was not here I was in Heaven\, \nNot resting one\, but every\, day in seven\, \nFor ever minding with a lively sense\, \nThe universe in all its excellence. \nNo other thoughts did intervene\, to cloy\, \nDivert\, extinguish\, or eclipse my joy\, \nNo other customs\, new-found wants\, or dreams \nInvented here polluted my pure streams… \n  \nAs an adult\, by writing poems in which he gives thanks and praises to God\, who created “the universe in all its excellence\,” he could again enter the Garden of Paradise which he knew as a child: \n  \nHe was an ocean of delights from Whom \nThe living springs and golden streams did come: \nMy bosom was an ocean into which \nThey all did run. And me they did enrich. \nA vast and infinite capacity\, \nDid make my bosom like the Deity\, \nIn whose mysterious and celestial mind \nAll ages and all worlds together shin’d\, \nWho tho’ He nothing said did always reign\, \nAnd in Himself Eternity contain. \nThe world was more in me\, than I in it. \nThe King of Glory in my soul did sit\, \nAnd to Himself in me he always gave \nAll that He takes delight to see me have\, \nFor so my spirit was an endless Sphere\, \nLike God Himself\, and Heaven\, and Earth was there. \n  \n—Thomas Traherne  (1636-1674) \n  \nA quiet silent person may possess this Blessedness. It’s our birthright. \n  \n—Johnny \n* \n  \nPoems from Kim are always welcome: \n  \n          Pain & Grace \n  \nFar from here\, pain abounds— \nwar\, storm\, crime\, cruelty. \nNews freights that here to us. \nClose to home\, grace abounds— \nrain\, leaf\, birdsong\, touch. \nPoetry sends this there to them. \nThis disjunction puzzles everyone. \nUnknown beauties must be there. \nAnd here\, we have hurts in plenty. \nSo what is worth the telling? Let me \nbe the journalist of old affections. \nIn the tyrant’s prison\, may there be \n    a song. \n  \n                A Right to Rest \n  \nWhen you’re well\, it’s Up and at ’em!  \nRise and shine! Daylight in the swamp!  \nAnd there you stride into the storm of all  \nthat calls you to be the hero of action and  \naccomplishment. You’ll earn rest when  \nspent at dusk\, stumbling for home. \nBut when you’re under the weather\, it’s  \nTake it easy…Kick back…Doze. At last\, \nyour puritan self will let you be a slacker\,  \nshiftless\, a lazy bum. Now’s the time \nfor frailty\, for faltering\, when sickness  \ntakes pity on your weary soul. \n  \n                 Covid Guest \n  \nFor years you traveled in my country.  \nPeople told stories of your wanderings\,  \ncounted how many you met when they  \ncould take off the mask of reticence.  \nSome shut their doors\, shunned your  \ntouch\, but others took you in\, hosted \nyour companionship\, even grew intimate.  \nHow their breath came fast as you dazzled \nand left them utterly amazed. \nNow you come to my house\, and at last  \nwe meet. “Don’t be a stranger\,” you say\,  \noffering your hand. And I take you in. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nCongratulations to Michel Deforge\, who has now written more than 300 meditations in his journal\, inspired by Thich Nhat Hanh’s meditations in Your True Home. In our Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue what we have shared of Michel’s writings is only the tip of the iceberg. Here are some things from his June journal: \n  \nJune 6\, 2022  #299 Definition of Hell \n  \nI love Thây’s solution—compassion. Any place I go\, I will meet men and women who have created their own hell on earth. All I can do\, and need to do\, to ease their suffering is bring my compassion (from love and understanding) into his or her life—mine too! I don’t have to be the “best” or be all-compassionate.  I merely need to breathe (consciously)\, share some compassion cultivated from understanding the person before me in that moment—no history past\, or future yet to be formed: simply he and me\, in the now. Johnny is our example\, here at TRCI; it’s repeatable. \n  \nJune 23\, 2022  #309  How to Listen to the Dharma \n  \nThis could apply to any time I (and you) are listening to a talk\, a lecture\, a debate\, a sermon\, maybe even a discussion on wise and salient topics. I imagine\, even if it’s silly\, foolish\, wastrel chatter I (and you) can allow the noise to wash over and pass on through. Engaging with intellect risks trapping all sorts of ideas\, notions—pond scum\, if you will. Wholesome talk/listening can also be reviewed later and maybe bear fruit. Listen to wisdom by letting it just soak in\, without any interference or additives. Your life seeds will be better for it in the long run. \n  \nJune 26\, 2022  #310  Here to Love \n  \nThis is a simple one. Breathe\, smile\, be aware\, and love. I wonder how often and easily any of us can get into a mental mess by giving too much thought to Love: What it is/is not\, how it “works.” Maybe\, and I don’t really know from my own experience\, we simply need to breathe\, smile\, be present to the reality of now—including the object of love (self\, other\, or object not self)\, and then choose to contemplate loving thoughts toward our object of love. I think an appropriate love will arise. (Provided the contemplation was appropriate.) Of course\, another option comes to mind: Breathe\, smile and just be. Just breathe and be\, simply\, as if in mindful meditative practice. Allow life to continue\, just to observe\, without judgement\, what happens. \n  \nJune 29\, 2022  #312  None Other Than Enlightenment \n  \nAll these skills and practice come together\, as I continue practicing on my own\, to reveal a freedom from suffering and a life of “nirvana.” It’s no special secret. If I (we) do this work\, we will reap the rewards of enlightenment in all of our efforts and interactions with reality. And it all starts with deliberate breathing. \n  \nOn June 30th\, Michel wrote this: \n  \nJohnny and friends\, \n  \nI don’t know precisely when\, but I am given to believe that I will go to my first hip replacement surgery in July. I’m hoping the week following the 4th\, but I have to wait and see. At the same time\, TRCI is locking back down as infections of Covid rise. (Big sigh!) If I go “dark” you’ll know I went to the infirmary and didn’t have my writing tools to keep journalling. We’ll see. \n  \nI hope everyone is well and I will be back “on track” as soon as I am able. \n  \nTake care\, with much love and gratitude\, \n  \nMichel \n* \n  \nKatie says:  \n  \nWhile I was typing this up I was doing meditation with the Shambhala sanghas in New York and Ukraine\, and one person read Thay’s poem “Please Call Me by My True Names.” \n  \nSo magical this life. \n  \nAda Limón – born 1976 – has just been named the new Poet Laureate of the United States. We need her poems today; so glad to share them.   \n  \n“Right now\, so often we are going numb to grief and numb to tragedy and numb to crisis\,” Limón said. “Poetry is a way back in\, to recognizing that we are feeling human beings. And feeling grief and feeling trauma can actually allow us to feel joy again.” \n  \nHere are a few of my favorites of her poems –  \n  \nA New National Anthem \n  \nThe truth is\, I’ve never cared for the National \nAnthem. If you think about it\, it’s not a good \nsong. Too high for most of us with “the rockets \nred glare” and then there are the bombs. \n(Always\, always\, there is war and bombs.) \nOnce\, I sang it at homecoming and threw \neven the tenacious high school band off key. \nBut the song didn’t mean anything\, just a call \nto the field\, something to get through before \nthe pummeling of youth. And what of the stanzas \nwe never sing\, the third that mentions “no refuge \ncould save the hireling and the slave”? Perhaps\, \nthe truth is\, every song of this country \nhas an unsung third stanza\, something brutal \nsnaking underneath us as we blindly sing \nthe high notes with a beer sloshing in the stands \nhoping our team wins. Don’t get me wrong\, I do \nlike the flag\, how it undulates in the wind \nlike water\, elemental\, and best when it’s humbled\, \nbrought to its knees\, clung to by someone who \nhas lost everything\, when it’s not a weapon\, \nwhen it flickers\, when it folds up so perfectly \nyou can keep it until it’s needed\, until you can \nlove it again\, until the song in your mouth feels \nlike sustenance\, a song where the notes are sung \nby even the ageless woods\, the short-grass plains\, \nthe Red River Gorge\, the fistful of land left \nunpoisoned\, that song that’s our birthright\, \nthat’s sung in silence when it’s too hard to go on\, \nthat sounds like someone’s rough fingers weaving \ninto another’s\, that sounds like a match being lit \nin an endless cave\, the song that says my bones \nare your bones\, and your bones are my bones\, \nand isn’t that enough? \n  \nThe Raincoat \n  \nWhen the doctor suggested surgery\nand a brace for all my youngest years\,\nmy parents scrambled to take me\nto massage therapy\, deep tissue work\,\nosteopathy\, and soon my crooked spine\nunspooled a bit\, I could breathe again\,\nand move more in a body unclouded\nby pain. My mom would tell me to sing\nsongs to her the whole forty-five minute\ndrive to Middle Two Rock Road and forty-\nfive minutes back from physical therapy.\nShe’d say\, even my voice sounded unfettered\nby my spine afterward. So I sang and sang\,\nbecause I thought she liked it. I never\nasked her what she gave up to drive me\,\nor how her day was before this chore. Today\,\nat her age\, I was driving myself home from yet\nanother spine appointment\, singing along\nto some maudlin but solid song on the radio\,\nand I saw a mom take her raincoat off\nand give it to her young daughter when\na storm took over the afternoon. My god\,\nI thought\, my whole life I’ve been under her\nraincoat thinking it was somehow a marvel\nthat I never got wet. \n  \nBurying Beetle \n  \nI like to imagine even the plants\nwant attention\, so I weed for four\nhours straight\, assuring the tomatoes\nfeel July’s hot breath on the neck\,\nthe Japanese maple can stretch\,\nthe sweet potatoes\, spider plants\,\nthe Asiatic lilies can flourish in this\nplace we’ve dared to say we “own.”\nEach nicked spindle of morning glory\nor kudzu or purslane or yellow rocket\n(Barbarea vulgaris\, for Christ’s sake)\,\nand I find myself missing everyone I know.\nI don’t know why. First come the piles\nof nutsedge and creeper and then an\nache that fills the skin like the Cercospora\nblight that’s killing the blue skyrocket juniper\nslowly from the inside out. Sure\, I know\nwhat it is to be lonely\, but today’s special\nis a physical need to be touched by someone\ndecent\, a pulsing palm to the back. My man\nis in South Africa still\, and people just keep\ndying even when I try to pretend they’re\nnot. The crown vetch and the curly dock\nare almost eliminated as I survey the neatness\nof my work. I don’t feel I deserve this time\,\nor the small plot of earth I get to mold into\nsomeplace livable. I lost God awhile ago.\nAnd I don’t want to pray\, but I can picture\nthe plants deepening right now into the soil\,\nwanting to live\, so I lie down among them\,\nin my ripped pink tank top\, filthy and covered\nin sweat\, among red burying beetles and dirt\nthat’s been turned and turned like a problem\nin the mind. \n—Ada Limón \n  \nCarrying Thay Into the Future  \n  \nThay founded Plum Village Monastery in the French countryside in 1982. His first monastery in the West and his home for many years\, Plum Village has been a refuge and mindfulness center for those displaced and suffering from war\, to those searching for the ease of feeling at home in a peaceful community. Over the next four decades\, Plum Village drew more and more practitioners while Thay went on to found 10 more monasteries and practice centers around the world. \n  \n“I can see very clearly that wherever you are\, you are my continuation\, and in one way or another\, you are carrying me into the future\,” Thay has said of those who follow the Plum Village path of mindfulness. “We\, teacher and student\, will continue to climb the hill of the century\, offering our love\, understanding\, freedom\, and solidity to the world.” \n  \n—Katie Radditz
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-7-15-22/
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UID:2962-1657465200-1657465200@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!  7/10/22
DESCRIPTION:Daniel Pinkwater \n  \nBeloved Bibliophiles!  \n  \nThis Sunday\, July 10th\, at 3 p.m. (PDT)\, our theme will be Authors and Writings That Make You Happy.  \n  \nNovels\, stories\, poems and plays that made you laugh\, lifted your spirits\, gave you a feeling of well-being. Which authors are most reliable for cheering you up?  \n  \nHere’s the link for the Zoom gathering:   \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058 \n  \nI hope to see you there!   \n  \npeace\, love & happiness   \n  \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-7-10-22/
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LAST-MODIFIED:20220709T174740Z
UID:2951-1657152000-1659571199@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  7/7/22
DESCRIPTION:Bryan Joyner \n  \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \n  \nJuly 7\, 2022 \n  \n(Note to readers: peace\, love\, happiness & understanding is going to be coming out on the first Thursday of every month\, instead of every other Thursday.) \n   \nI met Bryan Joyner at Columbia River Correctional Institution (CRCI)\, in Portland. He came regularly to the weekly “Arts in Prison” group that I facilitated there for a number of years\, through Open Hearts Open Minds (openheartsopenminds.net). He also was an enthusiastic participant in the Music Program that Matt Insley and I started there\, along with Mark Mojdehi and Patrick Seraya. The OHOM’s Music Program is still going strong\, under the guidance of Nate Query\, who is the bass player for the Decemberists. Bryan got out of prison in May of 202O. In cooperation with Superintendant James Hanley at CRCI\, Nate\, Taiyah Marshal and David Pettinger did an extensive interview with Bryan\, which is on YouTube. With Bryan’s permission\, I have transcribed and edited a portion of the interview\, especially for our friends in prison who don’t have access to the Internet. \n  \n  \nInterview With Bryan Joyner \n  \nBryan Joyner.  ….I like authentic music that sounds like itself. I don’t like copycatters\, or people that mimic\, and stuff. I stick to the originals—people that I think have good lifetime in their music\, and make good music that I can relate to. I also listen to a lot of R & B\, a lot of Soul Music\, a lot of Seventies and Eighties. Those are my primary “go to” music to listen to. Gangsta Rap\, that hardcore street stuff\, kind of amplifies some of my negative anti-social behaviors that I don’t agree with anymore. So I don’t like to listen to that stuff\, because that’s what it’s promoting. Whereas\, R & B really makes you get in touch with that other side of yourself—it makes you really realize that love is important—more important than any of this other stuff. And that helps me with my personal point of view. So\, when I’m comin’ at a rhyme\, no matter what it’s about my personal point of view\, I like to be calm. I want to be calm and I want to be grounded. I want to come at it understanding that people are going to listen to this; how is that gonna affect them? That’s important to me\, as far as my presence\, my presentation. \n  \nDavid Pettinger.  That’s really beautiful to hear.  When you talk about love and things like that—when do you find yourself looking for those moments of growth? And seeing that love can be healing? When do you look for it\, and how do you reach levels of personal growth? \n  \nBryan.  Uh\, pain. Pain. When you see pain\, love needs to be administered. When you see suffering\, when you see pain. And pain can be interpreted on the external differently than from the internal. A lot of people can deal with a lot of pain\, can cope—or not necessarily cope well—with a lot of pain. But if you can recognize that someone else is in pain\, then you know that love is needed in that area\, for that person. It probably is just as much needed for yourself in that area\, as well. Self first. So\, if you see pain and then you feel it\, you can empathize with it\, and you can recognize it. That is an area in yourself that you need love at\, too. So\, I think that’s how I recognize it. \n  \nI think by healing the pain in yourself\, you involuntarily give people the permission to heal themselves as well—through the example of how the process works\, and trusting in the process of healing. Because healing don’t happen like a snap of a finger. Man\, it doesn’t. The pain still is there even after you heal. It’s just about really accepting that you can’t change it. And once you can do that\, the process can begin. \n  \nTaiyah Marshal.  I think you touched on something that I think most people just walkin’ around in the world need to tap into\, which is empathy—having real empathy for those who had various different experiences. It’s incredible how disconnected people can be nowadays. You have obviously gone through a lot. How have you reconnected and rounded yourself out? With writing? You say you’re not making music right now. You’re focusing on getting yourself together\, which is completely understandable. How do you tap into that? \n  \nBryan.  Uh\, narcissism is a big aspect of the disconnection that the world is experiencing now. Being in love with things and feelings and thoughts\, versus people. And yourself. The narcissist doesn’t feel what other people feel\, because they’re distracted with their own ego\, and creating a version of themselves that is beyond reality. And it’s just psychological. We all suffer from it\, we all deal with it to a certain extent\, because it’s part of the culture to be self-serving and to be the king in my house. It’s mine. It’s mine\, it’s mine\, it’s mine. Feeling empathy for another person is something that is a natural ability. It’s like breathing. Okay? It is breathing. When we were children we had no other ability than to empathize\, and then cry. The only way a child can protect themselves is through the sense of empathy\, through the sense of feeling\, and hearing\, and sensing danger. ‘Cause there’s no other defense mechanism that a child has. They don’t have claws. They don’t have sharp teeth. They can’t run fast. They’re not that smart. Y’know? There’s no way for them to defend themselves\, except preemptively through empathy. They sense danger\, or they sense safety\, or they sense love.  \n  \nWhen you grow up in a world where everything is dangerous\, or is perceived to be dangerous\, you lose a sense of empathy and feelin’ things out\, and you become more psychological—where things become labels. People become constructs to manipulate like a chess piece\, like a pawn. And this is the type of behavior that is actually encouraged in our society from day one. Honestly. We’re living in a technological world where people don’t have to even see you to talk to you. Look at this! We ain’t even around each other\, havin’ a whole conversation. The disconnect is part of the structure of society that we live in. So\, honestly\, in some way we’re ordered to be a narcissist\, that dog-eat-dog mentality. “I gotta get mine\, even if I gotta take it from you.” These kind of traits are encouraged.  \n  \nAnd loving traits are presented as being weak. Like\, lame. A victim\, y’know. You’re a victim if you care. If you help the old lady across the street. I have always had a sense of empathy\, but once my personality took over\, I was disconnected as well. And being incarcerated\, it was like I was in a bubble. I realized that I am only gonna be able to eat what is in this bubble. So I started reading. I started meditating. I started praying. And what happened was I opened myself up. I opened up my heart chakra by doin’ that. My heart chakra was open and it still is\, to the point where now those things that I used to purposely ignore—the pain from other people\, the suffering—I started to let it in my bubble. And I started to realize there’s a connection we have with everyone that is intrinsic. It’s natural. It’s the same thing as the air that we breathe. We’re all breathin’ the same air. It’s the same. When the sun hits your skin and it hits mine\, we’re both warm. ‘Cause that’s what the sun does. And empathy does that. It’s like a connecting bond that’s invisible. And so\, it’s easy to take for granted because we live in a material world and we praise that materialism\, and it creates a sickness of self-importance\, self-grandiosity\, selfishness\, self-centeredness—that the world revolves around me. And that is a complete disconnect from what’s actually happening\, which is that we all need each other—that the love that I feel for you is the love that I actually have for myself. And that’s why I’m reflecting it off of you. So I think that empathy is very important\, and what I had to do personally to tap into that was to really take a look at myself\, and how I was connecting with people. And I wasn’t connecting with people. I’m a know-it-all. And my personality was in full effect all the time. It’s like an alternate ego. It is an alternate. The ego is alternate from the self. You know what I mean? Bein’ my true self at this point of time in my life…I’m 41. I’ve basically been an egomaniac for 20 of those years—tryin’ to create this version of myself that was strong enough to live in this society. I survived. It did its job\, and now it’s time to go home and allow God to point me in a direction\, to show me the path. Period. \n  \nTaiyah.  First of all\, I just want to commend you for all that self-awareness and self- growth\, to be able to identify that and work on yourself is not an easy thing. You have to kill that ego. And I wish you the best on your journey. \n  \nBryan.  Thank you very much.   \n  \nDavid.  One thing I was curious about is which sources of literature did you find to be the most helpful? \n  \nBryan.  Oh\, my gosh\, I’m glad that you asked me that. This is somethin’ I’ll share for everyone\, and this is somethin’\, I’m tellin’ you bro\, is gonna open you up. Check this out. One of the most inspirational and perception-altering books that I’ve ever read was My Ishmael by Daniel Quinn. He also wrote a book called Ishmael. And these two books together changed my life. Like\, there’s a life before you read the book\, and a life after you read the book. Those two books completely messed me up. It had broke down the mental constructs I had in my mind about what this world is\, and what is intended. Another book that I read that was perspective and mind-altering was A New Earth by Eckhart Tolle. He has another one called The Power of Now. They’re basically the same book\, but one gives you the narrative\, without anything—just gives it to you raw. And the other one is coming from a perspective of someone that’s unconscious\, asking questions\, and then the questions being answered by Eckhart Tolle. The material is pretty much the same thing\, but if you’re one of those kind of people that have questions\, The Power of Now is more for you\, and if you’re someone that has already started the journey A New Earth would be easier to read. So\, those four books were entirely transformative for me. The last book I will give you is The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. That story is about me. I can literally break down the chapters and the pages where…I’m tellin’ you\, this guy is tellin’ my story\, in a metaphorical way. And right now\, just to compare that story\, I’m at the end\, in Egypt\, gettin’ my ass beat by some guys who are tellin’ me that I’m a fool for bein’ out here lookin’ for a treasure. Right? And what I found was\, the treasure is in me. Okay? That’s the metaphor of all that is that you already have the treasure inside of you. And that just changed the way that I look at everything. Those authors will be the people that I want to talk to personally\, and just thank them for their expression in this world full of evil and hate and misery and suffering. Those are the gems that make life worth livin’ for me. And inside my little bubble\, man\, I just knew that there was a God. I just knew. If there were any doubts in my mind\, there are none now at all. And my ego is in full effect\, pushing everything away from me\, only wanting what it wants\, when it wants it\, how I want it. And you can’t live like that and be at peace. You can’t just use people. You will never be at peace\, ‘cause you gotta do the next thing to keep the manipulation goin’. You’ll never be able to rest\, your soul will never rest. So bein’ in that state of constant high vigilance and constant alert\, it is exhausting. It’s exhausting. Those are the books that really inspired me. Another person that inspires me is Prince. Rest in peace\, The Prince. Shout out for Prince. That man was a genius! He was a genius. He had it. He knew some of the secrets to life. He knew. And I watch documentaries of him and it just blows my mind—the poise\, the knowing that he has. The confidence in knowing those secrets. It just exudes from him in his aura. It’s beautiful. I hope that answers your question. (Laughs.) \n  \nDavid.  In talking about The Alchemist\, it sounds like you feel very seen in that artwork. Is that something that you try to convey to other people through your music or different forms of expression? \n  \nBryan.  Yes and no. There’s a side of me that doesn’t care what people think. I write the music that I like. But then there’s a technical side of me where it’s like: “Okay\, what if somebody else listens to this?” Some of the messages that I implant in my music are personal\, but I’m sayin’ it in a way where somebody else can pick it up\, if they were interested. You can lead a horse to the water\, but you can’t make him drink. And so I put water in it\, but I don’t put the cup in there. \n  \nDavid.  I definitely really respect that approach to things. You’re telling your story\, there are pieces for someone that should they so see fit to find out for themselves\, they can. \n  \nBryan.  Yeah. Absolutely. LOVE\, as an acronym\, is Letting Others Voluntarily Evolve. That’s the greatest kind of love that you can give a person is not to do it for them\, but to allow them to figure it out on their own. And just be there for them when they fall down. Don’t try to prevent their experience. Like a little kid—if you don’t let them fall off their bike\, they won’t grow up to buy a Lamborghini. Or a Buick. Whatever. Whichever they want to go for. But you can’t stop them from having that experience of falling off the bike because they need it in order to grow. And so\, lovin’ someone sometimes is seein’ them feel pain\, and empathizing with them\, listening to what they have to say\, being around them in a physical way\, where you can put your arm around them. Not tellin’ them what to do\, or doin’ it for them\, or givin’ them the money that they need. It’s just really about just bein’ there\, and feelin’ what they feel\, and allowing them to release some of that\, knowing that they connected with another person. And that’s what a narcissist will not do. They will not do that. As soon as they feel something they don’t want to feel—pheew!\, they’re gone. It’s very important to feel those feelings with that person\, and allow bein’ there for them to be how you love ‘em. Empathy is very important\, and it’s comin’ back in style. I’m tellin’ ya! We just gotta keep on doin’ it. It’s gonna come back in style. It’s gonna be jazzy again. \n  \nTaiyah  ….What was the creative process able to look like while you were in? \n  \nBryan.  ….They had the Music Program. That’s where I met Nate at. And Nate brought in  his bass guitar\, and they would play the tunes\, and we would just make up…it would just be like freestyle\, on the fly\, whatever come up\, however your vibe is feelin’. And\, y’know\, I really connected with Nate\, because he’s just sincere. I mean\, it is what it is\, and he’s just authentic and genuine. He doesn’t say much\, but when he’s talkin’ he means it. That was something that I picked up instantly. We were able\, on a musical vibe\, to get to know each other very fast. There’s still a lot I need to learn about him as friends\, but this guy—there’s some things he ain’t got to say that I know. (Laughs.) Nate is amazing! You know what I mean? And I always respected how he found the time to volunteer and bring himself in\, his vibe\, y’know\, his love. Bring in love. That’s basically what it was. And he was showin’ love and he was showin’ a sense of empathy\, and not only feelin’ what we felt\, but allowing us to feel what he felt. That was the most awesome part of it all—was the receiving of genuine love. That was how I perceived it at the time\, and it really was something that I looked forward to every Monday morning\, early. That was a really good experience for me being incarcerated—to have that outlet. That outlet. Outlet. Out let. In a prison\, which is captive\, to have an outlet makes all of the difference of the experience of being incarcerated. Having that outlet. That was the best part. So\, even though I don’t do music in prison\, at that point in time I was doin’ music in prison. It was happenin’. I was just as sharp\, I was just as good. Maybe the content was a little lacking\, because of the confinement mentality. Sometimes that can happen in prison. But all of the swag was there\, the flow was there\, it was all good. You run out of things to talk about sometimes\, but if you’re bein’ honest\, you don’t run out of things to talk about. And live instruments\, for me—it’s like havin’ a conversation. And if you’re bein’ honest\, you can talk about it. If you gotta make it up\, and you gotta think about it—there’s a difference in that. The writing process in prison versus out of prison is completely different. It’s more restrictive in prison. It’s more limited\, as far as influence and subject matter. But it’s pretty much the same as long as you’re being honest. \n  \n….Prison is a business. Okay? It’s a business. They’re not in the business of rehabilitation. They’re in the business of storage. So\, to not rehabilitate somebody is a definite flip—in money. You flip that money if that person goes back out and does the same thing again. That money just got flipped. Okay. You lose money in this business if someone heals themselves. So\, the promotion of healing in any kind of way\, creatively or cognitively\, is very important. It’s crucial\, ‘cause not only does the person suffer\, the community suffers as well. And we’re only as healthy as our sickest part of our community. People on the outside can point their finger and say “those people are bad\,” while they steal from their job every day and get away with it. “Ah\, look at those guys. He’s such and animal.” And she’s cheatin’ on her husband. Prison gives a place where people can point the finger and feel good about themselves that they’re not there\, because they don’t do “those” things. But we’re all connected. So these types of programs\, whether it be music\, art\, poetry\, comedy\, business planning—all of these things are healing tools and they need to be administered to prisons. ‘Cause it’s basically sick in there. \n  \nDavid.  I really appreciate that answer….Are there more things we could be doing to push Columbia River? \n  \nBryan.  Stuff like this. Talkin’ to people that were there\, gaining true insight into the mentality of the participants\, broadcasting it\, getting the footage and showing the community what this is and getting the community support out in any kind of way\, shape or form—from any venue\, any merchant\, any citizen that is willing to participate and support it. Find the guys that were in the program and keep in touch with them. If they have the talent\, if they have the skills\, if they have the desire to better themselves\, keep in touch with them. Pull them into the programs that are facilitating these type of things. Eventually\, I want to get permission to come back in. And once I come back in\, boy\, I’m down to earth. We’re gonna make this happen. If you’re really about that\, I will be able to tell by your energy\, by your vibe. I’m gonna be feelin’ you\, and I’m gonna understand where you’re at\, where you’re comin’ from and\, if there’s somethin’ there\, where you’re goin’. I’m gonna be able to understand that\, and I want to. A lot of the young brothers looked up to me because of my consistency—the fact that I was consistent\, that I wasn’t making up stories\, that it was always like this with me. I would love to participate and join the movement. For real. And I’m still part of the movement. I haven’t been back to prison since. I got myself together. I’ve been on a spiritual journey of really detaching from my past. Attachments! And freeing myself psychologically and emotionally\, so that my spirit can grow.  \n  \nA lot of these guys are on that journey and have no clue. They just have no insight\, or anything to reflect off that that’s what they’re going through. All that they know is that they love music and when they do it they feel free. (Laughs.) That’s all that they know\, so they show up. And that’s the beginning. That’s the beginning of being in connection with God. When you do the thing that you love to do\, you fall into a state of prayer\, a state of connection with God. Because there’s nothin’ else happenin’. The past doesn’t exist. The future is not there. You’re just locked into now—the moment of. And in that moment you are being your true self. There’s no ego there. There’s no constructs. There’s no sense of time. You ain’t worried about no bills. Nothin’ else is happening. And that is like meditation. Music can be a meditative practice.  \n  \nShare with the community. Allow people to experience these individuals that have important places in our society that they’re not allowed…they’re not bein’ able to hone that skill\, that inner peace\, that sense of worth in themselves. And when someone is interested in what you say: “Hey\, we want to give you an interview. We wanna hear what you have to say.” Even for me. I was like\, “For real? You care? You wanna know? What? Me? Me? You wanna know what I think? Wow!” And to be incarcerated\, and have that same type of privilege—that person will walk with their head up high. They’ll know that they have something that they’re connected to\, that they can do good\, that will ultimately give them a sense of self-worth\, of self-importance\, of value. It may be superficial\, in a way\, but just “in a way\,”—not really. If that person is a narcissist\, tryin’ to feed their ego\, it will be superficial. But a person that is really trying to figure out this thing called “life\,” that is like a milestone. That is like a touchdown—in a game that they were losing a hundred to zero. And to walk out of that building with at least seven points feels better than just straight getting skunked. \n  \nTaiyah.  I want to take it back to you\, because you’re on your spiritual journey. I want to hear what are some affirmations\, or practices that you do in your day-to-day\, to stay in the now\, to stay in the present\, and just amplify that positive energy. \n  \nBryan.  I would say: meditation. Meditation\, for me\, is listening—to God. It is when you let your thoughts do what they do\, and don’t hold onto them. You don’t grab one\, and turn it all around and look at it from every angle\, try and dissect it. You just kinda let it go by. And let ‘em all go by\, all of the things\, all of the clutter. It comes to a point where you don’t hear it anymore. I work every day\, and something that I always tell myself is that I gotta do it. I gotta do this for myself. I have to make sure that I’m okay. It’s my responsibility to make sure that I’m okay. And right now I’m understanding the dynamic of my ego versus my soul. And that my persona is not healthy. So\, I’ve been praying a lot. My favorite prayer is: “Thank you\, God. Thank you\, God.” It’s my favorite prayer. It seems to be the simplest prayer\, but it’s more complicated than that—for me. And when the things happen for me that I don’t want to happen\, or that I didn’t expect to happen\, or that I was tryin’ to prevent from happening\, I still say: “Thank you\, God. Thank you. Thank you\, God.” That is an affirmation for myself that has been the balancing factor in my life. And it has taken my spiritual practices at this point of time in my life and allowed them to land on something solid. Whereas\, though\, the void in my heart was…I was just trying to throw everything in there. I threw people in there! I threw my daughter in the void. I threw my girlfriend in the void. I was tryin’ to fill that sucker up with whatever I could get my hands on—whatever I could put in that void to not feel it. And then I realized that the only thing that will close the void is God. That’s the only thing that can fit in there and completely take it away. And that’s an affirmation. Only God can heal me. Only God can fulfill me. Only God can complete me. Only God can make me whole again. Those are affirmations that I believe in\, and I say to myself\, periodically throughout the day\, that allow me to re-calibrate\, to re-focus\, to get back in accordance. Sometimes I’ll be in lapse\, and don’t even know it. I’ll be complaining. I’ll be disgruntled—“Man\, who do you think…? Why would they do that?”—kind of attitude. And then I gotta take a step back and say: “Whoa. Thank you\, God. Just thank you for lettin’ this happen. This is a ‘you’ thing\, not a ‘me’ thing.” And it allows me to let go of psychological\, egotistical\, narcissistic control of trying to make things what I want them to be versus what they are—and what they will be\, naturally.  \n  \nFor example\, I’m at a homeless shelter\, and I’m on the bottom bunk\, and this other guy needs the bottom bunk. Now\, I’m six-two\, two hundred and forty pounds; what the hell I look like climbing up a goddam bunk on the top? Right? But this guy needed it. And so\, instead of me complaining and manipulating the situation to where I keep the bottom bunk\, I just said\, “You know what? Let him have it.” Y’know? “Thank you\, God. Thank you God for whatever this is about. Thank you.” And I was able to let that go. But\, ironically enough\, I needed to get around to a couple places because I don’t have a car\, and this guy was like\, “I’ll take you.” (Laughs.) What a coincidink! You know what I’m sayin’? But it’s not. It’s life! It’s not a reward\, it’s not special\, it’s not magic—that’s the way God works. And sometimes we block our own blessings by trying to make it what we want it to be versus what it actually is.  \n  \nSo\, writing\, meditating\, praying\, reading are daily practices. Listening to music. I love R & B and stuff like that. If there’s somethin’ new and hot\, I’m on it\, I’m lookin’ for it. My day-to-day just consists of praying\, meditating\, and focusing on the next thing to do by writing it down. And reading the literature that I need to read to understand what I need to do next—stuff like that. It’s really simple. It’s complicated to some. They just don’t want to do it. It’s hard to stay focused on one thing too long. For me\, it’s just about bein’ humble\, man\, just appreciating life for what it is right now. Going day by day and just be the best me I can be right now. And stayin’ in that energy as long as I can before that other energy pop up\, like: “What they think they lookin’ at? Who do they think they are?” I still got that in me. I think we all do at some point in time\, but for me it’s about keepin’ that guy in check. And also loving that side of myself\, so that I can heal. We got a side of ourself that we really don’t show everybody\, because we don’t like it. We keep it to ourselves. And after a while that water gets stagnant\, and the mosquitos start coming\, and it gets all infested and nasty inside of ourselves. We’re 90% water\, so we have to have a constant influx and flow of energy inside of us to go out. We have to have those outlets that mean something to us\, that are actually outlets. Because meditation might be an outlet to me\, and to the next person it’s not. But I know that meditation is definitely healthy\, that’s somethin’ I can bank on\, that’s going to be 100% good for me. You can never meditate too much. Meditating\, sitting in one spot\, letting your thoughts go by\, and tryin’ to listen to what God got to tell you. I mean\, sounds legit to me\, so that’s what I do. (Laughs.) \n  \nDavid.  That’s really beautiful to hear. I really have been enjoying this conversation. I feel like there’s a lot of things that\, as a society\, we need to hear. And I feel a lot of this is resonant to me\, like your spiritual journey. If feels very healing and good to hear—sharing all these things. \n  \nBryan.  Thank you\, guys. \n  \nNate.  Bryan\, I’m still here too\, and\, man\, I really appreciate you goin’ deep on everything you have to offer. You’ve really given me a lot to think about and I really appreciate your doing this. \n  \nBryan.  Thank you\, bro. I really appreciate you inviting me in. It’s been a pleasure. There was nothin’ that I said that I felt embarrassed about\, or apprehensive. I just told the truth. I just told you what I know. Sometimes I felt like I was going a little bit off track\, I just tried to dial it back and bring it back home. \n  \nNate.  Nah\, man\, you’re good. \n  \nBryan.  Thank you\, brother. I appreciate you\, man. \n  \n  \nThe full interview is on YouTube: \n  \n  \n \n  \n \n  \npeace & love \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-7-7-22/
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DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20220626T140000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20220626T160000
DTSTAMP:20260425T093307
CREATED:20220619T001135Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20220910T225144Z
UID:2901-1656252000-1656259200@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!: A Conversation With Susan Griffin  6/26/22
DESCRIPTION:A Conversation With Susan Griffin\n\n  \nOn Sunday\, June 26th\, Susan Griffin was our Special Guest. She talked about the book she is currently writing\, a biography of Phoebe Hearst. She read some poems about her sister.\n\n  \nShe read from her newest book\, Out of Silence\, Sound. Out of Nothing\, Something.: A Writer’s Guide and talked about the writing process. This book will be available January 17\, 2023. You can pre-order it now from Amazon:\n\n\n\n  \nhttps://www.amazon.com/Out-Silence-Sound-Nothing-Something/dp/1640094105/ref=sr_1_1\n\n\n\n\n  \nFrom the back cover of the book:\n\n\n\n\n   \n  \n“In an elegant but contemporary voice\, award-winning author Susan Griffin breaks down the creative process step-by-step\, guiding the reader through a practical course in how to begin and end a work of literature\, whether fiction or nonfiction\, poetry\, or prose.\n\n   \n  \nThe distinguished author of more than twenty-two books…Susan Griffin distills daily wisdom garnered from more than five decades teaching creative writing and editing manuscripts\, as well as from her own writing. This collection of brief but ultimately pithy chapters designed to help beginning writers get started also guides experienced writers through blocks and difficulties of all kinds.\n\n   \n  \nOrganized according to a practical timeline\, Out of Silence\, Sound. Out of Nothing\, Something. elucidates the process of writing from beginning to end\, presenting an approach that is similar to the practice of meditation as it encourages and enlarges the mind’s intrinsic capacity for creativity. An autobiographical account\, a sometimes humorous\, at times moving essay called “How I Learned to Write” is threaded throughout the book.”\n\n\n\n   \n  \nI read Susan Griffin’s book Woman and Nature when it came out in 1978. I was 27 years old. Although my women friends were all feminists\, this book went deeper and taught me more about the history of how men had thought about and talked about women than anything I had encountered up to that time. In her book she explored the relationship between the oppression of women and the destruction of the natural world. The end of the book is a vision and a prophecy of a transformation in the way we live in and love the world and each other. \n \n\n   \n  \nWoman and Nature changed the way I see and understand the world. Over the past more than forty years\, I have returned again and again to her luminous prose in the hope of becoming a wiser and more loving person. Another personal favorite of mind is The Eros of Everyday Life.\n\n\n  \nPoet\, playwright\, philosopher\, essayist\, teacher–Susan Griffin’s books include:\n \n\n  \nWoman and Nature: The Roaring Inside Her (1978)\nA Chorus of Stones: The Private Life of War (1993)\nThe Eros of Everyday Life: Essays on Ecology\, Gender and Society (1995)\nBending Home: Selected New Poems\, 1967-1998 (1998)\nWhat Her Body Thought: A Journey Into the Shadows (1999)\nThe Book of the Courtesans: A Catalogue of Their Virtues (2001)\nWrestling With the Angel of Democracy: On Being an American Citizen (2008)\n \n\n\n  \nEveryone who came to the Zoom gathering enjoyed Susan’s warmth and wisdom.\n   \n  \n\npeace\, love & happiness\n\n   \n  \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-a-conversation-with-susan-griffin-6-26-22/
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DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20220616T190000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20220616T210000
DTSTAMP:20260425T093307
CREATED:20220611T210910Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20220611T215202Z
UID:2879-1655406000-1655413200@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous! BLOOMSDAY!  6/16/22
DESCRIPTION:Stephen Rea as Leopold Bloom\, from the film “Bloom\,” directed by Sean Walsh (2003) \n  \nAny object\, intensely regarded\, may be a gate of access to the incorruptible eon of the gods.\n \n–James Joyce\, Ulysses\n  \nBLOOMSDAY! \n  \nBeloved Bibliophiles!  \n  \nOn Thursday\, June 16th\, at 7 p.m. (PDT) we will celebrate together on Zoom the day in 1904 when Leopold Bloom and Stephen Dedalus wandered the streets of Dublin\, while Molly Bloom entertained a visitor at home.  \n  \nEveryone is welcome to bring favorite passages to read from James Joyce’s novel Ulysses. We will talk about James Joyce\, and about the novel and our experience of it. Here’s the link (for this event only): \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/81191011051 \n  \nThis will be fun for those who have read Ulysses and for those who haven’t.  \n  \n(For those who want to do a little homework in preparation for Thursday’s festivities\, you might take a look at Mythic Worlds\, Modern Words by Joseph Campbell\, Stuart Gilbert’s classic study James Joyce’s Ulysses\, or watch the 2003 film “Bloom\,” with Stephen Rea in the role of Leopold Bloom.)  \n  \nI hope to see you there!  \n  \npeace\, love & happiness  \nJohnny \n  \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-bloomsday-6-16-22/
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20220615
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20220715
DTSTAMP:20260425T093307
CREATED:20220616T011734Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20220616T013439Z
UID:2895-1655251200-1657843199@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue  6/15/22
DESCRIPTION:Photo by Kim Stafford \n  \n  \n  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n  \n June 15\, 2022 \n  \nFor long years a bird in a cage; \nNow\, flying along with the clouds of heaven. \n  \n(quoted by R. H. Blyth\, in Zen in English Literature and Oriental Classics\, p. 37) \n* \n  \nBuddha nature \nnot \na gift \nfrom \nBuddha \nbut \nfrom \nnature. \n  \n—Alice Walker\, from A Poem Traveled Down My Arm \n* \n  \nJoseph Campbell quotes from Ulysses and then provides a brief commentary: \n  \n“Any object\, intensely regarded\, may be a gate of access to the incorruptible eon of the gods.” \n  \nI mentioned this basic theme before with respect to the esthetic experience. Any object can open back to the mystery of the universe. You can take any object whatsoever—a stick or stone\, a dog or a child—draw a ring around it so that it is seen as separate from everything else\, and thus contemplate it in its mystery aspect—the aspect of the mystery of its being\, which is the mystery of all being—and it will have there and then become a proper object of worshipful regard. So\, any object can become an adequate base for meditation\, since the whole mystery of man and of nature and of everything else is in any object that you want to regard. This idea\, the anagogical inspiration of Joyce’s art\, is what we are getting in this little moment. \n  \n—Joseph Campbell\, from Mythic Worlds\, Modern Words: On the Art of James Joyce\, p. 130. \n* \n  \nKatie sent this: \n  \n”Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love\, for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment\, it is as perennial as the grass.” \n  \n—Max Ehrmann\, 1872 – 1945 \n* \n  \nWell\, it’s a beautiful morning here. The sky is full of massive cumulonimbus. The wind pushes them at an amazing speed. On the big grass-covered hill the wind blows the tall grass in waves and swirls\, which makes it possible to truly see the shape and living being of the wind & how it kisses the Earth. To be allowed to partake in the beauty of life\, in the simple rite of nature & to view “life” is a gift. I know that it’s not always an easy place\, this world we live in. All we can do\, any of us\, is to live as best we as we can & don’t pass up the small moments of peace\, or the deep breaths of life’s beauty that is alive all around us. How we view life in our mind reflects in the actions of our hearts\, which are the paint brushes we use to allow others to truly see who we are. It’s the actions in deeds & words & the intent in our beings that either bind us to others or pull us apart. \n  \nThe rays of the sun are exploding through one of the massive clouds…such beauty…it can never belong to just one being\, it belongs to us all. \n  \n—Rocky Hutchinson (5/23/22) \n* \n  \nThis is from Nicole Rush: \n  \nAutobiography in Five Short Chapters\, by Portia Nelson \n  \nChapter 1 \n  \nI walk down the street\nThere is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I fall in.\nI am lost.\nI am hopeless.\nIt isn’t my fault.\nIt takes forever to find a way out. \n  \nChapter 2 \n  \nI walk down the same street.\nThere is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I pretend I don’t see it.\nI fall in again.\nI can’t believe I’m in the same place. But it isn’t my fault.\nIt still takes a long time to get out. \n  \nChapter 3 \n  \nI walk down the same street.\nThere is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I see it is there.\nI still fall in.\nIt’s a habit.\nMy eyes are open.\nI know where I am.\nIt is my fault.\nI get out immediately. \n  \nChapter 4 \n  \nI walk down the same street.\nThere is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I walk around it. \n  \nChapter 5 \n  \nI walk down another street. \n  \nI have spent a lot of my life stuck somewhere in Chapters 1 – 4. Sometimes I really just didn’t see the hole. Perhaps I was distracted. Maybe I’m just clumsy\, tripped and fell in. Or maybe it felt exciting to always be falling in and figuring a way out. Maybe it kept me from walking where I knew I should but was afraid to go.  \n  \nI was in an intensely emotional and complex relationship with my ex-husband for 21 years. There were moments I saw him in the hole and willingly climbed in just so I could be with him. Other times I saw him in there and felt thankful to be on the other side\, standing alone. And I left him there. And other times we fell in the hole together. Sometimes I was stuck down there hoping he’d hear me calling out\, wanting to be rescued\, but he couldn’t save me because I had pushed him in a different hole. He was stuck\, too\, calling out for me. And I pretended not to hear him. Then we both climbed out but we were on different sides of the street\, walking in different directions.  \n  \nThe choice was always there. I suppose sometimes I close my eyes because walking inside of the dream feels easier than being present. But when my eyes are open I see that I have a choice. I see the path I am meant to walk down\, even if it isn’t the one I am used to.  \n  \nToday I am walking down a new street. I have a vague idea where I’m going but if I don’t make it there\, I know it’ll be okay. I’m paying attention to each step I take. I’m looking out for the holes. When I see one\, I know I can leap over or turn onto a new street.  \n  \nMindfulness is like spectacles for our consciousness. Sitting in stillness\, welcoming where we are\, wherever we are\, allows us to access the clarity to witness ourselves. There’s no use in judging ourselves for being in a hole – what good does that do? It certainly doesn’t make the hole go away or help us climb out. When we see ourselves from a place of compassion we can then reach inside and touch the wisdom that is always resting there. That wisdom and awareness is what shows us when it’s time to turn the corner. \n  \nIn gratitude \n  \n—Nicole Rush \n* \n  \n(This is from Alice Walker’s book The Cushion in the Road) (JS): \n  \nLife Lessons: Gratitude Is My Only Prayer \n  \nJuly 27\, 2011 \n  \nMany years ago I was drubbed by a mysterious illness (later self-diagnosed as Lyme disease) that brought me to my knees. At the same time critics pilloried me: my work\, it appeared\, severely offended them. Moreover\, my love life crashed around my feet. Still\, one day\, after years of being under a cloud of sickness and censor\, I realized I was not only rising from my ashes\, but shining. From that time to this I’ve lost the need for lengthy prayers. I have only one\, but it is constant. Thank you\, I say\, before eating\, working\, moving. Loving. Thank you. It is enough. \n  \nThese are other “life lessons” that have helped clear my path. \n  \n   If you love doing it\, it isn’t “work.” \n  \nI have written over thirty books\, yet looking back I hardly remember the work it took to create them because I enjoyed writing them so much. It’s the same with everything: I can spend two hours grubbing about in my garden\, dazed with pleasure and intent\, and it feels like five minutes. Therefore\, before I embark on any new venture\, I ask myself: will the joy of doing this make me lose track of any concern for time? If the answer is yes\, I proceed! \n  \n   A bad mood is temporary. So is depression. \n  \nI learned this when I was much younger. I used to be depressed quite often\, a chemical imbalance made intolerable by my monthly cycle. I used to want to do away with myself. Somehow I managed to keep a journal during these periods\, tracking every weird turn in my emotional life. Over months—possibly years—I discerned something quite interesting: my moods and depressions had a beginning\, middle and end. Aha\, I thought\, I need only learn to witness them and wait them out. This I began to do until\, by my thirties\, they were mostly gone. \n  \n   To have peace of mind is to be wealthy. \n   (Also to know when you have enough!) \n  \nWhen I was much younger I thought people were made happy by the things they possessed. I also wanted things. I now have lots of things\, and I enjoy them. But if they were taken away I could still be quite happy\, though I might miss them. I’ve learned that things are not what make happiness\, but rather a calm stability of Being and serenity of spirit. The peace I experience in my own mind is my most prized possession. \n  \n   Love everyone and everything you can! \n   (They don’t even have to know about it.) \n  \nI used to think the most important thing about love was to receive it. Now I understand it is more important to feel it and to give it. That the good feeling we associate with love is generated by us\, not by a lover of us. Their love is very nice\, and I welcome it\, but the feeling of actually generating love within one’s self is so exquisite it almost leaves being loved by another in the dust! My greatest joy comes from loving everything and everyone I can. And it is amazing how big this can get! Daffodils\, coconuts\, frogs\, catamarans\, indie movies\, dogs\, bougainvillea\, tribal art\, snowstorms\, old people\, the Alps\, chickens\, my various “children\,” regardless of what they think of me\, and so on. \n  \n   When in doubt\, find a nice hammock. \n  \nPeople who work hard often work too hard. I’ve learned to take time out and swing in one of the many hammocks I have wherever I live. From a hammock the world seems quite doable\, especially if one is listening to a good audiobook and having lemonade. From my hammock I send out good wishes to all of human- and animal- and plant-kind. May we learn to honor the hammock\, the siesta\, the nap and the pause in all its forms. May peace prevail. \n  \n(This piece was written for a magazine in the Middle East.) \n  \n—Alice Walker \n* \n  \n(My old friend Marc Frank sent me this poem; ruhi ruki rumi is his pen name.) (JS) \n  \nah these words that  \nwant to come out \n  \nwho’s voice speaks \nto utter out things \n  \ni hear the inner voice \nwrite what i tell you ‘write’ \n  \ni listen to the voice within \nout of silence it comes in \n  \ni feel the feeling inside \nsounds in the head reside \n  \nwords come one after another like drops appear \n  \ntake heed take warning \ntimes are more than changing \n  \ntime to hold onto God \nno matter your thought  \n  \nif Einstein spent the last weeks of his life mathematically wanting  \nto know God’s mind \n  \nwhy wouldn’t you  \nwho comes & goes \n  \nah the intrigue of your game my eye begin to see the joke of all things \n  \n—ruhi ruki rumi \n* \n  \n#358- So Many Reasons to be Happy \n  \n“We have so many reasons to be happy. The earth is filled with love for us\, and patience. Whenever she sees us suffering\, she will protect us. With the earth as a refuge\, we need not be afraid of anything\, even dying. Walking mindfully on the earth\, we are nourished by the trees\, the bushes \, the flowers\, and the sunshine. Touching the earth is a very deep practice that can restore our peace and our joy.”  \n  \n(from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh) \n  \n…and nourished by the creatures therein\, as well. In prison\, men have infrequent opportunities to experience or interact with nature. I\, on the other hand\, am constantly living in and relating to nature. Because it is such an integral part of me\, I find that I always want to bring some experience into our discussion in the dialogue group; I am hesitant\, however\, because of the enforced paucity of nature in their daily lives of incarceration.  \n  \nBut they find a way. Five years or so ago\, an inmate described an experience that got him out of a cycle of anger\, depression\, and repeated solitary confinement in ‘the hole.’ He was in for murder and life without parole. One day while in ‘the hole\,’ he discovered a praying mantis on the floor in a corner. He was going to step on it\, crush it with his shoe\, but stopped when he noticed the mantis’ legs sawing away. He sat down and watched the mantis’ movements with fascination. When his lunch came\, he tore off a piece of lettuce and placed it in front of the creature. The mantis devoured it. The inmate continued to feed and observe the activity of the insect—water from a plastic spoon\, other bits of vegetation\, bread crumbs\, dead flies\, etc.  \n  \nWeeks passed\, and months. The mantis stayed alive because of the inmate’s care. They were in ‘the hole’ together for eight months. Over those months\, the inmate’s behavior changed\, softened\, and he realized that he wanted his life to be one of caring and not one of anger and destruction. He was released from segregation and put back into the general prison population\, and eventually was approved to join our group.  \n  \nHe never saw the praying mantis again. His story told us that even a minute connection to nature can change a life\, save a life—of an insect and of a man.  \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \nThis is one excerpt from the many entries in Michel Deforge’s May meditation journal—inspired by a meditation in Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh: \n  \nMay 8\, 2022;  Mother’s Day!;  #281  Loving Words \n  \nThis is so fitting for today. So often it is the mother (or gentle nurturer) who speaks the loving words into our lives as children. For some this didn’t\, or couldn’t\, happen. For others the ideals got warped somehow. BUT\, we are not our past traumas! We can speak these words of love and encouragement into our own lives and the lives of others. When we catch someone doing a kind\, loving\, compassionate deed for any other being we can praise them privately…. \n  \nDo you speak loving words into your life? Does it sound too “weird\,” too touchy-feely (for a men’s prison—or other environ)? I get it. I’m not experienced at this either. Ponder the words you long to hear from your own mother (or surrogate)\, or father—the words rarely\, if ever\, spoken to/about you. Let go of feelings and recriminations\, guessing why these words went unsaid\, and focus on what you want to hear. Now speak those words to yourself—words of love\, compassion\, approval\, admiration\, support\, encouragement\, recognition of success\, pick-me-ups for sadness or “failure.” \n  \nWe all know the words we want and need to hear. We might even speak some to our friends\, family and loved ones; they likely need this as much as any of us. Mother’s Day doesn’t have to be the only day to celebrate our own mothers—as Carl is fond of observing—we just need to celebrate the people in our lives whom we love when it occurs to us. (This may take some effort to occur more than rarely\, but it can be done.) \n  \nI don’t know why I’ve delayed telling my friends that “I like you\,” and give a reason why\, so it’s not just patronizingly said for the sake of saying it. Yet\, I do put it off. Could it be the rare chance encounters with not enough time for meaningful speech? Probably. Must we wave and scurry on our way? Always?! What happens to my life if I write a letter\, or slow down and really greet a friend—looking him in the eyes and saying some loving words I genuinely mean? \n  \nI may be delayed a few seconds from an appointment I’m already tardy to attend. What if I never express my joy at seeing someone\, and a tragic event occurs and the opportunity is lost? While in college Psych class\, an exercise demonstrated that regrets are often easily avoided if we can overcome social fears. (We have these barriers among friends? Still?!) Will he reject\, rebuff\, stop liking me\, get weirded out by my affection or kind words…? The internal dialogue of our old neuroses and no-longer-helpful or necessary post-trauma coping skills does not serve our better selves. I don’t know how to surpass these barriers of fear—except through love. The challenge becomes being courageous enough to be first to say\, “I love you\,” “I like you because…\,” “You’re special to me…\,” “You matter in my life…” I think the picture is clear. So…why do I still stand here wanting to speak\, yet stay silent? I’m not alone in this… \n  \n—Michel Deforge \n* \n  \nDear friends\,      \n  \nThis past week\, I drove along the Columbia River all the way to Walla Walla and noticed how the rolling hills of the Gorge are green. I don’t ever remember on our way to Umatilla\, these velvety brown hills ever being tinged with green. But this Spring\, well almost summer\, they are asparagus and sage green\, and they are full of yellow and purple wild flowers.   \n  \nIt was so uplifting and I felt deep gratitude for the long spring rains.   \n  \nWe were not even gone a week\, but on our return our yard looked like a tropical jungle\, the paths barely passable for the giant ferns and drooping maple branches. And the rhododendrons have the biggest red flowers we have ever had in our yard.    \n  \nI paused to think how important it is to have beauty\, abundant nature to quiet our minds to wonder and open our hearts to fearlessness and to soften.    \n  \nIn the mornings since Russia invaded Ukraine\, I join a Shambhala group in Ukraine for morning meditation. The sangha members in Ukraine feel supported by our ongoing presence and help; we foreign participants feel equal support in facing from afar the destruction and fear of the war. So familiar\, this feeling like being together in dialogue or at a play in prison.   \n  \nYesterday\, Slava\, one of the hosts in Ukraine gave his daily check in on how he and his family and town are doing. His bookshelves and Buddhist altar and photos are usually in the background. Like most zoom get togethers look. But yesterday he was outside on his bicycle in the mountains. He had taken a retreat weekend away from the war\, and he said summer had come at last after a cold spring! Just like Portland. He posted a photo that helps him remember his true nature\, calling it our basic goodness. He wanted us to be able to meditate with a picture of Ukraine that is beautiful. From a vast hill full of yellow and pink and white wildflowers the scene swept down to a river valley and mountains jutted up on the other side. It could have been the Columbia gorge.    \n  \nWhat ensued after meditation was a joyous discussion about how regeneration in Spring\, especially the beauty of blossoms\,  is this instant reminder that can help us stay centered and true to ourselves and our Humanity\, no matter how discouraging the news and life can be. A reminder even that it is not us against them\, but a confusing\, political\, global state of affairs.    \n  \nWhen we drove back home through the Gorge we got so happy thinking that in August there will be peaches again near Umatilla at Peach Beach. Hope blossoms! So here are two poems for blossoms to keep our humanity solid and our hearts open to loving life despite the sorrow it can bring: \n  \nHow It Might Continue \n  \nWherever we go\, the chance for joy\, \nwhole orchards of amazement— \n  \none more reason to always travel \nwith our pockets full of exclamation marks\, \n  \nso we might scatter them for others \nlike apple seeds. \n  \nSome will dry out\, some will blow away\, \nbut some will take root \n  \nand grow exuberant groves \nfilled with long thin fruits \n  \nthat resemble one hand clapping— \nso much enthusiasm as they flutter back and forth \n  \nthat although nothing’s heard \nand though nothing’s really changed\, \n  \npeople everywhere for years to come \nwill swear that the world \n  \nis ripe with applause\, will fill \ntheir own pockets with new seeds to scatter. \n  \n—Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer \n* \n  \nFrom Blossoms \n  \nFrom blossoms comes \nthis brown paper bag of peaches \nwe bought from the boy \nat the bend in the road where we turned toward \nsigns painted Peaches. \n  \nFrom laden boughs\, from hands\, \nfrom sweet fellowship in the bins\, \ncomes nectar at the roadside\, succulent \npeaches we devour\, dusty skin and all\, \ncomes the familiar dust of summer\, dust we eat. \n  \nO\, to take what we love inside\, \nto carry within us an orchard\, to eat \nnot only the skin\, but the shade\, \nnot only the sugar\, but the days\, to hold \nthe fruit in our hands\, adore it\, then bite into \nthe round jubilance of peach. \n  \nThere are days we live \nas if death were nowhere \nin the background; from joy \nto joy to joy\, from wing to wing\, \nfrom blossom to blossom to \nimpossible blossom\, to sweet impossible blossom. \n  \nLi-Young Lee \n* \n   \nMay we be at peace\,    \n  \n—Katie Radditz
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-6-15-22/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20220602
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20220616
DTSTAMP:20260425T093307
CREATED:20220603T002249Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20220603T002249Z
UID:2870-1654128000-1655337599@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  6/2/22
DESCRIPTION:painting of Walt Whitman by Rick Bartow \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n\n  \nJune 2\, 2022 \n  \n  \nWalt on my mind…and in my heart \n  \n  \nToday (5/31/22) is Walt Whitman’s 203rd birthday. We celebrated last Sunday with a group reading of “Song of Myself” on Zoom. It was exhilarating! The readers were Alan Benditt\, Steve Cackley\, Nick Eldredge Brent Gregston\, Perrin Kerns\, Andy Larkin\, Ken Margolis\, Todd Oleson\, Katie Radditz\, Jude Russell\, Kristen Sagan\, Toby Scales\, Jeffrey Sher\, Nancy Scharbach\, Kim Stafford\, Johnny Stallings\, Howard Thoresen and Max Walter. \n  \nIn the fourth issue of “peace\, love & happiness\,” we celebrated Walt Whitman. Here’s the link: \n  \nhttps://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-walt-whitman-issue-4-9-4-15/ \n  \nWe just inaugurated a Friends of Walt archive on the Open Road website. There are lots of treasures! Check it out! \n  \nhttps://openroadpdx.com/event/friends-of-walt-an-archive/ \n  \nSo\, I’ve been thinking about my friend Walt a lot lately. He published his first book of poems\, Leaves of Grass\, in 1855. It contained 12 poems\, including the one he later named “Song of Myself. (In the original edition\, the poems didn’t have names.) He sent a copy to Ralph Waldo Emerson\, who wrote back to him: \n  \n  \nCONCORD\, MASSACHUSETTS\, 21 July\, 1855 \n  \nDEAR SIR– \n  \nI am not blind to the worth of the wonderful gift of “LEAVES OF GRASS.” I find it the most extraordinary piece of wit and wisdom that America has yet contributed. I am very happy in reading it\, as great power makes us happy. It meets the demand I am always making of what seemed the sterile and stingy nature\, as if too much handiwork\, or too much lymph in the temperament\, were making our western wits fat and mean. \n  \nI give you joy of your free and brave thought. I have great joy in it. I find incomparable things said incomparably well\, as they must be. I find the courage of treatment which so delights us\, and which large perceptions can inspire. \n  \nI greet you at the beginning of a great career\, which yet must have had a long foreground somewhere\, for such a start. I rubbed my eyes a little\, to see if this sunbeam were no illusion; but the solid sense of the book is a sober certainty. It has the best merits\, namely\, of fortifying and encouraging. \n  \nI did not know until I last night saw the book advertised in a newspaper that I could trust the name as real and available for a post-office. I wish to see my benefactor\, and have felt much like striking my tasks and visiting New York to pay you my respects. \n  \nR. W. EMERSON \n* \n  \nKim Stafford sent this: \n  \nNeed we look further for where Whitman got his cadence than Emerson…perhaps from the essay you mentioned\, “The Poet\,” which Emerson must have composed\, or perhaps revised\, aloud\, in preparation to deliver it as a lecture\, oration\, or operatic performance. Think of the young Whitman\, after toiling on some journalistic task\, encountering music like this last paragraph of Emerson’s essay: \n  \nO poet! a new nobility is conferred in groves and pastures\, and not in castles\, or by the sword-blade\, any longer. The conditions are hard\, but equal. Thou shalt leave the world\, and know the muse only. Thou shalt not know any longer the times\, customs\, graces\, politics\, or opinions of men\, but shalt take all from the muse. For the time of towns is tolled from the world by funereal chimes\, but in nature the universal hours are counted by succeeding tribes of animals and plants\, and by growth of joy on joy. God wills also that thou abdicate a manifold and duplex life\, and that thou be content that others speak for thee. Others shall be thy gentlemen\, and shall represent all courtesy and worldly life for thee; others shall do the great and resounding actions also. Thou shalt lie close hid with nature\, and canst not be afforded to the Capitol or the Exchange. The world is full of renunciations and apprenticeships\, and this is thine: thou must pass for a fool and a churl for a long season. This is the screen and sheath in which Pan has protected his well-beloved flower\, and thou shalt be known only to thine own\, and they shall console thee with tenderest love. And thou shalt not be able to rehearse the names of thy friends in thy verse\, for an old shame before the holy ideal. And this is the reward: that the ideal shall be real to thee\, and the impressions of the actual world shall fall like summer rain\, copious\, but not troublesome\, to thy invulnerable essence. Thou shalt have the whole land for thy park and manor\, the sea for thy bath and navigation\, without tax and without envy; the woods and the rivers thou shalt own; and thou shalt possess that wherein others are only tenants and boarders. Thou true land-lord! sea-lord! air-lord! Wherever snow falls\, or water flows\, or birds fly\, wherever day and night meet in twilight\, wherever the blue heaven is hung by clouds\, or sown with stars\, wherever are forms with transparent boundaries\, wherever are outlets into celestial space\, wherever is danger\, and awe\, and love\, there is Beauty\, plenteous as rain\, shed for thee\, and though thou shouldest walk the world over\, thou shalt not be able to find a condition inopportune or ignoble. \n  \n–from the essay “The Poet” by Ralph Waldo Emerson \n* \nDuring the Civil War\, like our friend Ken Margolis\, Walt did hospice work—giving comfort to the sick and dying. He had the first of a series of strokes in 1873\, which left him partially paralyzed. His book Specimen Days was published in 1882. It’s a kind of journal that gives an account of his thoughts and experiences during the Civil War and up to the time it was published.  \nWalt continued to write poems and add them to Leaves of Grass. He revised it five times before he died\, in 1892\, at the age of 72. His friend Robert G. Ingersoll—(whose essay “Crimes Against Criminals” was featured in Issue #7 of “peace\, love & happiness”: https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-newsletter-5-7-5-13/)–gave a speech at Walt Whitman’s grave. Here it is: \n  \nAddress at the Funeral of Walt Whitman \n  \nAgain\, we\, in the mystery of Life\, are brought face to face with the mystery of Death. A great man\, a great American\, the most eminent citizen of this Republic\, lies dead before us\, and we have met to pay tribute to his greatness and his worth. \n  \nI know he needs no words of mine. His fame is secure. He laid the foundations of it deep in the human heart and brain. He was\, above all I have known\, the poet of humanity\, of sympathy. He was so great that he rose above the greatest that he met without arrogance\, and so great that he stooped to the lowest without conscious condescension. He never claimed to be lower or greater than any of the sons of men. \n  \nHe came into our generation a free\, untrammeled spirit\, with sympathy for all. His arm was beneath the form of the sick. He sympathized with the imprisoned and despised\, and even on the brow of crime he was great enough to place the kiss of human sympathy. \n  \nOne of the greatest lines in our literature is his\, and the line is great enough to do honor to the greatest genius that has ever lived. He said\, speaking of an outcast: “Not until the sun excludes you will I exclude you.” \n  \nHis charity was as wide as the sky\, and wherever there was human suffering\, human misfortune\, the sympathy of Whitman bent above it as the firmament bends above the earth. \n  \nHe was built on a broad and splendid plan—ample\, without appearing to have limitations—passing easily for a brother of mountains and seas and constellations; caring nothing for the little maps and charts with which timid pilots hug the shore\, but giving himself freely with the recklessness of genius to winds and waves and tides; caring for nothing so long as the stars were above him. He walked among men\, among writers\, among verbal varnishers and veneerers\, among literary milliners and tailors\, with the unconscious majesty of an antique god. \n  \nHe was the poet of that divine democracy which gives equal rights to all the sons and daughters of men. He uttered the great American voice; uttered a song worthy of the great Republic. No man has ever said more for the rights of humanity\, more in favor of real democracy\, of real justice. He neither scorned nor cringed; was neither tyrant nor slave. He asked only to stand the equal of his fellows beneath the great flag of nature\, the blue and stars. \n  \nHe was the poet of Life. It was a joy simply to breathe. He loved the clouds; he enjoyed the breath of morning\, the twilight\, the wind\, the winding streams. He loved to look at the sea when the waves burst into the whitecaps of joy. He loved the fields\, the hills; he was acquainted with the trees\, with birds\, with all the beautiful objects of the earth. He not only saw these objects\, but understood their meaning\, and he used them that he might exhibit his heart to his fellow-men. \n  \nHe was the poet of Love. He was not ashamed of that divine passion that has built every home; that divine passion that has painted every picture and given us every real work of art; that divine passion that has made the world worth living in and has given some value to human life. \n  \nHe was the poet of the natural\, and taught men not to be ashamed of that which is natural. He was not only the poet of democracy\, not only the poet of the great Republic\, but he was the poet of the human race. He was not confined to the limits of this country\, but his sympathy went out over the seas to all the nations of the earth. \n  \nHe stretched out his hands and felt himself the equal of all kings and of all princes\, and the brother of all men\, no matter how high\, no matter how low. \n  \nHe has uttered more supreme words than any writer of our century\, possibly of almost any other. He was\, above all things\, a man\, and above genius\, above all the snow-capped peaks of intelligence\, above all art\, rises the true man. \n  \nHe was the poet of Death. He accepted all life and all death\, and he justified all. He had the courage to meet all\, and was great enough and splendid enough to harmonize all and to accept all there is as a divine melody. \n  \nYou know better than I what his life has been\, but let me say one thing: Knowing as he did\, what others can know and what they can not\, he accepted and absorbed all theories\, all creeds\, all religions\, and believed in none. His philosophy was a sky that embraced all clouds and accounted for all clouds. He had a philosophy and a religion of his own\, broader\, as he believed—and as I believe—than others. He accepted all\, he understood all\, and he was above all. \n  \nHe was absolutely true to himself. He had frankness and courage\, and he was as candid as light. He was willing that all the sons of men should be absolutely acquainted with his heart and brain. He had nothing to conceal. Frank\, candid\, pure\, serene\, noble\, and yet for years he was maligned and slandered\, simply because he had the candor of nature. He will be understood yet\, and that for which he was condemned—his frankness\, his candor—will add to the glory and greatness of his fame. \n  \nHe wrote a liturgy for mankind; he wrote a great and splendid psalm of life\, and he gave to us the gospel of humanity—the greatest gospel that can be preached. \n  \nHe was not afraid to live; not afraid to die. For many years he and Death lived near neighbors. He was always willing and ready to meet and greet this king called Death\, and for many months he sat in the deepening twilight waiting for the night; waiting for the light. \n  \nHe never lost his hope. When the mists filled the valleys\, he looked upon the mountain tops\, and when the mountains in darkness disappeared\, fixed his gaze upon the stars. \n  \nIn his brain were the blessed memories of the day and in his heart were mingled the dawn and dusk of life. \n  \nHe was not afraid; he was cheerful every moment. The laughing nymphs of day did not desert him. They remained that they might clasp the hands and greet with smiles the veiled and silent sisters of the night. And when they did come\, Walt Whitman stretched his hand to them. On one side were the nymphs of day\, and on the other the silent sisters of the night\, and so\, hand in hand\, between smiles and tears\, he reached his journey’s end. \n  \nFrom the frontier of life\, from the western wave-kissed shore\, he sent us messages of content and hope\, and these messages seem now like strains of music blown by the “Mystic Trumpeter” from Death’s pale realm. \n  \nToday we give back to Mother Nature\, to her clasp and kiss\, one of the bravest\, sweetest souls that ever lived in human clay. \n  \nCharitable as the air and generous as Nature\, he was negligent of all except to do and say what he believed he should do and should say. \n  \nAnd I today thank him\, not only for you but for myself\, for all the brave words he has uttered. I thank him for all the great and splendid words he has said in favor of liberty\, in favor of man and woman\, in favor of motherhood\, in favor of fathers\, in favor of children\, and I thank him for the brave words that he has said of death. \n  \nHe has lived\, he has died\, and death is less terrible than it was before. Thousands and millions will walk down into the “dark valley of the shadow” holding Walt Whitman by the hand. Long after we are dead the brave words he has spoken will sound like trumpets to the dying. \n  \nAnd so I lay this little wreath upon this great man’s tomb. I loved him living\, and I love him still. \n  \n—Robert G. Ingersoll\, at Harleigh\, Camden\, New Jersey\, March 30\, 1892
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-6-2-22/
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DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20220529T150000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20220529T180000
DTSTAMP:20260425T093307
CREATED:20220521T004419Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20220530T174221Z
UID:2815-1653836400-1653847200@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!: Annual Group Reading of "Song of Myself"  5/29/22
DESCRIPTION:painting of Walt Whitman by Rick Bartow \n  \n  \nBeloved Bibliophiles!  \n  \nOn Sunday\, May 29th\, we celebrated Walt Whitman’s 203rd Birthday with our Annual Group Reading of “Song of Myself”!  \n  \nReaders included: Alan Benditt\, Steve Cackley\, Nick Eldredge\, Brent Gregston\, Perrin Kerns\, Andy Larkin\, Ken Margolis\, Todd Oleson\, Katie Radditz\, Jude Russell\, Kristen Sagan\, Toby Scales\, Nancy Scharbach\, Jeffrey Sher\, Kim Stafford\, Johnny Stallings\, Howard Thoresen and Max Walter. \n  \nAs always\, reading this poem together brings readers and listeners alike into a state of Delirious Happiness and Cosmic Consciousness!  \n  \nAfter the reading\, Kim suggested that we share recommendations for books\, articles\, videos\, et cetera\, relating to Walt Whitman. So\, on this website\, I’m going to create a page called “Friends of Walt\,” where people can share their thoughts and poems and inspirations and bibliographies. Here’s the link: \n  \n  \npeace\, love & happiness \n  \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-annual-group-reading-of-song-of-myself-5-29-22/
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DTSTAMP:20260425T093307
CREATED:20220530T175959Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20240616T191444Z
UID:2831-1653782400-1653868799@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Friends of Walt: An Archive
DESCRIPTION:painting of Walt Whitman by Rick Bartow \n  \n  \nTo celebrate Walt’s 205th Birthday\, Johnny Stallings performed “Song of Myself” on May 31st\, in Muir Hall at Taborspace\, in Portland.We read from and talked about “Song of Myself” for ¡Bibliophiles Unanimous! on Sunday\,June 2nd. Here’s what Robert G. Ingersoll said at Walt Whitman’s funeral: \n  \nRobert Ingersoll’s Tribute to Walt Whitman \n  \nMY FRIENDS: Again we\, in the mystery of Life\, are brought face to face with the mystery of Death. A great man\, a great American\, the most eminent citizen of this Republic\, lies dead before us\, and we have met to pay a tribute to his greatness and his worth. \nI know he needs no words of mine. His fame is secure. He laid the foundations of it deep in the human heart and brain. \nHe was\, above all I have known\, the poet of humanity\, of sympathy. He was so great that he rose above the greatest that he met without arrogance\, and so great that he stooped to the lowest without conscious condescension. He never claimed to be lower or greater than any of the sons of men. \nHe came into our generation a free\, untrammeled spirit\, with sympathy for all. His arm was beneath the form of the sick. He sympathized with the imprisoned and despised\, and even on the brow of crime he was great enough to place the kiss of human sympathy. \nOne of the greatest lines in our literature is his\, and the line is great enough to do honor to the greatest genius that has ever lived. He said\, speaking of an outcast: “Not till the sun excludes you do I exclude you.” \nHis charity was as wide as the sky\, and wherever there was human suffering\, human misfortune\, the sympathy of Whitman bent above it as the firmament bends above the earth. \nHe was built on a broad and splendid plan—ample\, without appearing to have limitations—passing easily for a brother of mountains and seas and constellations; caring nothing for the little maps and charts with which timid pilots hug the shore\, but giving himself freely with recklessness of genius to winds and waves and tides; caring for nothing as long as the stars were above him. \nHe walked among men\, among writers\, among verbal varnishers and veneerers\, among literary milliners and tailors\, with the unconscious majesty of an antique god. \nHe was the poet of that divine democracy which gives equal rights to all the sons and daughters of men. He uttered the great American voice; uttered a song worthy of the great Republic. No man ever said more for the rights of humanity\, more in favor of real democracy\, of real justice. \nHe neither scorned nor cringed\, was neither tyrant nor slave. He asked only to stand the equal of his fellows beneath the great flag of nature\, the blue and stars. \nHe was the poet of Life. It was a joy simply to breathe. He loved the clouds; he enjoyed the breath of morning\, the twilight\, the wind\, the winding streams. He loved to look at the sea when the waves burst into the whitecaps of joy. He loved the fields\, the hills; he was acquainted with the trees\, with birds\, with all the beautiful objects of the earth. He not only saw these objects\, but understood their meaning\, and he used them that he might exhibit his heart to his fellow-men. \nHe was the poet of Love. He was not ashamed of that divine passion that has built every home in the world; that divine passion that has painted every picture and given us every real work of art; that divine passion that has made the world worth living in and has given some value to human life. \nHe was the poet of the natural\, and taught men not to be ashamed of that which is natural. He was not only the poet of democracy\, not only the poet of the great Republic\, but he was the Poet of the human race. He was not confined to the limits of this country\, but his sympathy went out over the seas to all the nations of the earth. \nHe stretched out his hand and felt himself the equal of all kings and of all princes\, and the brother of all men\, no matter how high\, no matter how low. \nHe has uttered more supreme words than any writer of our century\, possibly of almost any other. He was\, above all things\, a man\, and above genius\, above all the snow-capped peaks of intelligence\, above all art\, rises the true man\, Greater than all is the true man\, and he walked among his fellow-men as such. \nHe was the poet of Death. He accepted all life and all death\, and he justified all. He had the courage to meet all\, and was great enough and splendid enough to harmonize all and to accept all there is of life as a divine melody. \nYou know better than I what his life has been\, but let me say one thing. Knowing\, as he did\, what others can know and what they cannot\, he accepted and absorbed all theories\, all creeds\, all religions\, and believed in none. \nHis philosophy was a sky that embraced all clouds and accounted for all clouds. He had a philosophy and a religion of his own\, broader\, as he believed—and as I believe—than others. He accepted all\, he understood all\, and he was above all. \nHe was absolutely true to himself. He had frankness and courage\, and he was as candid as light. He was willing that all the sons of men should be absolutely acquainted with his heart and brain. He had nothing to conceal. \nFrank\, candid\, pure\, serene\, noble\, and yet for years he was maligned and slandered\, simply because he had the candor of nature. He will be understood yet\, and that for which he was condemned—his frankness\, his candor—will add to the glory and greatness of his fame. \nHe wrote a liturgy for mankind; he wrote a great and splendid psalm of life\, and he gave to us the gospel of humanity—the greatest gospel that can be preached. \nHe was not afraid to live\, not afraid to die. For many years he and death were near neighbors. He was always willing and ready to meet and greet this king called death\, and for many months he sat in the deepening twilight waiting for the night\, waiting for the light. \nHe never lost his hope. When the mists filled the valleys\, he looked upon the mountaintops\, and when the mountains in darkness disappeared\, he fixed his gaze upon the stars. \nIn his brain were the blessed memories of the day\, and in his heart were mingled the dawn and dusk of life. \nHe was not afraid; he was cheerful every moment. The laughing nymphs of day did not desert him. They remained that they might clasp the hands and greet with smiles the veiled and silent sisters of the night. And when they did come\, Walt Whitman stretched his hand to them. On one side were the nymphs of the day\, and on the other the silent sisters of the night\, and so\, hand in hand\, between smiles and tears\, he reached his journey’s end. \nFrom the frontier of life\, from the western wave-kissed shore\, he sent us messages of content and hope\, and these messages seem now like strains of music blown by the “Mystic Trumpeter” from Death’s pale realm. \nToday we give back to Mother Nature\, to her clasp and kiss\, one of the bravest\, sweetest souls that ever lived in human clay. \nCharitable as the air and generous as Nature\, he was negligent of all except to do and say what he believed he should do and should say. \nAnd I today thank him\, not only for you but for myself—for all the brave words he has uttered. I thank him for all the great and splendid words he has said in favor of liberty\, in favor of man and woman\, in favor of motherhood\, in favor of fathers\, in favor of children\, and I thank him for the brave words that he has said of death. \nHe has lived\, he has died\, and death is less terrible than it was before. Thousands and millions will walk down into the “dark valley of the shadow” holding Walt Whitman by the hand. Long after we are dead the brave words he has spoken will sound like trumpets to the dying. \nAnd so I lay this little wreath upon this great man’s tomb. I loved him living\, and I love him still. \n  \n—Camden\, New Jersey\, March 30\, 1892 \n  \n  \nThe origin of Friends of Walt comes from an email that Kim Stafford sent me  after our annual reading of “Song of Myself” to celebrate Walt Whitman’s Birthday on May 29th\, 2022. Here’s what he wrote: \n  \nFollowing our shining session today\, would you like to invite the group to send you citations for Whitmania\, to be compiled and shared with everyone: title and author of biographies\, the URL for the Billy Collins talk on YouTube\, Will’s source of quotation for how Emily Dickinson appreciated Whitman\, and anything else. A sort of reading list for us to peruse before the next annual reading? \n  \nJust a thought…and if you reply “Good idea–why don’t you do it?” … we can collaborate. (Perrin’s looking up citations now.) \n  \nHave I ever told you the story about how my father was saved from being lynched in Arkansas in the winter of 1942 because he was reading Whitman when the mob came? We could put that in the bibliography\, too. \n  \n–Kim \n*\n \n\n Okay\, so here we go!\n \n \nStarting with a poem Kim wrote today (5/30/22) about how Walt Whitman saved his dad’s life:\n\n \n \nThe story about Whitman saving my dad…which is told in the first chapter of Down in My Heart…and which Keith Scales made into a little play to perform one time at the Portland Poetry Festival for my dad\, after his last reading\, early August 1993.\n\n  \n\n\n  \n         Memorial Day: How Walt Whitman \n            Saved My Farther from the Mob \n  \nOne Sunday afternoon in 1942\, three peace warriors \nwalked into a little town in Arkansas to loaf by the station \nand take their ease. They were strangers there\, so locals \ngathered\, curious. “What’s that you’re writing?” said one\, \ngrabbing the page. “Why sir\, it’s a poem.” “That aint poetry— \nit don’t rhyme. It’s code. And you! What’s that you’re drawing?” \n“Just a sketch.” “That aint no sketch\, bub—it’s a map for Hitler.” \n“Get a rope!” someone cried out\, and time got bright and fast.  \n“And you!” the hothead shouted at my father\, “What’s that book?”  \nand snatched it\, slapped it open\, and began to read aloud to prove  \npoetry had to rhyme. But lynching’s logic faltered as his fury  \ntrailed off in a run of wild words\, and time slowed down again.  \n“Call the sheriff!” someone shouted\, as the crowd hummed \nand muttered like a hive until the sheriff came\, blustered  \nmy father and his friends into his car\, slammed the door\,  \nturned and said\, “Let’s get you boys out of town.” \n  \nFailing to catch me at first keep encouraged\,  \nMissing me one place search another\,  \nI stop somewhere waiting for you.  \n\n  \n–Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nPerrin Kerns turned me on to some gorgeous videos by Jennifer Crandall. The URL address is \n  \nwhitmanalabama.com.  \n\n \nAlan Benditt sent this link to a video of Charlie Rose talking with Allen Ginsberg\, Sharon Olds and Galway Kinnell about Walt Whitman:\n \n \nhttps://charlierose.com/videos/20510\n\n\n\n \nThis is our little homemade archive. Jeffrey Sher and Kim Stafford sent a link to the University of Nebraska’s vast online Whitman Archive. You can find all kinds of treasures here:\n \n \nhttps://whitmanarchive.org\n \n \nKim said:\n \n \nToday [5/30/22] I’ve been spending some time at this Grand Central Station of Walt Whitman sources\, reading his fiction and journalism\, some so pedestrian it makes Leaves of Grass even more miraculous.\n \n \nToday\, May 31\, 2022\, is Walt Whitman’s 203rd birthday. Happy Birthday\, Walt!!! Howard Thoresen sent a link to the wax cylinder recording that Thomas Edison made of Walt Whitman\, in his old age\, reading or reciting his poem “America.” Here’s what Howard said:\n \n \nThis one has a lot of noise on it but I find it easier to hear than the cleaned up version (maybe because the text is on the screen):\n \n \nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yBX2L_Re5Cc\n \n \nKim’s response to Howard (5/31/22):\n \n \nThank you\, Howard. If we only we had Walt at 37 reading with full verve. But all the same\, amazing to hear this voice.\n\n\n\n\n \n Johnny\, we might include for the page this mysterious ad from Volvo\, where lines from “Song of the Open Road” are used without attribution:\n \n \nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=42ZMi0DnMtE\n\n\n\n \n \nWalt selling freedom\, Volvo selling cars…and a little love story folded in where the writer is scruffy hero with expensive wheels. Maybe there’s a Kerouac vibe implied as well.\n \n \n–Kim\n*\n\n\n\n \n \nTo celebrate Walt’s birthday today (5/31/22) I want to share one of my favorite short poems of his:\n \n \nBEGINNING MY STUDIES\n \n \nBeginning my studies the first step pleas’d me so much\, \nThe mere fact consciousness\, these forms\, the power of motion\, \nThe least insect or animal\, the senses\, eyesight\, love\, \nThe first step I say awed me and pleas’d me so much\, \nI have hardly gone and hardly wish’d to go any farther\, \nBut stop and loiter all the time to sing it in ecstatic songs. \n\n\n \n \n–Walt Whitman \n*\n \n \nWill Hornyak recommended a talk that Billy Collins gave on Whitman. Here’s the link:\n\n\n\n\n  \n\n\nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7VYnkdcDQZA\n\n\n\n\n\n  \n  \n Here’s an interview I did about “Song of Myself” on Marfa Public Radio in 2017: \n  \n  \n \n\n\n \n \nKim sent this:\n \n \nNeed we look further for where Whitman got his cadence than Emerson…perhaps from the essay you mentioned\, “The Poet\,” which Emerson must have composed\, or perhaps revised\, aloud\, in preparation to deliver it as a lecture\, oration\, or operatic performance. Think of the young Whitman\, after toiling on some journalistic task\, encountering music like this last paragraph of Emerson’s essay:\n \n \n     O poet! a new nobility is conferred in groves and pastures\, and not in castles\, or by the sword-blade\, any longer. The conditions are hard\, but equal. Thou shalt leave the world\, and know the muse only. Thou shalt not know any longer the times\, customs\, graces\, politics\, or opinions of men\, but shalt take all from the muse. For the time of towns is tolled from the world by funereal chimes\, but in nature the universal hours are counted by succeeding tribes of animals and plants\, and by growth of joy on joy. God wills also that thou abdicate a manifold and duplex life\, and that thou be content that others speak for thee. Others shall be thy gentlemen\, and shall represent all courtesy and worldly life for thee; others shall do the great and resounding actions also. Thou shalt lie close hid with nature\, and canst not be afforded to the Capitol or the Exchange. The world is full of renunciations and apprenticeships\, and this is thine: thou must pass for a fool and a churl for a long season. This is the screen and sheath in which Pan has protected his well-beloved flower\, and thou shalt be known only to thine own\, and they shall console thee with tenderest love. And thou shalt not be able to rehearse the names of thy friends in thy verse\, for an old shame before the holy ideal. And this is the reward: that the ideal shall be real to thee\, and the impressions of the actual world shall fall like summer rain\, copious\, but not troublesome\, to thy invulnerable essence. Thou shalt have the whole land for thy park and manor\, the sea for thy bath and navigation\, without tax and without envy; the woods and the rivers thou shalt own; and thou shalt possess that wherein others are only tenants and boarders. Thou true land-lord! sea-lord! air-lord! Wherever snow falls\, or water flows\, or birds fly\, wherever day and night meet in twilight\, wherever the blue heaven is hung by clouds\, or sown with stars\, wherever are forms with transparent boundaries\, wherever are outlets into celestial space\, wherever is danger\, and awe\, and love\, there is Beauty\, plenteous as rain\, shed for thee\, and though thou shouldest walk the world over\, thou shalt not be able to find a condition inopportune or ignoble.\n \n \n–from the essay “The Poet” by Ralph Waldo Emerson\n\n\n\n\n \n \nWalt Whitman self-published his first book of poems\, Leaves of Grass\, in 1855\, when he was 36 years old. It contained 12 poems\, including the poem now titled “Song of Myself.” (In the original edition\, the poems did not have titles.) He sent a copy of the poem to Ralph Waldo Emerson\, who then sent Whitman this letter:\n \n \nCONCORD\, MASSACHUSETTS\, 21 July\, 1855\n \n \nDEAR SIR–\n \n \nI am not blind to the worth of the wonderful gift of “LEAVES OF GRASS.” I find it the most extraordinary piece of wit and wisdom that America has yet contributed. I am very happy in reading it\, as great power makes us happy. It meets the demand I am always making of what seemed the sterile and stingy nature\, as if too much handiwork\, or too much lymph in the temperament\, were making our western wits fat and mean.\n \n \nI give you joy of your free and brave thought. I have great joy in it. I find incomparable things said incomparably well\, as they must be. I find the courage of treatment which so delights us\, and which large perceptions can inspire.\n \n \nI greet you at the beginning of a great career\, which yet must have had a long foreground somewhere\, for such a start. I rubbed my eyes a little\, to see if this sunbeam were no illusion; but the solid sense of the book is a sober certainty. It has the best merits\, namely\, of fortifying and encouraging.\n \n \nI did not know until I last night saw the book advertised in a newspaper that I could trust the name as real and available for a post-office. I wish to see my benefactor\, and have felt much like striking my tasks and visiting New York to pay you my respects.\n \n \nR. W. EMERSON\n*\n \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/friends-of-walt-an-archive/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20220520
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20220530
DTSTAMP:20260425T093307
CREATED:20210413T153328Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20220530T175510Z
UID:2057-1653004800-1653868799@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Take a tour of the Metropolitan Museum of Art
DESCRIPTION:Mask of the Punu people of southern Gabon (19th-20th Century) \n  \nBrowse through the 375\,000 high-resolution images of public domain works from the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art! Here’s a link: \n  \nhttps://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection \n  \nYou can read more about this mask here: \n  \nhttps://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/318667 \n  \nPeace\, Love & Beauty \n  \nJohnny \n  \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/take-a-tour-of-the-metropolitan-museum-of-art/
ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/04/DT1239.jpg
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20220519
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20220602
DTSTAMP:20260425T093307
CREATED:20220520T234448Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250718T131329Z
UID:2799-1652918400-1654127999@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  5/19/22
DESCRIPTION:  \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \n  \nMay 19\, 2022 \n  \n  \nThe Infinite a sudden Guest \nHas been assumed to be— \nBut how can that stupendous come \nWhich never went away? \n  \n* \n  \nA Light exists in Spring \nNot present on the Year \nAt any other period — \nWhen March is scarcely here \n  \nA Color stands abroad \nOn Solitary Fields \nThat Science cannot overtake \nBut Human Nature feels. \n  \nIt waits upon the Lawn\, \nIt shows the furthest Tree \nUpon the furthest Slope you know \nIt almost speaks to you. \n  \nThen as Horizons step \nOr Noons report away \nWithout the Formula of sound \nIt passes and we stay — \n  \nA quality of loss \nAffecting our Content \nAs Trade has suddenly encroached \nUpon a Sacrament. \n  \n—Emily Dickinson \n* \n  \nO Taste and See \n  \nThe world is  \nnot with us enough \nO taste and see \n  \nthe subway Bible poster said\, \nmeaning The Lord\, meaning \nif anything all that lives \nto the imagination’s tongue\, \n  \ngrief\, mercy\, language\, \ntangerine\, weather\, to \nbreathe them\, bite\, \nsavor\, chew\, swallow\, transform \n  \ninto our flesh our \ndeaths\, crossing the street\, plum quince\, \nliving in the orchard and being \n  \nhungry\, and plucking \nthe fruit. \n  \nDenise Levertov  (1923-1997) \n* \n  \nfrom My Wisdom \n  \nWhen people have a lot \nthey want more \n  \nWhen people have nothing \nthey will happily share it \n  \n* \n  \nSilence waits \nfor truth to break it \n  \n* \n  \nCalendars can weep too \nThey want us to have better days \n  \n* \n  \nWelcome to every minute \nFeel lucky you’re still in it \n  \n* \n  \nNo bird builds a wall \n  \n* \n  \nWon’t give up \nour hopes \n            for anything! \n  \n* \n  \nNot your fault \nYou didn’t make the world \n  \n* \n  \nRefuse to give \n   mistakes \n      too much power \n  \n* \n  \nBabies want to help us \nThey laugh \nfor no reason \n  \n* \n  \n Pay close attention to \na drop of water \non the kitchen table \n  \n–Naomi Shihab Nye  \n* \n  \nHappiness \n  \nThere’s just no accounting for happiness\, \nor the way it turns up like a prodigal \nwho comes back to the dust at your feet \nhaving squandered a fortune far away. \n  \nAnd how can you not forgive? \nYou make a feast in honor of what \nwas lost\, and take from its place the finest \ngarment\, which you saved for an occasion \nyou could not imagine\, and you weep night and day \nto know that you were not abandoned\, \nthat happiness saved its most extreme form \nfor you alone. \n  \nNo\, happiness is the uncle you never \nknew about\, who flies a single-engine plane \nonto the grassy landing strip\, hitchhikes \ninto town\, and inquires at every door \nuntil he finds you asleep midafternoon \nas you so often are during the unmerciful \nhours of your despair. \n  \nIt comes to the monk in his cell. \nIt comes to the woman sweeping the street \nwith a birch broom\, to the child \nwhose mother has passed out from drink. \nIt comes to the lover\, to the dog chewing \na sock\, to the pusher\, to the basketmaker\, \nand to the clerk stacking cans of carrots \nin the night. \n                     It even comes to the boulder \nin the perpetual shade of pine barrens\, \nto rain falling on the open sea\, \nto the wineglass\, weary of holding wine. \n  \n–Jane Kenyon  (1947-1995) \n* \n  \nfrom Reconciliation: A Prayer \n  \nII. \nOh sun\, moon\, stars\, our other relatives peering at us from the inside of god’s house walk with us as we climb into the next century naked but for the stories we have of each other. Keep us from giving up in this land of nightmares which is also the land of miracles. \n  \nWe sing our song which we’ve been promised has no beginning or end. \n  \nIII. \nAll acts of kindness are lights in the war for justice. \n  \nIV. \nWe gather up these strands broken from the web of life. They shiver with our love\, as we call them the names of our relatives and carry them to our home made of the four directions and sing: \n  \nOf the south\, where we feasted and were given new clothes. \n  \nOf the west\, where we gave up the best of us to the stars as food for the battle. \n  \nOf the north\, where we cried because we were forsaken by our dreams. \n  \nOf the east because returned to us is the spirit of all we love. \n  \n–Joy Harjo  (1951- ) (Currently Poet Laureate of the United States) \n* \n  \nAt Blackwater Pond \n  \nAt Blackwater Pond the tossed waters have settled \nafter a night of rain. \nI dip my cupped hands. I drink \na long time. It tastes \nlike stone\, leaves\, fire. It falls cold \ninto my body\, waking the bones. I hear them \ndeep inside me\, whispering \noh what is that beautiful thing \nthat just happened? \n  \n–Mary Oliver  (1935-2019) \n* \n  \nMiracle Fair \n  \nCommonplace miracle: \nthat so many commonplace miracles happen. \n  \nAn ordinary miracle: \nin the dead of night \nthe barking of invisible dogs. \n  \nOne miracle out of many: \na small\, airy cloud \nyet it can block a large and heavy moon. \n  \nSeveral miracles in one: \nan alder tree reflected in the water\, \nand that it’s backwards left to right \nand that it grows there\, crown down \nand never reaches the bottom\, \neven though the water is shallow. \n  \nAn everyday miracle: \nwinds weak to moderate \nturning gusty in storms. \n  \nFirst among equal miracles: \ncows are cows. \n  \nSecond to none: \njust this orchard \nfrom just that seed. \n  \nA miracle without a cape and top hat: \nscattering white doves. \n  \nA miracle\, for what else could you call it: \ntoday the sun rose at three-fourteen \nand will set at eight-o-one. \n  \nA miracle\, less surprising than it should be: \neven though the hand has fewer than six fingers\, \nit still has more than four. \n  \nA miracle\, just take a look around: \nthe world is everywhere. \n  \nAn additional miracle\, as everything is additional: \nthe unthinkable \nis thinkable. \n  \n  \n–Wisława Szymborska  (1923-2012) \n* \n  \nThe Award \n  \nThough not \nA contest \nLife \nIs \nThe award \n& we \nHave \nWon. \n* \n  \nDespite the Hunger \n  \nDespite \nthe hunger \nwe cannot \npossess \nmore \nthan \nthis: \nPeace \nin a garden \nof \nour own. \n  \n\n–Alice Walker  (1944- ) \n  \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-5-19-22/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20220515
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20220615
DTSTAMP:20260425T093307
CREATED:20220516T234659Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250717T155235Z
UID:2792-1652572800-1655251199@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue  5/15/22
DESCRIPTION:  \n  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n   \nMay 15\, 2022 \n  \nA child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands; \nHow could I answer the child?  I do not know what it is any more than he…. \n  \nThe smallest sprout shows there is really no death…. \n  \nAll truths wait in all things…. \n  \nI believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars… \nAnd a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels. \n  \n—from Song of Myself by Walt Whitman \n* \n  \nAlbrecht Dürer’s painting reminds me of Walt Whitman’s poem. Both were born in May—Dürer on May 21st\, 1471\, Walt on May 31st\, 1819. At the end of May\, I like to get together with friends and read Song of Myself. \n  \nMeditation and mindfulness are important to me on my life journey. They help me to see and appreciate the miraculous nature of our human life on Earth. Walt’s poem has also been a great help to me. I’ve carried it with me since I was 18. It reminds me that my self is as big as the world\, without beginning or end. It is the wisest and most exuberant utterance to come out of America. Maybe the world. \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nTimely Thoughts \n  \nPeople talk of time\, \nSpeak of time with wonder— \nBut what is time\, \nWhy all the thunder? \n  \nWhere’s the lightning \nThe brilliant flash of proof? \nTangible time\, \nIntangible truth! \n  \nThis talk creates storms\, \nAnd brings nightmares to life; \nNightmares I say\, \nAnd terrible strife. \n  \nWe do not need time\, \nIt is time that needs us. \nWait\, what is time— \nAnd why all the fuss? \n  \n—Joshua Barnes © 2022 \n* \n  \nJude and Michel both wrote in response to Thich Nhat Hanh’s meditation “Long Live Impermanence.” (JS) \n  \n#273 Long Live Impermanence! \n  \n“If you suffer\, it’s not because things are impermanent. It’s because you believe things are permanent. When a flower dies\, you don’t suffer much\, because you understand that flowers are impermanent. But you cannot accept the impermanence of your beloved one\, and you suffer deeply when she passes away. If you look deeply into impermanence\, you will do your best to make her happy right now. Aware of impermanence\, you become positive\, loving\, and wise. \n  \nImpermanence is good news. Without impermanence\, nothing would be possible. With impermanence\, every door is open for change. Instead of complaining\, we should say\, ‘Long live impermanence!’ Impermanence is an instrument for our liberation.”  \n  \n—from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh \n  \nMy dad had a conflicted relationship with impermanence/permanence. Here are two stories that show that conflict: \n  \nHe was a doctor and had witnessed many deaths in his medical career. His many patients loved him\, and he always showed care and great concern for them. When it came to his own life and death\, he was very clear—adamant\, even: “If found unconscious\, do not resuscitate!” To people visiting him in his late 80s\, he had a small plate with slips of paper with the note printed on it. He would offer the plate to friends as if offering a plate of Oreos. “Here\, take one\,” he’d say\, as they walked in the door.  \n  \nHe wrote his own obituary\, professing no big deal that he’d died. Closing statement: “He’s dead. There’s no more Ed!”  You get the picture. \n  \nWe three daughters knew his wishes\, so when his health was failing and he’d experienced a few hospital stays\, we were in accord as to what to do. On his return from one hospital bout\, in his very weakened condition\, my sisters assigned me to talk to him about his choices. I knelt beside him\, tears streaming down my cheeks\, held his hand and explained\, “Dad\, we know your wishes\, and we’ll honor that. You can choose to refuse to eat\, if you believe it’s time. We can’t withhold food from you\, but you can choose not to eat. Or you can choose not to drink water\, but we’ve been told that that is a very painful way to do this. So you can do this\, refuse to eat\, if you want to—we won’t force you\, you know that.” He looked at me a little sweetly puzzled and bewildered\, and said\, “But I like to eat.”  At which we all burst out laughing\, and I said\, “Well\, then let’s make you a bacon sandwich!” \n  \nThe second story is more in keeping with his credo of impermanence. \n  \nA couple years after our mom died\, Dad reignited a long-lost love story with a high school sweetie\, Ginnie. Ginnie’s husband had died also\, and she and Dad started exchanging flurries of letters between Vancouver\, Wa. and Loudonville\, Ohio. He told us he wanted Ginnie to come to Washington so they could get married. All he could talk about was Ginnie and her sweet brown eyes and soft brown hair. (We reminded him that she might look a little different at 90 yrs old than at 17.)  To test the waters\, we all made a trip to Ohio and reunited the two of them for a sweet\, five day visit. We returned to the Pacific Northwest and they kept up the flurry of lovey letter writing.  \n  \nWe noticed at some point that Ginnie hadn’t been writing anymore. No letters for several months\, so I called her caregiver in Loudonville\, and she told me\, chagrined that she’d forgotten to let us know\, that Ginnie had died! Oh no! How are we going to break the news to Dad?!?! So again\, I knelt down beside his reading chair and said\, “Dad\, I have some very sad news to tell you. I’m so sorry…but we just learned that Ginnie—your Ginnie has died.” Dad let the news sink in\, then cocked his head and said\, “Well… she was old.” \n  \nImpermanence acknowledged. \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \nApril 26\, 2022 \n  \nWisdom rests here. How we face\, accept and adapt to impermanence will play out in our suffering. Allow me to explain. (Read Thây’s writing first!) When I set up an ideal (not reality\, but an interpretation of how I expect reality to be) and reality doesn’t fulfill my “ideal\,” then I suffer—get upset or anxious\, etc. When I can just exist in this moment as it is with no expectations\, then I can be present\, loving\, compassionate and open to all the opportunities the now presents. I have freedom to flow with the reality as it is\, instead of fighting with it for what I want it to be\, but can’t have. Doing this I become a petulant selfish child demanding my way\, attempting to force reality to fit in my box. \n  \nSadly\, it never works like this. We’ve all tried. I have never gotten this to resolve positively; only as more suffering in now\, and later on too! Impermanence is the hero of my story of suffering. All I need to do for the thing I dislike\, or wish were different\, is wait. I don’t have to attach\, judge\, work to change anything; all I need is to accept what is. Shortly all will shift\, and over time things will change. It may not always be my idea of better\, but it will be different. If I accept\, I avoid suffering. (Acceptance does not include grasping or holding on tightly—hold with open hands.) If I attempt to control\, grasp\, hold\, define\, judge\, change—then I get suffering. Long live impermanence! \n  \nHere’s another passage from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh\, and Michel’s meditation on it. (JS) \n  \n#267  How Strange \n  \n“At the moment of his awakening at the foot of the Bodhi tree\, the Buddha declared\, ‘How strange! All beings possess the capacity to be awakened\, to understand\, to love\, to be free\, yet they allow themselves to be carried away on the ocean of suffering.’ He saw that\, day and night\, we’re seeking what is already there within us.” \n  \nApril 14\, 2022 \n  \nHow strange\, indeed! That we should spend (waste even) an entire lifetime in search of that which is already within us. We have only to awaken to what already is. Somehow that is the challenge/trial of our individual quests; to come to an end of self and a realization that what we seek is and has always been within us all along. Instead\, many run around aimlessly for years and decades and lifetimes (multiples for some)\, looking to find our relief in something/someone external. Some seek money\, fame\, beauty\, youth\, knowledge\, possessions\, status\, mates (trophies?)\, glory\, progeny\, legacy\, food\, alcohol\, drugs\, sex\, anything to excess. \n  \nCan I (you-we) stop this endless running for just a moment\, please? Look at the man/woman in the mirror. Is anything external satisfying the “itch” for which we quest to resolve? No?! Face the man/woman in the mirror; get to know him/her; learn to love\, accept\, and express compassion for him/her. And if I’m wrong (I doubt it on this one occasion) what has been lost? Nothing! You’ve only spent some time learning to come home to your true home—your true self. And if I’m right (since I’m only restating wisdom of wiser folks) you’ve started to heal and come home. Welcome home! \n  \n—Michel Deforge \n* \n  \n     Desert Song School \n  \nIn this tattered paradise we left them—these \nacres of muddy reed where the maze of ditch \nand dike lets every wing and cry be sovereign— \nwhen dawn starts the chant by sweet cacophony \nof bittern\, heron\, crane and teal through mist \nin harmony oblique\, a mozart fledgling nested \nin thistledown must mutter her first yearning \nproclamation\, her aria profundo\, shrill or secret \nto split silence be she egret\, avocet\, stilt or tern\, \nibis\, shoveler\, shearling\, pelican or snipe \nto dwell inside a symphony\, to try her tune \nbefore she learns to fly or feed or seek a mate\, \nher one and only way with song\, brief life cry \nwhere waters glitter for the rising sun. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nSmall Kindnesses \n  \nLast week I thought about my mother on Mother’s Day and on her birthday\, Friday\, May 13. Sometimes these anniversaries fall on the same day. I have always liked the pause of remembering my mother and being mindful of how much of her very cells I carry with me. She died from kidney failure when I was in my early 20’s\, so this year I realized I have had 50 years of looking back on my mother’s kindness and my short time with her. I hope you all enjoyed thinking of your mom and loving-kindness.  \n  \nMother’s Day began as a holiday to mark and value peace and kindness toward all persons. Julia Ward Howe made a plea for no more sending our sons to wars. Mother’s Day had a lot of that meaning for us this year.    \n  \nKindness is something we all value. But sometimes we take it for granted. Especially small kindnesses. A couple of weeks ago\, I was taking care of my grandsons. Sylvan\, who is nine years old\, is homeschooling. He had a zoom class on African history and culture that he attended that day. There was a story about the most wealthy King in Africa\, pre-colonization. The King was especially known and loved for his generosity and kindness. The class teacher asked the kids if they could tell about someone who had been generous and kind to them recently. Or could they tell about something they had done for someone else out of kindness? The children\, who had had all kinds of things to say earlier in class\, made no comments. None of the kids had a response! The teacher even told of some small kindness done for her to prompt them\, but nooo. I talked with Sylvan afterward and I realized as a youngster he takes things for granted that adults do for him\, when he’s hungry he gets fed or helps fix the food\, or if he needs a ride his parents take him. And when he is nice to someone there’s always a good reason for working things out. It made me realize that kindness is a concept. Children are naturally living in the moment. And it’s our consciousness that helps us be kind in our actions and aware of kindness done toward us. This consciousness helps open our hearts with mindfulness. \n  \nMy friend Jennifer\, referring to the bumper sticker “Practice random acts of kindness\,” said that it’s a gift when we intentionally do something for a person to make life easier.  \n  \nHere is a poem to prompt us to be aware of kindness and how it makes us feel:    \n  \nSmall Kindnesses \n  \nI’ve been thinking about the way\, when you walk\ndown a crowded aisle\, people pull in their legs\nto let you by. Or how strangers still say “bless you”\nwhen someone sneezes\, a leftover\nfrom the Bubonic plague. “Don’t die\,” we are saying.\nAnd sometimes\, when you spill lemons\nfrom your grocery bag\, someone else will help you\npick them up. Mostly\, we don’t want to harm each other.\nWe want to be handed our cup of coffee hot\,\nand to say thank you to the person handing it. To smile\nat them and for them to smile back. For the waitress\nto call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder\,\nand for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass.\nWe have so little of each other\, now. So far\nfrom tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange.\nWhat if they are the true dwelling of the holy\, these\nfleeting temples we make together when we say\, “Here\,\nhave my seat\,” “Go ahead—you first\,” “I like your hat.”  \n  \n—Danusha Lameris\, from Healing the Divide: Poems of Kindness and Connection \n  \nHealing the Divide: Poems of Kindness and Connection is an anthology that includes poems by Ross Gay\, Marie Howe\, Naomi Shihab Nye and many others. The poems urge us in these polarized times to “move past the negativity that often fills the airwaves\, and to embrace the ordinary moments of kindness and connection that fill our days.”     \n  \nWishing you and the world\, Peace and Kindness     \n  \n—Katie Radditz \n  \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-5-15-22/
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DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20220508T150000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20220508T170000
DTSTAMP:20260425T093307
CREATED:20220506T222600Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20220506T224511Z
UID:2782-1652022000-1652029200@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!  5/8/22
DESCRIPTION:  \nBeloved Bibliophiles! This Sunday\, May 8th\, at 3 pm (PDT)\, our theme is What Shaped Your Worldview (Including Books)?  \n  \nHow do you experience and understand the world? Your world? What’s important to you?What do you love? What’s going on here? What made you you? Which books changed the way you see? \n  \nHere’s the link for the Zoom gathering: \n  \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058 \n  \n  \nI hope to see you there! \n  \npeace\, love & happiness \n  \nJohnny \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-5-8-22/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20220505
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20220519
DTSTAMP:20260425T093307
CREATED:20220506T221452Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20220506T222241Z
UID:2775-1651708800-1652918399@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  5/5/22
DESCRIPTION:  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nMay 5\, 2022 \n  \nEvery two weeks\, I put together another issue of “peace\, love\, happiness & understanding.” Sometimes\, a day or two in advance\, I have no idea what will be in it. Sometimes I find out by making a beginning.  \n  \nJoshua Barnes\, Alex Tretbar and Nick Eldredge recently sent me some things they have written\, so we’ll start there. Going forward\, I’d like to invite all our friends\, inside prison and out\, to send poems and short prose and essays you’ve written\, or favorite writings by others (famous or obscure) which you feel might uplift\, inspire or give delight. \n  \nOkay\, here we go!: \n  \nA Question \n  \nA question to the listener of songs; \n“Have you ever heard a blackbird sing?” \nFor surely there’s the finest of bards \nOf those on feet & those on wing. \n  \nFlitting to and fro they speak \nIn musical tongues that seldom are heard\, \nTeaching to any with the patience to listen \nTo creatures as simple as warbling birds. \n  \nSurely you know of the birds I speak of\, \nFor their songs are known far & wide \n& are talked about in the oldest of circles \nCrossing over each boundary’s side. \n  \nOh\, how I’ve learned from their forgotten ways\, \nBeing under their wings & watchful eyes. \nI wish my edification wasn’t so lonely\, \nThat others were keen to learn from the wise. \n  \nI’d like to ask from where your tutelage came\, \n(not meaning to insult with my circling jests)\, \nAnd where you learned of the songs you sing\, \nIf not from out of a blackbird’s chest. \n  \nMaybe listeners\, you can teach me a song \nOf forgotten peals & tinkling bells\, \nFor I’ve come to feel we both have drunk \nFrom a similar source but different wells. \n  \n—© Joshua Barnes\, 2022 \n  \nSome unfinished thoughts I had: \n  \nFlickering \n  \nThe flickering flame brings many questions to mind. Do we live in a world of darkness and shadows\, watching the light flicker in from the outside? Or do we live in a world of light\, where the darkness is a thing that intrudes. \n  \nMaybe there’s a happy medium\, or maybe the answer is neither & is something altogether different… Maybe there is no answer. \n  \nEach thought in my head flickers like a flame\, dancing around\, eluding me at every juncture. It’s ironic\, the flames hide in the shadows of my mind\, & although they shine I am left in darkness. \n  \nEven so\, it could be I’m not meant to spy the campfires of life\, but from a distance. Maybe the only way of knowing is knowing… Maybe we don’t need to know at all. \n  \nI once asked someone these questions & found only another shadow & a mere flickering from them. \n  \nThe questions are only stepping stones across the river\, if seen as such… They can be either the path\, or the obstruction disrupting the stream. They can be anything. To me\, the darkness serves to cloak & veil & make you grow. \n  \n& though it leaves you stumbling after the light in unhappy circles\, wondering if everything is an illusion\, it still leaves you wondering. \n  \nThe wonder of wonders leaves me wondering still. \n  \n—Joshua Barnes \n* \n  \nAkrasia (the Greek word for “incontinence”) is the condition in which while knowing what it would be best to do\, one does something else. How can such a state exist? It’s tempting to say that foolishness is inherently human\, but sometimes even simpler-minded animals choose wrongly when they know better. \n  \nThe salient question is why\, and the answer is that conscious\, knowing missteps are unavoidable—and often beautiful. I could plant a flower in the dark soil of my garden\, or I could do so in the barren dust of a desert\, where its blue petals will die sooner but glow brighter. \n  \nA blue little flower is nodding\, standing under \nmy understanding of the wind. Like a dream\, \ndeath always means more than it means. Fact: \nif you scream loud enough into my hearing \naid\, the drum will begin to itch. How to scratch \nwhat’s out of reach\, like a bone\, soul or sky? \nI\, too\, have seen peace in the eyes \nof a canary staring into the sun \nforever\, the film of its blind pupils \ndeveloping like a backwards Polaroid. \nI think of all the disincarnations \nwar begets\, how I have looked into the eddies \nat the base of folly’s wall & found there \nthe white surf of desperation\, mine. \nPrima ballerina\, seamstress\, comedienne— \nI have died for you as many times \nas there are orange street lights in this world\, \nand no matter how few suffixes survive \nthe coming punctuations\, the pall… \nI’ll look down the terrible length of the wall \nand choose neither left nor right. \nKnee-high is sky-high. Listen: \nthe blue little flower is screaming \nso loudly my dream begins to itch\, \nand death alone survives the fall \nthrough feathers. \n  \n(for Manon) \n  \n—Alex Tretbar\, from Free Spirit\, No. 14\, April 2022 \n* \n  \nthe rumor \n  \nthere’s a curious rumor out there  \nabout an ocean of living energy \nan ocean that is endlessly expanding  \nexploring every possibility  \nevolving into a fuller \nmore complex  \nmore realized expression  \nof its infinitely curious universal self  \n  \nthe rumor suggests this ocean  \nis somehow the source and the substance \nof every single thing and all of us  \n  \nthat every aspect of our universe  \nwhat we know or believe we know  \nor cannot yet imagine  \neven the unfolding mystery \nof who we are and may become \nrises from this very ocean  \nlike fog  \nlike mist  \nlike the wind-blown spray  \nthat crowns a breaking wave \n  \nand\, further\, that every single thing and all of us \nwill\, in our time\, return to this ocean  \nlike rain  \nlike rivers  \nlike gently melting snow \n  \nand finally  \nthat the currents and tides of this ocean  \nare a weave of perpetual change and permanent balance  \ncurrents and tides that carry us all   \ndeeper and deeper  \ninto the mystery this ocean remains  \nthe possibilities this ocean contains \ninto the expanding consciousness and simple serenity  \nthis ocean will always maintain  \n  \nso far this evolving universal ocean  \nthat is every thing and all of us \nis only a rumor \nbut on a casual walk   \nif you happen to catch a flower  \nfrom just the right angle  \nglowing in the electric embrace of the sun  \nin that blink of a moment  \nthe rumor can feel  \ncompletely real       \n  \n—Nick Eldredge \n\n                   \n\n  \nHow to Be an Old Man of Some Scant Worth \n  \nMistrust your certainties. Interrogate the obvious. \nWhen you think you have the answer\, be still. \nCount your regrets\, and let them teach you. \nListen to women\, especially what they don’t say. \nSacrifice achievement to be fresh in thought. \nBe the curious fool\, the one who bows low \nwhile attending to minor treasures in time. \nRead the sky\, and study neglected things \nfor clues to what you have missed by being \nbusy with the lordly agenda of a man. \nShow children it’s possible: old and happy. \nCherish the fragile\, the brief\, the beautiful. \nGive all you have to be ready to be gone. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nearth the door Orpheus goes through \n  \ninto the twining tree roots sent down for water \njoined by hypha searching moisture and minerals \nin the underground night with myzhorrium that link \ntree and nematode anchoring the cacophony of underworld life \nfeeding giant trunks reaching upward to branches where \nin cresting light chlorophyll sparks its own green drive \n  \nGhost River \n  \nRed patterns run \nthrough sand and rock \nthin lines etch a once fluid life\,  \nopening as a flower\,  \ntendrils flow outward\, \nbranching\, reaching \nunder cacti  \nthese tracings \nso fragile \nbecome smaller\,  \ndissipate into desert dust. \n  \nSand trickles  \nas stream\, \nwaves move in rock\,  \nthe sound \nof water fills our mind\, \ncalls out\,  \nfirst as living river \nnow as image\, \nits meanderings  \nevoking \na vanished delta. \n  \nA rose appears in the desert\, \npetals cover the ground. \n  \nMemory and being \nbraided into a shimmering presence\, \nremember the water\, \nthe water\, remember. \n  \n—Deborah Buchanan \n* \n  \nUkraine  \n     \nIt’s 2022\, and I’m frightened.  \nThe bottom has fallen out of our agreement with God. \nThere is no bottom. We’ve pulled the plug. \n  \nFrom deep within\, some remember the code. \nBefore thought\, before prayer. It comes with the first cry. \n  \n—Mark Alter \n* \n  \nmy sangha \nall people\, plants\, animals\, \nclouds\, stones\, rivers\, \nimaginings \n  \n  \namateur dilettante \n  \nan amateur is a lover \na dilettante takes delight in things \ni plead guilty \n  \n—Johnny Stallings
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-5-5-22/
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DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20220424T150000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20220424T170000
DTSTAMP:20260425T093307
CREATED:20220417T175801Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20220423T001001Z
UID:2722-1650812400-1650819600@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!  4/24/22
DESCRIPTION:Keith Scales \n  \n  \nSunday\, April 24th\, Bibliophiles Unanimous! will be a SPECIAL EVENT!  \n  \nWe will celebrate William Shakespeare’s Birthday with legendary actor\, director\, writer & scholar Keith Scales giving a reading: OF STRANGE SHADOWS: THE MYSTERIES OF SHAKESPEARE’S SONNETS. The Zoom gathering starts at 3 pm (PDT). Here’s the link: \n\n \n\nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058 \n\n\n\n\nDON’T MISS THIS!\n\n \npeace & love\n\nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-4-24-22/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20220421
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20220505
DTSTAMP:20260425T093307
CREATED:20220422T234527Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20220730T011307Z
UID:2754-1650499200-1651708799@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  4/21/22
DESCRIPTION:Aaron O’Hara as Bottom & James Stewart (Jasmine Marie Rose) as Titania \nDonkey head by Nancy Scharbach. \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nApril 7\, 2022 \n  \nA MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM IN PRISON \n  \nThe Open Road also has some VERY EXCITING NEWS!!! “A Midsummer Night’s Dream in Prison\,” a film by Bushra Azzouz\, will have its World Premiere on Sunday\, August 7th\, at 6 p.m.\, at the Cinema 21 movie theater in Portland\, Oregon. Click on this link to watch the trailer and buy your tickets!: \n  \nhttps://www.cinema21.com/movie/a-midsummer-nights-dream-in-prison \n  \nApril is of course National Poetry Month (https://poets.org/national-poetry-month)\, and around the 23rd of the month the Open Road likes to celebrate WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE’S BIRTHDAY \n  \n  \n (https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-newsletter-4-23-4-29/).  \n  \n(WARNING!: this BARD’S BIRTHDAY ISSUE of peace\, love\, happiness & understanding is chock full o’ links! Endless hours of fun for the whole family!) \n  \nOn April 24th\, for our Bibliophiles Unanimous! Zoom gathering\, legendary actor-director-writer-scholar KEITH SCALES gave a reading:  OF STRANGE SHADOWS: THE MYSTERIES OF SHAKESPEARE’S SONNETS. A lively discussion ensued.  \n  \nIn July of 2006\, I started a weekly Dialogue Group at Two Rivers prison\, in Umatilla\, Oregon—“The Stories We Tell Ourselves: How Our Thinking Shapes Our Lives.” I would leave the prison feeling exhilarated\, with a sense that what we were doing together was profound\, even sacred. After two years\, one of the men who was serving a life sentence asked me if I would do a play with them. In 2008\, we did “Hamlet.” It was the first time that inmates in an Oregon prison had performed a play by Shakespeare. \n  \nTwo years later\, we did “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” Nancy Scharbach borrowed costumes from Portland Opera\, and made the props\, including a magnificent ass head for Bottom. Our dear friend Bushra Azzouz had the idea of making a documentary film about the project. She was given permission to bring a film crew to the prison eight times. She filmed interviews with each of the actors\, group dialogues on subjects like “Love” and “Dreams\,” as well as rehearsals and public performances. \n  \nSadly\, Bushra passed away three years ago\, on June 13\, 2019. Before she died\, she assembled a team of people to make sure the film would get finished\, including Enie Vaisburd\, who is the Supervising Editor. The editing of the film is now finished. After getting sound and color correction\, it will be ready to be released. \n  \nMany people contributed financially and in other ways to the film. A special thank you goes to Ronni Lacroute\, who gave us a very generous donation\, which has allowed us to finish the film. And\, as always\, a big big thank you to Jerry\, Donna\, Marsha\, Chris and Jordon Smith\, without whom none of the prison dialogues or plays would have ever happened. \n  \nThe Portland Premiere of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream in Prison” will be a glorious event! Lovers of Bushra will be there in abundance—her husband Andy Larkin\, members of her extended family from all over the globe\, her close friends\, her film students\, members of the Portland film community\, people who came to see the play\, and of course actors who were in the play and who are in the film\, along with their loved ones. We will enjoy two great works of Art—one by William Shakespeare and one by Bushra Azzouz. Not to be missed! \n  \nFor Nancy and me\, doing the Shakespeare plays in prison has been one of the richest experiences in our lives. We did “Hamlet” in 2008\, “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” in 2010\, followed by “Twelfth Night\,” “Twelve Angry Men” (not by Shakespeare)\, “King Lear” and “A Winter’s Tale.” We did all this under the aegis of our nonprofit organization\, Open Hearts Open Minds (http://openheartsopenminds.net). \n  \nIn 2015\, I decided that I would just be going out to the Umatilla prison once a month\, instead of once a week. (It’s a six-hour drive\, round trip.) I thought that would be the end of the theater projects at Two Rivers prison. To my surprise\, my decision caused Open Hearts Open Minds to grow. Friends stepped forward to become prison volunteers and to keep the Dialogue Group going on a weekly basis. Deborah Buchanan\, Bill Faricy\, Jude Russell\, Dick Willis\, Kristen Sagan\, Nancy Scharbach\, Katie Radditz and Bushra Azzouz kept that program going. Carla Grant and Don Kern started a theater program at the women’s prison in Wilsonville\, Coffee Creek. We started an Arts Program and a Music Program at Columbia River Prison in Portland. In 2015\, I co-directed a production of “Hamlet” with Anna Crandall\, Patrick Walsh\, Victoria Spencer and Todd Oleson. Anna\, Patrick and Victoria went on to direct “Metamorphoses” by Mary Zimmerman and “The Tempest” by Shakespeare. Todd Oleson directed “A Christmas Carol.” Jake Merriman is now in charge of the Theatre Program at Two Rivers prison. He has\, with some collaborators\, directed “Macbeth” and “Julius Caesar.” \n  \nIn July of 2019\, I stepped down as Executive Director of Open Hearts Open Minds. Carla Grant took the helm. In September of 2019\, The Open Road (https://openroadpdx.com) adventure began. \n  \nYou might be surprised to learn that there is such a thing as a Shakespeare in Prisons Conference. The Bard himself might be astonished by this\, by the number of books that have been written about him and the frequency with which his plays are performed all over the world—400 years after his death. Plays are transitory things. Evidence suggests that he hoped for immortality as a poet\, but the idea of  being a famous playwright could have seemed as far-fetched as becoming a famous wheelwright or shipwright. \n  \nNikos Kazantakis\, author of Zorba the Greek\, travelled to England and wrote a book about his impressions. In the long chapter on Shakespeare\, he says: \n  \nAn infinite spirit\, from the depths of hell to the summit of Paradise. If the whole of humanity was to send a single representative to speak for its rights before God\, it would send him. He is also the only one who could represent our planet at some giant interplanetary conference. No one ever used human speech with such power and at the same time such sweetness as Shakespeare\, with such harshness and at the same time such melody and so magical an aura. \n  \n–from England: A travel journal by Nikos Kazantzakis\, p. 261 \n  \nWhen I directed my first play in prison\, I knew of one other person who had done that—Curt Tofteland. Curt was Artistic Director of Kentucky Shakespeare. I knew of him from the film “Shakespeare Behind Bars” (https://www.kanopy.com/en/multcolib/video/268952)\, a documentary film about a production of “The Tempest” that he directed at Luther Luckett prison in Kentucky. I had gone out to see his production of “Measure for Measure\,” and later Nancy and I had the good fortune to see the last performance of “Julius Caesar”—the last play he directed there. After the show\, in the prison\, there was a giant Love-In. I was an emotional wreck at the end of that. It was clear that all the actors loved him SO MUCH\, and that he loved them. \n  \nCurt lives in Michigan now\, and is as busy as ever with his nonprofit organization\, Shakespeare Behind Bars (https://shakespearebehindbars.org). Curt co-founded the Shakespeare in Prisons Conferences and the Shakespeare in Prisons Network in 20012\, along with Scott Jackson and Dr. Peter Holland of the University of Notre Dame (https://shakespeare.nd.edu/service/shakespeare-in-prisons/). Here’s a link to one of Curt’s powerful TEDx talks:  \n  \nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eBMcB6kboLA&t=207s \n  \nBy doing programs in Oregon prisons\, I’ve met many wonderful people who live\, or used to live in prison\, and made many friends for life. Over these past fifteen years\, I’ve also met a lot of beautiful people who\, like Curt Tofteland\, have spent a lot of time doing programs with women and men in prison\, here and around the world—including everyone who has volunteered with Open Hearts Open Minds\, and Lavon Starr-Meyers\, who supervised our programs at Two Rivers prison. I’d like to introduce you to a few far flung members of my prison family: Zeina Daccache\, Ashley Lucas\, Lesley Currier\, Alokananda Roy and Stratis Panourios. (There are more\, but this is probably enough for now.) \n  \nIn 2012\, when we were rehearsing “Twelve Angry Men” at Two Rivers prison\, Bushra said she had heard about a film called “12 Angry Lebanese.” I ordered a DVD of the film from CATHARSIS—Lebanese Center for Drama Therapy (http://www.catharsislcdt.org & https://www.facebook.com/search/top) and watched it. Zeina Daccache had directed a production of “12 Angry Men” at Roumieh prison\, and made a fantastic documentary film about it. I invited her to come see our production in Oregon. She did. We became great friends. She’s made more films since then. To learn more about this amazing woman and the work she has done\, here is a link to a TED talk she gave: \n  \nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tf5akVvHhx4 \n  \nI met Ashley Lucas at the first Shakespeare in Prisons Conference\, at the University of Notre Dame. She was Director of Prison Creative Arts Project (PCAP)\, affiliated with the University of Michigan—the largest Prison Arts organization on Planet Earth. When she was doing research for her book Prison Theatre and the Global Crisis of Incarceration\, she came to see our production of “The Winter’s Tale\,” and interviewed the actors on the day after the final performance. In the first chapter of her book\, she wrote at length about the love which was so much in evidence on the closing night of the play. In a previous issue of “peace\, love\, happiness & understanding” I wrote about Ashley and her book \n  \n  \n (https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-9-3-20/). \n  \nI was on a panel with Lesley Currier at the first Shakespeare in Prisons Conference in 2013. She is Artistic Director of Marin Shakespeare Company. At San Quentin prison\, she and her company have produced many many Shakespeare plays\, and original “devised” theatre performances\, based on themes from the plays. Here’s a link to Kimani’s “Parallel Play Piece” from September 7\, 2012: \n  \nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yWgZNwLuks0 \n  \nThe Marin Shakespeare Company has an extensive archive of performances from San Quentin on their website (https://www.marinshakespeare.org). \n  \nAt the third Shakespeare in Prisons Conference in San Diego in 2018\, I had the extreme good fortune to get a darshan from the Goddess Saraswati\, who has incarnated in the form of Alokananda Roy. She has produced dance-theatre productions in prisons in India. The performers were able to get out of prison to take their shows on tour to theaters in cities around India. Here’s a link to the moving story of her “Love Therapy”: \n  \nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OspzzO7gAiw&t=1186s \n  \nHad enough links yet? Wait! There’s one more! Early last year the fourth Shakespeare in Prisons Conference hosted Stratis Panourios\, from Athens. Here’s a link to a TED talk by him\, which eloquently tells the story of his experience directing Shakespeare’s “Tempest” in a prison in Greece: \n  \nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9zMZaUUW_Xs&t=91s \n  \nI want to close this BARD’S BIRTHDAY ISSUE of “peace\, love\, happiness & understanding” with a few notes about books and films about Shakespeare and his plays. \n  \nMy all-time favorite book about Shakespeare is Shakespeare and the Goddess of Complete Being by Ted Hughes. It’s utterly unlike all the thousands of other books about William Shakespeare. He explores the mythic dimension of Shakespeare’s life and art. It’s the best account I know of Shakespeare’s inner life. I’ve read and re-read it many times. When I get to the end\, I start at the beginning again. \n  \nSome other favorites include Shakespeare: The Invention of the Human and Hamlet: Poem Unlimited by Harold Bloom. A great book about “Macbeth” is Garry Wills’ Witches and Jesuits. James Shapiro’s books are excellent: A Year in the Life of William Shakespeare: 1599\, The Year of Lear: Shakespeare in 1606\, and Shakespeare in a Divided America. For theater makers\, Michael Pennington’s “User’s Guides” to “Hamlet\,” “Twelfth Night” and “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” are indispensable. His book Sweet William: Twenty Thousand Hours with Shakespeare is a treasure trove for actors and directors. \n  \nAs for films\, Akira Kurosawa’s 1985 film “Ran\,” based on “King Lear\,” is the all-time masterpiece. He might have started a trend toward much better film adaptations of Shakespeare’s plays. Kenneth Branagh’s 1993 “Much Ado About Nothing” is a sparkling example. Baz Luhrmann’s imaginative “Romeo + Juliet\,” with Leonardo DiCaprio and Clare Danes in the title roles\, is highly entertaining. Those who prefer a more traditional staging may prefer Franco Zeffirelli’s gorgeous 1968 film\, with Olivia Hussey as Juliet. I had the good fortune to see Adrian Lester play the part of Hamlet in Peter Brook’s production. Best Hamlet ever (according to me)! The play was filmed\, and is available on DVD\, but the live performance is so vivid in my imagination\, that I find the film performance disappointing by comparison. Still\, it might be the most brilliant Hamlet performance on film. Mark Rylance played the Duke in the Shakespeare’s Globe production of “Measure for Measure.” If you are intrepid\, you can find it on DVD. \n  \nWell\, that’s about it for now.  \n  \nHappy Birthday\, Will!  \n  \nGetting to see your plays and read your plays and direct them and play some of the astonishing characters you created\, including Hamlet\, Lear\, Edgar\, Feste\, Ophelia\, Cordelia\, and two of the three Weird Sisters\, has greatly enriched my life. In closing\, let’s imagine that we are the Singer and our Beloved Bard is the object of our song: \n  \n  \nWhen\, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes\, \nI all alone beweep my outcast state\, \nAnd trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries\, \nAnd look upon myself and curse my fate\, \nWishing me like to one more rich in hope\, \nFeatured like him\, like him with friends possessed\, \nDesiring this man’s art and that man’s scope\, \nWith what I most enjoy contented least; \nYet in these thoughts myself almost despising\, \nHaply I think on thee\, and then my state\, \n(Like to the lark at break of day arising) \nFrom sullen earth sings hymns at heaven’s gate; \n       For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings \n       That then I scorn to change my state with kings. \n  \n–William Shakespeare\, Sonnet 29 \n  \n  \n  \npeace\, love & poetry \n  \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-4-21-22/
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SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness  4/15/22
DESCRIPTION:  \n  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n  \n April 15\, 2022 \n  \nAs the crickets’ soft autumn hum \n        is to us \n     so are we to the trees \n        as are they \n  to the rocks and the hills \n  \n—Gary Snyder \n* \n  \nMeditation for Ukraine \n  \nWhen the war in Ukraine began\, we couldn’t believe it. Then we had to\, as an avalanche of headlines\, numbers\, and film clips came at us from all directions. The old ritual of violence had begun again so soon\, so fierce\, so inexplicable. All I could do\, every morning\, was to walk before dawn\, then sit alone\, ponder\, and write. The poems in this book arose in the first 30 days for the fighting\, as I tried to look at the obscene events in Russia and Ukraine from oblique angles—big picture\, close encounter\, root cause\, and imagined outcome.  \n  \nWe have been helped in this time by a Zoom group sponsored by Shambhala Online\, which each day of the war has convened a hundred or so from around the world for the practice of tonglen meditation. Our custom has included Buddhists in the U.S.\, Canada\, Britain\, Holland\, Poland\, India\, Japan\, Ukraine\, and beyond. We sit in silence for many long breaths\, working to inhale suffering and grief\, then exhale\, as we can\, compassion from the heart open wide. Following this practice\, we ask Iryna and Sasha in Kyiv\, Oleg in Odessa\, Andriy in Lviv\, and others inside the war how it is for them—days\, nights\, times of spring sun\, and of darkness. “Now I have no fear\, or no hope. I have only this time\, today.” “I don’t watch the news\, instead I go to the subway and see how little families each make a nest of their belongings.” “Humility comes to the front of your life. You see how artificial was life before.”  \n  \n—from the preface to Sunflower Seeds: Poems for Ukraine (www.lulu.com) \n  \nI have explored the “tonglen” practice of meditation in a poem: \n  \n      Trees Send Oxygen to Weary Citizens \n  \nSome Buddhists sit in silence to inhale sorrow\, \ngrief\, fear\, and all the cloudy darkness of strife \ninto the infinite open heart\, and there transform it \nto an exhalation of light\, of compassion\, a new \nchance for all sentient beings to be at peace. In \npractice\, in fact\, how can this miracle be understood? \nThe last breath of every soldier flies on the wind  \nover the rooftops of generals and their commanders \nfaster\, more direct than roads or other human tricks \nto far Siberia where in ravines and all along ridges \nhorizon by horizon\, valley by valley\, peak by peak \nthe waiting arms of pine\, spruce\, larch\, and fir sip deep  \ninto their green needle tangle a feast of human exhalation  \nto seethe\, turn\, and return pure oxygen for wind to freight  \naround the world\, passing all others\, to the battlefield \nwhere a girl wears her father’s coat\, a boy says his  \nmother’s name with breath made sacred by this war. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nIf you would like to participate in daily meditations with people in Ukraine at 8 a.m. (PDT)\, here’s the link: \n  \nhttps://us06web.zoom.us/j/83817903514 \n  \n* \n  \nJude responds to meditation #11 from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh: \n  \n#11  Aimlessness  \n  \nBuddhist teaching of aimlessness instructs us not to set an object or goal in front of us and run after it\, believing that happiness is impossible unless and until we get it. We must do as the flower does: we must stop reaching for something.  The flower knows it contains everything within it and doesn’t try to become something else.  \n  \nThis is another instance of word nuances: ‘goal’ and ‘objective’ have negative connotations in this case. They imply reaching for something\, usually a material something\, not being satisfied with life as is. \n  \nBut what about the desire\, the deep and intense desire\, and need\, to know and understand others not like you? The deeply felt purpose imbedded in that desire. The belief that knowing and understanding—connection— erases fear and mistrust and must lead to love. What if you call that a goal? Does that make it wrong? In my intense and life changing moment (still ongoing) of illumination in the mid 90s\, I knew I must seek understanding of those not like me: I found a deep and long friendship with Skosh who had AIDS; I sat with him when he died. I taught at Jefferson High School with its 80-90% Black student body (and took kids to prom and planted gardens with parents); went on five Habitat for Humanity builds to Mississippi\, South Carolina\, West Virginia\, Oklahoma\, etc; mentored rough and tough teenagers for\, now decades (and went to three Metallica concerts!). I befriended an Indian woman and her chaotic family (and sat with her daughter while she went through drug withdrawal) for sixteen years; worked in a family homeless shelter for three years; tutored and ‘adopted’ Hispanic adults (and made 200 tortillas with Maria)\, and up to current times\, volunteered in our precious OHOM prison program. Among other things. Everything I have done has been with a part of my world that I had little or no knowledge or understanding of.  \n  \nI hesitate to mention all of this for fear of sounding as if I’m tooting my own horn; it is not that. It is that I have felt propelled to do this. It is the deep need to know and understand others not like me. It all comes from that experience of ‘illumination’ (at 2:05 pm on March 25\, 1994) (more on that later). \n  \nAre these “goals?” Is this running after something and not being satisfied or happy until I’ve achieved it? I am happy—no\, I am filled with joy when I am living with this desire\, this ‘goal.’ It doesn’t feel wrong\, but oh so right. \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \nHere are some excerpts from Michel’s March meditation journal. The numbers refer to meditations from Thich Nhat Hanh’s book Your True Home: \n  \nMarch 3\, 2022  –  #250  Touched By Her Light \n  \nThis is a beautiful image. Just imagine it; living in a state of constant mindfulness\, leading others\, through contact\, to grow in cultivation of his/her own mindfulness…to become ripples in the pond of human consciousness\, spreading mindfulness to ever more people—like an anti-dis-ease\, or wellspring of happiness\, compassion and contentment with each one. Not only would that be something to behold\, but it would be amazing to become part of as well. \n  \nDo we not already have this opportunity\, and yet how many are touched by the “light” of my life? (Or\, yours?) What does it take for any one of us to step up and embrace mindfulness fully\, developing our light—let alone touching others’ lives with that light? I find it peculiar that all it takes for me (and you\, too) is to sit down regularly and practice mindfulness—to sit and breathe deliberately. That’s it! I only need to want to take the time to sit for a while. Doing this alone can be extra challenging\, lonely even. It’s funny how yesterday was about space\, leading me to embrace aloneness\, and here I am struggling to overcome loneliness in solitary practice—which is fundamentally still a solitary practice\, even in a hall with 1\,000 meditators at one sangha (fellowship/community). The union of conscious intent\, even practicing in “solitude” within a sangha of any size\, is the strength to overcome a sense of aloneness or loneliness. \n  \nI definitely am more consistent with a group—dedication to other until for self kicks in; and even more so with a personal plan as well. What do you do to get you to the cushion alone\, or in sangha regularly? \n  \nMarch 10\, 2022  –  #251  Many Wonders \n  \nThis is so apropos for my last few days. I find it curious; when I don’t take even the time to exercise and/or contemplate/write here\, it’s as if my experience of life becomes overwhelming to cope with. With the overwhelm comes a flood/flurry of other intensive emotional experiences\, which mount challenge after challenge as the day grinds on…to…a halt. I can go no further… \n  \nOr\, so I thought. Apparently\, enough training\, experience\, or divine intervention reminded me to “just breathe!” As I continued to breathe\, not giving in just yet\, still plodding forward\, one foot in front of the other\, perpetually pressing on and striving to keep going—slowly\, with help and kind words from others\, things started turning back around…unexpectedly. \n  \nThat is the point I believe Thây makes here: No matter how intense the experience of the self-induced suffering (it all is!) we can fall back on our past practice/training to carry us through. We can also reap benefit from just being open (through practice and training the mind) that we see and experience myriad wonders present in every moment—right there before our very eyes\, we only need to be aware enough to look (to go looking for these “wonders.”) \n  \nIt’s a matter of focal points—positive versus negative; wonders abounding everywhere\, or suffering\, pain and misery in each and every moment. I know where I wish I would focus and where I want to focus—I even do succeed occasionally as I desire\, just not as often as I wish I did. But that’s just it. This is all about our personal power of choice. Each of us makes this choice—often unconsciously or passively. \n  \nResults are obvious. You achieve what you focus on and strive for\, not what you aren’t paying attention to. So why don’t we choose better? Why don’t parents teach children that there is this option\, and that choice is our great inheritance of life power? Why don’t we own what they didn’t know then\, and teach/learn for ourselves (and others) now? All I have to do (and you can too!) is make my choice\, then act on it. That’s it. There’s no magic pill\, formula\, incantation\, or grotto. I need only grit to stick with the choice and do the “hard” work—(which isn’t actually hard at all\, it’s just more illusions I created for myself). What’s your choice? \n  \nMarch 24\, 2022  –  #256  Mind Creates Everything \n  \nExcitement rolled through the dorm building\, to a crescendo\, as each man anticipated the call to go down to get our feed. Dark clouds collecting at the edge of the valley\, rolling out over the plains\, building to a full frenzy thunder and lightning display. Just as quickly as the energy built\, each was in his seat\, eating a giant hero. Some chicken clubs—most\, actually—and a few for pastrami. The rains fell\, calming all sound with the coolness settling all around. One by one\, each finished his meal\, moving on to another area. Rains lifted\, skies cleared\, and all was quiet once again. Each man moaned in soft contentment of satisfaction\, having eaten his fill. \n  \nOur minds got bored—all people. The mind craves the new\, exciting\, colorful\, flashy\, brilliant distractions\, not silence within. Practicing mindfulness calms the mind’s desires for innovative and new stimuli. Through training\, a mind learns calmness and peace. \n  \nTV commercials\, live feeds\, Twitter\, Snapchat\, instant access to…every thing. This feeds the chaos drive of the mind. It’s little wonder most people are starving psychically for stillness\, calm and quiet. Few know this secret: It all starts with the mind—both the peace and the noise. \n  \nThrough the mind’s power we can create stories about many things; about peace and harmony\, beauty or chaos and disturbances\, war and violence\, etc. We have power\, which many of us don’t know to use\, but it’s there. All we need to do is practice mindfulness. With time\, practicing leads to consistent behavior\, leading to consistent peace within. What are you creating today? \n  \nMichel Deforge \n* \n  \nAlex Tretbar wrote to me that he has begun meditating every morning. I like to encourage people who want to meditate\, so I wrote some of my thoughts about meditation to him. I’m lazy. Instead of writing something new for this issue\, I’m just going to copy and paste what I wrote to Alex: \n  \nDear Alex \n  \nThanks for your letter and poem. I’m happy to learn that you are meditating every morning. I’ve had a serious meditation practice for more than 50 years\, so I’d like to share a few thoughts on the subject that I hope might be helpful to you. \n  \nThe word “meditation” can mean a lot of different things. For many years\, people considered it a kind of oddball thing that Buddhists were into. Many people tried meditating once or twice\, found it difficult or frustrating and concluded that it was not for them. In more recent years\, meditation & mindfulness—along with yoga—have become much more mainstream and normal. There are meditation apps that people have on their phones. Lots and lots of books about meditation and mindfulness. Health and mental health professionals now routinely recommend meditation and mindfulness for reducing stress and helping with various physical\, mental and emotional problems. \n  \nClassical Japanese Zen is rigorous and practiced in monasteries by monks. The poet Gary Snyder lived in Japan for eight years. He practiced Zen at a monastery and did zazen (sitting meditation) a minimum of five hours a day. \n  \nThere are kinder and gentler ways to practice meditation. Thich Nhat Hanh\, for example\, has a friendlier approach. He says you should enjoy it. If you’re not enjoying it\, you’re doing it wrong. \n  \nA brief word on sitting meditation. The two essential things are: eyes open and back straight. When your eyes close or your posture slumps you tend to daydream and then fall asleep. This is not a bad thing. Like taking a nap\, it’s restful. \n  \nMeditation is wakefulness. Attention. A mind quiet and alert. \n  \nRather than thinking of it as a difficult activity\, it might be good to think of meditation as “quiet time.” Peaceful time. A time set aside\, when you don’t have to accomplish anything. In our culture achievement is at a premium and people who don’t meditate tend to think of it as wasting time. Walt Whitman said: \n  \n“I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.” \n  \nThat’s the idea. \n  \nIf you spend some quiet time every morning\, over time your brain and mind and nervous system will gradually quiet down. \n  \nOne of the things that you learn from meditation is that instead of seeing and feeling and experiencing the world directly\, we learned early in life to see and experience and feel the world through a filter of thought and language. It’s like the difference between reading about Multnomah Falls\, or looking at a postcard of Multnomah Falls\, and actually standing if front of it and feeling the spray. \n  \nMeditation & mindfulness—that immediate kind of perception—can inspire poetic expression. All you have to do is find the right words to convey this experience to others. Simple. \n  \nIn one of our earlier exchanges\, you said that the problem for you with meditating\, is that you would be sitting there and you’d have an idea\, and you would want to write it down before it disappeared—and thus you would have to interrupt your meditation. This made me smile. The thing is: of course you can stop “meditating” in order to write. Writing is a form of meditation. Maybe silent sitting is one of the ways to invite poetic inspiration. Like opening a window\, so that you can feel the breeze. \n  \nThis problem\, like most problems\, is an imaginary one. First you imagined it\, then you imagined that it was a “real” problem. A toothache is a real problem. The Buddhist view is that 99% of suffering is self-inflicted. (“Imaginary” problems are not necessarily less painful than “real” ones.) Meditation is the art of not making yourself miserable. \n  \nOne of the paradoxes of meditation is that there is no goal. You sit in order to sit. Trying to get something—like peace\, or enlightenment\, or whatever—is just another way of making yourself miserable. It introduces time and a hypothetical future. There is no future\, only this present moment. \n  \nWell\, that’s enough for now about all that. \n  \npeace & love\, \nJohnny \n* \n  \n“Whenever you meet a situation that awakens your compassion… \nyou can stop for a moment\, breathe in any suffering you see\, \nand breathe out a sense of relief.” \n  \n—Pema Chödrön – Tonglen\, the Path of Transformation \n  \nI have been attending a daily Buddhist meditation practice since the early days of the War against Ukraine. Hosted by a group in New York and a group in Ukraine\, we gather on Zoom\, to give support to those suffering from violence due to the  ongoing invasion. \n  \nThe practice of Tonglen\, an extension of Loving-Kindness meditation\, is new to me. We begin with a check-in from sangha members in Ukraine. Iryna gives a hello and a weather report if the sun is shining\, then a brief update about the latest destruction and pauses in bombing. She speaks in Ukrainian and her friend translates for us. Then others are asked to speak – Oleg in Odessa\, Sasha and Ella in Kyiv\, Andrei in Lviv\, give personal stories from their homes. Seeing them in their zoom boxes\, with their windows shaded\, is a moving and transporting experience. These check-ins have been both heartrending and inspiring. Also comforting to know that they are alive\, these brave humble people who we have come to care for and LOVE over these weeks of war. Sometimes these new friends are away on meditation retreat\, or called to army duty\, or helping to take care of the wounded or homeless. In Kyiv they are involved with reconstructing a building for those who have lost their homes or have been sheltering in the subways.    \n  \nTaking a moment to sit with awareness of our feelings\, gathering stability and compassion\, we go directly into a practice of transforming suffering into compassion.  Tonglen – in English called Sending and Taking\, is new to me. The essence of it is to breathe in heaviness\, sorrow\, whatever images may be disturbing us\, then breathe out peace\, tenderness\, lightness\, liveliness.  Our minds may be overwhelmed by news\, or anxiety\, but our hearts have a bottomless well of love and compassion.  \n  \nThe Practice closes with a Dedication of Merit sent out to all beings that may be  suffering. Then we unmute for an open discussion\, questions\, poems\, or music. The chat box overflows with thanks and good wishes\, resources are sent for compassion in action.    \n  \nThirty minutes of raising compassion in a group dedicated to non-violence allows us to be supportive of one another in a volatile time. I’m sure the Ukrainians feel supportive\, but I am much more aware of the support for myself. It has been a gift; an antidote to the images in the morning newspaper\, to the enervating quality of nightly news commentary on the war that I have completely given up. \n  \nI had wondered if it would feel like a burden to begin my day up close in a war with strangers.  Rather it has been energizing\, spiritually creative\, and friendly. Here we are greeting one another each day\, getting to know our Eastern neighbors with names and faces and stories. I grieve for the children\, remembering our own war years and protests\, “Where have all the children gone\, long time ago?” I draw strength from my Polish ancestors\, when I hear stories of the millions taking refuge in Poland’s homes. In Western Ukraine too\, every person we heard from had people from Eastern towns staying in their apartment.  \n  \nHere at home\, I recognize a Ukrainian accent in line at Goodwill. Hannah starts weeping when I hug her\, so thankful to be listened to; her husband is Russian and supports Putin. Her parents meanwhile are terrified in Kyiv. Her own children are young.    \n  \nI feel grateful for our experience with you all through Open Hearts Open Minds dialogue and theater and Open Road discussions and readings and reflecting on Thich Nhat Hanh’s teachings. Being interactive\, communicating!\,  interbeing as Thay says\, practicing a common aspiration for peace and happiness\, has been helpful for not turning away from the suffering in war. \n  \nI muse over these words of Thich Nhat Hanh’s and think about how we might transform\, in prison or in a state of fear or in a difficult time of despair over how to help.   \n  \n The Buddha’s teaching is about viewing the world through the eyes of compassion. Thich Nhat Hanh taught deep listening and open communication with people on both sides of an issue. And taking action to relieve suffering\, everyone’s suffering. \n  \nHe said\, “When you have compassion in your heart\, you suffer much less\, and you are in a situation to be and to do something to help others to suffer less. This is true. So to practice in such a way that brings compassion into your heart is very important. A person without compassion cannot be a happy person. And compassion is something that is possible only when you have understanding. Understanding brings compassion. Understanding is compassion itself.”   \n  \nThank you\, dear friends\, for our ongoing communication\, and open hearts.  May we be at peace.     \n  \nLove\,     \nKatie
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-4-15-22/
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20220410T150000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20220410T170000
DTSTAMP:20260425T093307
CREATED:20220405T171234Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20220408T190206Z
UID:2669-1649602800-1649610000@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!  4/10/22
DESCRIPTION:  \n  \nThis Sunday\, April 10th\, at 3 p.m. (PDT) the theme for our Bibliophiles Unanimous! Zoom gathering is Gary Snyder & Friends. Here’s the link: \n\n \n\nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058 \n\n\n\n\nMay all people be happy.\nMay we live in peace & love\n \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-4-10-22/
END:VEVENT
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20220407
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20220421
DTSTAMP:20260425T093307
CREATED:20220407T224113Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250718T130942Z
UID:2685-1649289600-1650499199@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  4/7/22
DESCRIPTION:  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nApril 7\, 2022 \n  \nMy dad loved the poems of Carl Sandburg. Sometimes I take the heavy tome The Complete Poems of CARL SANDBURG off the shelf\, in search of treasures. When I  open the book\, I always feel that my dad is by my side. \n  \n  \nTENTATIVE (FIRST MODEL) \nDEFINITIONS OF POETRY \n  \n1 Poetry is a projection across silence of cadences arranged to break that silence with definite intentions of echoes\, syllables\, wave lengths. \n  \n2   Poetry is an art practised with the terribly plastic material of human language. \n  \n3 Poetry is the report of a nuance between two moments\, when people say\, ‘Listen!’ and ‘Did you see it?’ ‘Did you hear it? What was it?’ \n  \n4 Poetry is the tracing of the trajectories of a finite sound to the infinite points of its echoes. \n  \n5 Poetry is a sequence of dots and dashes\, spelling depths\, crypts\, crosslights\, and moon wisps. \n  \n6 Poetry is a puppet-show\, where riders of skyrockets and divers of sea fathoms gossip about the sixth sense and the fourth dimension. \n  \n7   Poetry is a plan for a slit in the face of a bronze fountain goat and the path of fresh drinking water. \n  \n8 Poetry is a slipknot tightened around a time-beat of one thought\, two thoughts\, and a last interweaving thought there is not a number for. \n  \n9 Poetry is an echo asking a shadow dancer to be a partner. \n  \n10 Poetry is the journal of a sea animal living on land\, wanting to fly in the air. \n  \n11 Poetry is a series of explanations of life\, fading off into horizons too swift for explanations. \n  \n12 Poetry is a fossil rock-print of a fin and a wing\, with an illegible oath between. \n  \n13 Poetry is an exhibit of one pendulum connecting with other and unseen pendulums inside and outside the one seen. \n  \n14 Poetry is a sky dark with wild-duck migration. \n  \n15 Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and unknowable. \n  \n16 Poetry is any page from a sketchbook of outlines or a doorknob with thumb- prints of dust\, blood\, dreams. \n  \n17 Poetry is a type-font design for an alphabet of fun\, hate\, love\, death. \n  \n18 Poetry is the cipher key to the five mystic wishes packed in a hollow silver bullet fed to a flying fish. \n  \n19 Poetry is a theorem of a yellow-silk handkerchief knotted with riddles\, sealed in a balloon tied to the tail of a kite flying in a white wind against a blue sky in spring. \n  \n20 Poetry is a dance music measuring buck-and-wing follies along with the gravest and stateliest dead-marches. \n  \n21 Poetry is a sliver of the moon lost in the belly of a golden frog. \n  \n22 Poetry is a mock of a cry at finding a million dollars and a mock of a laugh at losing it. \n  \n23 Poetry is the silence and speech between a wet struggling root of a flower and a sunlit blossom of that flower. \n  \n24 Poetry is the harnessing of the paradox of earth cradling life and then entombing it. \n  \n25 Poetry is the opening and closing of a door\, leaving those who look through to guess about what is seen during a moment. \n  \n26 Poetry is a fresh morning spider-web telling a story of moonlit hours of weaving and waiting during a night. \n  \n27 Poetry is a statement of a series of equations\, with numbers and symbols changing like the changes of mirrors\, pools\, skies\, the only never- changing sign being the sign of infinity. \n  \n28 Poetry is a packsack of invisible keepsakes. \n  \n29 Poetry is a section of river-fog and moving boat-lights\, delivered between bridges and whistles\, so one says\, ‘Oh!’ and another\, ‘How?’ \n  \n30 Poetry is a kinetic arrangement of static syllables. \n  \n31 Poetry is the arithmetic of the easiest way and the primrose path\, matched up with foam-flanked horses\, bloody knuckles\, and bones\, on the hard ways to the stars. \n  \n32 Poetry is a shuffling of boxes of illusions buckled with a strap of facts. \n  \n33 Poetry is an enumeration of birds\, bees\, babies\, butterflies\, bugs\, bambinos\, babayagas\, and bipeds\, beating their way up bewildering bastions. \n  \n34 Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away. \n  \n35 Poetry is the establishment of a metaphorical link between white butterfly- wings and the scraps of torn love-letters. \n  \n36 Poetry is the achievement of the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits. \n  \n37 Poetry is a mystic\, sensuous mathematics of fire\, smoke-stacks\, waffles\, pansies\, people\, and purple sunsets. \n  \n38 Poetry is the capture of a picture\, a song\, or a flair\, in a deliberate prism of words. \n  \n—Carl Sandburg\, from Good Morning\, America (The Complete Poems of Carl Sandburg\, pp. 317-319) \n  \n  \nCarl Sandburg wrote Rootabaga Stories for his daughters. Here are a couple of them—(reading aloud recommended): \n  \n  \nThe Potato Face Blind Man  \nWho Lost the Diamond Rabbit on  \nHis Gold Accordion \n  \nThere was a Potato Face Blind Man used to play an accordion on the Main Street corner nearest the postoffice in the Village of Liver-and-Onions. \n  \nAny Ice Today came along and said\, “It looks like it used to be an 18 carat gold accordion with rich pawnshop diamonds in it; it looks like it used to be a grand accordion once and not so grand now.” \n  \n“Oh\, yes\, oh\, yes\, it was gold all over on the outside\,” said the Potato Face Blind Man\, “and there was a diamond rabbit next to the handles on each side\, two diamond rabbits.” \n  \n“How do you mean diamond rabbits?” Any Ice Today asked. \n  \n“Ears\, legs\, head\, feet\, ribs\, tail\, all fixed out in diamonds to make a nice rabbit with his diamond chin on his diamond toenails. When I play good pieces so people cry hearing my accordion music\, then I put my fingers over and feel of the rabbit’s diamond chin on his diamond toenails\, ‘Attaboy\, li’l bunny\, attaboy\, li’l bunny.’” \n  \n“Yes I hear you talking but it is like dream talking. I wonder why your accordion looks like somebody stole it and took it to a pawnshop and took it out and somebody stole it again and took it to a pawnshop and took it out and somebody stole it again. And they kept on stealing it and taking it out of the pawnshop and stealing it again till the gold wore off so it looks like a used-to-be-yesterday.” \n  \n“Oh\, yes\, o-h\, y-e-s\, you are right. It is not like the accordion it used to be. It knows more knowledge than it used to know just the same as this Potato Face Blind Man knows more knowledge than he used to know.” \n  \n“Tell me about it\,” said Any Ice Today. \n  \n“It is simple. If a blind man plays an accordion on the street to make people cry it makes them sad and when they are sad the gold goes away off the accordion. And if a blind man goes to sleep because his music is full of sleepy songs like the long wind in a sleepy valley\, then while the blind man is sleeping the diamonds in the diamond rabbit all go away. I play a sleepy song and go to sleep and I wake up and the diamond ear of the diamond rabbit is gone. I play another sleepy song and go to sleep and wake up and the diamond tail of the diamond rabbit is gone. After a while all the diamond rabbits are gone\, even the diamond chin sitting on the diamond toenails of the rabbits next to the handles of the accordion\, even those are gone.” \n  \n“Is there anything I can do?” asked Any Ice Today. \n  \n“I do it myself\,” said the Potato Face Blind Man. “If I am too sorry I just play the sleepy song of the long wind going up the sleepy valleys. And that carries me away where I have time and money to dream about the new wonderful accordions and postoffices where everybody that gets a letter and everybody that don’t get a letter stops and remembers the Potato Face Blind Man.” \n  \n  \n  \nHow the Potato Face Blind Man Enjoyed \nHimself on a Fine Spring Morning \n  \nOn a Friday morning when the flummywisters were yodeling yisters high in the elm trees\, the Potato Face Blind Man came down to his work sitting at the corner nearest the postoffice in the Village of Liver-and-Onions and playing his gold-that-used-to-be accordion for the pleasure of the ears of the people going into the postoffice to see if they got any letters for themselves or their families. \n  \n“It is a good day\, a lucky day\,” said the Potato Face Blind Man\, “because for a beginning I have heard high in the elm trees the flummywisters yodeling their yisters in the long branches of the lingering leaves. So—so—I am going to listen to myself playing on my accordion the same yisters\, the same yodels\, drawing them like long glad breathings out of my glad accordion\, long breathings of the branches of the lingering leaves.” \n  \nAnd he sat down in his chair. On the sleeve of his coat he tied a sign\, “I Am Blind Too.” On the top button of his coat he hung a little thimble. On the bottom button of his coat he hung a tin copper cup. On the middle button he hung a wooden mug. By the side of him on the left side on the sidewalk he put a galvanized iron washtub\, and on the right side an aluminum dishpan. \n  \n“It is a good day\, a lucky day\, and I am sure many people will stop and remember the Potato Face Blind Man\,” he sang to himself like a little song as he began running his fingers up and down the keys of the accordion like the yisters of the lingering leaves in the elm trees. \n  \nThen came Pick Ups. Always it happened Pick Ups asked questions and wished to know. And so this is how the questions and answers ran when the Potato Face filled the ears of Pick Ups with explanations. \n  \n“What is the piece you are playing on the keys of your accordion so fast sometimes\, so slow sometimes\, so sad some of the moments\, so glad some of the moments?” \n  \n“It is the song the mama flummywisters sing when they button loose the winter underwear of the baby flummywisters and sing: \n  \n‘Fly\, you little flummies\, \nSing\, you little wisters.’” \n  \n“And why do you have a little thimble on the top button of your coat?” \n  \n“That is for the dimes to be put in. Some people see it and say\, ‘Oh\, I must put in a whole thimbleful of dimes.’” \n  \n“And the tin copper cup?” \n  \n“That is for the base ball players to stand off ten feet and throw in nickels and pennies. The one who throws the most into the cup will be the most lucky.” \n  \n“And the wooden mug?” \n  \n“There is a hole in the bottom of it. The hole is as big as the bottom. The nickel goes in and comes out again. It is for the very poor people who wish to give me a nickel and yet get the nickel back.” \n  \n“The aluminum dishpan and the galvanized iron washtub—what are they doing by the side of you on both sides on the sidewalk?” \n  \n“Sometime maybe it will happen everybody who goes into the postoffice and comes out will stop and pour out all their money\, because they might get afraid their money is no good any more. If such a happening ever happens then it will be nice for the people to have some place to pour their money. Such is the explanation why you see the aluminum dishpan and galvanized iron tub.” \n  \n“Explain your sign—why is it\, ‘I Am Blind Too.’” \n  \n“Oh\, I am sorry to explain to you\, Pick Ups\, why this is so which. Some of the people who pass by here going into the postoffice and coming out\, they have eyes—but they see nothing with their eyes. They look where they are going and they get where they wish to get\, but they forget why they came and they do not know how to come away. They are my blind brothers. It is for them I have the sign that reads\, ‘I Am Blind Too.’” \n  \n“I have my ears full of explanations and I thank you\,” said Pick Ups. \n  \n“Good-by\,” said the Potato Face Blind Man as he began drawing long breathings like lingering leaves out of the accordion—along with the song the mama flummywisters sing when they button loose the winter underwear of the baby flummywisters. \n  \n  \nHere are a couple of my dad’s and my favorite Carl Sandburg poems: \n  \n  \nTHE RIGHT TO GRIEF \nTo Certain Poets About to Die \n  \nTAKE your fill of intimate remorse\, perfumed sorrow\, \nOver the dead child of a millionaire\, \nAnd the pity of Death refusing any check on the bank \nWhich the millionaire might order his secretary to scratch off \nAnd get cashed. \n  \n  Very well\, \nYou for your grief and I for mine. \nLet me have a sorrow my own if I want to. \n  \nI shall cry over the dead child of a stockyards hunky. \nHis job is sweeping blood off the floor. \nHe gets a dollar seventy cents a day when he works \nAnd it’s many tubs of blood he shoves out with a broom day by day. \n  \nNow his three year old daughter \nIs in a white coffin that cost him a week’s wages. \nEvery Saturday night he will pay the undertaker fifty cents till the debt is wiped out.  \n  \nThe hunky and his wife and the kids \nCry over the pinched face almost at peace in the white box. \n  \nThey remember it was scrawny and ran up high doctor bills. \nThey are glad it is gone for the rest of the family now will have more to eat and wear. \n  \nYet before the majesty of Death they cry around the coffin \nAnd wipe their eyes with red bandanas and sob when the priest says\, “God have mercy on us all.” \n  \nI have a right to feel my throat choke about this. \nYou take your grief and I mine—see? \nTo-morrow there is no funeral and the hunky goes back to his job sweeping blood off the floor at a dollar seventy cents a day. \nAll he does all day long is keep on shoving hog blood ahead of him with a broom. \n  \n  \n  \nHAPPINESS \n  \n  \nI ASKED the professors who teach the meaning of life to tell me what is happiness. \n  \nAnd I went to famous executives who boss the work of thousands of men. \n  \nThey all shook their heads and gave me a smile as though I was trying to fool with them. \n  \nAnd then one Sunday afternoon I wandered out along the Desplaines river \n  \nAnd I saw a crowd of Hungarians under the trees with their women and children and a keg of beer and an accordion. \n  \n—Carl Sandburg (1878-1967) \n  \n  \nSince the Potato Face Blind Man plays the accordian\, and the Hungarians on the banks of the Desplaines River do likewise\, perhaps it would be good to include links to some rockin’ accordian music: \n  \nThose Darn Accordians play Jimi Hendrix: \nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TzP-G9cVc7k \n  \nFlaco Jimenez\, Mingo Saldivar\, Pete Ybarra\, David Farias & David Lee Garza: \nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zc1ZXm-rFLA \n  \nClifton Chenier & the Louisiana Ramblers play “Tighten Up”: \nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zc1ZXm-rFLA
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-4-7-22/
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DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20220327T150000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20220327T170000
DTSTAMP:20260425T093307
CREATED:20220323T213254Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20220323T220311Z
UID:2644-1648393200-1648400400@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!  3/27/22
DESCRIPTION:photo by Kim Stafford\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nThis Sunday\, March 27th\, at 3 p.m. (PDT) the theme for our Bibliophiles Unanimous! Zoom gathering is: War & Peace & Spring!  Here’s the link:\n \n\nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058 \n\n\n\n\nMay all people be happy.\nMay we live in peace & love\n \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-3-27-22/
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20220324
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20220407
DTSTAMP:20260425T093307
CREATED:20220324T201557Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250718T130754Z
UID:2660-1648080000-1649289599@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  3/24/22
DESCRIPTION:photo by Kim Stafford \n  \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \n  \nWAR & PEACE & SPRING! \n  \n  \nArt Degraded\, Imagination Denied\, War Governed the Nations. \n—William Blake \n  \nMarch 24\, 2022 \n  \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding is two years old!  \n  \nHURRAH!!! \n  \nOur first issue celebrated Spring Equinox. Last year at this time we again enjoyed a bunch of Spring poems. \n  \n(https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-3-18-21/).  \n  \nSo\, we want to celebrate Spring…and there are other things on our minds as well. In our last issue people wrote about some of their favorite books. In it\, we invited friends inside prison to write about some of their favorite books. Meanwhile\, we are also thinking about war and peace and refugees. \n  \nIt’s Spring!!! \n  \nAnd every day the front page reminds us that bombs are falling on people in Ukraine. \n  \nKim had this to say: \n  \nThese days I seem to be obsessed with news from the war…and with the little plum tree outside the door of my writing shed. It was only a matter of time before the two started talking to each other in a poem. \n  \nPlum Trees in War \n  \nHow do they do it?—no resistance\, \nno complicity\, simply opening \na new species of light bud by bud \nin spite of all that is burned and broken. \n  \nSplayed against a shattered wall\, \nfrom a stump amid the rubble\, \nor even from a sheared branch \ndusted with ash\, petals unfurl. \n  \nAs enemies prepare to advance \nacross hills and fields\, spring \ngot there first\, took possession \nand raised its million flags of green. \n  \nFrom the sky\, breath by breath\, \nthe command comes down\, so every \nsoldier says\, “I can’t kill today— \nI am busy blossoming.” \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nThomas Bray wrote to us about his favorite books: \n  \nI thoroughly enjoyed your latest newsletter with all the book recommendations in it. I read it with great interest. My two favorite books are: \n  \nMan’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl. This is about a Jewish psychiatrist imprisoned in Auschwitz and how he manages to find meaning in the most dire of situations. I read it at least once a year. I always think the same thing when I read it: that if he can survive that\, then surely I can survive this. \n  \nShantaram by Gregory David Roberts. This is another true story of an Australian prisoner who escapes\, and flees to India. He lives amongst the “untouchables” for years. It’s a truly riveting tale of survival. \n  \nRegards\, \nThomas Bray \n* \n  \nEach spring I read this favorite gem of a poem by Roethke. The last line captures my feeling about the return of spring perfectly. As the blossoms of my daphne waft the delicious fragrance in my backyard portending the return to life of all of the brown stalks and underground plants waiting to burst forth with fullness\, I am always filled with a sense of wonder and excitement. Here is the poem that I always read: \n  \nVernal Sentiment \n  \nThough the crocuses poke up their heads in the usual places\, \nThe frog scum appear on the pond with the same froth of green\, \nAnd boys moon at girls with last year’s fatuous faces\, \nI never am bored\, however familiar the scene. \n  \nWhen from under the barn the cat brings a similar litter\,— \nTwo yellow and black\, and one that looks in between\,— \nThough it all happened before\, I cannot grow bitter: \nI rejoice in the spring\, as though no spring ever had been. \n  \n—Theodore Roethke \n  \n—Jeffrey Sher \n* \n  \nKatie talks about some of her favorite books\, and then\, on the subject of War & Peace & Spring\, she includes a poem by Czeslaw Milosz: \n  \nthat was impossible!  and my favorite author lately is Olga Tokarchuk.    \n  \n“My first thought about art\, as a child\, was that the artist brings something into the world that didn’t exist before\, and that he does it without destroying something else. A kind of refutation of the conservation of matter. That still seems to me its central magic\, its core of joy.” \n  \n—John Updike \n  \nFavorite books is a BiG topic for a houseful of too many loved books.  I do have a shelf  of some of my favorite books that I like to have more than one copy so that I can give one away to whoever is here at the time that fits.  \n  \nOn that shelf are these magical books–  \nThe Lives of Rocks short stories by Rick Bass\, living out in the Montana wilds. \nLove Invents Us by Amy Bloom \nThe Green Child by Herbert Read \nThe Great Fire by  Shirley Hazzard   WW II time: is the great fire war or love? \nWalden by Henry David Thoreau \nSwann’s Way by Marcel Proust    \nThe Plague by Albert Camus\, the book I have reread the most often. I highly recommend it in the Covid era. \n  \nOn the shelf too is Bill’s favorite book. For years he has given most\, a book called History: A Novel by Elsa Morante. \n  \nMaking this list I am aware of how I like to read what is most foreign to me. \n  \nLately I’m wild about the stories and writing of Roy Jacobsen\, his trilogy about a family who are the only ones living on their island off the coast of Norway.  The Unseen is the first in the series. \n  \nI read the heartbreaking Arizona/Mexico Border Trilogy by Cormac McCarthy: All the Pretty Horses\, The Crossing\, Cities of the Plain. “The man smiled at him a sly smile. As if they knew a secret between them\, these two. Something of age and youth and their claims and the justice of those claims. And of their claims upon them. The world past\, the world to come. Their common transciencies.”  (Then\, this line I have posted on my writing desk): “Above all a knowing deep in the bone that beauty and loss are one.”  From Cities of the Plain. \n  \nPenelope Fitzgerald   –   I first read The Bookshop\, very English\, but then read all her books and liked most The Gate of Angels\, about the chaos theory.   \n  \nWhen I love a book then I want to read everything else the author has written. \n  \nWhen I first read a book by a black American author I was also in a foreign land and wanted to read all Black Women Writers in America \n  \nI first read Sula\, by Toni Morrison\, then read her others\, through Beloved. This led me to Gloria Naylor\, Alice Walker\, then Zora Neal Hurston\, then plays of August Wilson and Lynn Nottage. \n  \nIn poetry too\, I love the foreign but also the most current in America. The poems of T’ao Ch’ien\, written in the 4th century China\, witten in a natural\, personal voice of his immediate experience and feelings makes it seem so contemporary. This led me somehow to Buddhist teachings and practice. And the first thing I read by Thich Nhat Hanh\, The Sun My Heart\, which led me the next week to my first Mindfulness retreat. \n  \nNow I’m reading the Polish poets Szymborska and Milosz to stay open hearted and in solidarity with those suffering in the war zone and on the move as refugees and those opening their homes in a safe place. Here is a War and Peace and Springtime poem from the 70’s by Milosz to ease the sorrow as we continue to pay attention and practice peace.  \n  \nOn Pilgrimage \n  \nMay the smell of thyme and lavender accompany us on our journey\nTo a province that does not know how lucky it is\nFor it was\, among all the hidden corners of the earth\,\nThe only one chosen and visited. \n  \nWe tended toward the Place but no signs led there.\nTill it revealed itself in a pastoral valley\nBetween mountains that look older than memory\,\nBy a narrow river humming at the grotto. \n  \nMay the taste of wine and roast meat stay with us\nAs it did when we used to feast in the clearings\,\nSearching\, not finding\, gathering rumors\,\nAlways comforted by the brightness of the day. \n  \nMay the gentle mountains and the bells of the flocks\nRemind us of everything we have lost\,\nFor we have seen on our way and fallen in love\nWith the world that will pass in a twinkling. \n  \n—Czeslaw Milosz \nEnglish version by Czeslaw Milosz and Robert Hass\nOriginal Language Polish \n  \n—Katie Radditz \n* \n  \nMilosz’s poem reminded me of this poem by William Stafford: \n  \nAt the Un-National Monument along the Canadian Border \n  \nThis is the field where the battle did not happen\, \nwhere the unknown soldier did not die. \nThis is the field where grass joined hands\,  \nwhere no monument stands\, \nand the only heroic thing is the sky. \n  \nBirds fly here without any sound\, \nunfolding their wings across the open. \nNo people killed—or were killed—on this ground \nhallowed by neglect and an air so tame \nthat people celebrate it by forgetting its name. \n  \n—William Stafford \n* \n  \nThe Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz \n  \n—Michael Deforge \n* \n  \nMy favorite series of books are the Harry Potter novels. They are so rich and full of flavor\, each one has its own beginning and end\, and kept me enchanted the entire read. A true masterpiece they are. \n  \nSpring happens to be my favorite season. It is to me and many the beginning of something. It has the feel of new endeavors and adventures to take on. A new start\, rather. So\, in a negative sense\, the beginning of war—since that is the topic. We humans always find a way to not get along. One day I believe we will have to\, or it will be the end of us. \n  \n—Brandon Gillespie \n* \nHere’s are a couple of my recent contributions to the Poetry of Peace: \n  \nlet’s pretend \n  \ninstead of pretending that we are afraid \nthat we must improve \nthat we have enemies \nthat the future will arrive someday \n  \nlet’s pretend everything is sacred \npretend this is Paradise \npretend every moment is precious \npretend we love everyone \n  \npretend our joy knows no bounds \npretend we are the whole wide world \n  \n  \nMy Foolproof Plan for World Peace \n  \nI hereby declare today to be International Love Day. \nAnd a General Armistice. \nAll hostilities must cease on International Love Day. \nHenceforward\, every day is International Love Day. \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nPerrin Kerns sent me a Zoom link to a daily meditation\, at 8 a.m. (PDT)\, with people in Ukraine. In addition to sitting together\, there is an opportunity to hear from people in Ukraine and give them love and support. Here’s the link: \n  \nhttps://us06web.zoom.us/j/83817903514 \n  \n  \nToday’s Yogi Tea bag message: \n  \nLive righteously and love everyone\, you will build up around you an aura of light and love. \n  \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-3-24-22/
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