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SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!  1/9/22
DESCRIPTION:Woman Reading at a Desk (c. 1910) by Thomas P. Anshutz \n  \n  \nBeloved Bibliophiles! This week\, Sunday\, January 9th\, at 3 pm (PST)\, our theme is “Read Any Good Books Lately?” Or a long time ago? Here’s the link for the Zoom gathering: \n  \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058 \n  \n  \n  \nI hope to see you there! \n  \npeace\, love & happiness \n  \nJohnny \n  \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-1-9-22/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20220106
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20220120
DTSTAMP:20260425T071533
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SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  1/6/22
DESCRIPTION:  \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nJanuary 6\, 2022 \n  \nDr. Cornel West gave the Collins Distinguished Speaker Lecture at the University of Oregon\, on April 26\, 2019. His lecture was titled “Race Matters…A Timely Discussion on the Fabric of America.” On YouTube\, the talk is titled “What It Means to Be Human.” This is a transcription of the first part of the talk: \n  \n  \nWhat It Means to Be Human \n  \nFour hundred years of being hated—individually\, systemically\, chronically\, institutionally\, and yet the best of the Black tradition is what? Teaching the world so much about love. I could just turn on John Coltrane’s “A Love Supreme” right now\, and sit down. Just let you take it in. Or I could read passages from Toni Morrison’s Beloved. A love so thick that it takes the form of the killing of your precious baby\, because you don’t want your baby dirtied and thingified by white supremacist persons\, practices\, institutions\, structures. I could read the love-soaked essays of James Baldwin\, the son of Harlem. Never went to college\, but at least two colleges went through him. He would say over and over again: “Love forces us to take off the mask we know we cannot live within\, but fear we cannot live without.” Courage. Interrogation. There’s never been a figure on the American stage—given all of the genius and talent\, of Eugene O’Neill and probably the greatest indictment ever written of the American Empire in The Iceman Cometh\, or Tennessee Williams\, or Arthur Miller\, or August Wilson\, or Adrienne Kennedy—but I’m talkin’ about Loraine Hansbury’s A Raisin in the Sun. Has there ever been a figure with more love than Mama on the American stage? Five generations enacted\, and her attempt to bequeath and to transmit what the Isley Brothers would call “a caravan of love” to that younger generation. Walter keeps Travis\, in light of Old Man Walter—you oughta know the play—who dies\, who bequeaths ten thousand dollars\, to see whether they’ll get to that vanilla suburb or not. But that’s not the end and aim of it. The aim is: measuring people based on their courageous attempt to cultivate the capacity to think for themselves. To learn how to love. And to laugh. And to hope. I could turn on Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Goin’ On?” Every note and the silence between the notes. “Save the babies.” “Who really cares?” Or Stevie Wonder’s “Love’s in Need of Love.” But this love that we’re talking about again—this is not abstract. It is concrete\, and it is as real as a heart attack. And it has something to do with the Socratic legacy of Athens. It has something to do with line 38A of Plato’s Apology: “The unexamined life is not worth living.” And we know the Greek actually said: “The unexamined life is not the life of a human.” And we know our English word “human” comes from the Latin humando\, which means what? Burial and burying. We’re beings on the way to death. And you can’t talk about race matters\, you can’t talk about what it means to be human\, without talking about wrestling with forms of death and what it means to be on intimate relations with forms of death. Early physical deaths\, indeed\, but also social death. That 244 years of  white supremacist slavery attempt to make them socially dead\, in the language of the great Orlando Patterson\, in his 1982 classic\, Slavery and Social Death. Unsuccessful. Resistance\, resilience still kicks in\, but the attempt to impose a social death. And then a psychic death. And what is psychic death? Well\, for black people in the modern world it has to do with trying to wrestle against the forces of niggerization. Because to niggerize a people is to try to convince them they’re less beautiful\, they’re less intelligent\, they’re less moral—to instill in them unbelievable fear\, to instill in them this sense  that they oughta be scared all the time\, and intimidated all the time. Laughin’ when it ain’t funny. Scratchin’ when it don’t itch. Wearing the mask\, as Paul Lawrence Dunbar said it in his great poem. That’s why one of the most powerful sentences in James Baldwin’s The Fire Next Time\, is that line in the letter to the nephew: “Don’t\, comma\, be afraid.” That’s why Marcus Garvey would always have a black person in front of every major demonstration with a big sign: “The negro is not afraid.” Even if they’re shaking\, carrying the sign. That’s why the great Mary Ellen Pleasant\, who was the first black woman millionaire in America\, known as “the Mother of Human Rights in California.” She happened to be a black domestic maid who married a white Robber Baron\, and he dropped dead. She got all his money. And she didn’t kill him. It was a natural thing. But never forget Mary Ellen Pleasant. She gave eight hundred thousand dollars to a white brother named John Brown. That’s how he survived financially on his way to Harper’s Ferry. She would start every lecture\, all over California\, with the line: “I’d rather be a corpse than a coward.” Just like Martin Luther King\, Jr. would always say to his staff: “I’d rather be dead than afraid.” Wrestling with what it means to be human. Being on intimate terms with death. And the echoes\, going back to Plato\, when he says: “Philosophy itself is a meditation on and preparation for death.” Philo sophia\, “love of wisdom.” Meditation on\, preparation for: death. And even Seneca—and we don’t expect too much profundity from the Romans\, they’re so busy running an empire\, very much like we Americans—he used to say: “He or she who learns how to die\, unlearns slavery.” I’ve told my students for 41 years of my very blessed life of teaching: “When you come in my classroom\, you’re here to learn how to die.” “Oh Brother West\, I thought I was just taking a Philosophy class\, to read some texts\, and get a grade.” “No\, no! This is paideia. This is p-a-i-d-e-i-a. This is deep education. This is not cheap schooling.” When you’re talking about race matters you’re not just talking about skill acquisition and information. You’re talking about self-interrogation and social transformation. And the best of the University of Oregon\, with all of the challenges that go along with any institution of higher learning in our late Capitalist civilization that’s undergoing commodification\, bureaucratization\, corporatization\, rationalization\, making it more and more difficult for any kind of paideia to take place. But the students come in so pre-professional. Can’t wait to make their move into the professions. “No\, you gotta learn how to think first. No\, you gotta learn how to laugh first. You gotta learn how to play first. You gotta wrestle with what it means to be human.” “I’ll get to that later on\, I just need my skills.” Oh\, what makes you think any democracy can survive\, based on dominant forces of corporatization\, commodification\, bureaucratization and rationalization\, in the Weberian sense? You’re gonna end up\, as Du Bois said so powerfully in The Souls of Black Folk: “Caught in the dusty desert of smartness and dollars.” And in many ways that’s where we are. I don’t know about the University of Oregon\, but back at Harvard oftentimes the highest thing a student can say about themselves is they’re the smartest in the room. And I tell ‘em: “Let the phones be smart\, and you be wise.” The fantasizing of smartness\, tied to richness—how spiritually empty! How morally vacuous! And\, most importantly\, reinforcing the worst protocols of professional culture\, which are conformity\, complacency\, and when it’s time to actually act\, cowardliness. Because the careerism and the opportunism are so overwhelming . Thank God for Socrates. Thank God for all of those who are willing to\, first\, begin with themselves. Self-examination. Self-interrogation. And when you give up an assumption or presupposition\, when you give up a dogma or a doctrine—that’s a form of death. And there is no education without that kind of death. There’s no maturation without that kind of death. That’s what learning how to die is all about. One of the greatest eulogies ever written—one sentence—by a sister named Dorothy Day\, one of the great prophetic figures of the Twentieth Century. She’s my fellow Catholic sister. When Martin Luther King\, Jr.\, was murdered\, April 4th\, 1968\, in her historic newspaper The Catholic Worker she said: “Martin Luther King\, Jr. learned how to die daily.” To continually grow\, continually mature\, and it’s endless\, it is perennial\, and you always end up in a moment of inadequacy—almost an echo of our great lapsed Protestant artistic genius\, Samuel Beckett\, when he said: “Try again. Fail again. Fail better.” “Try again. Fail again. Fail better.” That’s the best that we can do. But you’re continually in process\, calling yourself into question\, interrogating whatever assumptions you are falling back on. That’s Socratic energy at its highest level. To come to terms with race matters is to begin with self always already tied to society\, always already tied to forms of death\, forms of dogma\, and forms of domination. To be human is to wrestle with those inescapable and unavoidable realities\, to drop any linguistically conscious primate\, like ourselves\, in time and space\, means you’re gonna have to wrestle with forms of death—first\, bodily extinction\, the psychic and spiritual death\, possibly civic death\, forms of patriarchy\, class-based\, could be empire\, colonized people. But then: dogma—ideological dogma\, religious dogma\, political dogma\, scientific dogma. You say: “Brother West\, how could there be scientific dogma? To be scientific is to be always concerned about questioning.” “Read the history of science.” Just read it closely. The great John Dewey always made a distinction between scientific method and scientific temper. The method itself can become a dogma. Just like skepticism. If you’re not skeptical about skepticism you get locked into a certain kind of skepticism. And in the end it becomes a matter of adolescent activity\, because skepticism usually presupposes the vantage point of a spectator. Whereas\, criticism is one of a participant. So\, you can play all kinds of games as a spectator\, but when you are involved\, when it comes to your house\, and your loved ones\, all of a sudden things shift. And that’s one of the great stories of white supremacy in the United States. So often people can be in a state of denial. Look at the U.S. Constitution: any reference to the institution of white supremacist slavery? No! Twenty-two percent of the inhabitants of the thirteen colonies are enslaved. No reference to the institution in your constitution. You’re gonna end up havin’ a Civil War of 750\,000 precious people killed over an institution not invoked in your constitution. “Well\, Professor West\, that’s just a fascinating tension between principal and practice.” “Get off the crack pipe!” That’s called denial. That’s called avoidance. That’s called thinking in fact that you can somehow\, through willful ignorance\, treat people\, conceive of yourself\, in ways that those effects and consequences won’t come back to haunt you. What did Malcolm X call it? “Chickens comin’ home to roost.” Sooner or later\, you’re gonna reap what you sow. Sooner or later\, what you think you’ve been able to escape from is gonna hunt you down. We’re seeing that right now in imperial America. We end up killing almost a million Muslims and can’t say a mumblin’ word in our public discourse. Invasions of Iraq\, Afghanistan\, Pakistan. And then you get the counter-terrorists and we wonder why they’re upset. Now\, terrorism\, for me\, needs to be called into question across the board. Taking the life of innocent human beings\, for any reason\, is a crime against humanity. But no serious concern about how many Iraqis died. Same is true with our drones. Innocent folk in Yemen and Somalia and Pakistan\, Libya\, Afghanistan can die. Kill one American—Brother Barack did what? Had a press conference that same day. Gave economic compensation for the family that same day. And yet already denied that they killed any innocent people\, as a whole. Quit lyin’! Quit lyin’! Keep track of human beings! Those babies in Yemen and Somalia\, those babies in Pakistan—they have exactly the same status and significance as black babies in South Central Los Angeles\, as brown babies in East Los Angeles\, as white babies in Newtown Connecticut\, as yellow babies in San Francisco. And we like to talk about it in the abstract\, but when it comes time to being actually tested in our actions\, we’re livin’ in denial. We might as well be in Disneyworld on Main Street. And what’s fascinating about Disneyworld—so stereotypically and quintessentially American? There’s a lot of fun there. But there’s no life. And there’s no life because there’s no death. If somebody’s about to die in Disneyworld\, you just take ‘em and push ‘em across the line. “You’re gonna besmirch our image. Nobody’s supposed to die in Disneyworld\, now.” Ah! I’m bein’ facetious. Y’all get the point\, though. Escapist! Escapist! Escapist! Given all of the overwhelming sense of possibility\, and supposedly prosperity\, and yet\, one out of two of our children\, black and brown\, under six years old\, live in poverty in the richest nation in the history of the world. That’s a moral disgrace! Where’s the discourse about it? Martin Luther King\, Jr. turns over in his grave. Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel turns over in his grave. Are we gonna actually keep track of the underside? Are we gonna be Socratic enough that we can keep track of the Conrad-like heart of darkness shot through all of the life of liberty that we talk about in the United States? Or\, sooner or later\, you’re gonna reap what you sow. Absolutely. And of course\, usually the people who raise this issue end up being misunderstood\, misconstrued\, marginalized\, incarcerated\, or shot down like a dog. The truth is too much! It’s too overwhelming! Rather close one’s eyes. And yet\, when the crisis comes\, ooh\, lo and behold! That’s why race matters in regard to indigenous peoples\, in regard to our precious brown brothers and sisters. Moving borders. I grew up in California. Used to be Mexico. Read what Ulysses S. Grant says about the Mexican War. Just massive gentrification\, a power grab\, and a land grab\, across the board. Immigration discourse. Well\, they comin’ home. They comin’ home. That used to be theirs. Viciously\, immorally taken. Or Asian brothers and sisters. The very year in which we had the Statue of Liberty—“Give me your poor”—there’s the Chinese Exclusion Act. So much for our universality. And of course you all here in Oregon\, you know about the Black Exclusion Acts of 1844. Is that right? You know about those? [Someone in the audience says: “No\, we don’t.”] Well\, they need to know. I’m gonna put up a picture. Serious exclusion acts. Black folk can’t step foot in Oregon. “But we’re anti-slavery.” “Yes\, but you’re anti-black people\, at the same time.” That is highly possible. We human beings\, we’re so creative when it comes to mistreatin’ each other. Be against slavery\, but don’t want black folks too close. Can’t stand the institution\, but oh\, when those live human beings and bodies get close\, we’re overwhelmed. That’s part of the challenge\, too. That’s why any discussion about race is never simply a discussion about policy\, structural institutions—as crucial as structural institutions are. But it’s also about the ways in which subjectivities are constructed\, the ways in which individuals are created. And then\, the choices that people make\, not just as persons\, but in collectivities\, in groups\, in communities. And that’s one of the reasons why the best of the University of Oregon or any other institution of higher learning has to put such a stress on that Socratic legacy of Athens\, that paideia. And that line 24A of Plato’s Apology\, when Socrates says: “Parrhesia is the cause of my unpopularity.” What is parrhesia—p-a-r-r-h-e-s-i-a? Frank speech. Fearless speech. Plain speech. Unintimidated speech. Education at its highest level is about fusing the formation of our wise attention with the cultivation of our critical thinking\, that’s linked to the maturation of compassionate and courageous people. Now\, we raised the question: “Is courage a dominant virtue in our universities?” Hell\, no! No\, it’s not at all. It’s about smartness. It’s about status. And\, too often\, arrogance and condescension. Courage is tied to fortitude. Fortitude is tied to a certain humility. Socrates!: “I know that I know more than others precisely because I know that I know nothing. And they think they know something they do not know.” Intellectual humility. Personal humility. But it’s tied also to a tenacity. “I’m going to raise whatever is inside of me to think for myself\,” as Kant put it in What is Enlightenment?  of 1784. The release from self-incurred tutelage. The release from self-imposed immaturity. Dare to think for yourself! That’s what it is to find a voice of my own black tradition. So when Monk tells Coltrane\, “You been imitatin’ Johnny Hodges of the Duke Ellington Band too much\, John. It’s time for you to find your voice. What does Trane sound like?” And I don’t know how many of you all had a chance to see “Amazing Grace.” Has that hit Eugene yet? Aretha\, twenty-nine years old\, walks into James Cleveland’s church and raises her voice. And who’s on the front row? Not just her father\, Reverend C. L. Franklin\, one of the finest of all preachers enacting such a grand oratorical art\, but Clara Ward—echoes of Marion Williams—those Aretha imitated\, until she found her voice. I don’t know if many of you all got a chance to see “Homecoming” yet\, about Beyonce. Oh\, we got some Queen Bee beehives up in here? Oh\, sooki sooki\, now. Yeah. So what does she do when she enters predominantly white space? She brings her whole crew with her\, doesn’t she? She brings her whole culture with her—two hundred musicians linked to historically black college performances. And the performances are not mere entertainment. Each one of them are lifting their voices\, just like Duke Ellington’s orchestra. Just like James Brown’s band. Just like the musicians in Sly Stone’s group. Each one finding their voice. And they bounce off against each other. Ralph Ellison called it “antagonistic cooperation.” ‘Cause it’s not competition in the market-driven sense: “I’m so good\, and you’re sounding so bad.” No. Grow up. We’re in this together. And\, most importantly\, kenosis. And this is what oftentimes is missing in any serious talk about race matters\, especially in the academy\, but even outside. And what is kenosis—k-e-n-o-s-i-s? Kenosis is self-emptying\, self-donating\, self-giving. It’s like the end of a James Brown concert\, when he comes out and says\, “I’m an extension of you. You’re an extension of me. I’ve just given you three-and-a-half hours of all that I am. Did anybody come here to hear a song we did not play?” “You didn’t play ‘Soul Power\,’ James.” He says\, “Hit it\, Bootsie!” Because you come to serve. You’re not a spectacle. I go to some of these concerts with these young brothers and sisters\, highly talented\, and all that spectacle hits. I went to one of Usher’s concerts. That negro was flippin’ over like he was in a circus. I said: “ Pick up the microphone and sing a song\, negro! I didn’t come here for all this mess!” Spectacle! That’s late Capitalist culture. Image! Spectacle! Superficiality! Titillation! Stimulation! All Aretha Franklin needs is a microphone. She sits down—is that right\, my sister?—she sits down at that piano and what does she do? Within three minutes she has touched you in parts of your soul you forgot about. Because she has mastered her craft and her technique in such a way\, but she’s there to give\, she’s there to enable\, she’s there to empower. She wants people to leave feeling as if they could take on death and its forms\, domination and its forms\, dogma and its forms\, and be ready to die with dignity\, physically\, and then hope your afterlife will be at work in the lives of those who come after. Oh\, what a great conception of what it is to be human! Black folk have no monopoly on this. This is a human thing\, across the board…. \n  \n  \nSorry to stop here. This is about halfway through his talk. It takes quite a while to transcribe it from the video\, I’m a day late in getting out this issue\, and this is about our normal length. Those of you with access to the Internet are encouraged to watch the whole lecture on YouTube (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Aekb3ppKm5w&t=1813s). (JS) \n  \n  \nDr. West has taught at Yale\, Princeton and Harvard. He currently teaches at Union Theological Seminary in New York. 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-1-6-22/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20211223
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20220106
DTSTAMP:20260425T071533
CREATED:20211223T220544Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20211223T220725Z
UID:2521-1640217600-1641427199@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  12/23/21
DESCRIPTION:  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nDecember 23\, 2021 \n  \nQuite a long time ago\, I adapted this short story by Fyodor Dostoevsky and performed it. I hope you enjoy it! (J.S.) \n  \n  \nDream of a Ridiculous Man \n  \nI’m ridiculous. Some people think I’m crazy. Which is better\, in a way\, except that they also think I’m ridiculous. But I don’t mind. I love everyone. I’ll tell you why. See\, that’s what I want to talk to you about. About why I love you. Even though I don’t know you. Even if you laugh at me. I’d laugh too–not exactly at myself\, but just to join in–but I feel so sad when I look at you. Because you don’t know the truth. And I do. It’s hard being the only one who knows the truth.  \n  \nI used to feel depressed about seeming ridiculous. Not seeming. Being. I’ve always been ridiculous\, and I think I’ve known it since the day I was born. Well\, for sure by the time I went to school. The more I learned\, the more I understood that I was ridiculous. Life was just like school in that respect. Everyone always laughed at me. But nobody ever suspected that if there was one person on earth who knew better than anybody else that I was ridiculous\, it was me! And what really irritated me was that nobody knew that I knew. But that was my own fault. I wouldn’t admit it to anyone. I was too proud. My pride was so strong that if I had confessed to anyone that I was ridiculous\, I think I would have blown out my brains the same evening. As a kid\, I lived in constant fear that one day I would break down and tell one of the other kids. But as I got older I became a lot calmer for some reason. I don’t know… Maybe it was because I was becoming very disheartened about something that I couldn’t do anything about\, which was that I was slowly but surely coming to the rather cheerless conclusion that nothing in the whole world made any difference. This idea had been creeping up on me for a long time\, but I became fully convinced of it only last year. All of a sudden. I suddenly felt that it made no difference to me whether the world existed or whether nothing existed at all. I became acutely conscious that nothing mattered. I thought: probably things had mattered in the past. But as I thought about it more I realized that things had not really mattered in the past\, they only seemed to. I became quite certain that nothing would matter in the future either. At that point I stopped being angry with people\, and almost stopped noticing them altogether. I would be walking along and I would run into people! And not because I was lost in thought–what would I be…? I didn’t have anything to think about. I had more or less stopped thinking by that time. It made no difference. Not that I had everything figured out. Far from it. I had no idea what the hell was going on. I didn’t understand anything. But nothing made any difference and so all the things I used to worry about just sort of faded away.  \n  \nAnd\, well\, it was only after that that I learned the truth. I learned the truth last November. The third of November\, to be exact. It was a gray\, depressing evening. Cold and rainy. I was walking home. It was late. And I remember thinking: “God\, this is a miserable night.” The rain was that kind of rain that is hostile\, the kind of rain that is deliberately trying to make you feel miserable. Then the rain stopped\, but that was even worse because everything was just so soggy\, and it seemed colder than when it had been raining. I was thinking that it wouldn’t be so depressing if the streetlights weren’t on. They only made it worse by illuminating everything.  \n  \nI looked up at the sky. It was very dark. There were clouds that had torn wispy edges. The patches of sky between the clouds were deep black. All of a sudden I noticed a little star in one of those patches. I stopped walking and just stood there\, looking at it. Because that little star gave me an idea: I made up my mind to kill myself that night.  \n  \nI had been planning to kill myself for a couple of months. And even though I’m always broke I had bought a nice little gun and loaded it. But two months had gone by and it was still lying in the drawer. I was waiting for the right moment. I was completely indifferent to everything and I was waiting for a moment when I didn’t feel indifferent so I could kill myself. Yeah\, I know…sounds stupid…  \n  \nOkay. So…I was standing there looking at the sky. And all of a sudden this little girl grabbed me by the coat sleeve. She was\, I don’t know\, maybe about eight years old. She was completely soaked. She was pulling at my arm and trying to say something. But I couldn’t tell what because she was shivering and sobbing. You know how it is when kids try to talk when they haven’t finished crying yet? I looked down at her\, but I didn’t say anything. Then I pulled my arm away and kept walking. But she ran after me and caught me and was pulling at my coat. She was very frightened about something…incoherent. All I could make out was something about her mother. Her mother was dying or was in some very bad situation. And the little girl had run out to find someone to help. But I didn’t go with her. At first I told her to go find a policeman. But she just held me tighter and wouldn’t let go. Then I got angry and shouted at her. And she let go of me and just stood there. I think she was too stunned to even cry. Then she saw someone coming across the street and ran to him.  \n  \nI went back to my apartment. It’s pretty depressing. The wallpaper is this ugly color of green\, but it’s so grimy you can hardly tell what color it’s supposed to be. It’s peeling off the walls. The carpet is filthy. Whoever lived there before me must have had a lot of cats\, because the carpet and the furniture have the unmistakable smell of cat piss. Plaster is falling off the ceiling. The guy upstairs keeps having problems with his toilet. I don’t know what you’d have to do to get the landlady to fix anything. I mentioned to her once that the furniture smelled like cat piss\, and she said: “If you don’t like it\, you can move out.” And that was the end of that conversation. So\, anyway\, my apartment is pretty depressing. But it’s cheap. I sat down at my desk and lit a candle. I prefer candlelight. I don’t want to have to look at what a dump I live in. I sat there. Next door they were making lots of noise. As usual. The walls are paper thin. Sometimes I can hear my neighbors having sex. But my other neighbor is this big dirty guy with a beard. I think he sells drugs because people are always coming and going all night long. His regular friends like to drink beer. And they get into fights a lot. Usually they just shout at each other\, but sometimes they get into real fights. One of them put his fist through the wall once\, right into my apartment. The landlady doesn’t say anything because she’s afraid of him. I’ve seen this guy drunk on the street\, asking people for money. But I don’t mind having him for a neighbor. He doesn’t bother me. I just ignore him. And he ignores me. I don’t care how many of them there are in that room or how much noise they make. I don’t even hear them after a while. I sit up all night in my armchair–doing nothing. I only read in the daytime. At night I just sit without even thinking about anything. Well\, sometimes thoughts sort of wander in and out of my mind. By morning the candle has burned out.  \n  \nSo\, I sat down at my desk and took the gun out of the drawer. I remember asking myself: “Is this it?” And I said to myself: “It is!” I was going to shoot myself. I knew for certain that I would shoot myself that night. The only thing I didn’t know was how much longer I would go on sitting there before I shot myself. And I would have shot myself\, if it hadn’t been for the little girl.  \n  \nSee\, nothing made any difference to me\, but I could still feel pain\, for instance. I mean\, if someone had hit me\, it would hurt. Same with feelings. I could feel pity\, just like I used to do when things did make a difference to me. I felt pity for that little girl while she was pulling at my coat and sobbing\, which didn’t make sense\, given what I’d just decided. And I continued to feel sorry for her even after I got home. As I sat at my desk I couldn’t get her out of my mind. And that irritated me. I hadn’t been so upset in…I don’t know how long. And all these thoughts were banging around in my head. Like: “As long as I am a human being and not nothing\, and until I cease to exist\, I’m alive\, and able to suffer\, be angry\, feel ashamed. Okay. But\, on the other hand\, if I’m going to kill myself in a couple hours\, why should I care about that little girl\, or about shame\, or anything else? I’m going to become nothing. Absolutely nothing. I’m going to completely cease to exist\, and the whole world along with me\, so shouldn’t that have some slight effect on my feelings of pity for that little girl?” Why did I shout at her? It was because I was angry at the fact that she was making me feel. Why should I feel anything? Why should it matter if I’m kind or cruel if I’m going to be extinct in two hours?  \n  \nAs I sat there all these questions were driving me crazy. Before I could answer the first one\, another would come up. And another and another. Do your thoughts ever come so fast that you can’t keep up with them? Like\, I wondered: what if I had lived before on the Moon or Mars and had done something so shameful that you can hardly imagine? Y’know\, like you sometimes experience in a nightmare. Something just unbearable. And if afterwards I found myself on Earth and I remembered what I had done on the other planet–and I knew that I would never go back there–would I feel shame when I looked from the Earth to the Moon\, (or Mars\, or whatever)\, or would I feel that it made no difference to me? I mean\, the questions were completely useless! The gun was lying on the desk in front of me and I knew I was going to…use it\, but I couldn’t get the thoughts out of my mind. It seemed to me that I couldn’t die until I had figured something out. The little girl\, in fact\, saved me\, because by asking these questions I put off my execution.  \n  \nThen I fell asleep\, sitting in my armchair. I had never done that before.  I fell asleep without being aware that I was doing it. I dreamed a dream. It was the third of November. People make fun of me: they say it was only a dream. But it revealed the truth to me\, so I don’t care if it was a dream. Once you’ve realized the truth\, you know it’s the truth. It was just a dream. Okay. But I was about to commit suicide. And my dream saved my life and changed it.  \n  \nI dreamed that I picked up the gun and pointed it straight at my heart. My heart\, not my head. I always thought I would shoot myself in the head. I aimed the gun at my chest\, paused for a second or two\, and pulled the trigger.  \n  \nY’know how in a dream sometimes you fall from a great height\, or are being murdered or beaten\, but you don’t feel any pain? That’s how it was. I didn’t feel any pain\, but everything was suddenly extinguished\, and a terrible darkness descended all around me. It was like I had become blind. And I couldn’t speak. I was lying on my back. I saw nothing. I couldn’t move. People came near and they were shouting. The guy from next door was shouting\, the landlady was screaming….    \n  \nThen\, the next thing was: I was being carried in a closed coffin. I could feel the coffin swaying\, and I was thinking about it\, and for the first time it occurred to me that  I was dead–dead as a doornail–and I knew it. There couldn’t be any doubt about it. I couldn’t see or move\, but I could think and feel. This didn’t bother me. I just accepted it.  \n  \nThen they buried me. And they went away. And I was alone. It was cold and damp\, just like you’d expect. I felt very cold\, especially in the tips of my toes\, but I didn’t feel anything else.  \n  \nI laid in my grave. I didn’t expect anything. I just accepted that a dead man has nothing to look forward to. But it was damp. Some time passed. I don’t know how long. A drop of water that had seeped through the lid of the coffin fell on my left eyelid. A minute later… another drop. A minute later…another drop. One drop every minute. It was infuriating! And when I got angry I felt a sharp stab of pain in my chest. “That’s my wound\,” I thought. “That’s where I shot myself. There’s a bullet in there.” And every minute another drop of water fell on my eyelid. It was driving me crazy. And I cried out—not with my voice\, but with my whole being:  \n  \n“Whoever you are that’s doing this to me\, if anything more rational exists than what is happening to me now\, I would like to experience it. But if you are punishing me for committing suicide with life-after-death\, no torture that you inflict on me can ever equal the contempt that I will go on feeling for you forever and ever!”  \n  \nI made this appeal and waited. It was silent for almost a minute. Then a drop fell on my closed eyelid. But I knew that everything was going to change immediately. And it did.  \n  \nI don’t know how my coffin was dug up and opened\, but I was grabbed by a dark unknown being. And the next thing was: we were flying through space. I could see again\, but it was pitch-black. It was the blackest black night. We were flying through space at a terrific speed. We had left the earth far behind us. I didn’t question the being who was carrying me. I was too proud. I just waited. I wasn’t afraid\, which surprised me. I have no idea how long we were flying. Suddenly I saw a little star in the darkness.  \n  \n“Is that Sirius?” I just blurted it out. And then I got mad at myself\, because I wasn’t going to ask any questions.  \n  \nThe being who was carrying me said: “No. That’s the same star you saw between the clouds when you were coming home.”  \n  \nI didn’t like this being one bit. I had expected complete non-existence—that’s why I shot myself. And now here I was in the hands of this being—not a human being\, but a being nevertheless. It existed. “So there is life beyond the grave\,” I thought\, in that kind of off-hand way you do sometimes in dreams. Deep down\, though\, nothing had really changed for me. I thought to myself: “If I must be again\, I won’t be defeated and humiliated!”  \n  \nI said to my companion\, “You know I’m afraid of you and that’s why you despise me.” That’s just like me — to say something completely humiliating right after I told myself I wasn’t going to be humiliated.  \n  \nHe didn’t answer\, but somehow I sensed that our journey had a mysterious purpose. I was really frightened now. We had long passed the constellations that were familiar to me. And then I saw our sun and was flooded with a strong feeling of nostalgia. It couldn’t be our sun—we were millions of light years away from it—but somehow I knew with every fiber of my being that it was an exact twin copy of our sun. I had a warm feeling of coming home. And for the first time since I had been in the grave I felt a stirring in my heart.  \n  \n“But if this is exactly like our sun\, then where is the earth?”  \n  \nMy companion pointed to the little star I had seen twinkling in the darkness with an emerald light. We were heading straight for it.  \n  \nI felt an uncontrollable\, deep and sad love for the earth I’d left behind.  \n  \nThe face of the little girl I had treated so badly flashed through my mind. I started crying like a baby.  \n  \nWe were rapidly approaching the planet. It was growing before my eyes. I could distinguish the ocean\, the outlines of Europe. A great jealousy blazed up in my heart.  \n  \n“How is such repetition possible? And why? I can only love the earth I’ve left behind\, stained with my blood. I know I’m an ungrateful bastard for shooting myself through the heart. But that doesn’t mean I stopped loving the earth. I never\, never stopped loving it. I loved it more than ever on the night I ended my life.”  \n  \nSomehow…I don’t remember how…I was already standing on this other earth. My companion was gone. It was a bright\, sunny day. It was beautiful. It was like Paradise.  \n  \nThere was a radiant feeling in the air. Bright flowers were everywhere. The sky was filled with birds. And they weren’t afraid of me. They landed on my shoulders and hands and sang to me. And I saw and came to know the people of this blessed earth. They surrounded me and touched me and kissed me all over. They were beautiful! I’d never seen people so beautiful. The first moment I looked at their faces I understood everything! It was an earth unstained by the Fall\, inhabited by people who hadn’t sinned\, who didn’t know the meaning of sin. They lived in the same kind of Paradise that our first parents lived in. Except that all the earth was everywhere the same Paradise. It had no boundary.  \n  \nWell\, so\, I mean…all right\, so it was just a dream. But the love of those innocent and beautiful people has stayed with me. I can still feel their love flowing out to me from over there. I have seen them. I have known them and they showed me something. I loved them\, and I suffered for them afterwards. I knew from the beginning that there were many things about them I would never understand. I was kind of surprised that they knew nothing about our science\, for instance. But I soon realized that their knowledge was derived from different emotions than we are accustomed to. And their aspirations were different\, too. They desired nothing. They were at peace with themselves. They didn’t strive to gain knowledge about life in the way we do because their lives were full. I couldn’t understand their way of being in the world. They looked at their trees with an intense love and talked to them as if the trees were beings like themselves. They really talked with them. And the trees understood them! I’m sure of it. They knew the language of the trees. They looked on all nature like that. The animals lived peaceably with them and didn’t attack them or run from them\, but loved them. They weren’t concerned with whether I understood them or not; they loved me regardless.  \n  \nThey were playful and high-spirited like children. They made love and begot children\, but I never saw in them those outbursts of cruel sensuality which are the source of almost every sin. There were no quarrels or jealousy among them—they didn’t even know what those words meant. Their children were the children of them all\, for they were all one family. They rarely got sick\, though of course they died; but their old people died peacefully\, as though falling asleep. I saw smiles on those occasions\, never grief or tears. I saw love that seemed to reach the point of rapture. They had no specific places for worship\, but wherever they went they were in a kind of uninterrupted communion with the whole universe.  \n  \nI told them that I had a presentiment of all this years ago. That I felt a nostalgic yearning\, that became at times an unendurable sorrow. I told them that often on our earth I couldn’t look at the setting sun without tears…that there was a sharp pang of anguish in my love for people: why couldn’t I love them without hating them?  \n  \nThey listened to me\, but I  could tell they didn’t know what the hell I was talking about. They didn’t  understand me\, but they loved me. They loved me. And when in their loving presence my heart became as innocent and as truthful as theirs I didn’t mind that I couldn’t understand them either.  \n  \nI’ve tried to talk to people about this. They just laugh at me. How could all this have been crammed into one dream? I must have just awakened with a certain sensation and then invented most of the details after I woke up. And when I admit that they’re probably right\, they think it’s the funniest thing in the world. Sure\, when I woke up what remained was mostly a powerful sensation. But nonetheless\, the real shapes and forms of my dream\, those I actually saw while dreaming\, were so harmonious and enchanting and beautiful that when I was awake and trying to describe them in words I just blundered along the best I could and had to make up some of the details. I needed to make some conscious account to myself of what I had just experienced\, even if in the process I couldn’t help distorting it. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t really happen. All that couldn’t possibly not have been. Because what happened afterwards was so awful\, so horribly true\, that it couldn’t have been a mere figment of my imagination. The fact is\, I corrupted them all!  \n  \nYeah. That’s how it ended. The dream encompassed thousands of years and left in me only a vague sensation of the whole. I only know that I was the cause of the Fall. Like a horrible virus\, I infected that happy earth that knew no sin or sorrow before me. They learned to lie and grew to appreciate the beauty of a lie. Maybe it all began innocently\, with a joke\, a flirtation\, a bit of sarcasm\, some small deceit–just a germ. But this germ made its way into their hearts and they liked it. Voluptuousness was soon born\, voluptuousness begot jealousy\, and jealousy…cruelty. I don’t know how it happened! I can’t remember. But soon\, very soon\, the first blood was shed. They were shocked and horrified. They began to separate and avoid one another. They formed alliances\, but the alliances were against each other. The idea of honor was born. They began killing the animals for food\, or just for sport—and the animals ran away from them into the forests. People began to crave separation. They asserted their “personality.” And they came to distinguish between “yours” and “mine.” Especially “mine.” They began talking in different languages. They knew sorrow\, and they loved it. They thirsted for suffering. And they said that truth could only be attained through suffering. It was then that science appeared among them. When they became vicious they began to talk of brotherhood and humanity. When they became criminals they invented justice. They drew up codes of law and instituted public executions.  \n  \nThey only vaguely remembered what they had lost\, and they wouldn’t believe that they were ever happy and innocent. They even laughed at the idea of their former happiness and called it a dream. And yet they longed to be happy and innocent again. Like children\, they surrendered to the desire of their hearts\, glorified this desire\, built temples\, and offered up prayers to their own idea\, their own desire. But if someone had showed them the way back to their state of happy innocence they would have refused to go. They said to me:  \n  \n“What if we are dishonest\, cruel and unjust? That’s the way things are. That’s how they’ve always been. Maybe with the help of science and reason we can make some small improvements. Knowledge is higher than feeling.”  \n  \nThat’s what they said. Something like that.  \n  \nSaints came among them. With tears in their eyes they told the people of their pride\, of their loss of proportion and harmony. They were ignored\, or laughed at\, or stoned to death. Men arose who began to wonder how they all could be united again in mutual understanding\, so that everybody would still love himself or herself best of all\, but nobody would interfere with anybody else. Whole wars were fought over this idea.  \n  \nEveryone believed that each of these orgies of reciprocal mass-destruction would be the last. That science\, and the instinct of self-preservation would ultimately force humanity to unite in a harmonious and intelligent society. Therefore\, to speed up this inevitable progress\, the “very wise and righteous” did their best to exterminate as quickly as possible those who failed to understand this noble idea.  \n  \nThey glorified suffering as the most profound experience. I felt so sad for them. I think I loved them more than before—when there was no suffering in their faces\, when they were innocent and so beautiful! I loved the earth they had poisoned even more than when it was a paradise\, because sorrow had made its appearance. I’ve always been in love with suffering. But only for myself! Only for myself. To see them suffer just made me utterly miserable. I hated myself for what I had done. I told them that I was responsible for all the corruption\, contamination and lies. I asked them to crucify me. I even showed them how to make the cross. I couldn’t kill myself because I didn’t have the courage\, but I wanted them to martyr me. I yearned for my blood to be shed to the last drop in torment and suffering. They just laughed at me. They didn’t believe me when I said I was the cause of their suffering. And even those who gave me the benefit of the doubt—maybe they were just humoring me—said that what I did was perfectly justifiedt that they didn’t want a life without suffering\, and that what happened was inevitable. Everyone looked at me like I was crazy. They said I was becoming dangerous and they would lock me up in an insane asylum if I didn’t shut up. Then a sadness entered my heart with such force that I felt like I was dying. And then I woke up.  \n  \nIt was morning. My candle had burned out. Everyone was asleep next door and it was completely quiet. I was in a very strange state of mind. I had never fallen asleep in my armchair before. And as I was trying to adjust to being awake—because a really strong sensation from the dream still lingered—I saw my gun lying there loaded and ready. I pushed it away! I wanted to live! I wept. I felt this amazing joy—infinite\, boundless joy. I was intoxicated just at being alive. And I immediately felt this strong desire to talk to someone\, to anyone. To everyone. I decided: “I’m going to tell them.” What? The Truth. I have seen the Truth. I have seen it with my own eyes and it’s beautiful!  \n  \nAnd ever since then I’ve been trying to tell people about it. They laugh at me. People say I get the story all mixed up\, and if I’m already doing that\, then what will it be like later on? They’re right. I get confused and I’ll probably just get worse as time goes on. I mean\, it’s confusing because it’s very hard to put it into words. I don’t know…I think everyone is confused. Because…well\, everyone wants to be happy\, right? And look how unhappy everyone is!  \n  \nBut I have seen the Truth. And I know that people can be happy and beautiful. I just can’t believe that evil is our normal condition\, that we are evil by nature. People laugh at this faith of mine. But how can I help believing it? I’ve seen the Truth. It’s not like I invented it with my mind. I really saw it. I experienced it. And the living image of it will be with me always. I’ve seen it and I know we can realize it\, and that it will transform us. I’m not confused about that. Of course I’ll make mistakes and say the wrong thing\, but the living image of what I’ve seen will correct me and put me back on the right path. I’m feeling pretty good right now. And I feel like I have a kind of mission and I will have it as long as I live. But I don’t know exactly what it is. At first I wasn’t going to tell you that I corrupted them. That was a mistake. But the Truth whispered to me\, “You’re lying\,” and put me back on the path. I don’t know how to establish a heaven on earth. I don’t know how to put it into words. At least the most important things I need to say—I don’t know how to say them. But that’s okay. I’ll just keep trying.  \n  \nIt’s all really very simple:  \n  \nIn one day\, in one hour\, everything could change! The main thing is: we have to love each other\, and love this earth. That sounds too simple\, doesn’t it? But it’s true. That’s the main thing. That’s everything. Nothing else matters. It’s not particularly original. It’s been said a million times and it hasn’t done any good. I mean\, look at the world! It’s a mess. I don’t know…if only we all wanted it\, everything would change in the blink of an eye. \n  \n  \n–Fyodor Dostoevsky
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-12-23-21/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20211215
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20220115
DTSTAMP:20260425T071533
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LAST-MODIFIED:20211216T173328Z
UID:2513-1639526400-1642204799@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness  12/15/21
DESCRIPTION:  \n  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n  \n  December 15\, 2021 \n  \n(Andy Larkin made the design on the first page\, inspired by a verse from the Ātmopadesha Śatakam of Narayana Guru. Below is an English translation of the verse\, along with a brief commentary by Andy.) \n  \nVerse 83 \nAtmopadesha Satakam \n  \nTo break\, to exist and to come into being is the nature of bodies here- \none goes\, another takes its place; \nremaining in the highest\, the Self that knows all these three\, \nthe indivisible one\, is free of modifications. \n  \n  \nAs people with minds conditioned by notions of “before” and “after”\, and “here” and “there”\, we cannot know what lies beyond the twin portals of birth and death\, where such notions no longer apply. Are we confined here? The Guru wants to reassure us. Birth and death are not just gates\, but are twin features of every instant of our lives. The knowing Self is the imperishable ground upon which all these transformations are enacted. The changes we experience\, even those that bring us intense joy or grief\, can actually become constant reminders of our original nature\, the Changeless. \n  \n—Andy Larkin \n* \n  \n Complaint\, Compliant \n  \nSometimes the fix is easy—a small \nadjustment\, and things start looking up\, \nthe storm in you shot through with \nsunlight\, and you can be kind again. \n  \nBreath you used to snipe and slander \ncould be humming as you putter at some \nhealing task\, raking leaves\, making the dishes \ngleam\, jotting notes to friends. \n  \nYou could trade in fear for a fare on the \nlove train. You could shun your trials \nand follow trails into forest birdsong.  \nYou could make bitterness into butterness\,  \n  \nand spread your love around. \n  \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \n(Alex is Editor of Free Spirit\, which is published at Deer Ridge Correctional Institution. This is his essay from the December issue.) \n  \nHeart of Snow \n  \nIt is a simple word\, “love\,” and while it reverberates with pinks and sighs\, I also hear the echo it contains: “of”—that fittingly nested rhyme employed “to indicate distance or direction from\, separation\, deprivation\, etc.”1 That “etc.” wrecks me\, as it seems to indicate that there is an infinite number of ways to be deprived of the people\, places and things we love. \n  \nThe complexities of love usually arise from our attempts to schematize\, to understand love by way of language. For example\, is it really true that a seemingly cold or unfeeling person has a “heart of ice”? Ice may be slow\, ponderous and impermeable\, but it does permit light\, and in this way it is honest. It lasts. Conversely\, a least on paper (poetically speaking)\, a person with a heart of snow seems more gentle\, kind\, capable of love. But snow is fragile\, reflects light\, and is easily muddied. It melts much faster than ice. \n  \nLanguage\, an inherently inefficient technology (unlike a purely utilitarian engine\, or sword\, which has no extraneous parts)\, only hems love in\, but we barrel ahead with letters and poems and avowals anyway. Nevertheless\, I believe that love\, as humans experience it\, would be much less exhilarating without these passionate attempts to encapsulate and communicate it. \n  \nAnd our love\, as it builds\, as we ornament\, qualify it with words\, becomes a tangled thicket trailing behind us\, a world whose heavy beauty\, with each new annexation of the heart\, becomes more capable of destroying us\, until five words—which would have meant nothing before—suddenly mean a great deal: “I don’t love you anymore.” And yet heartbreak is ultimately something we do to ourselves\, because we are its architect\, and because we are blessedly doomed to remember. Love wallops all. \n  \nHow many times have we wished to forget our greatest joys\, simply because they no longer exist except in their capacity to haunt? And how many times have we outlasted our grief\, and counted ourselves lucky to still possess those joys alive within us\, so distant now that they can do us no harm? Daniel Kahneman proposes that “the time people spend dwelling on a memorable moment should be included in its duration.”2 If so\, a kiss\, even a meeting of eyes\, can go on resolving for years\, like a film frozen at its climax\, and the lips finally part\, the eyes look elsewhere\, only as we draw our last breath and take leave of the earth. \n  \n  \n\nRandom House Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary\, Second Edition\, 2001.\nKahneman\, Daniel\, Thinking Fast and Slow\, 2011.\n\n  \n—Alex Tretbar \n* \n  \nThe Gift \nLife is a gift certificate\, \n        many ways of spending it? \nDo I \n        save it to use later\, \n                but for when and what time? \nOr do I \n        spend it little by little\, \n                until it’s gone? \nOr do I \n        throw it away\, \n                knowing not what I spend it on? \n  \n        It is something you cannot change\, \n                after you have spent it all. \n  \n        So think before you spend your gift\, \n                you only have but one. \n  \n  \n© December 14\, 1996 \nJoshua Underhill \n* \n  \n(Jude meditates on Thich Nhat Hanh’s meditation from Your True Home.) \n  \n#294  More Time for What Is Important \n  \nI have some principles I live by. Principles sounds too lofty; let’s say ideas. In no particular order they are: \n\nGive everything ten years to work out—for my stepchildren to love me\, to lose ten pounds\, for my wisteria to bloom; after ten years\, reevaluate and maybe give another ten years.\nWhatever the question\, trees are the answer.\nHate drains you\, love fills you.\nBe happy that you’re not easily offended but try not to be so obtuse to others’ sensitivities. \nLess is more. Progress is overrated. Consumption sucks.\n\n  \nThere are others to expand on at a later time\, but there is one more to talk about in regard to #294: More Time for What Is Important. Every sentence resonates. My summation is Don’t Waste Life! When Thich Nhat Hanh says\, “Time is very precious: every minute every hour counts. We don’t want to throw time away\,” I remember what I say to others: I wish there were two more hours in a day\, two more days in a week\, two more weeks in a month! Think of the things I could do! Find more beautiful mountain meadows. Make more meals for the Ziegler family. Plant another sweet gum  tree for fall. Sleep more nights in the playhouse. Invite little Lily Contreras again for milk and cookies in the playhouse. See\, if I had more hours\, more days\, I could squeeze so much more out of life.  \n  \nThis idea is not just a recent Time-is-running-out-because-I’m-getting-older-by-the-minute thought; I have thought this for as long as I can remember. \n  \nLife is so short! \n  \nLive it! \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \n(These are excerpts from Michel’s meditation journal. The numbers refer to meditations by Thich Nhat Hanh in Your True Home.) \n  \nNovember 3\, 2021  #190 A Wonderful Opportunity \n  \nI enjoy the idea of being a refuge for others. It’s a way to help and to heal the world\, which demands nothing more from me than I’m already doing for my own well-being. I can still develop a proactive aspect also\, but by simply caring for the self—deliberate breathing practice\, being happy\, accepting the reality that is instead of focusing on what I may wish it to be—I can be a happy\, peaceful haven for others around me\, many of whom seem weary from all of their machinations and façade maintenance\, which they believe will provide happiness and safety. I can simply “be” and allow peace to develop around me\, as strife eventually falls away. I’m not being naïve about this. It takes a great deal of time to develop for/around anyone. At the same time\, my efforts to not create my own strife will attract others seeking the same. As I create a world of peace through my choices\, the world I live in will reflect that back to me\, over time. \n  \nNovember 7\, 2021  #191 Love is Understanding \n  \nI have experienced the truth of this teaching. Although I will add\, it has not always been easy to see or accept the understanding. Other times it can be as easy as accepting the axiom: “hurt people\, hurt people.” In this I can often see a (general) cause and from this arises acceptance\, love and compassion…. \n  \nI write this because to develop love from understanding is going to show\, even if one doesn’t set out to do so. It just “leaks” out. Love can’t be contained. No matter how intensely or thoroughly one may attempt to hide or contain it\, love will find its expression in this world. So\, don’t fight it. Let it come out as you feel it is best to share. And rest knowing that: Love does indeed coquer all. A caveat is that it is genuine and altruistic\, not the least bit self-serving\, contrived\, or stifled. Let it loose and let love reign. \n  \nNovember 17\, 2021  #196 A Relaxation Practice \n  \nEveryone can appreciate one of these\, right? It’s so simple and yet very rewarding to do. I only wish I could go to a park\, or a lake\, or a river or stream for a relaxing\, mindful walk. I guess I can go in my mind through memory\, reliving a moment\, or just recalling the river\, lake\, park\, etc.\, and recall the sights and sounds\, while attending to how I experience them (anew) now. I could also relive that moment fully by recalling the physical sensations—the gentle touch of the breeze\, the sounds of the birds in the trees\, the gurgling river\, the light softly filtered by the trees bathing my “moment\,” the pungent aroma of nature\, and even the body sensations that ground me in the moment. I wish I could share this memory with each one\, but I’m certain that everyone has a relaxing memory to recall. \n  \nNovember 18\, 2021  #197 Elegant Silence \n  \nI agree. I have had an experience of this. It’s calming. In a chaotic world\, wherever one lives\, having a retreat\, of sorts\, in the mind\, where one may go to experience cessation of noise…can be very rewarding. Don’t take my word for it. Just start a daily practice\, focus on the natural uncontrolled breath\, and watch thoughts as they float by consciousness as clouds\, without attaching or grasping onto them. With time\, the mind quiets\, after a habit is stabilized\, and you’ll notice elegance. Don’t “look” for it. It may only be a glimpse. Or\, something to notice after it happened. Seeking and finding aren’t the point. Being open and available to what “is” is the goal\, and even that is not an “end\,” but just a beginning of learning to just “be”—whatever may come. It’s a type of flow—like floating a river instead of resisting it. \n  \nNovember 25\, 2021  Thanks Giving Day!  #199 Driving Lesson \n  \nToday is an amazing day! I’m alive! I woke up again. I’m sort of like the rooster in the latest Peter Rabbit movie\, exclaiming surprise and joy at being alive to see another day. I have much to be thankful for\, such as: family and friends and comrades in the prison\, too!….I’m housed in a safe\, warm space where I can communicate with others for my needs\, as well as for social contact and mental wellness. I have food to enjoy\, and even “special” foods for today…. \n  \n—Michael Deforge \n* \n  \n(Last year about this time\, my friend Rocky Hutchinson was in segregation. I wrote him a “meditation letter” in the hope that it would be helpful to him in getting through a difficult time. Here it is:) (JS) \n  \nDecember 26\, 2020 \n  \nDear Rocky \n  \nThinking of you this morning. I start each day with inner stillness. It seems to me that it would be good for you to start your day by being still. And throughout each day to find moments of peace and stillness. \nThis letter will be a kind of guided meditation. \nSit quietly. Comfortably. Eyes open. Notice breath. Body. See what’s around you\, but don’t name it\, or think about it. Just observe. \nBreath. No past. No problems. No worries. No Rocky. \nNo past. No future. Breath. \nThe present moment is a wonderful moment. I am alive. I breathe. I see with my eyes.  \nWhen I close my eyes\, the world disappears. When I open them\, it reappears. Wonderful! \nCalm. Peace. Quiet. \nThoughts arise. Say: “Thank you. No thank you.” \nBack to stillness. Back to breath. \nWhen you drop a pebble into a pool\, it makes little ripples. After a while the surface of the pool is still. Thoughts are like those pebbles. Thoughts are not bad. All thoughts are just thoughts. Happy thoughts\, sad thoughts\, are just thoughts. In between the thoughts is perfect emptiness. Perfect fullness. \nSitting still\, there are no problems. There are no worries. Each moment of stillness is a vacation from being Rocky. From the past. From guilt. From shame. From pride. \nThe future has not arrived. It never arrives. The future is uncertain. Everything is always changing. We don’t know what will happen. In this moment we can bless the day. Say thank you for our breath. For the gift of life. For the gift of awareness. \nIn silence\, we are free. In silence\, a feeling of boundless being. Even if the silence is just for a few seconds\, it nourishes us. And so\, we return to it again and again. Whenever we can. \nAllow thought and language to fall away. Just be. Be without a boundary. Be without beginning or end. No past. No future. Awake. Aware.  \nThoughts come and go. Observe them like clouds\, floating by in the sky. The brain is used to being very active—to thinking and imagining one thing after another. Allow it to slowly\, slowly quiet down. To have a rest. \nNotice how stupid and repetitive all the thoughts are. How useless. The mind is like a noisy radio playing terrible music and dumb advertisements all day long. Gently turn down the volume. Gently turn it off. Breathe. \nAwake. Aware. No boundary. No inside or out. No here or there. No ideas. No memories. No worries. \nEverything\, without exception\, is miraculous. This moment\, perfect. All my stories are just stories. All my thoughts are just thoughts. Watch the thoughts come and go\, like clouds floating by in the sky. Return again and again to stillness. To the peace which passeth understanding.  \nBless the day. The present moment is a wonderful moment. It has no beginning or end. \n* \nWell that’s about it for that. \nI think it would also be good to read the Hsin Hsin Ming slowly every day\, in a meditative way. It only makes sense in the context of meditation. You could learn it by heart. It is a doorway to freedom. \nMeditation and mindfulness and silence are part of the dance of life. Without inner peace\, life becomes confusing and overwhelming. All our fears become magnified. We torture ourselves. We become depressed. And anxious. Our thoughts drive us mad. \nAs you water the seeds of inner peace\, it grows—and becomes stronger every day. With a sense of well-being and quiet joy you can face all the problems and challenges of life.  \nIn silence\, problems are dissolved. They don’t arise.  \nPlease stay safe. Always choose the option that is the safest one.  \nTake good care of yourself. You are a good person. You have a loving heart. \nWater the seeds of peace\, love\, happiness and understanding. Don’t water seeds of anger\, hatred or fear. \nThis day is a perfect day. Don’t waste this precious day being miserable. \nPractice the Metta Prayer for yourself and for others: \nMay I be happy. \nMay I be well in body and mind. \nMay I be peaceful and at ease. \nMay I live in love. \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \n(Deborah sent two short pieces from Raids on the Unspeakable by Thomas Merton\, and a poem she wrote.) \n  \nRain and the Rhinoceros \n  \nLet me say this before rain becomes a utility that they can plan and distribute for money. By “they” I mean the people who cannot understand that rain is a festival\, who do not appreciate its gratuity\, who think that what has no price has no value\, that what cannot be sold is not real\, so that the only way to make something actual is to place it on the market. The time will come when they will sell you even your rain. At the moment it is still free\, and I am in it. I celebrate its gratuity and its meaninglessness. \n  \nThe rain I am in is not like the rain of cities. It fills the woods with an immense and confused sound. It covers the flat roof of the cabin and its porch with insistent and controlled rhythms. And I listen\, because it reminds me again and again that the whole world runs by rhythms I have not yet learned to recognize\, rhythms that are not those of the engineer. \n  \nI came up here from the monastery last night\, sloshing through the cornfield\, said Vespers\, and put some oatmeal on the Coleman stove for supper. It boiled over while I was listening to the rain and toasting a piece of bread at the log fire. The night became very dark. The rain surrounded the whole cabin with its enormous virginal myth\, a whole world of meaning\, of secrecy\, of silence\, of rumor. Think of it: all that speech pouring down\, selling nothing\, judging nobody\, drenching the thick mulch of dead leaves\, soaking the trees\, filling the gullies and crannies of the wood with water\, washing out the places where men have stripped the hillside! What a thing it is to sit absolutely alone\, in the forest\, at night\, cherished by this wonderful\, unintelligible\, perfectly innocent speech\, the most comforting speech in the world\, the talk that rain makes by itself all over the ridges\, and the talk of the watercourses everywhere in the hollows! \n  \nNobody started it\, nobody is going to stop it. It will talk as long as it wants\, this rain. As long as it talks I am going to listen. (pp. 9-10) \n  \n  \nLetter to an Innocent Bystander \n  \nThe true solutions are not those which we force upon life in accordance with our theories\, but those which life itself provides for those who dispose themselves to receive the truth. Consequently our task is to dissociate ourselves from all who have theories which promise clear-cut and infallible solutions\, and to mistrust all such theories\, not in a spirit of negativism and defeat\, but rather trusting life itself\, and nature\, and if you will permit me\, God above all. For since man has decided to occupy the place of God he has shown himself to be by far the blindest\, the cruelest\, and pettiest and most ridiculous of all the false gods. We can call ourselves innocent only if we refuse to forget this\, and if we also do everything we can to make others realize it. (p. 61) \n  \n—Thomas Merton \n  \n  \nWhat Do I Know? \n  \nClosing my eyes\, \na silent darkness\, \nlight \nat the edges. \nMy breath moves \nup and down\, \nholding each moment\, \ninhalation \nthen release. \n  \nThe human heart \nis quixotic\, \nmalleable\, \nalmost like a berry \nin the palm of my hand. \n  \nIn my ears\, \na deeper space \nthat stretches out\,  \na disappearing \nreverberation. \n  \nWe touch nothingness. \n  \n  \n—Deborah Buchanan \n* \n  \n(Katie Radditz shares two poems and some of her thoughts:) \n  \nIn Celebration of the Winter Solstice  \n  \nDo not be afraid of the darkness.\nDark is the rich fertile earth\nthat cradles the seed\, nourishing growth.\nDark is the soft night that cradles us to rest.\nOnly in darkness\ncan stars shine across the vastness of space.\nOnly in darkness\nis the moon’s dance so clear.\nThere is mystery woven in the dark quiet hours.\nThere is magic in the darkness.  \n  \nDo not be afraid.\nWe are born of this magic.\nIt fills our dreams\nthat root\, unravel and reweave themselves\nin the shelter of the deep dark night.\nThe dark has its own hue\,\nits own resonance\, its own breath.\nIt fills our soul\,\nnot with despair\, but with promise.\nDark is the gestation of our deep and knowing self.\nDark is the cave where we rest and renew our soul.\nWe are born of the darkness\,\nand each night we return\nto the deep moist womb of our beginnings.  \n  \nDo not be afraid of the darkness\,\nfor in the depth of that very darkness\ncomes a first glimpse of our own light\,\nthe pure inner light of love and knowing.\nAs it glows and grows\, the darkness recedes.\nAs we shed our light\, we shed our fear\,\nand revel in the wonder of all that is revealed.  \n  \nSo\, do not rush the coming of the sun.\nDo not crave the lengthening of the day.\nCelebrate the darkness.\nHere and now. A time of richness. A time of joy.  \n  \n—Stephanie Noble  \n  \nStephanie Noble is an insight meditation teacher\, author and board member of the Buddhist Insight Network. Many resources are on her website.  \n  \nThay encourages us to nourish those seeds underground (he calls it\, “our store consciousness”); look deeply and heal through touching those feelings you wish to grow. This is a good time to meditate\, on Loving-Kindness\, toward ourselves as well as others : \n  \nMay I be at ease\, \nMay I know the light of my True Nature \nMay I be healed \nMay I be a source of healing for All Beingss \nMay I be at Peace \n  \nThis meditation can sooth\, be repeated for “you” and “we.” Weekly\, this past year\, I have meditated with a small\, open group and felt a shift in some of those blocked places within. Always\, i feel connected with you all\, my extended love-in community. In the dark time that is also the time of giving\, may our hearts remain open!    \n  \nlove\, katie \n  \nHere is a parting gift from poet Robert Bly\, a poem that embraces grief as he embraces being alive.   \n  \nKEEPING OUR SMALL BOAT AFLOAT \n  \nSo many blessings have been given to us\nDuring the first distribution of light\, that we are\nAdmired in a thousand galaxies for our grief. \n  \nDon’t expect us to appreciate creation or to\nAvoid mistakes. Each of us is a latecomer\nTo the earth\, picking up wood for the fire. \n  \nEvery night another beam of light slips out\nFrom the oyster’s closed eye. So don’t give up hope\nthat the door of mercy may still be open. \n  \nSeth and Shem\, tell me\, are you still grieving\nOver the spark of light that descended with no\nDefender near into the Egypt of Mary’s womb? \n  \nIt’s hard to grasp how much generosity\nIs involved in letting us go on breathing\,\nWhen we contribute nothing valuable but our grief. \n  \nEach of us deserves to be forgiven\, if only for\nOur persistence in keeping our small boat afloat\nWhen so many have gone down in the storm. \n  \n  \n— Robert Bly\, first Poet Laureate of Minnesota (December 23\, 1926-November 21\, 2021)
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-12-15-21/
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DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20211212T150000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20211212T170000
DTSTAMP:20260425T071533
CREATED:20211209T173825Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20211209T173919Z
UID:2509-1639321200-1639328400@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!  12/12/21
DESCRIPTION:  \n  \nSome stories get better with each telling. This is one of those stories. Charles Dickens used to do public readings of an abridged version of “A Christmas Carol” at this time of year. This is based on his abridged version. On Sunday\, December 12th\, at 3 pm (PST) our Bibliophiles Unanimous! Zoom gathering will feature a Group Reading of this version of A Christmas Carol. Here’s the link: \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058 \n  \nIt’s gonna be fun! I hope you can join us!  \n  \nMerry Christmas!  \n  \nGod Bless Us Every One! 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-12-12-21/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20211209
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20211223
DTSTAMP:20260425T071533
CREATED:20211209T171214Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20211209T171700Z
UID:2500-1639008000-1640217599@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  12/9/21
DESCRIPTION:  \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \n  \nDecember 9\, 2021 \n  \n  \nSome stories get better with each telling. This is one of those stories. Charles Dickens used to do public readings of an abridged version of “A Christmas Carol” at this time of year. This is based on his abridged version. On Sunday\, December 12th\, at 3 pm (PST) our Bibliophiles Unanimous! Zoom gathering will feature a Group Reading of this version of A Christmas Carol. Here’s the link: \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058 \n  \nIt’s gonna be fun! I hope you can join us! Merry Christmas! God Bless Us Every One! (J.S.) \n  \n  \nA Christmas Carol \n  \n  \nStoryteller:  Marley was dead. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman\, the clerk\, the undertaker\, and the chief mourner\, Ebenezer Scrooge. \nOld Marley was dead as a doornail. \nScrooge knew he was dead? Of course he did. How could it be otherwise? Scrooge and he were partners for…I don’t know how many years. Scrooge was his sole executor\, his sole administrator\, his sole friend\, his sole mourner. \nScrooge never painted out old Marley’s name\, however. There it yet stood\, years afterwards\, above the warehouse door—Scrooge and Marley. The firm was known as Scrooge and Marley. Sometimes people new to the business called Scrooge “Scrooge\,” and sometimes “Marley.” He answered to both names. It was all the same to him. \nO\, but he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone—a squeezing\, wrenching\, grasping\, scraping\, clutching\, covetous old sinner! External heat and cold had little influence on him. No warmth could warm\, no cold could chill him. No wind that blew was bitterer than he. No falling snow was more intent upon its purpose\, no pelting rain less open to entreaty. \nNobody ever stopped him in the street to say\, with gladsome looks\, “My dear Scrooge\, how are you? When will you come to see me?” No beggars implored him to bestow a trifle\, no children asked him what it was o’clock\, no man or woman ever once in all his life inquired the way to such and such a place of Scrooge. Even the blindmen’s dogs appeared to know him; and when they saw him coming on\, would tug their owners into doorways. \nBut what did Scrooge care?! It was the very thing he liked. To edge his way along the crowded paths of life\, warning all human sympathy to keep its distance. \nOnce upon a time of all the good days of the year\, upon a Christmas eve\, old Scrooge sat busy in his countinghouse. It was cold\, bleak\, biting weather\, and he could hear the people in the court outside go wheezing up and down\, beating their hands upon their breasts\, and stamping their feet upon the pavement stones to warm them. The city clocks had only just gone three\, but it was quite dark already. \nThe door of Scrooge’s countinghouse was open\, that he might keep his eye upon his clerk\, who\, in a dismal little cell beyond\, a sort of tank\, was copying letters. Scrooge had a very small fire\, but the clerk’s fire was so very much smaller that it looked like one coal. But he couldn’t replenish it\, for Scrooge kept the coal box in his own room; and so surely as the clerk came in with his shovel the master predicted that it would be necessary for them to part. Wherefore  the clerk put on his white comforter\, and tried to warm himself at the candle; in which effort\, not being a man of strong imagination\, he failed. \nScrooge’s Nephew:  A merry Christmas\, uncle! God save you! \nScrooge:  Bah! Humbug! \nScrooge’s Nephew:  Christmas a humbug\, uncle?! You don’t mean that\, I am sure. \nScrooge:  I do. Out upon merry Christmas! What’s Christmas time to you but a time for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a year older\, and not an hour richer; a time for balancing your books and having every item in ‘em through a round dozen of months presented dead against you? If I had my will\, every idiot who goes about with “Merry Christmas” on his lips should be boiled with his own pudding\, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. He should! \nScrooge’s Nephew:  Uncle! \nScrooge:  Nephew\, keep Christmas in your own way\, and let me keep it in mine. \nScrooge’s Nephew:  Keep it? But you don’t keep it. \nScrooge:  Let me leave it alone\, then. Much good may it do you! Much good it has ever done you! \nScrooge’s Nephew:  There are many things from which I might have derived good\, by which I have not profited\, I dare say\, Christmas among the rest. I have always thought of Christmas time as a good time; a kind\, forgiving\, charitable\, pleasant time; the only time I know of when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely\, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-travelers to the grave\, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore\, uncle\, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket\, I believe that it has done me good\, and will do me good: and I say\, God bless it! \n(Clerk claps.) \nScrooge:  Let me hear another sound from you and you’ll keep your Christmas by losing your situation! You’re quite a powerful speaker\, sir. I wonder you don’t go into Parliament. \nScrooge’s Nephew:  Don’t be angry\, uncle. Come! Dine with us tomorrow. \nScrooge:  I’ll see you…in hell first. \nScrooge’s Nephew:  But why? Why? \nScrooge:  Why did you get married? \nScrooge’s Nephew:  Because I fell in love. \nScrooge:  Because you fell in love! Good afternoon! \nScrooge’s Nephew:  Nay\, uncle\, but you never came to see me before that happened. Why give it as a reason for not coming now? \nScrooge:  Good afternoon! \nScrooge’s Nephew:  I want nothing from you; I ask nothing of you; why cannot we be friends? \nScrooge:  Good afternoon! \nScrooge’s Nephew:  I am sorry\, with all my heart\, to find you so resolute. We have never had any quarrel. But I’ll keep my Christmas humor to the last. So\, a Merry Christmas\, uncle! \nScrooge:  Good afternoon! \nScrooge’s Nephew:  And a Happy New Year! \nScrooge:  Good afternoon! \nScrooge’s Nephew:  (Leaving. To Bob Cratchit.)  Merry Christmas. \nCratchit:  Merry Christmas. \nScrooge:  There’s another fellow\, my clerk\, with fifteen shillings a week\, and a wife and family\, talking about a merry Christmas. He’ll retire to Bedlam. \n(Two portly gentlemen enter.) \nFirst Gentleman:  Scrooge and Marley’s\, I believe. Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr. Scrooge\, or Mr. Marley? \nScrooge:  Mr. Marley has been dead these seven years. He died seven years ago\, this very night. \nSecond Gentleman:  We have no doubt his liberality is well represented by his surviving partner. At this festive season of the year\, Mr. Scrooge\, it is more than usually desirable that we should make some slight provision for the poor and destitute\, who suffer greatly at the present time. Many thousands are in want of common necessaries; hundreds of thousands are in want of common comforts\, sir. \nScrooge:  Are there no prisons? \nFirst Gentleman:  Plenty of prisons. But under the impression that they scarcely furnish cheer of mind or body to the unoffending multitude\, a few of us are endeavoring to raise a fund to buy the poor some meat and drink\, and means of warmth. \nSecond Gentleman:  We choose this time\, because it is a time\, of all others\, when Want is keenly felt\, and Abundance rejoices. What shall I put you down for? \nScrooge:  Nothing! \nFirst Gentleman:  You wish to be anonymous? \nScrooge:  I wish to be left alone. Since you ask me what I wish\, gentlemen\, that is my answer. I don’t make merry myself at Christmas\, and I can’t afford to make idle people merry. I help to support the prisons and the workhouses—they cost enough—and those who are badly off must go there. \nSecond Gentleman:  Many can’t go there. \nFirst Gentleman:  Many would rather die. \nScrooge:  If they had rather die\, they had better do it\, and decrease the surplus population. \nSecond Gentleman:  (Leaving.)  Good day\, sir. \nFirst Gentleman:  Merry Christmas.  \nScrooge:  Bah! Humbug! \nBoth Gentlemen:  (To Cratchit.)  Merry Christmas. \nCratchit:  Merry Christmas. \n(Scrooge and Cratchit return to their work. Scrooge is very pleased with himself. Some time goes by. Scrooge gets off his stool\, which means that it’s time to close up shop. Cratchit snuffs his candle and puts on his hat.) \nScrooge:  You’ll want all day tomorrow\, I suppose? \nCratchit:  If it’s convenient. \nScrooge:  It’s not convenient\, and it’s not fair. If I was to stop half a crown for it\, you’d think yourself mightily ill-used. And yet you don’t think me ill-used when I pay a day’s wages for no work. \nCratchit:  It’s only once a year\, sir. \nScrooge:  A poor excuse for picking a man’s pocket every twenty-fifth of December! But I suppose you must have the whole day. Be here early the next morning. \nCratchit:  I will. \n(Scrooge goes out with a growl\, followed by Bob Cratchit.) \nStoryteller:  The office was closed in a twinkling\, and the clerk went down a slide\, at the end of a lane of boys\, twenty times\, in honor of its being Christmas eve\, and then ran home as hard as he could pelt\, to play at blindman’s bluff. \nScrooge took his usual dinner in his usual melancholy tavern; and having read all the newspapers\, and beguiled the rest of the evening with his banker’s book\, went home to bed. He double-locked the door\, took off his coat\, put on his nightshirt\, slippers and cap\, and sat down before the fire. It was a very low fire indeed; nothing on such a bitter night. He had to sit close to it\, and brood over it\, before he could extract the least sensation of warmth from such a handful of fuel. \nThen there came a clanking noise\, deep down below\, as if some person were dragging a heavy chain. Then he heard the noise much louder\, on the floors below; then coming up the stairs; then coming straight toward his door. \nScrooge:  It’s humbug! I won’t believe it. \nStoryteller:  His color changed\, though\, when\, without a pause\, it came on through the heavy door\, and passed into the room before his eyes. Upon its coming in\, the dying flame leaped up\, as though it cried\, “I know him; Marley’s Ghost!” and fell again. \nThe same face\, the very same. Marley in his usual waistcoat\, tights and boots. The chain he drew was clasped about his middle. It was long\, and wound around him like a tail; it was made of cash-boxes\, keys\, padlocks\, ledgers\, deeds and heavy purses wrought in steel. His body was transparent\, so that Scrooge\, observing him\, and looking through his waistcoat\, could see the two buttons on his coat behind. \nThough he looked the phantom through and through\, and saw it standing before him—though he felt the chilling influence of its death-cold eyes\, he was still incredulous. \nScrooge:  How now?! What do you want with me? \nMarley:  Much! \nScrooge:  Who are you? \nMarley:  Ask me who I was. \nScrooge:  Who were you then? \nMarley:  In life I was your partner\, Jacob Marley. \nScrooge:  Can you…can you sit down? \nMarley:  I can. \nScrooge:  Do it\, then. \nMarley:  You don’t believe in me. \nScrooge:  I don’t. \nMarley:  What evidence would you have of my reality beyond that of your senses? \nScrooge:  I don’t know. \nMarley:  Why do you doubt your senses? \nScrooge:  Because a little thing affects them. A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats. You may be an undigested bit of beef\, a blot of mustard\, a crumb of cheese\, a fragment of underdone potato. There’s more of gravy than of the grave about you\, whatever you are! \nMarley:  Ahhhhhhh! Man of the worldly mind! Do you believe in me\, or not? \nScrooge:   I do! I do! I must! But…dreadful apparition\, why do you trouble me? Why do spirits walk the earth\, and why do they come to me? \nMarley:  It is required of every man\, that the spirit within him should walk abroad among his fellow men\, and travel far and wide; and if that spirit goes not forth in life\, it is condemned to do so after death and witness what it cannot share\, but might have shared on earth\, and turned to happiness! Oh\, woe is me! \nScrooge:  You are fettered. Tell me why. \nMarley:  I wear the chain I forged in life. I made it link by link and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will\, and of my own free will I wore it. Is its pattern strange to you? Or would you know the weight and length of the strong coil you bear yourself? It is a ponderous chain! \nScrooge:  Jacob\, Old Jacob Marley\, tell me more. Speak comfort to me\, Jacob! \nMarley:  I have none to give. I cannot tell you what I would. A very little more is all that is permitted to me. I cannot rest\, I cannot stay\, I cannot linger anywhere. My spirit never walked beyond our countinghouse—mark me!—in life my spirit never roved beyond the narrow limits of our money-changing hole; and weary journeys lie before me! Oh blind man\, blind man! Not to know that no space of regret can make amends for one’s life’s opportunities misused! Yet such was I! Such was I! \nScrooge:  But you were always a good man of business\, Jacob! \nMarley:  Business? Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business; charity\, mercy\, forbearance\, benevolence\, were all my business. The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business! Hear me! My time is nearly gone. I am here tonight to warn you that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate. A chance and hope of my procuring\, Ebenezer. \nScrooge:  You were always a good friend to me. \nMarley:  You will be haunted by Three Spirits. \nScrooge:  Is that the chance and hope you mentioned\, Jacob? I…I think I’d rather not. \nMarley:  Without their visits\, you cannot hope to shun the path I tread. Look to see me no more. And look that\, for your own sake\, you remember what has passed between us. \nStoryteller:  It walked backward from him\, and at every step it took\, the window raised itself a little\, so that\, when the apparition reached it\, it was wide open\, and it floated out upon the bleak\, dark night. \nScrooge closed the window\, and examined the door by which the Ghost had entered. It was double-locked\, as he had locked it with his own hands\, and the bolts were undisturbed. Scrooge tried to say “Humbug!” but stopped at the first syllable. And being\, from the emotion he had undergone\, or the fatigues of the day\, or his glimpse of the invisible world\, or the lateness of the hour\, much in need of repose\, he went straight to bed\, without undressing\, and fell asleep on the instant. \nWhen Scrooge awoke\, it was so dark that\, looking out of bed\, he could scarcely distinguish the transparent window from the opaque walls of his chamber—until suddenly the church clock tolled a deep\, dull\, hollow\, melancholy ONE. \nLight flashed up in the room\, and a strange figure appeared: like a child\, and like an old man. Its hair was white\, as if with age\, and yet the face had not a wrinkle in it\, and the tenderest bloom was on the skin. It held a branch of fresh green holly in its hand\, and yet its dress was trimmed with summer flowers. But the strangest thing about it was that from the crown of its head there sprung a bright clear jet of light\, by which all this was visible\, and which was doubtless the occasion of its using\, in its duller moments\, a great extinguisher cap\, which it now held under its arm. \nScrooge:  Are you the Spirit\, sir\, whose coming was foretold to me. \nGhost of Christmas Past:  I am. \nScrooge:  Who and what are you? \nGhost of Christmas Past:  I am the Ghost of Christmas Past. \nScrooge:  Long past? \nGhost of Christmas Past:  No. Your past. \nScrooge:  Would you mind putting on your cap? \nGhost of Christmas Past:  What?! Would you so soon put out the light I give? \nScrooge:  No\, no. Of course not. What business brings you here? \nGhost of Christmas Past:  Your welfare. Rise\, and walk with me! (Takes Scrooge by he hand\, leads him to the open window\, and prepares to fly out.) \nScrooge:  I am a mortal\, and liable to fall! \nGhost of Christmas Past:  Bear a touch of my hand upon your heart\, and you shall be upheld in more than this! \nStoryteller:  They flew through the air until they came to a country road\, with fields on either side. The city had entirely vanished. It was a clear\, cold\, winter day\, with snow upon the ground. \nScrooge:  Good Heaven! I was bred in this place. I was a boy here! \nGhost of Christmas Past:  You remember the way? \nScrooge:  Remember it? I could walk it blindfolded. \nStoryteller:  They walked along the road—Scrooge recognizing every gate\, and post\, and tree—until a little market town appeared in the distance.  Some shaggy ponies now were seen trotting towards them with boys upon their backs\, who called to other boys in country gigs and carts\, driven by farmers. All these boys were in great spirits\, and shouted to each other\, until the broad fields were so full of merry music that the crisp air laughed to hear it. \nGhost of Christmas Past:  These things are but shadows of the things that have been; they will have no consciousness of us. \nStoryteller:  But Scrooge knew and named them\, every one. Why was he rejoiced beyond all bounds to see them? Why was he filled with gladness when he heard them wish each other Merry Christmas\, as they parted at cross-roads and bye-ways\, for their several homes? What was merry Christmas to Scrooge? Out upon merry Christmas! What good had it ever done him? \nGhost of Christmas Past:  The school is not quite deserted. A solitary child\, neglected by his friends\, is left there still. \nStoryteller:  They went to a door at the back of the house. It opened before them\, and disclosed a long\, bare\, melancholy room\, made barer still by the lines of plain desks. At one of these a lonely boy was reading near a feeble fire. Scrooge sat down and looked at his poor forgotten self as he used to be. \nScrooge:  Poor boy. I wish…but it’s too late now. \nGhost of Christmas Past:  What is the matter? \nScrooge:  Nothing\, nothing. There was a boy singing a Christmas carol at my door last night. I should like to have given him something: that’s all. \nGhost of Christmas Past:  Let us see another Christmas!  (The boy Scrooge stands up and is now some years older. Scrooge’s younger sister comes in.) \nScrooge’s Sister:  Dear\, dear brother! I have come to bring you home\, dear brother! To bring you home\, home\, home! Home\, for good and all. Home\, for ever and ever. Father is so much kinder than he used to be\, that home’s like Heaven! He spoke so gently to me one night when I was going to bed\, that I was not afraid to ask him once more if you might come home. And he said “Yes!\,” you should. And he sent me a coach to bring you\, and you are never to come back here. And we’ll be together all the Christmas long\, and have the merriest time in all the world! \nGhost of Christmas Past:  Always a delicate creature\, your sister\, whom a breath might have withered. But she had a large heart! \nScrooge:  So she had. \nGhost of Christmas Past:  She died a woman\, and had\, as I think\, children. \nScrooge:  One child. \nGhost of Christmas Past:  True\, your nephew! \nScrooge:  Yes. \nStoryteller:  They were now in the busy thoroughfare of a city\, and it was Christmas time again\, but it was evening\, and the streets were lighted up. The Ghost stopped at a certain warehouse door. \nGhost of Christmas Past:  Do you know this place? \nScrooge:  Know it?! I was apprenticed here!  (They go in. Fezziwig sits at his desk.)   \nScrooge:  Why\, its old Fezziwig! Bless his heart\, it’s Fezziwig\, alive again! \nFezziwig:  (Gets up.) Yo ho\, there! Ebenezer! Dick! (Dick Wilkins and young Scrooge come in.) \nScrooge:  Dick Wilkins\, to be sure. My old fellow-‘prentice\, bless me. Yes\, there he is. He was very much attached to me\, was Dick. Poor Dick! Dear\, dear! \nFezziwig:  Yo ho\, my boys! No work tonight. Christmas Eve\, Dick. Christmas\, Ebenezer! Let’s have the shutters up\, before a man can say Jack Robinson! Clear away\, my lads\, and let’s have lots of room here! (They bustle about. The room fills up with guests\, including Mrs. Fezziwig and their three daughters. Maybe the piano player could play a tune\, while a lively dance is improvised.) \nStoryteller:  There were more dances\, and more dances\, and there was cake\, and there was a great piece of Cold Roast\, and there were mince-pies and plenty of beer. When the clock struck eleven this domestic ball broke up. (Everyone says “Merry Christmas” to the Fezziwigs as they leave.) \nGhost of Christmas Past:  A small matter\, to make these silly folks so full of gratitude. \nScrooge:  Small? \nGhost of Christmas Past:  He has spent but a few pounds of your mortal money—three or four\, perhaps. \nScrooge:  It isn’t that\, Spirit.He has the power to render us happy or unhappy\, to make our service light or burdensome\, a pleasure or a toil. The happiness he gives is quite as great as if it cost a fortune. \nGhost of Christmas Past:  What is the matter? \nScrooge:  Nothing particular. \nGhost of Christmas Past:  Something\, I think. \nScrooge:  No\, no. I should like to be able to say a word or two to my clerk just now. That’s all. \nGhost of Christmas Past:  My time grows short. Quick! (The young Scrooge comes back in and sits next to a young woman.) \nYoung Woman:  (Tears in her eyes.) It matters little to you. Another idol has displaced me. If it can comfort you in time to come\, as I would have tried to do\, I have no just cause to grieve. \nScrooge:  What idol has displaced you? \nYoung Woman:  A golden one. You fear the world too much. I have seen your nobler aspirations fall off one by one\, until the master-passion\, Gain\, engrosses you. \nScrooge:  What then? Even if I have grown so much wiser\, what then? I am not changed towards you. Have I ever sought release from our engagement? \nYoung Woman:  In words\, no. Never. \nScrooge:  In what\, then? \nYoung Woman: In a changed nature.If you were free today\, can I believe that you would choose a poor girl? Or that you would not repent that choice? And so\, I release you. With a full heart\, for the love of him you once were. May you be happy in the life you have chosen. (She leaves.) \nScrooge:  Spirit\, show me no more! Take me home. Why do you delight to torture me? \nGhost of Christmas Past:  I told you these were shadows of the things that have been. Do not blame me that they are what they are. \nScrooge:  Leave me! Take me back. Haunt me no longer! \nStoryteller:  Scrooge seized the extinguisher cap and pressed it down upon the Spirit’s head. The flame went out. The Spirit dropped down. \nScrooge was conscious of being exhausted\, and overcome by an irresistible drowsiness. He was back in his own bedroom. He fell into a heavy sleep. \nWhen the clock struck again\, Scrooge was suddenly wide awake: waiting for the next Spirit to appear. After a while\, when a Spirit failed to materialize\, he notice a great light coming from the adjoining room. He shuffled in his slippers into the next room and saw that it had undergone a surprising transformation. The walls and ceiling were so hung with living green that it seemed like a grove. Leaves of holly\, mistletoe and ivy reflected the light\, as if many little mirrors had been scattered there. A mighty blaze went roaring up the chimney: a blaze never known in Scrooge’s time! \nHeaped upon the floor\, to form a kind of throne\, were turkeys\, geese\, game\, great joints of meat\, sucking pigs\, long wreaths of sausages\, mince pies\, plum puddings\, barrels of oysters\, red-hot chestnuts\, cherry-cheeked apples\, juicy oranges\, luscious pears\, immense twelfth-night cakes\, and great bowls of punch. In easy state upon this couch there sat a Giant\, glorious to see\, who bore a glowing torch\, shaped like Plenty’s horn\, that shed its light upon Scrooge\, as he came peeping round the door. \nGhost of Christmas Present:  Come in! Come in and know me better\, man! I am the Ghost of Christmas Present. Look upon me! \nStoryteller:  He was clothed in a simple green robe\, bordered with white fur. His feet were bare\, and on his head he wore a holly wreath\, set here and there with shining icicles. He had a genial face\, sparkling eyes\, and a joyful disposition. \nGhost of Christmas Present:  You have never seen the like of me before! \nScrooge:  Never. \nGhost of Christmas Present:  Have never walked forth with the members of my family who came before me? \nScrooge:  I don’t think so. I’m afraid not. Have you many brothers\, Spirit? \nGhost of Christmas Present:  More than eighteen hundred. \nScrooge: A tremendous family to provide for! \nGhost of Christmas Present:  Come! Touch my robe! (Scrooge does so.) \nStoryteller:  The room and all its contents vanished instantly. They stood in the city streets upon a snowy Christmas morning. \nScrooge and the Ghost passed on\, invisible\, straight to the home of Scrooge’s clerk\, Bob Cratchit. \nFirst they encountered Mrs. Cratchit\, dressed in a simple gown\, adorned with ribbons\, which are cheap\, but make a goodly show for sixpence. She was assisted in laying the cloth upon the table by her oldest daughter\, Belinda Cratchit. Master Peter Cratchit plunged a fork into the saucepan of potatoes. And now two smaller Cratchits\, a boy and a girl\, came tearing in. They danced about the table while Master Peter blew the fire\, until the slow potatoes\, bubbling up\, knocked loudly at the saucepan lid to be let out and peeled. \nMrs. Cratchit:  What has ever got your father? And your brother\, Tiny Tim? \nTwo Young Cratchits:  There’s father coming! \nStoryteller:  In came Bob\, the father\, with Tiny Tim upon his shoulder. Alas for poor Tiny Tim\, he bore a little crutch\, and had his limbs supported by an iron frame! The two young Cratchits hustled Tiny Tim off to the wash-house that he might hear the pudding singing in the copper. \nMrs. Cratchit:  And how did little Tim behave? \nBob Cratchit:  As good as gold\, and better. Somehow he gets thoughtful\, sitting by himself so much\, and thinks the strangest things you ever heard. He told me\, coming home\, that he hoped the people saw him in the church\, because he was a cripple\, and it might be pleasant to them to remember\, upon Christmas day\, who made the lame beggars walk and the blind see. He’s growing strong and hearty. \nStoryteller:  Tiny Tim came back in with his brother and sister. Bob compounded some hot mixture in a jug with gin and lemons\, and stirred it round and round and put it on the hob to simmer. Master Peter and the two ubiquitous young Cratchits went to fetch the goose\, with which they soon returned in high procession. \nSuch a bustle ensued that you might have thought a goose the rarest of all birds—a feathered phenomenon—and in truth it was something very like it in that house. Mrs. Cratchit made the gravy (ready beforehand in a little saucepan) hissing hot; Master Peter mashed the potatoes with incredible vigor; Miss Belinda sweetened up the applesauce; Bob sat Tiny Tim beside him at the corner of the table; the two young Cratchits set chairs for everybody\, not forgetting themselves\, and mounting upon their posts\, crammed spoons into their mouths\, lest they should shriek for goose before their turn came to be helped. At last the dishes were set on\, and grace was said. It was succeeded by a breathless pause\, as Mrs. Cratchit\, looking slowly all along the carving knife\, prepared to plunge it in the breast. But when she did\, and when the long expected gush of stuffing issued forth\, one murmur of delight arose all around the board\, and even Tiny Tim\, excited by the two young Cratchits\, beat on the table with the handle of his knife\, and feebly cried: \nTiny Tim:  Hurrah! \nStoryteller:  There never was such a goose! Its tenderness and flavor\, size and cheapness\, were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by applesauce and mashed potatoes\, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family. Everyone had had enough\, and the youngest Cratchits in particular were steeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows! But now\, the plates being changed\, Mrs. Cratchit left the room alone to take the pudding up and bring it in. \nIn half a minute Mrs. Cratchit returned\, flushed\, but smiling proudly\, with the pudding\, like a speckled cannonball\, so hard and firm\, blazing in half a quarter of ignited brandy\, and bedight with Christmas holly stuck on top. \nO\, a wonderful pudding! Everyone had something to say about it\, but nobody said or thought it was at all a small pudding for a large family. Any Cratchit would have blushed to hint at such a thing. \nAt last the dinner was all done\, the cloth was cleared\, the hearth was swept\, and the fire made up. \nBob Cratchit:  A  Merry Christmas to us all\, my dears.  God bless us! \nTiny Tim:  God bless us\, every one! \nStoryteller:  He sat very close to his father’s side\, upon his little stool. Bob held his withered little hand in his\, as if he loved the child\, and wished to keep him by his side\, and dreaded that he might be taken from him. \nScrooge:  Spirit\, tell me if Tiny Tim will live. \nGhost of Christmas Present:  I see a vacant seat in the chimney corner\, and a crutch without an owner\, carefully preserved. If these shadows remain unaltered by the Future\, none other of my race will find him here. What then? If he be like to die\, he had better do it\, and decrease the surplus population. \nScrooge:  I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… \nGhost of Christmas Present:  Man—if man you be in heart—forbear that wicked cant until you have discovered what the surplus is and where it is. \nBob Cratchit:  (Toasting.)  To Mr. Scrooge: the Founder of the Feast! \nMrs. Cratchit:  The Founder of the Feast\, indeed! I wish I had him here! I’d give him a piece of my mind to feast upon\, and I hope he’d have a good appetite for it! \nBob Cratchit:  My dear\, the children! Christmas day! \nMrs. Cratchit:  It should be Christmas day\, I am sure\, on which one drinks the health of such an odious\, stingy\, hard\, unfeeling man as Mr. Scrooge. You know he is\, Robert! Nobody knows it better than you do\, poor fellow! \nBob Cratchit:  My dear…Christmas day! \nMrs. Cratchit: I’ll drink his health for your sake and for the day’s\, not for his. Long life to him! A merry Christmas and a happy New Year! He’ll be very merry and happy\, I have no doubt! \nStoryteller:  The children drank the toast after her. It was the first of their proceedings which had no heartiness in it. Scrooge was the ogre of the family. The mention of his name cast a dark shadow on the party\, which was not dispelled for a full five minutes. \nBut after it had passed away\, they were ten times merrier than before\, from the mere relief of Scrooge the Baleful being done with. All this time the chestnuts and the jug went round and round. \nTiny Tim:  God Bless Us\, Every One! \nStoryteller:  They were not a handsome family; they were not well dressed; their shoes were far from being waterproof; their clothes were scanty. But they were happy\, grateful\, pleased with one another\, and contented with the time. And when they faded\, and looked happier yet in the bright sprinklings of the Spirit’s torch at parting\, Scrooge had his eye upon them\, and especially on Tiny Tim\, until the last. \nNext\, Scrooge was surprised to find himself at his nephew’s\, in a bright\, dry\, gleaming room\, with the Spirit standing smiling by his side\, and looking at that same nephew with approving affability. \nFred:  He said that Christmas is a humbug! He believed it\, too! \nFred’s Wife:  More shame for him\, Fred. \nFred:  He’s a comical old fellow: that’s the truth. I am sorry for him. I couldn’t be angry with him if I tried. Who suffers by his ill whims? Himself\, always. He takes it into his head to dislike us\, and he won’t come and dine with us. What’s the consequence? He loses some pleasant moments\, which could do him no harm. But I mean to give him the same chance every year\, whether he likes it or not. \nStoryteller:  Now the whole scene passed off in the breath of the last word spoken by the nephew. Then Scrooge and the Spirit were again upon their travels. \nMuch they saw\, and far they went\, and many homes were visited\, but always with a happy end. The Spirit stood beside sick beds\, and they were cheerful; on foreign lands\, and they were close at home; by struggling men\, and they were patient in their greater hope; by poverty\, and it was rich. In almshouse\, hospital and jail\, in misery’s every refuge\, where vain man in his little brief authority had not made fast the door and barred the Spirit out\, he left his blessing\, and taught Scrooge his precepts. \nIt was a long night\, if it were only a night. It was strange\, too\, that while Scrooge remained unaltered in his outward form\, the Ghost grew older. Scrooge noticed that his hair was grey. \nScrooge:  Are spirits’ lives so short? \nGhost of Christmas Present:  My life upon this globe is very brief. It ends tonight at midnight. Hark! The time is drawing near. \nScrooge:  Forgive me\, but I see something strange\, and not belonging to yourself\, protruding from your robe. Is it a foot or a claw? Spirit\, are they yours? \nGhost of Christmas Present:  They are Man’s. And they cling to me. This boy is Ignorance. This girl is Want. Beware them both—but most of all beware this boy\, for on his brow I see that written which is Doom\, unless the writing be erased. \nScrooge:  Have they no refuge or resource? \nGhost of Christmas Present:  Are there no prisons? \nStoryteller:  The clock struck the hour. Scrooge looked around him for the Ghost\, and saw it no more. As the last stroke ceased to vibrate\, he remembered the prediction of old Jacob Marley\, and\, lifting up his eyes\, beheld a solemn Phantom\, draped and hooded\, coming like a mist along the ground toward him. \nThe Phantom slowly\, gravely\, silently approached. In the air through which this spirit moved\, it seemed to spread gloom and mystery. \nIt was shrouded in a deep black garment\, which concealed its head\, its face\, its form\, and left nothing visible save one outstretched hand. But for this\, it would have been difficult to detach its figure from the night\, and separate it from the darkness by which it was surrounded. \nIts mysterious presence filled him with a solemn dread. The Spirit neither spoke nor moved. \nScrooge:  Am I in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come?   \nStoryteller:  The Spirit pointed downward with its hand. \nScrooge:  You are about to show me shadows of the things that have not happened\, but will happen in the time before us. Is that so\, Spirit? \nStoryteller:  The Spirit inclined its head. That was the only answer he received. \nAlthough well used to the ghostly company by this time\, Scrooge feared the silent shape so much that his legs trembled beneath him\, and he found that he could hardly stand when he prepared to follow it. \nIt thrilled him with a vague uncertain horror\, to know that behind the dusky shroud there were ghostly eyes intently fixed upon him\, while he\, though he stretched his own to the utmost\, could see nothing but a spectral hand and one great heap of black. \nScrooge:  Ghost of the Future\, I fear you more than any specter I have seen! But as I know your purpose is to do me good\, and as I hope to live to be another man from what I was\, I am prepared to bear you company\, and do it with a thankful heart. Will you not speak to me? \nStoryteller:  It gave him no reply. The hand pointed straight before them. \nScrooge:  Lead on! Lead on! The night is waning fast\, and it is precious time to me\, I know. Lead on\, Spirit! \nStoryteller:  They scarcely seemed to enter the city\, for the city rather seemed to spring up about them. But there they were in the heart of it\, amongst the merchants\, who hurried up and down\, and chinked the money in their pockets\, and conversed in groups\, and looked at their watches\, and so forth\, as Scrooge had seen them often do. \nThe Spirit stopped beside one little knot of businessmen. (The Spirit points to them.) \nFirst Businessman:  No\, I don’t know much about it. I only know he’s dead. \nSecond Businessman:  When did he die? \nFirst Businessman:  Last night\, I believe. \nThird Businessman:  Why\, what was the matter with him? I thought he’d never die. \nFirst Businessman:  God knows. \nSecond Businessman:  What has he done with his money? \nFirst Businessman:  I haven’t heard. Left it to the company\, perhaps. He hasn’t left it to me. That’s all I know. \nThird Businessman:  It’s likely to be a very cheap funeral\, for upon my life I don’t know of anybody to go to it. Shall we make up a party and volunteer? \nSecond Businessman:  I don’t mind going if a lunch is provided. But I must be fed. \nStoryteller:  Scrooge was at first inclined to be surprised that the Spirit should attach importance to conversation apparently so trivial. He looked about him in that very place for his own image\, but another man stood in his accustomed corner\, and though the clock pointed to his usual time of day for being there\, he saw no likeness of himself among the multitudes. \nNow he recoiled in terror\, for the scene had changed\, and now he almost touched a bed: a bare uncurtained bed\, on which\, beneath a ragged sheet\, there lay\, plundered and bereft\, unwatched\, unwept\, uncared for\, was the body of a man.  (Phantom points to the head.)   \nThe cover was so carelessly adjusted that the slightest raising of it\, the motion of a finger upon Scrooge’s part\, would have disclosed the face. \nScrooge:  I understand you\, and I would do it if I could. But I have not the power\, Spirit. I have not the power. (Ghost continues to point at the head.) If there is any person in the town who feels emotion caused by this man’s death\, show that person to me\, Spirit\, I beseech you. \nStoryteller:  The Phantom spread its dark robe before him for a moment\, like a wing\, and\, withdrawing it\, revealed a room by daylight\, where a woman waited. \nShe was expecting someone with anxious eagerness. At length the long-expected knock was heard. She hurried to the door\, and met her husband: a man whose face was careworn and depressed\, though he was young. There was a remarkable expression in it now; a kind of serious delight of which he felt ashamed\, and which he struggled to repress. \nCaroline:  Is it good…or bad? \nHusband:  Bad. \nCaroline:  Then\, we are quite ruined. \nHusband:  No\, there is hope yet\, Caroline. \nCaroline:  If he relents\, there is. Nothing is past hope\, if such a miracle has happened. \nHusband:  He is past relenting. He is dead. \nCaroline:  I am thankful. God forgive me. I’m sorry…To whom will our debt be transferred? \nHusband:  I don’t know. But before that time we shall be ready with the money. We may sleep tonight with light hearts\, Caroline. \nStoryteller:  The only emotion that the Ghost could show him\, caused by the event\, was one of pleasure. \nScrooge:  Let me see some tenderness connected with a death\, or that dark chamber which we left just now will be forever present to me. \nStoryteller:  The Ghost conducted him through several streets with which he was familiar\, and as they went along Scrooge looked here and there to find himself\, but nowhere was he to be seen. They entered poor Bob Cratchit’s house\, the dwelling he had visited before\, and found the mother and the children seated round the fire. \nQuiet. Very quiet. The noisy little Cratchits were as still as statues in the corner\, and sat looking up at Peter\, who was reading a book. The mother and her daughter were engaged in sewing. But surely they were very quiet! \nThe mother laid her work upon the table\, and put her hand up to her face. \nMrs. Cratchit:  Your father should be home soon. \nPeter:  He’s late.  But I think he has walked a little slower than he used to\, these last few evenings\, mother. \nMrs. Cratchit:  When he walked with Tiny Tim upon his shoulder\, he walked very fast indeed. But he was very light to carry\, and his father loved him so\, that it was no trouble…no trouble. There’s your father now. (The family rushes to greet Bob Cratchit. He appears very cheerful.) You went today\, then\, Robert? \nBob Cratchit:  Yes\, my dear. I wish you could have gone. It would have done you good to see how green a place it is. But you’ll see it often. I promised him that I would walk there every Sunday. My little child! My little child! (Sobs.) However and whenever we part from one another\, I am sure we shall none of us forget poor Tiny Tim—shall we?—or this first parting that there was among us. \nAll:  Never\, father! \nBob Cratchit:  And I know…I know\, my dears\, that when we recollect how patient and how mild he was\, although he was a little child\, we shall not quarrel easily among ourselves\, and forget poor Tiny Tim in doing it. \nAll:  No\, never\, father! \nBob Cratchit:  I am very happy! I am very happy! \nScrooge:  Specter\, something informs me that our parting moment is at hand. I know it\, but I know not how. Tell me what man that was whom we saw lying dead. \nStoryteller:  The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come conveyed him to a dismal\, wretched\, ruinous churchyard. The Spirit stood among the graves and pointed down to one. \nScrooge:  Before I draw nearer to that stone to which you point\, answer me one question: Are these shadows of the things that will be\, or are they shadows of things that may be only? \nStoryteller:  Still the Ghost pointed downward to the grave by which it stood. \nScrooge:  Men’s courses will foreshadow certain ends\, to which\, if persevered in\, they must lead. But if the courses be departed from\, the ends will change. Say it is thus with what you show me. \nStoryteller:  The Spirit was as immovable as ever. \nScrooge crept towards it\, trembling as he went\, and\, following the finger\, read upon the neglected grave his own name: EBENEZER SCROOGE. \nScrooge:  Am I that man who lay upon the bed? (The Spirit points from the grave to him\, and back to the grave.) No\, Spirit! Oh no\, no! Spirit\, hear me! I am not the man I was. Why show me this if I am past all hope? Assure me that I yet may change these shadows you have shown me by an altered life! I will honor Christmas in my heart\, and try to keep it all the year. O\, tell me I may erase the writing on this stone! \nStoryteller:  Holding up his hands in one last prayer to have his fate reversed\, he saw an alteration in the Phantom’s hood and dress. It shrunk\, collapsed\, and dwindled down into…a bedpost. Yes\, and the bedpost was his own! The bed was his own! \nScrooge:  I am here!  The shadows of the things that would have been may be dispelled. They will be! I know they will!  I will live in the past\, the present and the future!  The spirits of all three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach. Oh Jacob Marley! Heaven and the Christmas time be praised for this! I say it on my knees\, old Jacob\, on my knees! \nI don’t know what to do! (Laughing.) I am as light as a feather! I am as happy as an angel! I am as merry as a schoolboy! I am as giddy as a drunken man! A Merry Christmas to everybody! A Happy New Year to all the world! \nThere’s the door by which the Ghost of Jacob Marley entered! There’s the corner where the Ghost of Christmas Present sat. It’s all right\, it’s all true\, it all happened! (He laughs.) \nStoryteller:  Really\, for a man who had been out of practice for so many years\, it was a splendid laugh\, a most illustrious laugh. The father of a long\, long line of brilliant laughs. \nScrooge:   I don’t know what day of the month it is. I don’t know how long I’ve been among the spirits. I don’t know anything. I’m quite a baby. Never mind. I don’t care. I’d rather be a baby. \nStoryteller:  The church bells began ringing out the lustiest peals he had ever heard. Oh\, glorious\, glorious!   \nRunning to the window\, he opened it and put out his head. No fog\, no mist\, just clear\, bright\, jovial\, stirring cold! Golden sunlight! Heavenly sky! Sweet fresh air! Merry bells! Oh\, glorious\, glorious! \nScrooge:  What’s today? \nBoy:  Huh? \nScrooge:  What’s today\, my fine fellow? \nBoy:  Today?! Why\, CHRISTMAS DAY! \nScrooge:  It’s Christmas Day! I haven’t missed it! The Spirits have done it all in one night. They can do anything they like. Of course they can. Of course they can. Hello\, my fine fellow! \nBoy:  Hello. \nScrooge:  Do you know the Poulterer’s shop\, over in the next street\, on the corner? \nBoy:  Of course I do! \nScrooge:  An intelligent boy! A remarkable boy! Do you know whether they’ve sold the prize turkey that was hanging up there? Not the little prize turkey… the big one? \nBoy:  The one as big as me? \nScrooge:  What a delightful boy! It’s a pleasure to talk to him. Yes\, the one as big as you! \nBoy:  It’s hanging there now. \nScrooge:  Is it? Go and buy it. \nBoy:  What?! \nScrooge:  Go and buy it and tell ‘em to bring it here. I’ll give them the directions where to take it. Come back with the man and I’ll give you a shilling. Come back with him in less than five minutes and I’ll give you half a crown! (The boy runs off.) \nI’ll send it to Bob Cratchit’s! He won’t know who sent it. It’s twice the size of Tiny Tim! (The boy and the poulterer’s apprentice arrive.) Here’s the turkey! Hello! How are you? Merry Christmas! \nStoryteller:  It was a turkey! He never could have stood on his legs\, that bird. They would have snapped off like sticks of sealing wax. \nScrooge:  Why\, it’s impossible to carry that to Camden Town. You must have a cab. \nStoryteller:  The chuckle with which he said this\, and the chuckle with which he paid for the turkey\, and the chuckle with which he paid for the cab\, and the chuckle with which he recompensed the boy\, were only exceeded by the chuckle with which he sat down\, breathless\, in his chair again\, and chuckled till he cried. \nShaving was not an easy task\, for his hand continued to shake very much. And shaving requires attention\, even when you don’t dance while you are at it. But if he had cut the end of his nose off\, he would have put a piece of sticking-plaster over it\, and been quite satisfied. \nHe dressed himself all in his best\, and at last got out into the streets. The people were by this time pouring forth\, and Scrooge looked so irresistibly pleasant that three or four good-humored fellows said: \nGood-humored Fellows:  Good morning\, sir. A Merry Christmas to you. \nScrooge:  Merry Christmas! \nStoryteller:  And Scrooge said often afterwards\, that of all the blithe sounds he had ever heard\, those were the blithest in his ears. \nHe had not gone very far\, when he saw coming toward him the portly gentleman who had walked into his countinghouse the day before. It sent a pang across his heart to think how this old gentleman would look upon him when they met; but he knew what path lay straight before him\, and he took it. \nScrooge:  My dear sir (taking both his hands)\, how do you do? I hope you succeeded yesterday. It was very kind of you. A Merry Christmas to you\, sir! \nFirst Gentleman:  Mr. Scrooge? \nScrooge:  Yes\, that is my name\, and I fear it may not be pleasant to you. Allow me to ask your pardon. And will you have the goodness…(Scrooge whispers in his ear.) \nFirst Gentleman:  Lord bless me! My dear Mr. Scrooge\, are you serious? \nScrooge:  If you please\, not a farthing less. A great many back-payments are included in it\, I assure you. Will you do me that favor? \nFirst Gentleman:  My dear sir\, I don’t know what to say to so much munifence… \nScrooge:  Don’t say anything. Please come and see me. Will you? \nFirst Gentleman:  I will! \nScrooge:  Thank you. I am much obliged to you. I thank you fifty times. Bless you! \nStoryteller:  Scrooge went to church\, and walked about the streets\, and watched people hurrying to and fro\, and patted children on the head\, and questioned beggars\, and looked down into the kitchens of houses\, and up to the windows\, and found that everything could yield him pleasure. He had never dreamed that any walk—that anything—could give him so much happiness. In the afternoon he turned his steps towards his nephew’s house. \nHe passed the door a dozen times before he had the courage to go up and knock. But he made a dash\, and did it: \nScrooge:  Fred! \nFred:  Who is it? \nScrooge:  It’s I. Your uncle Scrooge. I have come to dinner. Will you let me in\, Fred? \nStoryteller:  Let him in?! It’s a mercy he didn’t shake his arm off! He was at home in five minutes. Nothing could be heartier. His niece looked just the same. Wonderful party\, wonderful games\, wonderful unanimity\, wonderful happiness! \nBut he was early at the office the next morning! If he could only be there first\, and catch Bob Cratchit coming late! That was the thing he had set his heart upon. \nAnd he did it. The clock struck nine. No Bob. A quarter past. No Bob. Bob was a full eighteen minutes and-a-half late. Scrooge sat with his door wide open\, that he might see him come in. \nBob’s hat was off before he opened the door\, his comforter too.  He was on his stool in a jiffy\, driving away with his pens\, as if he were trying to overtake nine o’clock. \nScrooge:  (Growling.)  What do you mean by coming here at this time of day? \nCratchit:  I’m very sorry\, sir. I’m late. \nScrooge:  Are you? Yes\, I think you are. Come over here. \nCratchit:  It’s only once a year\, sir. It shall not be repeated. I was making rather merry yesterday\, sir. \nScrooge:  Now\, I’ll tell you what\, my friend. I am not going to stand this sort of thing any longer. And therefore…and therefore…I am going to raise your salary! \nStoryteller:  Bob trembled and got a little nearer to the ruler. He had a momentary idea of knocking Scrooge down with it\, holding him\, and calling to the people in the court for help and a straight-jacket. \nScrooge:  A Merry Christmas\, Bob! A merrier Christmas\, Bob\, my good fellow\, than I have given you for many a year! I’ll raise your salary\, and endeavor to assist your struggling family\, and we will discuss your affairs this very afternoon over a bowl of hot wassail\, Bob! Make up the fires\, and buy another coal scuttle before you dot another “i\,” Bob Cratchit. \nStoryteller:  Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all\, and infinitely more. And to Tiny Tim\, who did not die\, he was a second father. He became as good a friend\, as good a master\, and as good a man\, as the good old city knew\, or any other good old city\, town\, or borough in the good old world. \nAnd it was always said of him\, that he knew how to keep Christmas well\, if any man alive possessed the knowledge.May that be truly said of all of us! And as Tiny Tim would say: \nTiny Tim:  God Bless Us\, Every One! \n  \n  \n  \n—Charles Dickens
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-12-9-21/
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20211128T150000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20211128T170000
DTSTAMP:20260425T071533
CREATED:20211127T180347Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20211127T182421Z
UID:2490-1638111600-1638118800@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!: Mythology  11/28/21
DESCRIPTION:  \nBeloved Bibliophiles!  \n  \nTodd suggested MYTHOLOGY as our topic for Sunday\, November 28th\, at 3 pm (PST). Here’s the link to the Zoom gathering: \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/86949399028 \n  \nI hope to see you there!  \n  \npeace\, love & happiness  \nJohnny \n  \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-mythology-11-28-21/
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20211125
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20211209
DTSTAMP:20260425T071533
CREATED:20211125T200308Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250718T125819Z
UID:2483-1637798400-1639007999@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  11/25/21
DESCRIPTION:  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nNovember 25\, 2021 \n  \n  \nThis is a theater piece I wrote a while back. I performed it once\, at the First Unitarian Church of Portland. (J.S.) \n  \n  \nGoldfinches! \na theatrical monologue \n  \nthis is a story about stories \n  \nand about something that we might call “the storyless state” \n  \njoseph campbell wrote a book called the hero with a thousand faces about a kind of story that is found throughout history and all over the world that he called “the hero’s journey” \n  \nwe can use the hero’s journey as a metaphor for our life \n  \nand i would like to use it as the structure for this evening’s entertainment \n  \nthe hero’s journey begins with the call to adventure \n  \nwe have all already answered the call to adventure by coming here tonight \n  \nwe could have stayed home and watched tv \n  \nbut instead we left the comfort and safety and security of our homes—for what? \n  \nwe don’t know \n  \nand that is where the hero journeys: into the unknown \n  \ninto a dark wood\, or a cave\, or to the bottom of the sea \n  \none of the main things about the unknown is that you don’t know what you will find \n  \ni answered the call to adventure by deciding to write and perform a theatrical monologue \n  \nwhy would i want to undertake such a thing? \n  \nthat brings me to a little story about my life… \n  \nwhen i graduated from high school\, i went to college just like i was supposed to \n  \nbut i had never liked school \n  \nit always felt like a prison to me \n  \none day i realized that going to school was optional \n  \nand i could opt not to go \n  \nwhich i did \n  \nnow that is the age when you are supposed to choose a career and get with the program \n  \nbut i graduated from maui high school in 1969\, during the hippie era \n  \nwe are very prone to conformity at that age—maybe throughout life—and somehow i found myself conforming to the hippie form of “non-conformity” \n  \nwith long hair and oddball clothing and bare feet and all that \n  \nthat was how i wanted to present myself to the world \n  \ni felt more at home in this costume than in a white shirt\, suit and tie \n  \nnow\, “hippie” is not really a career choice and in fact\, i neglected to choose an occupation \n  \ni’ve held a variety of odd jobs—i once spent 18 months testing beet pulp pellets for hardness\, durability and fine particle content \n  \nfor many years i found the familiar question “what do you do?” to be difficult to answer \n  \nnow that i’m old\, i can look back on my life and ask: “what is my job?” \n  \nor\, better yet\, “what did i come here to do?” \n  \nand the answer\, i think—or at least one answer is: to gather people together \n  \nand so that is why i had the hare-brained idea of writing and performing a theatrical monologue \n  \nit’s a trick to get people to gather together \n  \nand here we are \n  \nso\, what happens after the hero answers the call to adventure? \n  \nhe or she goes into the wilderness—the unknown—on a quest for something \n  \nand sometimes you know what you are seeking and sometimes you don’t \n  \nbut in the unknown you always find something \n  \nand typically\, the hero encounters obstacles or difficulties \n  \nand meets magic helpers \n  \nand finds a treasure—which is probably guarded by a dragon or something \n  \nand the hero kills the dragon or at least tricks it \n  \nand steals the treasure \n  \nand returns home with something of value—not just for himself or herself—but for everyone \n  \nnow here’s an interesting thing: each one of us has treasure within \n  \neach one of us is the treasure \n  \nso\, why do we have to go down into a cave or to the bottom of the sea to find it? \n  \nwell\, that’s a good question \n  \nhere’s a story that is found in many cultures: \n  \nbefore we are born\, we have a special gift \n  \nand in the process of being born\, we lose the gift \n  \nand it is our task to find out what our gift is and then give it to everyone \n  \nfor example\, you might have a gift of music \n  \nand not know it \n  \nand you need to discover that you have it before you can share it with others \n  \nbut if you do\, your gift blesses everyone \n  \nanother version of this story is: \n  \nwhen we are born\, we forget who we are \n  \nand who we are is god \n  \nand we have to re-discover this \n  \nwe have to remember what has been forgotten \n  \nthe greek word for this is “anamnesis”—remembering what has been forgotten \n  \nso that is one version of our hero’s journey—we have to go to the bottom of the sea\, or to the first unitarian church\, or wherever\, to remember who we are \n  \nand we have to do this every day \n  \ngoing to sleep every night is like dying \n  \nand every morning we wake up and it’s a new day \n  \nwe have been reborn \n  \nand it’s great if we were happy yesterday\, but it doesn’t really help us to be happy today \n  \nand we need to find happiness today \n  \nand what worked yesterday will not work today \n  \nwe have to try something new \n  \nand where is the new found? \n  \nin the unknown \n  \nand so\, in a way\, we all may have thought we were coming here just to entertain or be entertained\, but actually we came here because we have to save our own life \n  \nwe have to be reborn \n  \nnow\, as the storyteller\, or entertainer\, i guess it’s supposed to be my job to come up with something really fantastic \n  \nyou know\, the greatest theatrical monologue you’ve ever heard\, or whatever \n  \nbut i’m not too worried about that\, because\, as far as i’m concerned\, i’ve already done my job\, which is to gather us together \n  \nand i don’t have to bring a great treasure\, because you are\, we are\, the treasure \n  \nand i have a kind of foolproof method of creating a magical\, fantastic\, wonderful experience\, which is: at the end of my monologue\, we will have a dialogue \n  \nand a dialogue circle cannot fail to be a perfect thing \n  \nand so i’d like to reassure anyone who is worried that this evening will be something less than perfect—that is not gonna happen! \n  \nit’s gonna be perfect \n  \nbecause however lame or inadequate my “entertaining” monologue is\, we will all have an opportunity to remedy that together in the dialogue circle \n  \nokay\, back to our hero’s journey\, which is our journey into story and storylessness \n  \nwilliam butler yeats said that each person has their own myth and that one of your jobs as a poet\, or just as a human being\, is to find out what your myth is \n  \nthat goes back to the idea of remembering what has been forgotten \n  \ni’d like to talk about a couple kinds of stories\, which i call: \n  \nidentity and mythos \n  \nidentity refers to the stories we tell ourselves about who we are \n  \nand mythos refers to our stories about the world \n  \nnow i am going to tell you a little story about my mythos \n  \nmany years ago\, when i was young\, i read a story by fyodor dostoevsky called “the dream of a ridiculous man” \n  \ni loved the story \n  \nit really resonated with me\, as they say \n  \nhere’s the story: \n  \nthere’s a guy who is depressed \n  \nlife has no meaning for him \n  \nhe feels that nothing makes any difference \n  \nhe decides to kill himself \n  \nhe buys a gun \n  \nhe’s just waiting for the right moment to do the deed \n  \nand he’s walking home and he sees a star in the sky and decides: “tonight is the night” \n  \nbut then a little girl comes up to him and wants his help \n  \nher mother is dying or is in some very bad situation and the little girl is crying and trying to get this guy to come with her \n  \nbut he doesn’t help the little girl \n  \nhe goes home so that he can commit suicide \n  \nbut he can’t get the little girl out of his mind \n  \nand he feels like he has to figure something out before he dies \n  \nand while he’s sitting there\, trying to figure it all out he falls asleep and dreams a dream \n  \nand this is his dream: \n  \nhe dreams that he kills himself \n  \nand he goes to another planet\, which is like earth\, except that it is paradisal \n  \nthere is no fear or war or hatred \n  \nit is a world where everyone lives in love \n  \nand in his dream he ruins everything in this perfect world \n  \nhe brings about a fall\, very much like what happens in the story of adam and eve \n  \nand the love planet gets worse and worse until it resembles our own \n  \nand then he wakes up \n  \nand he has a very strong feeling that he has seen the truth—that our life could be completely transformed\, it could be perfect\, if only we would love each other \n  \nso that’s dostoevsky’s story \n  \nand i liked it so much that i decided to perform it \n  \nbut it seemed too short for an evening in the theater\, so i added a piece that i had written called “columbus” \n  \ni wrote columbus in 1992\, for the 500th anniversary of columbus’ first voyage to the western hemisphere \n  \ni grew up with the story that columbus was a great hero who had discovered america \n  \nin my version there’s this guy who is drunk and he claims to be christopher columbus \n  \nand it isn’t explained whether this man is delusional\, or if he is the spirit of christopher columbus\, back from the dead\, or whatever \n  \nanyhow\, this christopher columbus is self-medicating with alcohol because he is in a lot of pain \n  \nin his version\, he didn’t discover anything—people already lived here \n  \nand they were a beautiful people—the taino—and they lived without war\, in a kind of paradise \n  \nand he brought about a fall \n  \nthe taino are no more \n  \nand my blubbering drunken christopher columbus wanted everyone to know that he had seen and understood something—that people can be beautiful and innocent and loving \n  \nhe had seen it with his own eyes \n  \nand it was only after i had put these two pieces together that i realized that they had the same theme: \n  \nparadise\, fall\, and a vision of a possible return to paradise \n  \nand i thought: “maybe this is my myth” \n  \npeople tend to think of paradise as something that may have existed in the past\, or which might exist in the future—maybe even after we die \n  \nbut paradise is this world in which we live—just as it is \n  \nthis gathering is paradise \n  \nand everyone sitting here is perfect \n  \nis paradise \n  \nso it seems to me \n  \nthis is my mythos—the story i tell myself about the world \n  \nnow it may be objected: “how can this world be paradise when it is obviously all screwed up?” \n  \ngood question \n  \ninstead of arguing whether the world is in fact perfect or whether it is all screwed up\, i would like to explore the sense in which it seems to me that the world is perfect \n  \nimagine\, for a moment\, a goldfinch \n  \na goldfinch is perfect \n  \na goldfinch does not need to be improved \n  \nthe very idea is absurd \n  \neverything is like the goldfinch \n  \neach one of us is a goldfinch \n  \nperfect \n  \nthis is my thesis \n  \nmy mythos \n  \num\, so where are we on our hero’s journey this evening? \n  \nokay\, so you answered the call to adventure by coming here \n  \nand your guide\, your magic helper\, on this journey through the dark wood of this evening is me \n  \nan unreliable guide! \n  \nand now we’re lost! \n  \nbut according to the unreliable guide\, the trickster-helper\, that’s okay \n  \naccording to me\, getting lost is a perfectly acceptable variant of the hero’s journey \n  \nlet’s take an example from alice in wonderland \n  \nalice says that she feels like maybe she’s lost and wonders which path she should take \n  \nand the cheshire cat asks her where she is going \n  \nand she replies that she doesn’t know \n  \nand he says: “then it doesn’t matter which path you take” \n  \nand that’s kind of like us \n  \nexcept that we don’t need to get anywhere\, because we are already here \n  \nthat’s another common story theme \n  \nthe bold adventurer travels the world and ends up returning home and finding the treasure under his or her own hearth \n  \nhearth equals heart \n  \nthat’s where our treasure is \n  \nnot far away \n  \nand what is the point of this theatrical monologue? \n  \nit is to go forth and return home \n  \nto the silence which preceded the story \n  \nthe world is always larger than our picture of the world \n  \nour descriptions and explanations are like cartoons \n  \nit’s like the difference between looking at a postcard of multnomah falls and standing in front of multnomah falls \n  \nor as mark twain said: the difference between the lightning bug and the lightning \n  \nin this analogy\, my “entertaining” theatrical monologue is the lightning bug \n  \nand what is the lightning? \n  \nyou are the lightning \n  \ni am the lightning \n  \nthe lightning is us—just as we are \n  \nwords are useful in reminding us of the inadequacy of words \n  \nthe gold that each of us came here to find\, whether we knew it or not\, is each other \n  \nwe tend to believe that the stories we tell ourselves are true \n  \nthe friendly person lives in a friendly world \n  \nthe fearful person lives in a dangerous world \n  \nwe imagine a world and then we live in that world \n  \nand who is the person who lives in this imagined world? \n  \ni think it works something like this: \n  \nwhen we are born\, we cannot speak or understand what people are saying to us \n  \nbut very quickly we get the hang of it\, and by the time we are four—even earlier—we are quite fluent in speaking and understanding the language that our parents speak \n  \nas we grow up we learn whether we are a boy or a girl\, whether we are smart or stupid\, whether we are beautiful or unattractive\, whether great things are expected of us\, or whether we’ll never amount to much \n  \nby our early twenties we should have everything figured out: \n  \nwe might be a beautiful republican woman \n  \nor an angry environmentalist \n  \nwe could be a skater\, a scientist\, or a sinner \n  \na buddhist\, a baptist\, an atheist\, a plumber\, a poet\, or a certified public accountant \n  \nwe might be fat\, depressed\, friendly\, ambitious\, lazy\, sexy\, shy\, anxious\, optimistic\, pessimistic \n  \nbut whatever we have become\, whatever we believe\, we are sort of stuck with it \n  \nit’s impressive and amazing that we can create an identity and a mythos \n  \nit’s absolutely necessary that we do this \n  \nbut it becomes a kind of prison\, from which it seems there is no escape \n  \nwe are fictional characters\, living in fictional worlds of our own creation \n  \nend of story? \n  \nwell\, sort of \n  \nbecause this is prelude to the storyless state \n  \nin addition to our very impressive ability to think and to speak\, we have the wonderful ability to be still \n  \nto be awake and alert \n  \neach one of us is nourished by a silence that has no beginning or end \n  \nnot confined within our descriptions\, explanations\, thoughts\, memories\, stories and imaginings \n  \nfearless\, loving\, carefree \n  \nnot in the world\, we are the world \n  \na world beyond our ken \n  \nwhere everything and everyone is miraculous \n  \nperfect \n  \nlike a raincloud\, a stone \n  \na goldfinch \n  \nthank you                                                                                                              \n  \n  \n  \n—Johnny Stallings
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-11-25-21/
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20211115
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20211215
DTSTAMP:20260425T071533
CREATED:20211116T220618Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20211130T001412Z
UID:2473-1636934400-1639526399@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue  11/15/21
DESCRIPTION:photo by Kim Stafford \n  \n  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n  \n  \n  November 15\, 2021 \n  \nIn childhood\, you could look miles across a cookie\, and never see the other side. \n  \n—William Stafford \n* \n  \n(This poem by Alex Tretbar is part of a much longer poem called “Cat’s Game.”) (JS) \n  \nINDRA’S NET \n  \nEven gods & holy \nmen have their toys \n& tools of trade: \n  \nHermes the caduceus \n& Jehova His burning bush \n& Odin his ravens \n& the Buddha a stone himself. \n  \nAnd there is elephant-throned Indra \nwith his jewel-bedecked net. \n  \nWhat does he catch with it? \n  \nNothing (everything)\, actually. \nThe net lies draped in the air \naround his castle\, and all matter \nreflects & refracts \nthrough the facet clusters stationed \nat every X of the mesh—infinite gems\, \n  \nall of which link to the others. \nPeer into one & peer into all: \nsee  your face \nas though through a fly’s  \ncomposite eyes\, see your face \nsuperimposed over \nevery human face to grow \n& fade\, all faces of clock & moon\, \nsurface of all waters \nboth quiet & vengeful \nthe original \n  \n     drop \n  \nof cytoplasm \nfrom every star’s vantage— \nall of the brittle cosmos \ncaught up in a fractal \nself-repeating\, coiling \nwithout pause within \nyour eye. \n  \nNo one is to blame. \n  \n—Alex Tretbar \n* \n  \n(Katie Radditz sent this story from Loren Eiseley\, author of The Immense Journey.) (JS) \n  \nWhile wandering a deserted beach at dawn\, stagnant in my work\, I saw a man in the distance bending and throwing as he walked the endless stretch toward me. As he came near\, I could see that he was throwing starfish\, abandoned on the sand by the tide\, back into the sea. When he was close enough I asked him why he was working so hard at this strange task. He said that the sun would dry the starfish and they would die. I said to him that I thought he was foolish. There were thousands of starfish on miles and miles of beach. One man alone could never make a difference. He smiled as he picked up the next starfish. Hurling it far into the sea he said\, “It makes a difference for this one.” I abandoned my writing and spent the morning throwing starfish. — Loren Eiseley \n  \n(Katie adds:) \n  \nIt’s a fabulous reminder when we feel guilty that we are not doing more to help.  What’s important is to do what we love—for those who come along our path. This is a tale for living a magical life\, just appreciating that we and all these amazing beings are alive.   \n  \n—Katie Radditz \n* \n  \n(Here are some excerpts from Michel’s meditation journal. The numbers refer to sections from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh.) (JS) \n  \nOctober 10\, 2021  #177  THE INDIVISIBLE BODY OF REALITY \n  \n….I have learned sometime back—how far\, I don’t recall—that everything is part of the whole. Some may say\, “I see a unified reality\,” as in\, “We’re all in this together.” And I agree. For me\, this goes deeper. Since I adopted a view of the original cause of all things as GOD—(drawing deeply from Jewish sources\, along with an Evangelical Protestant Christian upbringing)—I perceive this omnipresent Being (God is everywhere at all times—beyond time\, even) of infinite power created\, first\, a space in infinite reality for this reality to exist. Many traditions have looked for explanation of whys and wherefores. I’ve learned to accept some of what I can’t know—hoping benevolence over malevolence. \n  \nBy retracting some of the infinitude of GOD\, GOD made space for me—or even for “me\,” with all the so-called negatives (“bad”) and positives (“good”) I may bring forth in this world. I see this world as a creation to allow the Infinite-All-That-Is (unity) to experience relationship\, which requires “other.” I base this on: If GOD is ALL\, then there is no…thing else. Any other would be subsumed into GOD’s ALL—as a candle’s light is subsumed by the sun\, yet even more so. What this contraction of All-That-Is idea does for me is to create a space for “me” to exist\, along with my present “reality\,” and I am able to experience relationships to other people\, to other beings (sentient or not)\, and to All-That-Is. Under all this is an interconnection between all things. We may not see it\, or even want to do so—that’s okay. This connection informs\, for me\, that were GOD to reveal the infinite to man\, we would cease to exist as individuals\, and interdependence would meld back into the Ultimate Unity\, as all “things” once again became The One\, Source-of-All. \n  \nInterconnectedness is probably easier to contemplate than my personal glimpse of reality. Sadly\, the view doesn’t always hold to the forefront of my mind\, and so I “fall” victim to interpreted reality (based on Ego)\, losing sight of just how deeply interconnected we all are in this “now” moment\, and I see myself as independent and alone. \n  \nThis “alone”-ness is just a fabrication of mind attempting to assert a control over reality\, claiming independence from “others\,” and forgetting the value of a reality where “We’re all in this present moment together.” The Buddha taught “the three poisons” as his way of explaining in simple human terms what he came to see as the Ultimate Reality (he named “Nirvana”-paradise). However we learn to label and accept reality as it is—(exploring Ultimate Reality at times)—we can eventually learn to see a connection to all other “beings” and “things” within this reality. It isn’t easy to explain and/or wrap a mind around. Forgive me my simple fallibility\, as I am also part of you\, as much you are a precious part of my being too. \n  \n  \nOctober 14\, 2021  #181 A BABY CRIES \n  \nI wonder\, how many of us are scared of babies in some fashion—their neediness we can’t meet\, their fragility we may fracture\, their delicate frame\, or emotional state\, and more? Learning to see and embrace our emotional state of anger (or any emotional state) as our suffering baby within\, holding and comforting him or her: this seems foreign to me\, yet it also makes some sense in the world of mindfulness. When we engage our playful side\, and imagine emotional states\, such as anger\, as fragile\, delicate babies in much need of gentleness and loving care—then\, maybe\, we can also imagine ourselves giving loving tender care as we hope we might\, instead of what we fear we might do as an alternative. Maybe I’m the only one (not likely) to have trepidation when it comes to babies in general\, and\, specifically\, to holding or comforting one. It has been many years since I’ve been around a baby. It can’t be too “hard” to do. I can imagine\, pretend doing what I want\, even now\, when I feel distressed and upset. And in doing so I’m imagining what I can do for that core expression of my emotional state. That would be mindfulness. \n  \n  \nOctober 26\, 2021  #188  IDEAS OF HAPPINESS \n  \nThis one is so very true. I have seen this in my own life\, as well as numerous others. There is an oblivion we develop around ideas of happiness: If only…when I get/do/become…etc….then I’ll be happy. Yet\, how often do we find ourselves in the “ideal” and still not happy! Have you ever noticed this in your own life\, or that of others? (Sometimes I can see my own challenges more clearly when they are part of someone else’s life challenges.) \n  \nSo\, what does it really take for us to be truly happy? How do we get there? Or is it\, like many lessons I’ve learned\, already present fully developed and waiting to be “let out”? What do you think? Is this plausible? What’s your experience of this? \n  \nAt one point I had to learn (again?) what happiness was—an absence of sadness. Thankfully\, I had a great friend to help me talk my way out of the morass I had put myself into. (A story for another day.) It was the oddest idea at the time: If I wasn’t “sad\,” then I must be feeling happy! There’s lots of books and ideas about finding your happiness. Thây offers the simplest and easiest path to realize the happiness present already. \n  \n  \nOctober 28\, 2021  #189  THE APPLE TREE \n  \nThe first part of this reminds me of the Gravenstein apple tree in my grandparents’ back yard. The apples were great for applesauce. I loved them best when they were underripe—tart and yet sweet\, with a crisp crunch. They never became mealy\, like red or yellow Delicious. They were also good for pies! But I digress. Thây’s point was about paying attention—being mindful of living beings: (entities\, not all of which are sentient). It’s not hard to do\, just pay attention and act on what you observe in the moment; no grand schemes or plans required. Just be in the now…. \n  \nI haven’t seen a tree in over 14 years. Not up close or on any sort of regular basis. But I am surrounded by plenty of beings in need (?) of my attentive presence in the now. I can give that to them\, and myself too\, by remembering to breathe and not attach to what happens—what I hear\, or what others do. I can set an intention to be\, to be present\, to be attentive (as needed)\, to respond (as needed)\, and to offer compassion for that being. Maybe that’s your Apple Tree too?! Watch ‘em grow. \n  \n—Michel Deforge \n* \n  \nEach leaf of grass\, each single spear\, whether it be green blade or brown blade\, is the resting place of each night’s dreams that turn into mist and dew. \n  \nSome of the dreams grow into the ground to grow once again more loves to hold more dreams\, while some evaporate into sky and return to the lakes\, rivers and seas\, and become dreams once again. \n  \nOn a full-moon night\, when all is covered in mist and dew\, upon the grass a million drops will rest like shivering diamonds twinkling in the moonlight. The grass in a small patch could hold the dreams of the whole world for us to behold. \n  \n—Rocky Hutchinson \n* \n  \nReflections in the Heart (#332) \n  \n“Everything—the trees\, the wind\, the birds\, the mountains\, everything inside us and around us—wants to reflect itself in us. We don’t have to go anywhere to obtain the truth. We only need to be still\, and things will reveal themselves in the still water of our heart.” (from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh) \n  \nThank goodness! Is this telling me that I don’t have to apologize for\, or explain\, or defend my lack of desire to travel??? To be somewhere else—some exotic\, exciting\, stimulating somewhere else? Everybody I know loves and lives for travel: Italy\, Argentina\, Croatia\, Greece… And as soon as they return\, they’re planning for the next great adventure. And I’m sure they all are ‘great adventures.’ They say to me\, “You have the time\, you have the money\, why don’t you just go?” But… I love being here\, right here\, at home. \n  \nHere is my thought: we moved away from Portland fourteen years ago. Ever since then\, when people ask me what’s our next travel plan\, what’s our next destination\, I reply\, “Here. Right here. We are the destination! Nowhere to go. This is it.” \n  \nAnd there is a delicious stillness to it. People say\, “But don’t you feel isolated up there? Don’t you feel alone?” Isolated\, no. Alone— deliciously\, yes. And some people say\, “Isn’t it…boring? Sometimes?” No way. Why\, just the other day\, while walking Lolo up on the canal\, I encountered a pickup truck with two young guys. They hopped out and asked if I had seen a couple of cows wandering around loose. “Why no\,” I said\, “I haven’t. Where did they wander away from?” “Oh\, from the Mountain Meat Packing Company up there on Miller Road.” I burst out laughing and said\, “Well\, friends\, if I see them I’m going to round them up and hide them in my back yard!” So in that random encounter I sure wouldn’t call any part of it boring. Would you? I thought not. And moreover\, if I don’t want to feel alone\, I can drive two miles up to Parkdale\, population 430—a bustling metropolis—and hang out at the post office. \n  \nWhen I am alone\, when things are in their stillness\, I can—as I call it—ponder and wander. It is when my thoughts can have the space to be the most creative\, and ‘productive\,’ (e.g. thoughts becoming material for a short story)\, or when things just settle into quietude. I am not isolated. I am not alone. \n  \nMy heart is in my home; my home is in my heart.  \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \nA humble recent poem in case it might be useful. \n  \nI woke up with the phrase in mind\, “Friendly corner.” What that mean? I asked this in my mind\, and into my mind came the image of a great old tree…so I wrote the poem to learn the story of this good thing: \n  \n  \n                    Friendly Corner \n  \nPeople use it to give directions. For neighbors\,  \nit’s the nexus. If we had no church or school\, \nthis is where we’d gather\, for it’s all about  \nthe great old tree—that’s why children come. \nFor the wee ones\, a root hump throne makes you  \nqueen of all you see. A little older\, you can ride  \nthe long low limb for horse\, and race the wind.  \nOlder yet\, climb ladder branches to find the hollow  \nhouse for dreams. Is it any wonder mothers meet \nto share their joys and sorrows? Sometimes fathers\,  \ntoo. Is this where you want to live\, and what you  \nwant to see? There’s just one way: plant the tree. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nWith our thoughts we create worlds\, then live in them. Each day\, sometimes from one moment to the next\, we might find ourself in a Hell. Or a Paradise. Once we get the hang of it\, perfect happiness can be ours in the blink of an eye. Our life is short. This day is precious. There is no other. \n  \nA few days after I wrote the previous brief meditation\, I was inspired by Michel’s meditation\, A BABY CRIES. Thich Nhat Hanh had written that we should treat our anger the way a mother would treat a crying baby\, by holding it tenderly. In his meditation\, Michel begins by saying: “I wonder\, how many of us are scared of babies in some fashion—their neediness we can’t meet\, their fragility we may fracture\, their delicate frame\, or emotional state\, and more?” In the July issue\, I proposed that people try a baby meditation: imagining being a baby\, looking out at the world without language\, concepts\, identity\, regrets\, or problems. Michel’s meditation made me imagine another meditation. Here it is: \n  \nWhen you are by yourself\, and no one is watching\, cross your arms across your chest and imagine that you are holding a newborn baby against your body. Really feel it! Okay\, now imagine that the baby is you. Hold your baby self tenderly in your arms and love your baby self with all your heart. \n  \nThat’s the meditation. We all need to love ourself. For many people this is difficult. For some\, it feels almost impossible. We all started our life journey as tiny babies. That innocent\, fragile\, perfect being is who we are. I’m hoping that this meditation will help us to feel deeply the truth of this. \n  \nThis might also be a healing exercise for those who\, like Michel\, have not been around a baby for many years. \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nNot long ago I came across a poem that Jack Kerouac wrote to his former wife (Kerouac being the beat-era writer who inspired many of us to lead FULL lives\, no matter what).  His poem includes this little passage that I’ve been savoring since I read it: \n  \nPractice kindness all day to everybody \nand you will realize you’re already \nin heaven now. \n  \nThanks Jack\, and thanks Johnny.       \n  \nlove\,    \n  \n—Bill Faricy \n* \n  \n(As I was putting the finishing touches on this dialogue\, I discovered a fresh new poem on Kim’s FaceBook page. It’s perfect for our Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue.) (JS) \n  \n     My Infrastructure \n  \nThat gate latch—loose. \nShovel and hoe—dull. \nDripping faucet—priority. \nFrayed shoelace—on the list. \nConnectivity—upgrade overdue. \nBasement storage—disaster. \nEyes\, teeth\, weight\, feet— \nyears of deferred maintenance. \nPreparation for the big one—a joke. \nGrasp of reality—in shambles. \nSo—where to begin? \n  \n—Kim Stafford
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-11-15-21/
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DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20211114T150000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20211114T170000
DTSTAMP:20260425T071533
CREATED:20211113T231648Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20211127T175642Z
UID:2468-1636902000-1636909200@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!  11/14/21
DESCRIPTION:  \nBeloved Bibliophiles! On Sunday\, November 14th\, at 3 pm (PST)\, our theme will be NATURE POETRY. Here’s the link to the Zoom gathering: \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/86949399028 \n  \nI hope to see you there!  \n  \npeace\, love & happiness  \nJohnny \n  \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-11-14-21/
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DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20211113T190000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20211113T210000
DTSTAMP:20260425T071533
CREATED:20211104T004829Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20211113T212142Z
UID:2447-1636830000-1636837200@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Otherworlds and Underworlds: Will Hornyak Storytelling  Nov 13
DESCRIPTION:Otherworlds and Underworlds  \n  \nNovember 13th  \nIn honor of the Day of the Dead and the Celtic New Year of Samhain\, storyteller William Kennedy Hornyak weaves Irish\, Greek\, Mexican and Brazilian myths\, poems and tales into harrowing descents and festive romps through the legendary landscapes of death and rebirth alongside Coyote\, Orpheus\, Yemanja and Finn Mac Cool.   \nFor audiences 14 and over.  \n  \n  \nSaturday November 13  7:00 p.m. Pacific STANDARD TIME \nWe will open the waiting room @ 20 minutes prior to each show \nZoom Link:   \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/81949258717?pwd=S2lnRkdqemxncjc3bkg4K0FFOWpuQT09 \n  \nMeeting ID: 875 6423 8789 \nPasscode: 579723 \nCost: There are no tickets or admission costs but donations of gold bullion\, mining claims\, motorcycle parts\, PayPal funds(hornyak.will@gmail.com) or checks are appreciated: Will Hornyak 11375 SE 33rd Ave. Milwaukie\, OR  97222 \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/otherworlds-and-underworlds-will-hornyak-storytelling-nov-5-6-7-13/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20211111
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20211125
DTSTAMP:20260425T071533
CREATED:20211111T172737Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20230921T172258Z
UID:2454-1636588800-1637798399@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  11/11/21
DESCRIPTION:  \n \n \n \nFour bodhisattvas!: Brenda Erickson\, Dick Willis\, Jude Russell & Jack Baird \n  \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nNovember 11\, 2021 \n  \nBeginning My Studies \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—Walt Whitman \n  \n  \nMy Recipe for Living a Life Rich in Meaning \n  \nWhat I would like to do in this essay is to provide some clues as to how to find your way to the Golden World\, and live there. This is my recipe. You have to create your own. That’s part of the fun. Make the most of the fact that there has never been and will never be another you.  \n  \nTo live a life rich in meaning\, the first thing is to have that as an aspiration. A much more common goal in our society is simply to get rich. Rich in money and rich in meaning are not the same thing. My basic idea is: Since life is short and each day is precious\, I want to BLESS THIS DAY.  \n  \nThere is not some other day to be happy. Today is the day. \n  \nSome of the ingredients that make my life rich in meaning include: love\, silence\, books\, friends\, creativity\, gratitude and being helpful to others. \n  \nWe all need to love and be loved. One of my constant aspirations is to become a more loving person. We learn to love by loving and being loved. I have the extreme good fortune to be living with Nancy\, who loves me and who I love. We’ve been living together for 15 years. We’re nuts about each other. Every day together is a good day.  \n  \nNancy and I got together when I was 55 years old. Since I was single at the time\, it means that all of my previous efforts to be in a loving relationship had not worked out\, and yet I learned a lot about loving from each of them. \n  \nThere is also Big Love—unconditional love for everyone and everything. Being in a loving relationship is one aspect of living in love. It nurtures and strengthens the bigger project of loving everyone\, of loving life. I don’t know exactly how or why it worked out this way\, but having a three-hour meaning-of-life dialogue every week for many years with a dozen or more friends in prison did a lot to open my heart. It made me softer. I cry more than most men do. In those prison circles\, we opened ourselves to each other. This gave everyone in the circle many blessings. We humans need each other more than we know. Our potential for loving has no limit. \n  \nPeace is something that is not given much attention in our society. By “peace” I mean here “inner peace”—what the Bible calls “the peace which passeth understanding.” My introduction to peace as a value to aspire to came from Indian yogis. First from books by J. Krishnamurti and Paramanhansa Yogananda\, then from spending time with two teachers I had when I was in my twenties\, Nataraja Guru and Nitya Chaitanya Yati. \n  \nMeditation and mindfulness are essential ingredients in my recipe for living a life rich in meaning—the most essential. I can’t imagine what my life would be like without them. More miserable\, for sure. They provide the foundation for whatever peace and love and happiness and freedom I have. It feels to me like I have a lot of those things. Every day of my life is filled with blessings. As I look around\, everything appears miraculous to me. I am thankful for my human life on earth. \n  \nMy Paradise is a library. I live surrounded by books. Each one is a world. Some of the authors and even some of the fictional characters are among my closest friends. I love Walt Whitman and Alice\, who has adventures in Wonderland and through the Looking-Glass. I hated school. As soon as I dropped out of college\, I began to read whatever I wanted to. I read widely\, going from subject to subject and author to author as the mood strikes me. I get endless pleasure from this. As for living a life rich in meaning\, there is no building more packed with meaning\, from floor to ceiling\, than a library. My own library contains a lot of books by people who are especially good on the subject of living a meaningful life. Some of my favorites\, to whom\, I return again and again\, include: Thich Nhat Hanh\, Susan Griffin\, Joseph Campbell\, Wendell Berry\, Walt Whitman\, J. Krishnamurti\, Alan Watts\, Hafiz\, William Shakespeare\, Ramana Maharshi\, Shunryu Suzuki\, Lao Tzu\, Thomas Traherne\, Ralph Waldo Emerson and Han Shan. It’s a much longer list\, but these are some of the people whose writings most reliably enrich my life. \n  \nFriends enrich my life. If I look at my life\, it appears that my vocation is gathering people together. For many years\, I would make waffles at my house (or apartment) every Sunday and have somewhere around 2o people come over. For thirteen years I had a weekly dialogue group at a prison with around 16 people sitting in a circle and talking about—guess what!—how to live a life rich in meaning. The original title of the dialogue group was: The Stories We Tell Ourselves: How Our Thinking Shapes Our Lives. I love this kind of deep dialogue. I like to get together with friends for coffee or tea—often one-on-one—and talk about everything under the sun\, but especially about what is most important\, or essential\, or meaningful to us in that moment. During the current pandemic\, when it has been harder to get together with others\, I’ve done a lot of videoconferencing on Zoom. \n  \nThere are well-worn roads of religious belief and practice that one might go down\, but the only way I know through first-hand experience\, is to create your own path by following your heart’s desire. I suspect that even if one chooses one of those well-travelled roads\, each person must find their own unique way of knowing\, believing and practicing that tradition. \n  \nIn addition to religious belief and practice\, some people live lives rich in meaning by devoting themselves to Art: theater\, music\, poetry\, dance\, painting—not to mention other arts\, like gardening\, cooking\, woodworking\, knitting\, filmmaking\, et cetera. My friend Abe goes hiking\, skiing and camping in the Montana wilderness. He takes beautiful photos of some of the things he sees. He reports that his journeys give him great joy. \n  \nCreativity enriches our lives in mysterious ways. Theater is a realm in which I have had many adventures\, as an actor and director. I haven’t given myself fully to an art form in the way that some of my art heroes have: Bill T. Jones\, Ushio Amagatsu\, Peter Schumann\, Wes Anderson\, Tom Waits\, Susan Griffin\, Rick Bartow—to name a few. One of my current role models is the fictional character Ted Lasso. I want to be more like him! \n  \nI’ve done some writing\, and would like to do more. I’ve written some essays\, poems\, short stories and theater pieces. I’ve kept a journal for fifty years. The journal has helped me to better understand my life journey. I also use it as a tool to help me find my way to the Golden World every morning. \n  \nHelping others is another thing that enriches our life and gives meaning to it. Life is short. It often seems to me that the world’s problems are large\, I am puny\, and whatever I do won’t make much of a difference in the Big Picture. One of the things I tell myself when I’m having those thoughts\, is that one kind act makes a whole life worthwhile. Everyone enjoys being helpful\, when an opportunity arises. I know some people who don’t wait—they are always finding ways to help someone. I’m thinking of Brenda Erickson\, Dick Willis\, Jude Russell and Jack Baird. Bodhisattvas all! \n  \nFollowing your heart’s desire may sound selfish\, but it’s important to distinguish between selfishness and self-care. I have often reminded my friends in prison that self-care is Job One. I remind them of this when they get out of prison\, for there are many challenges outside prison walls as well. Because our life is short and each day is precious\, we should be able to bless each day—to be thankful that we have a human life on earth. That’s another not-so-secret ingredient in my recipe for living a life rich in meaning: gratitude. At the most basic level\, the difference between complaining and giving thanks is the difference between Hell and Heaven. \n  \nWhich brings me to another important thing that I wanted to include in my recipe—coming to understand that every day\, from moment to moment\, we create the world in which we live. The stories we tell ourselves are our world. It’s important to distinguish between the world and my world\, as Wittgenstein pointed out long ago. The world includes everything that has ever happened\, and everything that is happening right now. It is beyond our ken\, not only because it is so vast\, but because it is changing from moment to moment. My world is the world as I experience it and understand it and know it and feel it\, from moment to moment. At times\, I may feel powerless to change the world\, but I can be sovereign of my inner world and how I process my experience. A happy person lives in a friendly world. An angry person lives in a world full of assholes. A person who lives in love\, lives in love. \n  \nThis is not to deny or minimize\, even for a moment\, the vast amount of injustice and suffering that is always going on in the world. Right now\, there are many places in our world where food is scarce and machine guns are plentiful. This is not acceptable\, since all children are our children. Each of us must do what we can to make this world a better place for all our human\, animal and plant friends\, for all the rivers and forests and ecologies of every kind.  \n  \nPeace and love and joy and freedom and gratitude and beauty and wisdom are all intrinsically good for us. Where self-care comes in is by nurturing these qualities in ourselves\, so that we can bring them to every encounter we have with each other\, with all beings and with our Mother Earth. \n  \nWell\, that’s about what I’ve got this morning as far as a recipe goes for living a life rich in meaning. I have a very limited repertoire. Apologies to pen pals\, readers of this journal\, and other friends who have heard me say all this before. \n  \n—Johnny Stallings
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-11-11-21/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20211031
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20211114
DTSTAMP:20260425T071533
CREATED:20211028T190945Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20211103T015210Z
UID:2431-1635638400-1636847999@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!  10/31/21
DESCRIPTION:  \nBeloved Bibliophiles \n  \n(Apologies Everyone. I’m having problems with the formatting on this page. Everything below is squashed together. I’ll see if some tech support people can help me get this fixed soon.) \n  \nJude recommended NATURE as the topic Bibliophiles Unanimous! on Sunday\, October 31st. Here’s her recap\, with a few things added by Johnny at the end: \n  \n  \n\n\nHi Johnny\,\n\n\n\nHere are some notes on our very fun BiblioUn. yesterday:\n\n\n\nFirst of all\, the Japanese term I couldn’t dredge up was ‘shinrin yoku\,’ or ‘forest bathing.’ My friend\, Yasuko\, and I are glad that our belief that ‘bathing in nature’ is actually beneficial is now validated by the Japanese term\, ‘shinrin yoku.’ It means ‘making contact with and taking in the atmosphere of the forest\,’ and it is something the Japanese take seriously (as do I!). And remember I said that this not-so-common term and its meaning were inscribed on a large reader board at the not-so-prominent Little Zigzag Falls near Zigzag and Government Camp\, OR. What are the chances of that?!?!\n\n\n\nWhew!  one or two sentence summary of the books I mentioned:\n\n\n\nThe Overstory – Richard Powers – A novel with 9 main characters about our treatment of and relationship with the environment\, specifically trees\, forests…Nine very different characters and nine very different stories\, but all pulled together in the end.\n\n\n\nUnderland– Robert MacFarlane – Nonfiction telling of explorations under the earth’s surface. MacFarlane studies the fungi that create a cooperative system below forest floors\, with the plant scientist\, Merlin Sheldrake. (I had totally forgotten his romp with Sheldrake the whole time I was later reading Entangled Life by..Merlin Sheldrake!) The book also looks at burial and darkness and deep time…\n\n\n\nThe Lost Words-Robert MacFarlane – Beautiful art in a large book depicting one hundred words in middle schoolers’ dictionaries that have been deemed obsolescent and have been replaced\, mostly by computer related terms (byte\, etc.). Because most children no longer get out in nature much anymore (hence the nauseating term ‘Nature Deficit Disorder’)\, most or all of the words are related to nature: wren\, bramble\, dandelion\, weasel\, etc. MacFarlane writes a poem for each lost word\, and each is accompanied by a gorgeous watercolor.\n\n\n\nThe Invention of Nature – Andrea Wulf – Story of Alexander von Humboldt\, early to mid-19th century Prussian explorer and naturalist who understood nature as an interconnected global force. He discovered the similarities in climate zones across the world at different elevations and different latitudes\, and also predicted human-caused climate change.\n\n\n\nThe Brother Gardeners – Andrea Wulf – In the 18th century\, wealthy estate owners in England sought to expand their properties from the rigid\, formal privet/lawn/columnar conifer forms to include exotic\, floriferous plants from around the world. Captain Cook\, Captain Bligh\,Erasmus Darwin (grandad of Chuck)\, Benjamin Franklin and others figure into this plant frenzy.\n\n\n\nThe Wild Trees – Richard Preston – About the scaling and mapping of the tallest trees in the world (350′-400′!) \, found in the California Redwoods. The discovery of another plant world\, hundreds of feet up in the trees\, figures into this; compacted soil\, ferns\, moss\, huckleberry bushes\, even crustaceans live and thrive in this ‘deep canopy.’ You can walk around up there. Wow!\n\n\n\nBraiding Sweetgrass – Robin Wall Kimmerer – Author is a professor of botany and of Potawatomi heritage. She ‘braids’ together indigenous wisdom and scientific knowledge and gives equal importance to each. She convinced me.\n\n\n\n\nThe Botany of Desire – Michael Pollan – Author picks four plants (potato\, marijuana\, tulip and apple) to show how plants create desire in humans\, thereby assuring (in very different ways) their (continued) survival. The potato (control)\, marijuana (intoxication)\, tulip (beauty)\, and apple (sweetness). He posits that plants control us  rather than us controlling plants.\n\n\n\nThanks for yesterday and all other Biblio days!\n\n\n\n\n\nJude\n\n\n\n\nJude also held up a copy of The Entangled Web by Merlin Sheldrake.\n\n\n\nMartha talked about A World on the Wingby Scott Weidensaul.\n\n\n\nJohnny Scharbach spoke of The Secret Life of Trees by Peter Wohlleben and mentioned  Chris Maser\, who wrote many books\, including Forest Primeval. He also talked about a book he’s reading titled The Web of Meaning.\n\n\n\nKatie told us a little about what her son Abel and his wife Tao are doing. They are both ecologists\, and are currently helping teach a Permaculture course through Oregon State University. Katie: please remind me what books you talked about.\n\n\n\nTodd talked about the New England Transcendentalists and read this poem that he wrote:\n\n\n\n\n\n\n  \nHalf Dome\, Autumn \n  \nI can never get over the notion \nthat fall trees are old ladies and gents \nstrutting across the green: \nladies\, in their elaborate turn-of-the-century hats \nfloppy brims and trailing dresses \nmen\, all spiffy in top hats and spats \npin-striped pants\, tails lopping in the breeze. \n  \nAll through the winter \nthey reach into bare sky \ntheir feathers banished by stripping winds; \nstopped like dancers on a music box. \nRain lashes their trunks black \nthen quietly encases them in silver and glass. \n  \nBut suddenly\, the miracle of spring. \nTheir glass shells shatter to the ground. \nGreen emerges and reaches from their bodies. \nAll summer it reaches out to the edge of shadow. \n\n  \nBut\, like I say\, \n\nit’s in the fall these ladies and gents start their promenade \nand they keep walking right up to the last feather. \n\n  \n–Todd Oleson \n  \n\n\n\n\nI mentioned a couple books by David Abram: The Spell of the Sensuous & Becoming Animal. And a couple films: “Fantastic Fungi” and “Winged Migration.”\n\n\n\n\n\n\npeace & love\n\n\n\n\nJohnny\n\n\n \n\n\n\n\n\n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-10-31-21/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20211028
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20211111
DTSTAMP:20260425T071533
CREATED:20211028T165259Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20211028T184339Z
UID:2421-1635379200-1636588799@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  10/28/21
DESCRIPTION:  \n \nphotos by Kim Stafford \n  \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \n  \n  \nOctober 28\, 2021 \n  \n  \nPoems from the past five days…where do they come from? \n  \nby Kim Stafford \n  \nFor some years now\, I’ve started each day with a walk before dawn\, then sitting with my breath\, then coffee\, then something like a poem—that is\, an exploratory utterance rising from recent experience in the world\, and in thought.  \n     For what it’s worth\, in response to Johnny’s invitation\, here are the most recent five adventures into my realm of scribbling… \n  \n  \n16 October \n  \nAt the coast for my birthday\, we went to the turnout south from Depot Bay to watch a whale out beyond the breakers breach and roll. My poem the next day tried to honor this encounter. As often happens\, though\, I got a little preachy toward the end\, with my “So we must…” conclusion. This is my failing: loving Earth\, hoping for the future\, seeking to honor the miracles that come tug our sleeves… \n  \n  \n  At Rocky Creek We Watch the Whale \n  \nOut beyond the heave and shattered roll of waves \nwe see the puff\, the plume\, breath burst\, the back’s \ndark gleam sliding down into the massive deep. \n  \nThat’s about how much we know of everything— \ndreams of wheeling birds\, the swell and fade of seasons— \na glimpse gone down\, a gasp\, and the rest is guessing. \n  \nPrecious Earth\, leviathan—the visible we see\, and say \nwe know\, while the hidden will be what we need. \n  \n  \n  \n17 October \n  \nAt the coast\, we rose at 5a.m. for low tide to gather mussels from wave-pummeled rocks—the errand of a fool\, or in our case\, the dedicated gourmand. While wrestling in the dark with waves to our knees\, I found myself wondering if there might be a phrase in French to describe a gourmet so dedicated\, no danger was too great in the pursuit of fine flavor. Thus\, this adventure came to the page… \n  \n  \nCampagne Extrême du Gourmet \n  \nAt the darkest episode of night \nwe strode by wave-bashed rocks \nin thunder din of the rising tide \nto address the wall of blue shell \nmussels pried by headlamp flicker \ninto the pail for our planned repast \nwith butter\, lemon\, and white wine\,  \nas the sea surge wrapped our knees \nuntil we shuddered as the dark tug  \nand thrash from out beyond our faint  \nperiphery demanded utter surrender  \nto be swept\, to be stumbled into ocean’s  \nhungry pot\, to be stirred into torn asunder\,  \nto be atomized\, to be distilled  \ninto the flavor salt. \n  \n  \n  \n18 October \n  \nOur daughter knows the sommelière at a local winery\, and he generously invited us to come sip. By the third vintage I was feeling no pain\, and the next morning composed a blessing in his honor and sent it off… \n  \n  \n      A Sip Serene \n  \nUp from stone and earth \nby the vine-root clench \ndrought-flavored rain \nrises into stem\, leaf\, bud\, \nand tendril to spangle in sun \nalong the row hung heavy \nwith fisted clusters to be \ncrushed\, then cherished \ninto wine\, the whole hill \nshimmered in this scent \nthat fills the mind\, and \nthen this sip of honor. \n  \n  \n  \n19 October \n  \nThis really big crow landed on the lintel above our garden gate\, and started strutting back and forth. I enjoyed the spectacle…and then next morning\, writing\, started by trying to describe his imperious presence. But once I had that\, I thought\, “That’s cool\, but so what?” I realized he reminded me of certain Type-A males who lord it over the rest of us (Jeff B.\, Elon M.\, Mark Z.)\, and so they got into the opening lines… \n  \n  \n                         King Crow \nWhen some fat cat\, filthy rich\, swaggers  \nand proclaims—you know\, the ones with \nyachts\, trophy homes\, and bizarre opinions\,  \nthe ones who clearly never learned to practice  \nbasic human etiquette—I see our king crow\,  \nthe heavy one swooping low to settle and command  \nthe lintel board above the gate\, to strut and brag\,  \nhis bead black eyes glinting dire fire\, his seesaw  \nrocking tossing shouts to the sky\, flexing his sheen  \nof rainbow black\, burning the air with sheer bravado  \nas he disdains his craven clan below\, all small crows  \nbowing and scraping\, thrusting their beaks for pickings. \n  \nAbove it all\, his highness pivots\, shrugs\, and shouts:  \nShow me something worth my time—then it’s mine. \n  \n  \n  \n20 October \n  \nI’ve been going through old letters\, and as I work my way back into the 1970s I come to the time I was preparing\, foolishly\, to become a scholar. I compiled vast bibliographies\, and worked my way through a slew of books chosen—not because they were good\, but because they were essential to my chosen field of study. Then I remembered the scholarly exercise of the “Abstract\,” that paragraph at the head of a formal article\, distilling the import of what was to follow. Then out of nowhere—my favorite source for writing—I thought of the phrase “It takes one to know one…\,” and I started wondering who first said that…and soon I was back to our primitive forebears. Then I started having fun… \n  \n  \nInnocent Words of Ancient Import \nby Hector Persimian\, Ph.D.\, DMD\, ABC\, DVD \n  \nAbstract: This paper charts new ground in phase archeology—as a complement to genetic investigations into the origin of human species—through an examination of indicator phrases like “you scratch my back\, I scratch yours\,” a clear reference to primordial grooming rituals (Baker\, 1987); “takes one to know one\,” a key to solidarity among rival Homo dejectus hunting bands (Spice\, 1993); and “one may smile and smile and yet may be a villain\,” a phrase long attributed to a particular writer\, but clearly originating in the confrontational grin display of our simian forebears (Jekyll and Hyde\, 2001). We will conclude with a close study of the phrase “Yes and no\,” a tantalizing remnant of our ancestors’ philosophical struggle with their existential conundrum: should we come down from the trees? \n  \n  \n  \n21 October \n  \nYesterday\, our son told us of the disastrous new computer system at work\, causing all kinds of disruption and despair. On my morning walk\, I got to thinking about other kinds of dysfunction. Both Capitalism and the avoidance of Climate Crisis came to mind. In my walking meditation\, the words “glitch” and “triage’ came to mind\, and I had to write the poem to find out what these two words might want to say to one another. \n  \n  \n       Remedy for Glitch \nWhen things go crazy haywire— \ncomputer crash\, capitalism cheats\, oil  \nburns us all—it’s time for triage. So\, \n  \nchoose one: (1) How did this happen?… \nor (2) Whose fault is this?…or \n(3) What’s to be done? \n  \nScreen in my face\, money in hand\, \nand a hard look at my habits: \nreboot…learn thrift…simplify. \n  \n  \n  \nI can make no claim for the value\, the “success\,” of these humble poems. But I do believe in the practice of making them. By sitting each morning with my thoughts\, wonderings\, intuitions\, struggles\, and obsessions\, I write in order to honor our perennial opportunity when faced with trouble: There might be another way. \n  \n—Kim Stafford
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-10-28-21/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20211015
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20211115
DTSTAMP:20260425T071533
CREATED:20211019T154303Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20211130T002242Z
UID:2412-1634256000-1636934399@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue  10/15/21
DESCRIPTION:  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n  \n  October 15\, 2021 \n  \nMeditation is Not Solemn #291 \n  \n“Meditation is to be aware of what is going on—- in our body\, in our feelings\, in our mind\, and in the world. Each day\, nine thousand children die of hunger. The superpowers have more than enough nuclear warheads to destroy our planet many times. Yet the sunrise is beautiful\, and the rose that bloomed this morning along the wall is a miracle. Life is both dreadful and wonderful. To practice meditation is to be in touch with both aspects. Please do not think we must be solemn in order to meditate. In fact\, to meditate well\, we have to smile a lot.” –Thich Nhat Hanh\, from Your True Home \n  \nAnd life is not solemn—-at least not all the time. Admittedly\, I spend a fair amount of time worrying about the world—pandemic\, the Taliban\, voter suppression\, Texas\, climate\, wildfire smoke…the neighbors’ barking dogs… \n  \nBut invariably I get caught\, snagged\, by beauty: \n  \nMy dog’s little fur body\, impossibly soft and sweet-smelling. \nThe bouquet of sweet peas\, smelling like my dear grandmother’s garden. \nThe moon gleaming in the black sky. \nErik Satie’s\, Gymnopédie floating up from downstairs. \nGarden tomatoes and golden raspberries heavy on their vines\, red and gold. \n  \nAnd that’s all within a 100’ radius! And all right now\, at this moment! Just think of what’s to come—fall leaves! snow on the mountain! pumpkin pie! \n  \nBeauty must trump pain\, mustn’t it? I believe so. In meditation some of all these aspects of life\, good and bad\, float in and out\, up and down. Just let them be. But beauty rises to the top. \n  \n—Jude Russell  (September 15) \n* \n  \n(Here are some excerpts from Michel’s meditation journal. The numbers refer to meditations from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh.) \n  \nSeptember 2\, 2021  #171 PRECIOUS GIFTS \n  \nBeing fully present: there was nothing I wanted more\, as a child\, from my father\, but it wasn’t until I became an adult that I learned the language to identify my need. Now\, I’m confined in a box and I always wonder: when will I lose him? I’m scheduled to be released when he is 102⅔…. \n  \nI can do something for myself now—breathe\, and learn to do what he didn’t know then….I can continue to practice the gift of being fully present whenever I get time with others: parents by phone\, or friends in person. \n  \nIt’s odd that as humans we forget how much we value and cherish someone until they are nearly gone. A rare exception\, which I would not advise anyone to pursue\, is the “near-death experience.” Yet\, it is after these moments of being shook awake from our casual stupor in life that\, for many of us\, we finally begin to give our full attention—at least for a while. \n  \nYet\, all it requires of us to give “precious gifts” is to breathe on purpose\, mindfully aware of each passing moment while we are in it. There’s nothing more to do. There’s nothing complicated about breathing. It can help one to practice this skill\, the mindful part at least\, so when the “important” moments do arrive I can be present and aware. They’re all important when we pay attention to them. I just hope that paying attention can help recall the sensation of a past moment with my dad\, mother\, uncle\, or dear friends—when all are gone from my now. It can be nice to visit a moment or two\, before the mind goes. \n  \n(I’m including the next meditation Michel talks about\, because it’s short and sweet.) \n  \n# 175  Let Your Heart Bloom \n  \nIn the Springtime\, thousands of different kinds of flowers bloom. Your heart can also bloom. You can let your heart open up to the world. Love is possible—do not be afraid of it. Love is indispensable to life\, and if in the past you have suffered because of love\, you can learn how to love again.     —Thich Nhat Hanh \n  \nSeptember 22\, 2021  #175 LET YOUR HEART BLOOM \n  \nThis is a challenging proposition in this setting—not impossible\, just a challenge. So maybe the challenge becomes cultivating a safe haven—a garden of sorts. It is still many weeks away—seemingly an eternity—but\, eventually\, the few of us still remaining from Theatre and Dialogue groups will be allowed to assemble once again as a community of friends I rarely\, if ever\, see as I go about my cyclical movements. Once in a while I do see an old friend; we greet and pass along\, as required. It’s pleasing to have those moments. I doubt things are any easier in the “free world.” So\, until we can once again convene in our little haven at TRCI together\, we’ll need to be “open”—letting our hearts bloom where we are—so when we do meet an old friend\, or gather as a group\, we can be ready with a heart open to the possibility of love\, when ever and where ever it may happen upon us. I think I like this idea: being ready for life wherever it may happen.  \n  \nSeptember 30\, 2021  #176 TRAINING FOR HAPPINESS \n  \nThis sounds like a fun training! Happiness is something I’ve learned\, slowly\, to be (mostly) a choice. At first the struggle was to identify when I was happy. It was a tough time for me and this seems to be over-simplified. Another truth about happiness I learned: it’s not dependent on anything or anyone outside of me. Happiness\, (like love)\, when dependent on external causes will cease when the causes evaporate—they always do….I’ve also learned that a happy-sad balance exists along a continuum; also\, that without other “negative” (so-called) emotions the enjoyment of happiness is less\, because of lack of contrast. \n  \n(You may also find value at PositivePsychology.com. It is relevant and related. (M.D.)) \n  \nOnce again\, I suspect\, this training brings me back to recall that I will be of more constant states when I resume deliberate\, daily breathing practices—meditation…. Happiness\, as a practice\, is going to require some practice from me\, if for no other reason than that I will know I’m happy when it happens! This sounds really silly to my mind’s ear\, but I think the breathing practice and\, possibly\, a focus on things I am happy about or happy to see and do. Maybe others have ideas for how to “TRAIN FOR HAPPINESS.” It could be a great value to those of us struggling with finding it. How do you TRAIN FOR HAPPINESS? Do you just prepare to “be” happy? Or is there a deliberate mantra or slogan you practice with? How does one TRAIN FOR HAPPINESS? I’d like to know. \n  \n—Michel Deforge \n* \n  \n(Michael’s last question is a good one to ponder. John Paisley once asked some of his friends to write about happiness. I wrote the poem “Eudæmanology.” It’s not the final or definitive word on the subject\, but might (I hope) provide some clues for our ongoing quest. (J.S.)) \n  \nEudæmonology*  \n  \nwell\, right off I’d better say  \nhappiness is an art\, not a science  \n  \nit helps if you start out deliriously happy  \nsome kids hesitate  \nothers run right at life\, full-speed\, with wide-open arms  \nif they trip and fall flat on their face  \nthey get up and keep charging  \n  \nif you weren’t one of those kids  \nI don’t know what to tell you  \nmaybe you’ll always hesitate  \n  \nand if you were one of those wildly happy ones  \nyou already know the secret  \nlearned it without being taught  \nknew it before you knew you knew it  \nno anamnesis required  \nbecause you never forgot who you are  \n  \nof course between then and now something could have happened  \nsomething relentless like family\, school\, television\, job  \nduties\, obligations\, commitments\, tragedies even  \nthe car accident\, the cancer  \n  \nthere are parts of the world—big parts—where tragedy is the dirty air you can’t avoid breathing \nplaces where food is scarce and machine guns are plentiful  \nif you don’t live in one of those places you’re damn lucky  \n  \nso\, the conclusion so far seems to be that happiness is a matter of luck  \n  \nbut there’s more to it  \n  \nwhere I live many young women could easily go to the store and get food  \nbut instead they get so thin they look scary  \n  \num\, so the question is: what is required for happiness?  \nwell\, it starts with the basics: food\, shelter\, clean water to drink  \nthen\, other stuff comes into it: love\, affection\, friendship  \n  \nand the art of not making yourself miserable  \n  \nthe Buddha said craving is the source of suffering  \nand cessation of craving is liberation  \n  \nbear that in mind  \n  \nI think a big problem is that people forget that thoughts are just thoughts  \nit’s as if all the ideas\, opinions\, beliefs they have accumulated are the world in which they live  \nrather than the filter through which they see the world  \n  \nso\, the secret of happiness?  \nmaybe something like this…  \nseeing through the spell of thought and language  \ncoming again and again  \nwide awake  \nto the silence  \nthat knows  \nnothing  \n  \n* A neglected branch of Philosophy\, the study of happiness.  \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nWeary of those who come with words\, words but no language\, \nI make my way to the snow-covered island. \nThe untamed has no words. \nIts blank pages spread out in all directions. \nI come across the tracks of some deer in the snow— \nLanguage\, but no words. \n  \n—Tomas Tranströmer   (March\, 1979)\, from Bill Faricy \n* \n  \n#3  Miracles \n  \nLife and all that it is \, is a miracle. Our very decision to take a path can be a miracle\, or it could be a curse\, but even a curse could be a miracle. So many of life’s mishaps or follies turn out to be miracles in disguise. A good one to consider is Prometheus’ plight: he bequeathed the fire of the gods to man. Man got fire and the big bird got his liver for a meal every day. Prometheus will never die. There are three miracles in that story. \n  \nThose of us within the walls of a prison can choose to be miracles to those we love and for those who are lost—because they need love\, too. We can\, with a full heart of humbleness\, help them to find their path. I ask many the same question that a great man once asked me when I needed it most: “Who are you\, really?” \n  \nMost people want to do good and be good and I’ve noticed that most just want to live a simple life—a job\, wife\, home\, car\, etc.—to accomplish that\, to them would be a miracle. To walk away from the life that put us in prison and reform ourselves is a miracle. To say “no” to addiction and “yes” to life is a miracle. \n  \nSo\, I call you to be the miracle for yourself and then look to your left and to your right and tell each person that they are a miracle too. Hug\, touch\, laugh\, glow in the light of inner love you have. Radiate the light of goodness inside\, for that is the spark that is a beacon to all who need a focal point to see that the miracle of change is real. \n  \n—Rocky Hutchinson \n* \n  \n(Thich Nhat Hanh turned 95 on October 11th. He is known as Thây\, which means “teacher\,” by many people. In 1982\, he established the Plum Village Monastery in the south of France. In November of 2014\, he had a major stroke\, and has been unable to speak since that time. In November of 2018\, he returned to Vietnam. Katie has been to Plum Village many times. She sent us this newsletter\, which I’ve edited a bit:) (J.S.) \n  \nDear Beloved Community\,  \n  \nWarm greetings from Plum Village\, France  \n  \nPeaceful dwelling  \n  \nAs we approach Thầy’s 95th birthday this week\, we would like to share with our international community how Thầy and our sangha at Từ Hiếu Temple in Huế\, Vietnam have been doing…..We are deeply grateful for the love and dedication of the team of people taking care of our teacher.  \n  \nOver the last year\, Thầy’s health has weakened. The autumn rains have always been challenging for Thầy’s lungs and health\, and continue to be so. This spring Thầy was not able to go outside to visit the temple grounds as much as he could last year. Nevertheless\, the sangha was delighted that\, when the Từ Hiếu Temple renovation was finished\, Thầy was well enough to make a tour of the temple to visit the completed works. In recent months\, Thầy has been resting for most of the day with his eyes closed\, yet he is often very alert\, present and at peace. When the weather is fine\, the attendants help Thầy to go out onto the veranda of the Deep Listening Hut to enjoy the sun.   \n  \nWe are here for you  \n  \nWith the great challenges of the Covid-19 pandemic in Vietnam\, both Từ Hiếu Root Temple and our Diệu Trạm nunnery have been mostly closed to visitors. Fortunately\, Huế has been spared the major outbreak that Ho Chi Minh City has endured….Many people in Vietnam have been without food or work. With the help of our international sangha friends\, as part of our Love and Understanding social work program\, our monastics in Vietnam have been doing their best to supply oxygen\, food\, medicine and donations at the roadside food banks helping those most in need.  \n  \nWe are deeply aware that the pandemic has brought great suffering to countless people all around the world. We continue to do our best to practice diligently with stability and compassion\, so we can be a refuge for you all\, now and in the future. It is our deep wish to open Plum Village in France again as soon as possible.  \n  \nNew ways to practice together  \n  \n….Finding ways to support one another as we integrate mindfulness practice more deeply into daily life has been a powerful collective journey.  \n  \nThis month\, a small delegation of monastics representing Thầy will be traveling from Plum Village to Scotland to participate in the TED Countdown conference ahead of the COP26 climate talks. They will be sharing Thầy’s teachings on ethics and awakening with leaders\, scientists\, activists and businesspeople; and they will also teach practices of mindful walking\, mindful breathing\, mindful eating\, and the art of deep listening. Thầy always hoped that mindfulness retreats could be organized ahead of political summits\, and it’s wonderful to have the chance to contribute towards his vision.  \n  \nThe gift of listening  \n  \nFor Thầy’s birthday this year\, we’re inviting our whole community to offer Thầy the gift of our practice: in particular\, the collective practice of deep listening to ourselves\, our loved ones\, and the Earth. Our own practice of mindfulness is the most powerful gift we can offer to continue Thầy’s teachings and legacy in the world.   \n  \nThank you for being there\, and for walking this path with us. We are deeply grateful for your continued support and generosity for our monastic community as we carry Thầy’s legacy forward into the future.  \n  \nWith love\, gratitude\, and trust\,   \n  \nThe Monks and Nuns of Plum Village  \n  \n—Katie Radditz \n* \n  \n72 \n  \nAll my errors made me who I am— \nthat set-back quickened my epiphany\, \nthat detour brought me to the way\, \ncatastrophe was cradle to awakening\, \ndisaster kindled the great shazam. \n  \nYou young folks\, take a lesson \nfrom one humbled by attrition: \nmay you relish revelation born \nof every kink in your intention \nas required by your formation. \n  \nVery Local Weather \n  \nThe forecast is moderate\, but significant— \nat least to me: the little storm my body builds \npassing through this world. Light breezes \nof the breath inhaled become variable winds\, \nenough to stir a drifting feather\, or puff some \nthistledown\, my sigh slight\, but bold\, compared \nto a bird’s whisper stirring a thicket\, or wisplet \nof the butterfly\, flaring wings through golden light. \nA warming trend imbues the damp stump I sit on\, \nthen I disturb the air by stepping the stony path. \nAnd don’t forget the spate of yellow rain spent \nfrom my cloudy soul onto dry leaves. And \ndon’t forget how my habits change the climate\, \nmy light\, my speed\, my hurricane of acquisition \nmelting ice\, raising seas\, burning mountains— \nI and you and all of our tornado transformations. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nToday is a happy day: Josh Underhill got out of prison this morning. Christine Darnell forwarded me a picture from Josh’s mom. He has a big smile on his face. Christine informed me that “he finished off his chicken fried steak\, hash browns and gravy with no problem.” I’m looking forward to having pizza with Josh on Sunday\, in two days. \n  \nI met Josh on a Wednesday evening\, June 3\, 2009\, and spent three hours with him every week for six years. And then\, Nancy and I saw him once a month for five more years. We did a lot of plays together: A Midsummer Night’s Dream\, Twelfth Night\, Twelve Angry Men\, King Lear\, Winter’s Tale\, Hamlet. We have a lot of shared memories\, a lot of the same friends. \n  \nNancy and I had the good fortune to watch Josh grow up—become wiser\, and more self-confident. He has always been very thoughtful of others. A gentle soul. \n  \nYesterday was overcast and rainy. Today the sky is bright blue. I can’t imagine what it must feel like for Josh today—not surrounded by concrete walls\, seeing so much\, experiencing so much\, getting to spend the day with his loved ones. Might be a bit of a “sensory overload\,” and somewhat overwhelming emotionally. There will be challenges ahead\, but he’s going to do well. He’s been on a good trajectory for a long time. I’m grateful to have him as my friend. \n  \nDear Josh:  \nA lot of people love you and wish you well. \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \n(Note to readers: Please contribute to our dialogue as writers as well as readers.)
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-10-15-21/
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20211014
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20211028
DTSTAMP:20260425T071533
CREATED:20211017T202714Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250718T125647Z
UID:2400-1634169600-1635379199@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  10/14/21
DESCRIPTION:  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \n  \nThe Ethiopians say that their gods are flat-nosed and black\, \nWhile the Thracians say that theirs have blue eyes and red hair. \nIf cattle or horses or lions had hands and could draw\, \nAnd could sculpt like men\, then the horses would draw their gods \nLike horses\, and cattle like cattle; and each would shape \nBodies of gods in their own likeness. \n  \n― Xenophanes  (c. 570-478 B.C.E) \n  \nOctober 14\, 2021 \n  \nJohnny’s Brief Guide to Ancient Greece \n  \nWARNING!: My mind tends to meander. This essay might do likewise. \n  \nAbout five years ago\, or so\, I chanced to read “The Suppliants” by Aeschylus. Written about 463 B.C.E.\, it is one of the earliest plays there is. In it\, a group of women have come from North Africa to Argos\, in Greece\, seeking asylum\, to escape being forced into marriages against their will. When I read it\, I thought: “Wow! That’s still happening: women are coming to Greece as refugees from North Africa to escape from forced marriages—among other things.” And I thought it would be cool to do a production of “The Suppliants” in one of those big amphitheaters that you see pictures of. \n  \nIt was one of those fantasies that last for a while\, until other ideas come along and crowd it out. \n  \nThen\, earlier this year\, a Greek actor and director named Stratis Panourios was a guest speaker for the Shakespeare in Prisons Conference. I saw his talk online\, \n (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BuKvkE_cZDk&t=32s)\,  \nand a week later participated in an online conversation with him. He had directed a production of Shakespeare’s play “The Tempest” at a prison in Greece. He is smart\, funny\, engaging—I liked him immediately. \n (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9zMZaUUW_Xs&t=64s.)  \nI emailed him my idea about doing “The Suppliants” of Aeschylus and including stories of contemporary refugee women in the performance. He sent me a “call for submissions” form from an arts festival: 2023 Eleusis European Capital of Culture. \n  \nWe submitted a proposal\, along with three other collaborators: Zeina Daccache\, Vassiliki Katrivanou and Alokananda Roy. Some prison friends will remember Zeina. She is a drama therapist who came to our production of “Twelve Angry Men” at Two Rivers prison\, in 2012. Zeina had directed a production of the same play at Roumieh prison\, and made a great documentary film about it called “12 Angry Lebanese.”  \n(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tf5akVvHhx4&t=29s.)  \nVassiliki lives in Athens and has worked on refugee issues as a member of the Greek Parliament. She currently works for the Greek Council on Refugees.  \n(https://openroadpdx.com/team/vassiliki-katrivanou/.)  \nShe made a documentary film with Bushra Azzouz called “Women of Cyprus.” She came to our production of “Midsummer Night’s Dream” at Two Rivers in 2010\, and took photos for the film Bushra was shooting. (That film is nearing completion\, and should be released in 2022.) I met Alokananda Roy in 2018 at the Shakespeare in Prisons Conference in San Diego. She had directed big dance-theater productions at a prison in India\, and the performers had taken the shows on tour to theaters in many Indian cities.  \n(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OspzzO7gAiw&t=1s.)  \nOur Dream Team is still waiting to hear if we will be included in the festival. Keep your fingers crossed! \n  \nI got very excited about going to Greece. When acting in or directing a play\, I like to do research on the background of the story—the time and place when the play was written\, and also the time and place in which the story is set. Ancient Greece is a treasure trove! For the past several months I’ve been reading about Greek Drama and Philosophy and Culture and Religion and Literature and Mythology—everything written by a Greek or about the Greeks that I can get my hands on. \n  \nThe Western tradition of Literature begins with the Iliad and Odyssey of Homer. In Athens\, in the Fifth Century B.C.E\, the poets Aeschylus\, Sophocles\, Euripides and Aristophanes began our tradition of theater. Our philosophical tradition begins with the Greeks\, notably Socrates\, Plato and Aristotle\, in Athens. The Athenians were the first city-state to attempt Democracy as a form of government. And then there are all those strange myths that have inspired poets\, painters\, playwrights and psychiatrists since the Renaissance. Shakespeare wrote a long poem called “Venus and Adonis.” “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” is set in Athens\, just before the wedding of Theseus and Hippolyta. Botticelli painted “The Birth of Venus”!  \n(https://www.uffizi.it/en/artworks/birth-of-venus.)  \nYeats and Rilke both wrote poems about Leda and the Swan. Homer’s Odyssey inspired James Joyce’s Ulysses and Nikos Kazantzakis’ epic The Odyssey: A Modern Sequel. Stephen Berkoff’s 1980 play “Greek” is a modern re-telling of Sophocles’s “Oedipus Tyrannus.” Lee Breuer’s 1989 musical “The Gospel at Colonus” is based on Sophocles’ “Oedipus at Colonus.”  \n(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ZyQP_zrD2U.)  \nIn 2017\, Nancy and I saw a great production of Mary Zimmerman’s play “The Odyssey” at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival\, in Ashland. Sigmund Freud postulated an “Oedipus Complex” to explain why human life is such a tragedy. Et cetera. Et cetera. \n  \nAt a tender age\, I got involved in Theater and also I went off to India to study Philosophy\, so I have always been intrigued with Greece\, where these things began in the West. I fell in love with Socrates\, and sat in on classes taught by the great Greek scholar-philosopher Gregory Vlastos at the University of California at Berkeley\, when he was giving lectures in preparation for writing his book Socrates: Ironist and Moral Philosopher. I got a CETA grant back in 1977\, and the first play I ever directed was Choēphór0i\, “The Libation Bearers\,” of Aeschylus. I’ve played the part of the blind seer Tiresias in “The Bacchae” of Euripides twice!—directed by Keith Scales for the Classic Greek Theater of Oregon\, and directed by choreographer Bill T. Jones\, for a dance-theater workshop production at Columbia University. \n  \nPhilosophy has become an academic subject\, taught by Philosophy Professors to Philosophy Students in Universities. Mostly\, they read the writings of the most famous philosophers in the Western Philosophical tradition\, and discuss their ideas. For Socrates and Plato\, philosophia\, the love of wisdom\, was something quite different. They wanted to know: how should we live? Life is short—what is the best way to spend the brief time we have? When I went to India\, I didn’t go in order to become a scholar of Indian Philosophy. I wanted to get enlightenment! The gurus I studied with taught what might be called “The Art of Living\,” which included Philosophy\, Psychology and Religion—as it did for Socrates and Plato. I read Plato and Walt Whitman not because I want to impress people at cocktail parties\, but because I want to live a meaningful life. I want to be wiser\, kinder\, happier\, more free. I want to better understand what’s going on here! \n  \nThe word theos\, “god\,” had a different meaning for the Greeks in those days than it does for those of us who grew up with a monotheistic worldview. Instead of saying “God is Love\,” it would have made more sense to say “Love is a god.” Anything eternal was a god or a goddess—Earth\, Sky\, Night\, Day\, Evening\, Sleep\, Dreams\, Madness\, Desire\, Violence\, Friendship\, Fate\, Chaos\, Death—all were holy. The Greeks lived in a sacred landscape\, where mortal women gave birth to children whose fathers were gods—or even rivers! \n  \nThe performances of Greek tragedies were sacred rites. The “City Dionysia” was a festival in Athens dedicated to the god Dionysus. The god was believed to be present for the performances. Just as New England Puritans were required to go to church\, Athenians were required to attend the plays. It was a religious duty. Everyone was expected to honor the gods and goddesses by making sacrifices and performing sacred rites. One thing you definitely didn’t want to do was anger the gods. The plays told stories sacred to the Greeks\, including stories about the Trojan War and its aftermath. If you’ve read the Iliad\, you will remember that the gods and goddesses of Olympus took sides\, and got very involved. \n  \nMost of the stories that the Greek playwrights told were tragedies—so much so\, that we might get the impression that the Greeks in those days had a “tragic worldview.” But trying to understand how people in Athens at the time of Socrates understood the world and their place in it is extremely challenging. Maybe even a Herculean labor! It’s mind-boggling! So much was going on! And they were going through big changes—thanks in no small part to the philosophers and playwrights. \n  \nThere were three kinds of plays: tragedies\, comedies and satyr plays. We have only seven of the seventy to ninety plays that Aeschylus wrote\, seven of the more than 120 plays that Sophocles wrote\, eighteen of the ninety or so plays that Euripides wrote\, and eleven of the forty comedies that Aristophanes wrote. One satyr play survives\, “The Cyclops” by Euripides. Every year at the City Dionysia Festival three playwrights would be invited to present four plays each—three tragedies and one satyr play. It’s interesting that after watching three tragedies\, full of suffering—Oedipus’ mother hangs herself and he gouges out his own eyes—the mood would shift to a knockabout comedy\, full of bawdy humor. (Satyrs spent their time getting drunk and having sex. Greek vases give us ample evidence that ancient Greeks were definitely not Puritans.) \n  \nThe chorus was an essential part of all Greek plays. In an early play like “The Suppliants\,” the chorus of Egyptian women\, “Danaïdes\,” is the protagonist of the drama. (Lots of words we use today come from the Greek: protagonist\, antagonist\, drama\, tragedy\, chorus\, catharsis\, nemesis\, hubris\, myth\, psyche\, eros\, idea\, and on and on.) Most modern plays don’t have a chorus\, but most operas do\, and lots of dance productions and musicals do. The Greek chorus didn’t just speak their lines\, they sang them. And they danced. Among the many challenges for our production will be integrating music and movement into the performance. Fortunately\, one of our collaborators is a dancer-choreographer. \n  \nThere are a lot more books and essays about Greek Tragedy than about Greek Comedy\, but I’d like to say a word or two about Aristophanes. He boldly made fun of the most powerful (and dangerous) men in the city—and they were in the audience! He made fun of everyone and everything\, including tragic playwrights\, philosophers\, gods and goddesses. Most remarkably\, he wrote anti-war plays\, like Lysistrata—where the women refuse to have sex with their husbands until they end the war—and he did this while his country was at war! It’s a credit to the people of ancient Athens that he got away with it! \n  \nI hope we get the grant! For me\, going to Greece will be a kind of pilgrimage. I want to see the places where Zeus hit people with lightning bolts\, places where gods and goddesses were born\, where heroes performed their mighty deeds. I want to walk around the agora\, where Socrates spent his days asking his fellow citizens about the meaning of Justice and Virtue. He was sentenced to death for corrupting the youth with his philosophizing. He calmly drank the poison after explaining to his friends why he was completely unafraid to die.
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-10-14-21/
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DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20211003T150000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20211003T170000
DTSTAMP:20260425T071533
CREATED:20210930T172637Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20210930T173056Z
UID:2392-1633273200-1633280400@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!: Looking Glass Bookstore  10/3/21
DESCRIPTION:  \nBeloved Bibliophiles \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nFor Sunday\, October 3rd\, at 3 pm (PDT)\, Bill Kloster and Katie Radditz will guide us on a magical mystery tour of Portland’s legendary Looking Glass Bookstore. This is a SPECIAL EVENT! \n\n\nDon’t miss it!\n\n\n\nHere’s the (new) link:\n\n\n\nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/86949399028\n\n\n\n\n\npeace & love\n\n\n\nJohnny\n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-looking-glass-bookstore-10-3-21/
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210930
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20211014
DTSTAMP:20260425T071533
CREATED:20210930T165714Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250718T125408Z
UID:2386-1632960000-1634169599@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  9/30/21
DESCRIPTION:  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nThe heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of….We know the truth not only by the reason\, but by the heart. \n  \n—Blaise Pascal  (1623-1662) \n  \nSeptember 30\, 2021 \n  \nRocky sent this contribution to “peace\, love\, happiness & understanding” from segregation: \n  \n  \nHEART! \n  \nHey\, I’ve been thinking a lot of the heart and trying to determine why it has so much control over each of us. Scientifically\, I understand how the influx of adrenaline and hormones—either oxytocin or testosterone—affect the heart chemically. \n  \nWhat I want to find out is why it is the place where love\, joy\, pain\, fear\, sorrow and tears seem to come from. Is the heart a doorway to where we come from before we are born? Or is it a keyhole where we (“our soul”) goes? If our heart is filled with only love\, it feels like what heart should feel like. \n  \nI feel in my heart all the people I love\, loved\, or will love. Is it strange that when I place the ones I love or despise in my heart I envision them all in robes\, with no shoes? My heart is a sacred place. I assume it looks much like a battlefield\, scarred\, broken\, scorched earth\, with spots of pure beauty. What does your heart look like in your mind? \n  \nThe depiction of R. W. Emerson’s “oversoul” has stitched its image upon my soul. I can feel my life and all of its emotions flowing into me from that other\, unknown place. But it flows into my heart\, not my eyes\, not my poor wounded mind. No\, my oversoul is flooded into my heart. Those of you who have this ailment will be of like-minded understanding. Our tears come from our heart\, the heart being our center of…all of us. \n  \nI feel that under the right circumstances I could live well without my mind\, among others that are willing to be of like-heartedness. The ancient Chinese believed that the heart was the source of all our cognition. I do not think they were wrong. Albert Einstein believed our heart was where mankind would find true timelessness\, or a wormhole into time/space—much like my thought of the keyhole to heaven. \n  \nWhen we truly\, deeply love each other\, I feel we are as close to a heaven on earth as we’re ever going to get\, and\, with that said\, the reverse could be said—that to hate is hell on earth. I would prefer to love everyone\, and not allow the poison of hate to stain any more of my being—to live in love\, joy\, and\, yes\, I consider even some pain and suffering to be alive in love\, in life\, to accept the duality of all things and understand that we love the circle of all things. \n  \nI honestly believe my heart is a hobo\, a vagabond\, a transient. My heart is happiest homeless. I do want love and am good at loving…too good\, though. Too deep and too long. I keep the love for others long after they have forgot to love me. Which means my heart is at home in the gutter\, or dog house\, or kicked. That is why it is a battlefield of life. \n  \nHoward brought up Knausgaard’s epic My Struggle\, and “the body’s gentleman’s agreement with death\,” and the steps of irrevocability with the pooling of blood in the heart. Dying of a broken heart was also discussed by us\, which in a morbid way is in my top 3 ways to go now. The love and passion of it brings tears from my heart to my eyes. To love someone so much that you follow them into death…very romantic. Pure love. \n  \nI once read somewhere\, or perhaps someone told me\, that Shakespeare wrote the great works with one hand upon his heart. So I tried it…well\, this all came out. So\, does it work to write to the rhythm of a beating heart? I feel that it is in the eye of the beholder\, or in the sinews of how a writing touches your heart.  \n  \nWhat touches your heart to tears? The vision of a single mom or dad weeping over the gift of a fine meal for kids? Or the fact that you’ve stopped shooting H\, and it’s been a year? You were tempted and walked away. Or those last few moments so precious you did not get to spend with a loved one who died of cancer? What touches your heartstrings? Don’t be afraid…let it touch them. \n  \nLet us all speak of the heart\, here\, now\, with those we love. \n  \n—Rocky Hutchinson  9-19-21 \n* \n  \nwake up\, heart! \n  \nwake up\, heart! \nwake up and love everyone and every thing \nlove the unlovable \nthe unhappy old men who start the wars \nthe geniuses who collapse the economy \nthe heads of the big corporations who ruin the earth \nthey need love\, too \nwhy else would they do stuff like that? \n  \nwe all want to love and be loved \nwe all need to love and be loved \nlove everything that moves \nand everything that won’t budge \nlove the person who is reading or listening to this poem \n  \nyou might start with the easy ones \npassing dogs \nlaughing children \nfluffy white clouds \nall the spring flowers shouting “love me!” \n  \npractice on the easy ones \nuntil you get so good at it that you accidentally love the weird and scary homeless people\,  \nthe criminals\,  \nthe people whose views differ from yours \n—before you have time to think about it \n  \nheart\, you were born for love \nmr. brain sometimes tells you not to \n“don’t love that one\,” he says\, “that one doesn’t deserve it” \n“don’t be a fool” \nforgive mr. brain \nhe can’t help it \nhe’s always making distinctions between this and that \nhe needs a hug \n  \nyou know better \nyou know that the thing to do is just to love \nto wake up and love without limit \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nThis is a slightly edited transcription from an interview with Alokananda Roy\, who has choreographed large dance productions in Indian prisons\, which then toured the country!: \n  \nLove Therapy in My Second Home \n  \nWhen a child is born\, he or she is like a fresh flower. No child is born a criminal or an offender. Things happen for various reasons. Who are we to judge? We have not been in that situation. I have been through a journey with such people\, and all I did was treat them like a human being and not an untouchable. The rest is history. \n  \nI was walking into a man’s world. Girls are fewer in number. I have never planned anything in my life. Honestly speaking\, I never felt I have to achieve anything. I just followed my heart. I went in as a guest to the jail\, which is now called a “correctional home.” I couldn’t imagine it will transform me\, and I never thought my spirit will find its freedom in the jail. \n  \nIn every adverse period of my life\, dancing rejuvenated me. That’s what I wanted to share with them—to be involved in something creative. But it is a fact that at other times it is very depressing in a place like jail. You cannot be happy in a jail. Nobody wants to stay there. \n  \nIt was on the International Women’s Day\, and I was invited as a guest. The girls wanted to learn dance\, and I readily agreed\, because I love challenges\, because I didn’t know what it was like to be with these people who are shunned by the society.  \n  \nWhen I was coming out\, I noticed the boys\, and I really felt sorry for their mothers—being a mother myself. I felt any one of them could have been my child\, and I wanted to do something. \n  \nJail is basically a place of curiosity for people outside. It’s a very intriguing place\, very different from the outside world. When I first went in I was equally curious\, like others. I never thought I will be so emotionally involved—not to this extent. Instinctively\, I asked Mr. Sharma\, “Can I also teach the boys?” He was surprised\, because people are afraid to go there\, or to interact with them. Many go there out of curiosity\, but dance is something which is unheard of and unthinkable in the jail. I have to admit that Mr. Sharma was a great\, great\, great support. \n  \nThe energy was not only the physical energy—when we are dancing\, it affects our body and mind and soul. We don’t do it consciously\, it just happens. While teaching them\, I realized why we feel good when we dance. \n  \nAlthough the girls were very excited\, the boys were not. They thought dancing was being feminine. And I did think that they would feel this way\, so I started with martial dance\, and I told them that it was like karate\, kung fu. So\, probably they could relate to that. We started with martial dance\, and then the vibrant folk dances of India. And they started enjoying it\, because the rhythm they had lost in life was coming back\, in their body\, their mind\, their soul\, their thoughts. And not only the boys who first came in\, others started joining in\, and I had a team of 60 boys and 10 girls. \n  \nWhile they were rehearsing for these dances—the folk dances\, the martial dances—they started making the props\, the costumes\, which they never thought they could. So\, all their latent talents\, which were lying submerged\, were surfacing. All their artistic talents were coming out. They didn’t even know that they had an artist in them. \n  \nWhatever they wish to convey\, they write it down on a piece of paper. Once a boy wrote\, “I don’t remember my mother so much\, but now when I shut my eyes and think of her I see your face.” I was so touched. I did nothing special for him. Just that little bit made such a difference. \n  \nTell me who has not made any mistake in life\, big or small. There are so many offenders walking free in our society. Nobody points a finger at them. The moment you walk into the jail\, you are stamped\, and you have to live with that stigma. \n  \nAs they were changing their attitude\, their body language\, I thought of doing Valmiki Pratibha\, because it was their story: the transformation of a criminal into a sage. And I found all my Valmikis there\, and it has created history. \n  \nWhen somebody dies in the family of one of them\, we all sit around and pray for the departed soul. We don’t even know who they are\, but they’re all brothers\, sisters\, and they’re my children. So\, we all sit together and pray. They have also learned to share the sorrows of others. It’s all a bonding\, a brotherhood beyond boundaries. Never ever\, anywhere in the world\, as far as I know—I may be wrong—do prisoners go out of the prison\, perform all over the country\, and they come back to the jail. Nobody has ever even imagined to escape\, although they had every opportunity to do so.  \n  \nAnd gradually\, with time\, there was a peculiar bonding\, when I started becoming a mother figure to them\, and they called me “Ma\,” or “Mother.” It was such a beautiful feeling\, because there was so much innocence\, so much love\, so much sincerity in that bonding\, that connection that we had. And gradually they became a part of my life. I realize why. They also told me nobody touches them. They always said\, “Ma\, you do what you want\, but don’t leave us. Be with us always\, all our life.” \n  \nYou see\, all I did was channelize their energy—the unused youthful energy that they had—in a positive way. And it worked. They were doing so well\, that I thought: “Why don’t we have a little performance within the walls of the jail?” Because I never ever imagined—we never imagined—they will go and conquer the whole country. \n  \nWithin the jail\, there are boys and girls from different religious backgrounds. After doing Valmiki Pratibha\, and when they all actually became brothers\, there was no barrier\, no religious barrier. Each one was celebrating the others’ festivals together.  \n  \nSince we started this journey\, many boys and girls have been released\, and they’re all in touch with me. Many of my boys come to meet me with the produce of their farms. And believe me\, none of them—not one—have gone back to the dark world. They’re all well settled in their own way. Many of them do not come from privileged backgrounds\, but they’re all settled happily with their families. Sometimes they call me when they get a new job. Sometimes the call me\, even send a train ticket\, when they get married. They’ll call me when they have a child. I have a very happy family all around me\, and I’m a proud mother of hundreds of children. \n  \nWhen you have children\, you also have grandchildren. There are so many children who live with their mothers in the jails\, because they have nowhere to go\, nobody to take care of them at home. Such children live like prisoners as well. \n  \nIt is so unfortunate! I feel like a criminal myself: “Aren’t we crushing their childhood? Aren’t we killing their growth\, the normal growth of a child?” They call me “Grandmother”: “Didun.” I felt it was my responsibility to at least try and give them some kind of a normal childhood—where they will go to school in uniform\, they will have proper classes\, extracurricular activities\, they will see cartoons\, they will have a library\, they will have toys and a playground to play around\, like any other child. Is it too much to ask for\, for a child who has not sinned\, to have a normal childhood? That’s how Heart Print was born. \n  \nFirst it was just boarding\, where I had brought some of them whose parents were in jail. Now some of them go to an English Medium school. And the others\, who live with their mothers till age six\, have a little Montessori which is called Heart Print. Their mothers have their fingerprints there. My little grandchildren will leave their heart print behind when they go to a better place\, a better school\, after age six. That is also our responsibility: that they go to a place where they can adjust themselves like any other child\, outside. \n  \nOn 7th of January\, 2018\, early morning\, my boys from the prison crossed another milestone in life. I think they created another history. For the past ten years they have been performing in public auditoriums\, where they were onstage and the audience was in the auditorium. There was still a fine line. But that morning they mingled with 12\,000 marathon runners\, and they ran the marathon with them. There was no wall\, no barrier. It was pure joy of inclusiveness. \n  \nSo\, I’m proud to be their mother. I’m proud of them\, because they have not only made a difference to my life. I think if the society really highlights their transformation\, many people in the world will want to be transformed\, and see the light. \n  \n—Alokananda Roy \n* \n  \nHere’s a link to the YouTube video\, which gives a more vivid picture of Alokananda and what she has done in Indian prisons:  \n  \nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OspzzO7gAiw \n* \n  \nLike Rocky\, Kim wants us to share our stories: \n  \n  \n                                        Splinters \n  \nIt’s the little things that get you. Me? Everything’s going  \ngreat—except I have this splinter at the tip of my index finger  \nI can’t get out. Whatever I do I get this twinge that stops me. \nI meet the world with pain. \n  \nDo you carry festering sorrow\, a weight of guilt\, a habit of fear\,  \ninvisible anguish darkening days? On the street we pass not  \nknowing\, not showing\, nursing all our precious troubles\, humming \nas we hide splinters at the heart. \n  \nI have an idea: let’s tell how it is and why\, stories of how we came \nto carry what we carry\, how we suffer what we must. And hey\, \nlook up there\, where the tops of the trees are all \nreaching for the sky. \n  \n—Kim Stafford
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-9-30-21/
END:VEVENT
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20210919T150000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20210919T170000
DTSTAMP:20260425T071533
CREATED:20210919T040605Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20210919T041449Z
UID:2374-1632063600-1632070800@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!: BOOKS WITH PICTURES IN THEM  9/19/21
DESCRIPTION:Beloved Bibliophiles\n\n\nFor Sunday\, September 19th\, at 3 pm (PDT)\, the theme for our Zoom gathering is: BOOKS WITH PICTURES IN THEM.\n\n\nHere’s the (new) link:\n\n\n\n\n\n\nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/86949399028\n\n\n\n\n\n\nOur Special Guest will be Professor Andrew D. Larkin. Should be edifying.\n\n\n\n \n \nWe hope to see you there.\n \n \nPeace\, Love & Beauty\n \n \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-books-with-pictures-in-them-9-19-21/
END:VEVENT
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210916
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210930
DTSTAMP:20260425T071533
CREATED:20210918T231522Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250718T125225Z
UID:2366-1631750400-1632959999@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  9/16/21
DESCRIPTION:  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \n  \nYet Another So-called Humor Issue \n  \nSeptember 16\, 2021 \n  \nOld Mother Hubbard \nWent to the cupboard\, \nTo give the poor dog a bone: \nWhen she came there\, \nThe cupboard was bare\, \nAnd so the poor dog had none. \n  \nShe went to the baker’s \nTo buy him some bread; \nWhen she came back \nThe dog was dead! \n  \nShe went to the undertaker’s \nTo buy him a coffin; \nWhen she came back \nThe dog was laughing. \n  \nShe took a clean dish \nto get him some tripe; \nWhen she came back \nHe was smoking his pipe. \n  \nShe went to the alehouse \nTo get him some beer; \nWhen she came back \nThe dog sat in a chair. \n  \nShe went to the tavern \nFor white wine and red; \nWhen she came back \nThe dog stood on his head. \n  \nShe went to the fruiterer’s \nTo buy him some fruit; \nWhen she came back \nHe was playing the flute. \n  \nShe went to the tailor’s \nTo buy him a coat; \nWhen she came back \nHe was riding a goat. \n  \nShe went to the hatter’s \nTo buy him a hat; \nWhen she came back \nHe was feeding her cat. \n  \nShe went to the barber’s \nTo buy him a wig \nWhen she came back \nHe was dancing a jig. \n  \nShe went to the cobbler’s \nTo buy him some shoes; \nWhen she came back \nHe was reading the news. \n  \nShe went to the sempstress \nTo buy him some linen; \nWhen she came back \nThe dog was spinning. \n  \nShe went to the hosier’s \nTo buy him some hose; \nWhen she came back \nHe was dressed in his clothes. \n  \nThe Dame made a curtsy\, \nThe dog made a bow; \nThe Dame said\, Your servant; \nThe dog said\, Bow-wow. \n  \nThis wonderful dog \nWas Dame Hubbard’s delight\, \nHe could read\, he could dance\, \nHe could sing\, he could write; \nShe gave him rich dainties \nWhenever he fed\, \nAnd erected a monument \nWhen he was dead. \n* \n  \nJeffrey Sher sent us this joke: \n  \nQ: What did the Buddhist tell the door-to-door salesperson who came to his home selling vacuum cleaners? \nA: Too many attachments! \n* \n  \nWill Hornyak sent this one: \n  \nMahatma Gandhi traveled through India barefoot as a young man\, meditating\, praying\, fasting and meeting his countrymen.  His thickly calloused feet carried him from village to village where he begged for food\, often eating rotten scraps.  “My health suffered\, I became weak\, my breath was foul.” \n  \nGandhi carried with him only one book throughout his travels: Mary Poppins.  “I was inspired by the word “Super-calla-fragalistic-expialadoscious” since I was a Super Calloused Fragile Mystic with a case of Halitosis.” \n* \n  \n  \nA penguin walked into a bar and said\, “Has my father been in here today?” \nThe bartender said\, “ I don’t know. What does he look like?” \n  \nA man walked into a bar and sat down next to a man with a dog at his feet. “Does your dog bite?” he asked. “No\,” was the reply. So he reaches down to pet the dog\, and the dog bites him. “I thought you said your dog doesn’t bite!” he said. “That’s not my dog.” \n  \nWhen I was younger\, I felt like a man trapped inside a woman’s body. Then I was born. \n  \nWhat is the last thing that goes through a bugs mind as it hits a windshield? \nHis butt. \n  \nWhat kind of coffee was served on the Titanic? \nSanka. \n  \nHow many performance artists does it take to change a lightbulb? \nI don’t know. I left at intermission. \n  \nHow many Unitarians does it take to change a lightbulb? \nWe believe that incandescent\, fluorescent\, tinted\, or three-way are equally valid paths to light\, and if\, in your journey\, you have felt the need to change your lightbulb\, we are holding a lightbulb service on Sunday at which you’re welcome to recite a poem or perform a dance about luminescence. \n  \n“Hello! Is this the fire department?” \n“Yes.” \n“Listen\, my house is on fire! You’ve got to come right away! It’s terrible!” \n“Okay\, how do we get to your house?” \n“You don’t have those big red trucks anymore?” \n  \nI failed my driving test today. The instructor asked me\, “What do you do at a red light?” \nI said\, “I usually check my emails and see what people are up to on Facebook.” \n* \n  \nWell\, that’s about it for now. Just remember why birds fly south for the winter… \nIt’s too far to walk.  \n  \nMay all people be happy!
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-9-16-21/
END:VEVENT
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210915
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20211015
DTSTAMP:20260425T071533
CREATED:20210918T224401Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20211130T002700Z
UID:2359-1631664000-1634255999@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue  9/15/21
DESCRIPTION:  \n  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n  \n  \nI find it interesting how my mind works. \n—Michel Deforge \n   \nSeptember 15\, 2021 \n  \nThe Open Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue is one year old! Our first dialogue came out on September 15\, 2020. Happy Birthday to us! Nancy had the lovely idea of looking back over the last year\, and remembering together some of what we’ve shared. Here goes!: \n  \nIn segregation we have paintings of different scenes….since putting this wisdom of Thich Nhat Hanh in perspective you see more than a painting. For it opens my eyes to the time\, the painter\, the painter’s years of art skills\, everything down to what makes paint…paint. There are so many miracles that came together to make these paintings! It’s amazing. Now I try to be mindful of what miracles come into place to make people I meet\, foods I eat…. \n  \nOften in my experience of living in prison there have been “rules” or “discriminating views” on this or that person. There is an atmospheric influence that enforces racial segregation and fuels hate amongst others. It’s follow the rules\, or the road. (As of late\, the Road is wide open and lovely. Join me?) Harboring one train of thought as truth\, and not having an open heart and open mind\, blurs the hidden beauty of truth in others—obstructed by societal upbringings\, social media\, and other major influences. Abandonment of views\, or opinions\, is an ice pick of relief\, chipping away the cold ice of hate\, oppression\, single-mindedness\, and when you can finally free yourself from the icy blur of lies and deceit\, you will find that what you thought was truth was an obstacle holding you from seeing the beauty in the soul of everyone/everything. Having an open heart\, open mind\, and leaving the views you’ve been taught\, you will learn so much\, and be able to see life\, and live life\, with deeper meaning\, and understanding. \n  \nI send all the Open Road/M & M family and the world Peace Love Happiness and Good Vibes. You all are beautiful and deserve the most! \n  \n—Jake Green \n* \n  \nI am the good man. \nI am the good decisions that I make. \nI am compassion\, I do not fake. \nI am kindness\, I am love. \nI am by choice\, not by chance. \nI am intent\, not happenstance. \nI am in servitude of good. \nI am alive and I am living. \nI am grateful I am. \n  \n—Joseph Opyd \n* \n  \nBy being mindful I have learned that there is value in all situations. While I suffer I learn\, while I’m happy I learn. Mindfulness is our tool to dig through the layers of our minds and be really truly in the moment\, allowing us to remove reaction and embrace each event for what it is truly worth\, “good\,” or “bad.” \n  \n—Cody Dalton \n* \n  \nI find myself\, my soul\, my beliefs and my being saturated in belonging—belonging to a love so deep\, so real\, so unreal. Coming from a life of nothing and going to a life full of love I never knew I could be a part of. A love that I knew was there\, there for others\, but for me…well\, it was only window shopping. \n  \nNow I long to be drenched in the core of my soul\, always and forever drowning in this love\, this love that has pierced my cosmic veil. This love for all\, for beauty\, for the ones who opened so many doors into and onto the mind\, heart and truth that dwells within my being…. \n  \nBlessings\, \nPeace\, \nJoy\, \nUnconditionally \nLove \nAll \nThere is in Life \n  \n—Rocky Hutchinson \n* \n  \nThe most important thing about life–greater than any discovery\, creation\, or attainment—is the simple fact that we are alive….If we open our eyes and ears we can remember how fantastic it is\, how precious\, how exciting\, how beautiful\, how crazy it is that we are here. We have arrived. We are not only alive but we can be aware of our life and we can appreciate our life. Meditation practice is taking time to appreciate this amazing fact….  \n  \nWhen I say “my body” or “my mind” there is a presumption of separation. There is “I” and there is “my body” and the two are at odds with each other. “I” want to “control my body” or “I” want to “control my mind” but who is this “I” who thinks it can chop pieces off of the whole and then control them?…. \n  \nThe body is not some dog that has to be beaten into submission. But neither is it some dog that has to be well fed and trained. It is the very matrix of my being. It is the finest intelligence\, awareness\, the consequence of a billion years of evolution. It perceives the world and it simultaneously creates the world. There is no brain without the body…and no heart\, either. \n  \nIn Buddhism they say the first prerequisite for enlightenment is a human birth.  \n  \nThere’s a famous Zen story in which a person brags that his master can walk on water. Another student says\, “My teacher can also perform miracles. When he is tired he sleeps; when he is hungry he eats.” To me this story has infinite implications and ramifications.  \n  \nWhat is purity?—what is purification? Meister Eckhart said\, “To be pure is to have no thoughts.” \n  \nHow to have no thoughts? Listen\, listen\, listen.  \n  \nI feel that “tapas”—purification—is listening\, with all the connotations of that beautiful word. When I am listening\, there is no division. If I am listening and the voice of division arises\, it is just another sound like the song of the bird or the beep beep beep of the truck backing up…it has no more “authority” than that.  \n  \nIf I listen\, I can sleep when I am tired and eat when I am hungry. \n  \n—Howard Thoresen \n* \n  \nI do truly believe that all humans are worthy of being loved\, so I guess that includes myself. Dang it! I know the best thing I can do for myself is continue to live a healthy clean life\, love others\, and surround myself with like-minded people….My hope is that someday I will be a successful productive member of society\, and when that child inside comes calling I can reassure him that we have the tools to live a healthy life\, and everything is going to be okay…. \n  \nLove can come from some very unexpected places when you least expect it and you may need it the most. It is an amazing thing that people are out there that care for their fellow humans. Even when the love might not be directed at you personally\, to see others loving others can have a huge impact on people. Reading all of your words and the newsletters has been great. When I see that type of thing it makes me want to be a better\, more loving and compassionate person. It is infectious. \n  \nI recently lost my father who was killed in a tragic motor vehicle accident. He was my rock and I was so looking forward to spending time with him when I got home. I tried to be strong at first\, but I started to slip into a very lonely dark place within a month. Nothing made sense and I felt fearful. Then I started to get unexpected support from the community where I grew up. A friend from the past reached out to me and we have been speaking ever since. Their love and support has seen me through the worst of it\, and I am feeling excited again about going home and continuing my father’s legacy. Love is a beautiful thing and it knows when you need it most\, how others’ compassion and understanding can bring you through dark times and make you feel hopeful again. Neat! Let’s all keep loving one another for the sake of those that may not know they need it. \n  \n—Aaron Gilbert \n* \n  \nI have taken up golf in my old age\, just by accident\, since I live a few blocks from a golf course\, I thought I would try it just to see what it was like. That was last spring. I quickly found that I loved the game. It is a practice of putting mind and body together in a challenging physical ritual\, and at it’s best there is a mystical experience to be had….fleetingly. \n  \nYesterday I played 18 holes particularly badly and came home feeling very frustrated. Of course I went out this morning and practiced\, and did a little better\, almost certainly because I wasn’t trying too hard to do well. \n  \nThen I came home\, turned on my computer\, and read Beginner’s Mind. It came like a ray of light that if I can play with beginner’s mind\, I will no longer get frustrated. I will probably play better too\, although that won’t matter any more (yes it will). \n  \n—Ken Margolis \n* \n  \nAll life\, particularly including prison life\, is often filled with ambiguities and heartfelt remorse for past actions and a need for new beginnings. \n  \nZen philosophy speaks to this concept: Always be a beginner\, always start with a fresh mind. Few concepts may be as important to success  in prison reform as new beginnings. \n  \nPeace and Love\, \n  \n—Jerry Smith \n* \n  \nOnce again\, Thây emphasizes that now is all that is and everything I need is already present\, here in and/or with me now. When I go looking out there (outside myself)—to others\, to the past\, to any possible future\, to things to places—I can never find peace\, whatever I am seeking. When I begin to turn inward\, embracing what is within me already\, I find peace\, freedom\, happiness: nirvana. It’s all right there\, just waiting for me to find it\, as it always was…. \n  \nIt is amazing what a few days of not mindfully breathing\, or purpose (practicing) can do to my mental state—more mercurial and more affected by influences. (grrr) It’s my own doing. I can’t blame anyone. Maybe…I can just relax\, breathe; and let it be what it is…? (Breathing…) How funny. Today is about bodhichitta and a “goal” of practice—to\, ultimately\, be able to aid/relieve the suffering of others. Wow! It’s funny because I see myself\, right now\, being very deep in my own mud/suffering. Getting better\, or anything positive\, is so far from my experience of now. And\, forget about being of help or benefit …Yet\, even now\, I may learn\, and from my learning\, another may derive a benefit…. \n  \nWouldn’t that be wonderful? If we could get many to meditate and peace were to spontaneously erupt. Then\, as a result of all the peaceful people and the contagious nature of peace\, that Peace broke out all over the world. What would that world look like? Would it be astonishing or amazing? Or\, would we all\, as active meditators\, know it was what we expected to occur? \n  \n—Michel Deforge \n* \n  \nAll My Relations \n  \nI want to thank all my relations \nfor this chance to be on Earth \nin her time of flourishing; to thank  \nthe First People of this place\, the  \nMultnomah people\, the Clackamas\, \nMolalla\, Tualatin\, & Chinook\, to honor  \ntheir sovereignty in long and continuing  \nrelation\, still teaching us how we might \nbe here together; to thank my mother and father\,  \nmoon and sun\, for setting me forth before  \ntheir own passing on; to thank my grandmother \nwho listened to me so eloquently I learned \nto listen to my own heart and mind\, to find \nstories and songs there; to thank my family  \nand friends\, and all citizens and travelers  \nwho study and work for deeper kinship  \nin this place\, with one another\, and with  \nall creatures\, one Earth\, visible\, palpable\,  \nfragile\, intricate\, resonant\, in need of our \nbetter stories. I want to thank you  \nwho have gathered to receive what I have  \ncarried here — in hope that something \nI have may meet something you need\, \nso all our relations may be strengthened \nfor the life we live together. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nFor me\, it’s been a struggle my whole life to just “sit there” and not “be” with so many things constantly on my mind. It’s been nice to just be in the moment and focus on form\, breathing and not everything else. For me to truly be there in that moment I cease all those fleeting thoughts for those 30 minutes every other day. Then\, when I’m done\, I enjoy the practice so much I begin doing stretches while practicing mindfulness. This has become my favorite part of my days lately\, and it’s very peaceful. I encourage everyone to\, at the very least\, stretch and practice just being. \n  \n—Jeff Kuehner \n* \n  \nMy friends\, I must be honest. I have written this paper six times over! \n  \nI started out writing about good and evil\, page 156. Setting out\, I had in mind an ideal of vanquishing good\, evil and the universal duality….But I lost! \n  \nDuality has successfully wriggled its little fingers into every last nook and cranny; it won’t be going anywhere soon. And after thwarting my attempts at the highest level\, it opened my eyes…. \n  \nDuality seems to offer a reasonable solution\, and offers the key to any that seek. \n  \nCould co-existing be the harmony we seek\, could it shine light on the hidden path? The wonder of wonders keeps me wondering still… \n  \nI have been limiting myself for a very long time\, but\, thankfully\, we all can change! \n  \nI’ve come to the conclusion that indifference will never do. Balance\, on the other hand\, is a very different story. When using both the positive and the negative\, you allow them to cancel each other out…. \n  \nI’ll make my last stand with a final quote from the Hsin Hsin Ming: “…to accept everything is to be enlightened…” \n  \npeace & love & everything else \n  \n—Joshua Barnes \n* \n  \nSo often when an emotion arises that I don’t want to have I bury it. But what happens when there is no more room for them? \n  \nThis practice of mindful breathing to calm the storm or just wait it out without incident is the key\, for me\, to getting through many a bad day. \n  \nThere are many forms of breathing. The point I am trying to make is: let’s just take a look at what is going on in the inside of us\, grab ahold of it and examine it under a practice of mindfulness\, calm breathing\, and then maybe we can get a better understanding of what it is that makes us tick…or get ticked off. \n  \n—Brandon Gillespie \n* \n  \nMy homework for today: study my distress and dissatisfaction. Doctors\, nurses\, and therapists use this format to diagnose physical/mental ailments\, the SOAP format. Bhikkhu Analayo recommends applying the same format to our distress. Identify the problem by its (S) subjective and (O) objective components\, (A) assess the cause\, and then make a (P) plan. My problem today and every day is that I WANT THINGS TO BE DIFFERENT than they actually are. That person shouldn’t be rude. The rules shouldn’t be so arbitrary. The soup should not be so hot\, and it definitely should never be cold. The subjective is my experience of distress/dissatisfaction/discontentment. The objective\, the cause of my distress\, is my desire for things to be different. (Notice the cause is NOT the “errant” situation!) The assessment is that I really need to learn how to accept things as they are OR be more effective in making necessary changes (complaining is not changing). The plan\, using the jargon of this meditation tradition\, is the Eightfold Path\, or learning to behave differently\, shift my mental focus\, and learn to understand how the world actually works\, as opposed to how I fantasize it works. YTH #7\, 19\, and 317 relate to this. \n  \n—Shad Alexander \n* \n  \nWITHOUT \n  \nPicture nothing. \n  \nNothing is pictured. \n  \nAnd then everything food sex stoplight \nyoga mat grocery bag little gnat— \n  \nas through a valve \nin the middle of that pictured \nnothing: \n  \nit all comes rushing \nlike sparks \njetting in the void. \n  \nThe ocean goes back in the bottle \nonly when you ignore it. \n  \nI flit from station to station\, \nknowing nothing of meditation. \n  \nAnd I seek out mute buttons \nas if there are more than one\, \nas if it is something that exists \n  \nwithout. \n  \nHappy early 70th birthday! As my present to you\, I’ve written a poem in your honor: \n  \nAFTER \n  \nAnd you may find that you have nothing \nto say\, and that’s okay. The bird \n  \nyou pictured now because that’s the way \nthe brain works \n  \nand the concentric circles of its song— \nthey are always there. Jung defined \n  \nthe unconscious as everything \nyou have forgotten\, everything \n  \nyou’re not currently thinking about\, \nand everything you do not know. \n  \nThat narrows it down. \nSo the conscious mind is really \n  \nonly very little of what goes on— \nlike a lightbulb compared to the dawn. \n  \n—Alex Tretbar \n* \n  \nI so desire to be one with nature\, to be in the woods\, smell the fresh air and hear only nature. To touch Mother Earth and for her to touch me\, feeling her embrace. It has been way too long for me feeling pure nature\, and reading #358 at first made me feel sad for what I have been missing\, but then I read it again\, seeing that “Whenever she sees us suffering\, she will protect us.” In this moment I am in now\, she is protecting me with the knowledge that soon I will have the chance to feel the woods and her embrace once again. I cannot wait for that day…. \n  \nSomehow\, over the years\, a slow chip away happened. I found my true mind\, and in doing so I no longer only saw my afflictions\, but saw much more. Call it enlightenment. I no longer concentrated on my deluded mind or thoughts\, which in turn\, I suppose\, allowed me to truly heal my affliction that got me here to prison. I am still not perfect by far\, none of us are\, but I truly believe I have healed enough now to start my next chapter in life. A life outside these fences. A life as me and who I am. A life that will allow me to continue to heal and better who I am\, the person I know I am and want to be. \n  \n—Joshua Underhill \n* \n  \nI am here \nI see (or hear or touch) some thing \nI know it  \nYes (tiny smile) I am meditating \nMy knowing it \nMy seeing \nand my being here \nare somehow  \nrelated Yes (chuckle to myself) I am ok \nsomehow divisions \nare eased \ncan I “feel” \nhow you also \nare breathing \ncan I deeply  \nunderstand \nthat the  \nwater from a \ncloud \nis my relation? \nthe light and gray \ncolors from \nthat cloud \ncome all the \nway here \nluminous here \ncan these hard \nlines \nthese \nseeming forever \nwalls \nbe continually \n“eased” “understood” \n“held” like a child \nI am dissatisfied \ncrying inside like \na wailing child \nor a crazy politician \ncan I remember \nwhat I said \nabove \nI am here \nmy fear my dissatisfaction \nis here also \nbut I am holding (embracing) it \nlike my own mother \nlike my own niece \nlike my own beloved lover \nI am not \nkilling my fear my dissatisfaction \nmy crying child \nI am embracing them \nbreathing a long side \nbelly and fear \nare not unrelated \nare they? \nForever \nsmile \nlaugh (to yourself – don’t let them \nknow you are crazy) \nI can even \nstart to \nthink of your \nbreathing your \nthinking \nyour pain \nas my relation \nalthough these sentences are calming \ncan you \nsit here \nfor a few seconds \nor a short time \nwithout reading \nthese sentences \njust sit here \nwith the satisfaction \nbreathing \nthen with the dissatisfaction \nbreathing \nthe pain of the \nworld is also \nyours \nsmile you are Good \ncontinue forever \nmake up your \nown writing your own \nsong of the open \nlet it in form us and \nyou \nhow to dance our \nloving meditating  \n  \n—Alan Benditt  \n* \n  \nMeditation\, it seems to me\, is like detox for the mind. Similar to the way our bodies need detoxing when we’ve indulged in too much for too long\, our minds can become saturated with noise to the point where an intervention is required. The remedy is the same for both the body and the mind: let go of the indulgence. Quit drinking. Quit thinking. Keep still.   \n  \nThe uncluttered awareness of the meditative mind reconnects us with the elemental beauty of life. Clarity returns. The painful sense of isolation diminishes.  How can we not feel gratitude for such an exquisite and accessible way to restore ourselves? \n  \n—Bill Faricy \n* \n  \nEveryone who meditates probably hears about some far-off experience called “enlightenment” that’s had only after years of heroic meditation sitting in a cave. When you read this verse\, you might think that’s what’s being described\, but I don’t think the author intended that. In a certain sense\, there’s something in us that’s always focused\, never distracted. It was working when you first opened your eyes this morning and looked out on your world. It was a wordless awareness that heard every thought you’ve had today\, and it monitored your heartbeat and your respiration when you were deeply asleep. If you look for it\, you can’t see it\, and you can’t say anything about it\, other than that it Is…. \n  \n—Andy Larkin \n* \n  \nIn meditation I was made aware of the fact that I have forgotten to smile…for quite a long time. In fact\, I have been unable (chosen not) to read\, think about\, write about\, many things. I have been unwilling to communicate in many ways\, including with myself\, or the larger consciousness. I feel a failure (no lectures\, please). Realizing that I had stopped taking my “smiling medicine\,” I became aware of a song I wrote as part of a song writing challenge here at DRCI a while back. I share the lyrics despite the fact that I believe that song lyrics often don’t translate well to silent poetry. So\, if any of you are “anti-rhymers”—read no further. Rhyme facilitates meter\, which combines in powerful ways with melody & harmony\, in my not so humble opinion. Maybe sometime I will be able to share this in its entirety\, it is the best advice I can offer myself & others. Thank you so much for The Open Road in both forms\, much anticipated\, highly appreciated. \n  \nLearning To Smile \n  \nWithout a smile\, I walk a mile \nSmilin’ just not my style \nI miss my friends\, I miss my wife \nI miss my outside life \n  \nBut there’s beauty to see \nAir to breathe \nThoughts to think and hear and be \n  \nA smile overcomes all grief and pain \nIt takes me home again \nSo I force a smile\, walk that mile \nSmilin’ might become my style \n  \nBecause there’s beauty to see \nAir to breathe \nThoughts to think and hear and be \n  \nSo\, check out this smile\, it’ll be here a while \nIt helps me through this trial \nMy spirit lifts\, the smile grips \nMy mood and won’t let go \n  \nSo there’s beauty to see \nAir to breathe \nThoughts to think and hear and be \n  \nI’m alive\, I’m headed home \nWhen I smile I’m free \n  \n—T. String Clements \n© 2019 \n* \n  \nGreetings to this worthy sangha….  \n  \nThere can be many ways to meditate\, but the paths all converge at the same goal. What is that goal?    \n  \nAn inner quietude\, an inner fortitude\, an inner gratitude\, an inner clarity\, an inner affection\, an affection both that we have tasted from others and from Nature\, and an affection that we have within us as a treasure to share with others. This manifests as universal good will. These are all primary indicators of successful meditation…. \n  \n  Sitting meditation is not for everyone.  Sometimes in the case of trauma survivors\, sitting and observing one’s thoughts can be too triggering.  The state and fruits of “Meditation” can be attained not only through sitting\, but also if done whole-heartedly through\, among others things – walking\, running\, dancing\, drawing\, singing\, cooking\, conversing\, writing\, communing with nature\, laughing\, sharing affection\, or simply taking a moment to feel comfortable in one’s own skin and feel open to what arises. Then the practice becomes to be prepared to treat everything which arises (within and without) with generosity\, uprightness\, patience\, enthusiasm\, concentration\, and  wisdom. \n  \nI invite and welcome any additions\, corrections\, questions or comments from the sangha. I will be happy to respond and continue the conversation. With Love and Best Wishes to all… \n  \n—Peter Oppenheimer \n* \n  \nMeditation and Mindfulness are simply the Art of paying attention. This is the most wonderful time of year\, when we can first take a walk outside after a cold winter and enjoy seeing the new life that comes\, without any need but the energy of life. The pink azaleas have bloomed\, and the magnificent magnolias. The ground is polka dotted after a wind with plum blossoms. This week on my son’s farm\, three sheep have given birth to one lamb each. Each one a surprise because their winter wool hides the mamas’ full bellies. Surprise and awe are two of the gifts of a happy life…. \n  \nLast week\, I went to Walla Walla to help take care of my grand kids while their parents worked there for a few days. It was joyful and freeing to be out after covid vaccines\, no masks necessary in the outdoors. The bare hills and the towering rock walls with giant wind mills are a huge contrast to our home landscape in Portland in the cedar trees and lush spring greens and reds of rhododendrons\, yellow tulips\, orange poppies.  I hadn’t been on I-84 going East for more than a year. The last time was visiting at Two Rivers. On our return we came past the prison. And I was filled with the feeling of being home and homesick at the same time. It was hard not to be able to come inside.  So we stopped\, went down to the river and I meditated with you\, just breathing the same air. Being at ease. And I pictured the banner that hangs in the trees at Plum Village when one arrives on retreat.  It blows gently in the breeze with Thay’s calligraphy that says\, “You have arrived. You are home.” It was a wonderful moment of being home.  We are always arriving\, right here\, right now. This was most refreshing\, and I felt grateful for having been welcomed there always\, in that magical\, loving dialogue group.    \n  \n—Katie Radditz \n* \n  \n white orchid \nWaxy petals unfurl slowly against the tropical earth pale insects burrow in drawn by fragrance escaping molecule by molecule through soft loam surrounding the tendril of whitened stem piercing soil branching off a flower then another creeping underground this life unseen unheeded above ground our life drawing sustenance from the dark explosion    \n  \n—Deborah Buchanan \n* \n  \nWalking is as simple as putting one foot in front of the other. But we often find it difficult or tedious. We drive a few blocks rather than walk in order to “save time.” When we understand the interconnectedness of our body and our mind\, the simple act of walking like the Buddha can feel supremely easy and pleasurable.  (Thich Nhat Hanh\, from Your True Home) \n  \nLet’s start with that first sentence: “Walking is as simple as putting one foot in front of the other.” I said I was not going to dwell on my foot surgery any longer\, but this short passage just spoke to me with force. \n  \nThis ‘recovery’ from a supposedly minor operation is taking much longer\, with a few more uncertain results possible\, than I was led to expect. Complications\, infection\, antibiotics\, more doctor appointments and different approaches have been accompanied by a range of emotions on my part. Eager anticipation\, determination\, trust\, puzzlement\, frustration\, doubt\, fear\, elation\, discouragement\, encouragement—you name it\, I’ve felt it. Acceptance hasn’t yet set in… \n  \nSo since February 25\, “walking is as simple as putting one foot in front of the other” has been a dream—and a mockery. I dream of the moment I can get my swollen foot into a shoe and then put one foot in front of the other\, but the result is that I treasure the thought of that simple act. Is that what it takes to treasure life? Why is it that we have such difficulty appreciating these present moments\, these simple acts\, and just hurry through them to get to the ‘next thing?’ \n  \nThe gift in all of this is that I have slowed down\, learned deep appreciation for the simple act of walking (and plenty of other things)\, learned thoughtfulness\, awareness and appreciation\, and come to cherish the interconnectedness of my mind and body\, which this situation has certainly amplified. \n  \nThay likes to invite people to smile and appreciate a non-toothache. A simple practice.  Thank you for reminding us. \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \nTakes a heap of meaning to make a body happy \n  \nThere have been complaints these days about meaninglessness. \n  \nThe spiritual end of our civilization seems to have broken down. We were originally set up to be monotheistic\, and not polytheistic. The gods were banished and all space taken by Jehovah on his golden throne. That worked through the Middle Ages\, but the Industrial Revolution put a spoke in the wheel. Almost unnoticed\, the gods started coming back. \n  \nThere are those who would turn Jehovah out and bring the gods back. Monotheism\, polytheism\, whatever. The important thing is to live a meaningful spiritual life. But a lot of Christians\, Muslims and Jews are invested in monotheism\, which is the idea that if there is one god there can’t be many. Logic won’t allow it. Others say that religion needs to be founded on paradox\, in which case\, there can be one god or many\, depending on your visionary angle. \n  \n—Charles Erickson \n* \n  \nlet’s pretend \n  \ninstead of pretending that we are afraid \nthat we must improve \nthat we have enemies \nthat the future will arrive someday \n  \nlet’s pretend everything is sacred \npretend this is Paradise \npretend every moment is precious \npretend we love everyone \n  \npretend our joy knows no bounds \npretend we are the whole wide world \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nRhyming With Thich Nhat Hanh \n  \nOnce upon a cloudy day \na wandering poet lost his way \na busy yard-sale he passed by \ndrew him back\, he wondered why \nBrowsing through a battered trunk \nhe found a book by a Buddhist monk \nThich Nhat Hanh was the writer’s name \ninterconnection\, his basic game \nthe young man skimmed in search of clues \na garden of thoughts\, so many to choose \nthe path being offered was simple but steep \nand spelling that name\, a Grand Canyon leap… \n  \n—short excerpt from a poem by Nick Eldredge \n* \n  \nMindful \nEvery day \nI see or hear \nsomething \nthat more or less \n  \nkills me \nwith delight\, \nthat leaves me \nlike a needle \n  \nin the haystack \nof light. \nIt was what I was born for— \nto look\, to listen\, \n  \nto lose myself \ninside this soft world— \nto instruct myself \nover and over \n  \nin joy\, \nand acclamation. \nNor am I talking  \nabout the exceptional\, \n  \nthe fearful\, the dreadful\, \nthe very extravagant— \nbut of the ordinary\, \nthe common\, the very drab\, \n  \nthe daily presentations. \nOh\, good scholar\, \nI say to myself\, \nhow can you help \n  \nbut grow wise \nwith such teachings \nas these— \nthe untrimmable light \n  \nof the world\, \nthe ocean’s shine\, \nthe prayers that are made \nout of grass? \n  \n—poem by Mary Oliver\, shared by Ronni Lacroute \n* \n  \nThese days I practice my mindfulness most often out in nature where I’ve come to realize all things carry the same spark I carry in my own heart and each thing I observe becomes “the best part.” There are no saints…or sinners\, no self-righteous…no condemned\, everything is on equal terms. I’ve concluded not only do I belong to the human tribe\, I also belong to the life tribe\, and strive to conduct myself accordingly. \n  \nI thank all who have touched my life in such a positive\, kind\, and loving way—you now live in me! \n  \nAnd I will not forget you. \n  \nPeace and love \n—Abe Green \n* \n  \nYou are equally as beautiful as the universe. \n—tag on a Yogi Tea bag \n  \n(Friends on “the outside” can access the complete archive of Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogues on the Open Road website by clicking on “EVENTS.” Then\, keep clicking on “Previous Events.” You can also access the peace\, love\, happiness & understanding archive in this way.)
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-9-15-21/
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20210905T150000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20210905T170000
DTSTAMP:20260425T071533
CREATED:20210904T231045Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20210904T232715Z
UID:2351-1630854000-1630861200@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!: Women's Liberation!!!  9/5/21
DESCRIPTION:  \nBeloved Bibliophiles \n  \nFor Sunday\, September 5th at\, 3 pm\, the theme for our Zoom gathering is: WOMEN’S LIBERATION!!! We will talk about Women’s Literature\, and about Patriarchy\, Goddesses\, Women’s History\, Misogyny\, Mythology\, Spirituality\, et cetera. Here’s the link: \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/83135193074 \n  \nI hope to see you there. \n  \npeace\, love & liberation \n  \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-womens-liberation-9-5-21/
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210902
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210916
DTSTAMP:20260425T071533
CREATED:20210902T154655Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250718T124834Z
UID:2345-1630540800-1631750399@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  9/2/21
DESCRIPTION:  \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \n  \n  \nInjustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality\, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly affects all indirectly. \n  \n—Martin Luther King\, “Letter from a Birmingham Jail\,” April 16\, 1963 \n  \n  \nSeptember 2\, 2021 \n  \n  \nWorld War II was the deadliest military conflict in history. An estimated 70-85 million people were killed in the war\, or died from war-related disease and famine. Of those who died\, it is estimated that 50-55 million were civilians. \n  \nNear the end of the war\, humans got together—in the hope of preventing future wars—and founded the United Nations. The idea is simple: use diplomacy\, rather than weapons\, to solve problems. In the original charter—which was adopted in June of 1945 and took effect in October of that year—the member nations took on some other big jobs\, in addition to maintaining peace: protecting human rights\, delivering humanitarian aid\, promoting sustainable development\, and upholding international law. At present\, the UN Refugee Agency (UNHCR) says there are 82.4 million “forcibly displaced people” on our planet. The United Nations is the primary organization which provides food\, shelter\, clothing\, safety and medical care for refugees\, and helps them to find a permanent home. \n  \nOne of the most important achievements of the United Nations is the creation\, in 1948\, of the Universal Declaration of Human rights. I like to read it from time to time. These are our legally established rights—yours\, mine\, everyones!: \n  \n  \nUniversal Declaration of Human Rights \n  \nThe Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR)  is a milestone document in the history of human rights. Drafted by representatives with different legal and cultural backgrounds from all regions of the world\, the Declaration was proclaimed by the United Nations General Assembly in Paris on 10 December 1948 as a common standard of achievements for all peoples and all nations. It sets out\, for the first time\, fundamental human rights to be universally protected and it has been translated into over 500 languages. The UDHR is widely recognized as having inspired\, and paved the way for\, the adoption of more than seventy human rights treaties\, applied today on a permanent basis at global and regional levels (all containing references to it in their preambles).  \n  \nPreamble \nWhereas recognition of the inherent dignity and of the equal and inalienable rights of all members of the human family is the foundation of freedom\, justice and peace in the world\, \nWhereas disregard and contempt for human rights have resulted in barbarous acts which have outraged the conscience of mankind\, and the advent of a world in which human beings shall enjoy freedom of speech and belief and freedom from fear and want has been proclaimed as the highest aspiration of the common people\, \nWhereas it is essential\, if man is not to be compelled to have recourse\, as a last resort\, to rebellion against tyranny and oppression\, that human rights should be protected by the rule of law\, \nWhereas it is essential to promote the development of friendly relations between nations\, \nWhereas the peoples of the United Nations have in the Charter reaffirmed their faith in fundamental human rights\, in the dignity and worth of the human person and in the equal rights of men and women and have determined to promote social progress and better standards of life in larger freedom\, \nWhereas Member States have pledged themselves to achieve\, in co-operation with the United Nations\, the promotion of universal respect for and observance of human rights and fundamental freedoms\, \nWhereas a common understanding of these rights and freedoms is of the greatest importance for the full realization of this pledge\, \nNow\, therefore\, \nThe General Assembly\, \nProclaims this Universal Declaration of Human Rights as a common standard of achievement for all peoples and all nations\, to the end that every individual and every organ of society\, keeping this Declaration constantly in mind\, shall strive by teaching and education to promote respect for these rights and freedoms and by progressive measures\, national and international\, to secure their universal and effective recognition and observance\, both among the peoples of Member States themselves and among the peoples of territories under their jurisdiction.  \n  \nArticle 1 \nAll human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights. They are endowed with reason and conscience and should act towards one another in a spirit of brotherhood. \n  \nArticle 2 \nEveryone is entitled to all the rights and freedoms set forth in this Declaration\, without distinction of any kind\, such as race\, colour\, sex\, language\, religion\, political or other opinion\, national or social origin\, property\, birth or other status. Furthermore\, no distinction shall be made on the basis of the political\, jurisdictional or international status of the country or territory to which a person belongs\, whether it be independent\, trust\, non-self-governing or under any other limitation of sovereignty. \n  \nArticle 3 \nEveryone has the right to life\, liberty and security of person. \n  \nArticle 4 \nNo one shall be held in slavery or servitude; slavery and the slave trade shall be prohibited in all their forms. \n  \nArticle 5 \nNo one shall be subjected to torture or to cruel\, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment. \n  \nArticle 6 \nEveryone has the right to recognition everywhere as a person before the law. \n  \nArticle 7 \nAll are equal before the law and are entitled without any discrimination to equal protection of the law. All are entitled to equal protection against any discrimination in violation of this Declaration and against any incitement to such discrimination. \n  \nArticle 8 \nEveryone has the right to an effective remedy by the competent national tribunals for acts violating the fundamental rights granted him by the constitution or by law. \n  \nArticle 9 \nNo one shall be subjected to arbitrary arrest\, detention or exile. \n  \nArticle 10 \nEveryone is entitled in full equality to a fair and public hearing by an independent and impartial tribunal\, in the determination of his rights and obligations and of any criminal charge against him. \n  \nArticle 11 \n\nEveryone charged with a penal offence has the right to be presumed innocent until proved guilty according to law in a public trial at which he has had all the guarantees necessary for his defence.\nNo one shall be held guilty of any penal offence on account of any act or omission which did not constitute a penal offence\, under national or international law\, at the time when it was committed. Nor shall a heavier penalty be imposed than the one that was applicable at the time the penal offence was committed.\n\n  \nArticle 12 \nNo one shall be subjected to arbitrary interference with his privacy\, family\, home or correspondence\, nor to attacks upon his honour and reputation. Everyone has the right to the protection of the law against such interference or attacks. \n  \nArticle 13 \n\nEveryone has the right to freedom of movement and residence within the borders of each state.\nEveryone has the right to leave any country\, including his own\, and to return to his country.\n\n  \nArticle 14 \n\nEveryone has the right to seek and to enjoy in other countries asylum from persecution.\nThis right may not be invoked in the case of prosecutions genuinely arising from non-political crimes or from acts contrary to the purposes and principles of the United Nations.\n\n  \nArticle 15 \n\nEveryone has the right to a nationality.\nNo one shall be arbitrarily deprived of his nationality nor denied the right to change his nationality.\n\n  \nArticle 16 \n\nMen and women of full age\, without any limitation due to race\, nationality or religion\, have the right to marry and to found a family. They are entitled to equal rights as to marriage\, during marriage and at its dissolution.\nMarriage shall be entered into only with the free and full consent of the intending spouses.\nThe family is the natural and fundamental group unit of society and is entitled to protection by society and the State.\n\n  \nArticle 17 \n\nEveryone has the right to own property alone as well as in association with others.\nNo one shall be arbitrarily deprived of his property.\n\n  \nArticle 18 \nEveryone has the right to freedom of thought\, conscience and religion; this right includes freedom to change his religion or belief\, and freedom\, either alone or in community with others and in public or private\, to manifest his religion or belief in teaching\, practice\, worship and observance. \n  \nArticle 19 \nEveryone has the right to freedom of opinion and expression; this right includes freedom to hold opinions without interference and to seek\, receive and impart information and ideas through any media and regardless of frontiers. \n  \nArticle 20 \n\nEveryone has the right to freedom of peaceful assembly and association.\nNo one may be compelled to belong to an association.\n\n  \nArticle 21 \n\nEveryone has the right to take part in the government of his country\, directly or through freely chosen representatives.\nEveryone has the right of equal access to public service in his country.\nThe will of the people shall be the basis of the authority of government; this will shall be expressed in periodic and genuine elections which shall be by universal and equal suffrage and shall be held by secret vote or by equivalent free voting procedures.\n\n  \nArticle 22 \nEveryone\, as a member of society\, has the right to social security and is entitled to realization\, through national effort and international co-operation and in accordance with the organization and resources of each State\, of the economic\, social and cultural rights indispensable for his dignity and the free development of his personality. \n  \nArticle 23 \n\nEveryone has the right to work\, to free choice of employment\, to just and favourable conditions of work and to protection against unemployment.\nEveryone\, without any discrimination\, has the right to equal pay for equal work.\nEveryone who works has the right to just and favourable remuneration ensuring for himself and his family an existence worthy of human dignity\, and supplemented\, if necessary\, by other means of social protection.\nEveryone has the right to form and to join trade unions for the protection of his interests.\n\n  \nArticle 24 \nEveryone has the right to rest and leisure\, including reasonable limitation of working hours and periodic holidays with pay. \n  \nArticle 25 \n\nEveryone has the right to a standard of living adequate for the health and well-being of himself and of his family\, including food\, clothing\, housing and medical care and necessary social services\, and the right to security in the event of unemployment\, sickness\, disability\, widowhood\, old age or other lack of livelihood in circumstances beyond his control.\nMotherhood and childhood are entitled to special care and assistance. All children\, whether born in or out of wedlock\, shall enjoy the same social protection.\n\n  \nArticle 26 \n\nEveryone has the right to education. Education shall be free\, at least in the elementary and fundamental stages. Elementary education shall be compulsory. Technical and professional education shall be made generally available and higher education shall be equally accessible to all on the basis of merit.\nEducation shall be directed to the full development of the human personality and to the strengthening of respect for human rights and fundamental freedoms. It shall promote understanding\, tolerance and friendship among all nations\, racial or religious groups\, and shall further the activities of the United Nations for the maintenance of peace.\nParents have a prior right to choose the kind of education that shall be given to their children.\n\n  \nArticle 27 \n\nEveryone has the right freely to participate in the cultural life of the community\, to enjoy the arts and to share in scientific advancement and its benefits.\nEveryone has the right to the protection of the moral and material interests resulting from any scientific\, literary or artistic production of which he is the author.\n\n  \nArticle 28 \nEveryone is entitled to a social and international order in which the rights and freedoms set forth in this Declaration can be fully realized. \n  \nArticle 29 \n\nEveryone has duties to the community in which alone the free and full development of his personality is possible.\nIn the exercise of his rights and freedoms\, everyone shall be subject only to such limitations as are determined by law solely for the purpose of securing due recognition and respect for the rights and freedoms of others and of meeting the just requirements of morality\, public order and the general welfare in a democratic society.\nThese rights and freedoms may in no case be exercised contrary to the purposes and principles of the United Nations.\n\n  \nArticle 30 \nNothing in this Declaration may be interpreted as implying for any State\, group or person any right to engage in any activity or to perform any act aimed at the destruction of any of the rights and freedoms set forth herein. \n  \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-9-2-21/
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DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20210822T150000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20210822T170000
DTSTAMP:20260425T071533
CREATED:20210821T230513Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20210821T230708Z
UID:2333-1629644400-1629651600@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!  8/22/21
DESCRIPTION:  \nBeloved Bibliophiles!  \n  \nOn Sunday\, August 22\, at 3 pm (PDT) the theme for our Zoom gathering is:  \nWhat Do You Read? How Do You Read? & Why Do You Read?  \n  \nHere’s the link:   \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/83135193074 \n  \nShould be fun!  \nI hope to see you there.  \n  \npeace & love   \nJohnny \n  \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-8-22-21/
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210819
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210903
DTSTAMP:20260425T071533
CREATED:20210821T175015Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250718T124417Z
UID:2323-1629331200-1630627199@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  8/19/21
DESCRIPTION:  \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \n  \nAugust 19\, 2021 \n  \nThou shalt not kill. \n  \n—God \n* \n  \nIn this world \nHate never yet dispelled hate. \nOnly love dispels hate. \nThis is the law\, \nAncient and inexhaustible. \n  \n—Buddha \n* \n  \nWhy\, of course\, the people don’t want war. Why would some poor slob on a farm want to risk his life in a war when the best that he can get out of it is to come back to his farm in one piece? Naturally\, the common people don’t want war; neither in Russia nor in England nor in America\, nor for that matter in Germany. That is understood. But\, after all\, it is the leaders of the country who determine the policy and it is always a simple matter to drag the people along\, whether it is a democracy or a fascist dictatorship or a Parliament or a Communist dictatorship….All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger. It works the same way in any country. \n  \n—Hermann Göring \n* \n  \nWar: What is it good for? \nAbsolutely nothin’!…. \nPeace\, love and understanding\, tell me \nIs there no place for them today? \nThey say we must fight to keep our freedom \nBut lord knows there’s got to be a better way. \n  \n—from the song “War\,” written by Norman Whitfield and Barrett Strong \n* \n  \nEvery month\, Michel Deforge sends me between 8 and 16 pages from his meditation journal\, from which I select some excerpts for the monthly Open Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue. For this issue of peace\, love\, happiness & understanding\, I want to reply to his entry for July 6th. In it\, he responds to Kim Stafford’s poem “Old Glory’s New Red\, Black\, and Blue\,” from his book Singer Come from Afar and refers to Charles Busch’s “A Promise to Our Children.” Here’s what Michel wrote: \n  \nJuly 6\, 2021   OLD GLORY’S NEW RED\, BLACK\, AND BLUE—KIM STAFFORD \n  \nYesterday I struggled with lethargy and lost. During a few spare lucid moments\, I pondered my July 4 thoughts\, Kim’s poem\, and the poem Johnny shared in the June edition of THE OPEN ROAD—A PROMISE TO OUR CHILDREN. I’ll pause while you review the poems (or Johnny may re-share). \n  \n[I’ll include Kim’s poem later. For “A Promise to Our Children\,” see the June 24th issue of peace\, love\, happiness & understanding. Kim introduced me to Charles Busch\, from Fields of Peace. In his letter\, he gives the names and ages of 69 Palestinian and Israeli children who had been recently killed. He suggests that people make this promise: \n  \nI will not be a part of the killing \nof any child\, \nno matter how lofty the reason. \nNot my neighbor’s child. \nNot my child. \nNot the enemy’s child. \nNot by bomb. Not by bullet. \nNot by looking the other way. \nI will be the power that is peace. \n  \nAnd now\, back to Michel’s journal…] \n  \nI am definitely not for changing the flag; yet\, there is something there we could get a spinnin’ round about over as we explore the idea. Does the Red\, White and Blue still mean what it did 245 (!!) years ago? Does it still need to\, or can we find new meanings\, new depth\, or do we even care to look? \n  \nI don’t know that my thoughts solidified toward any one direction\, other than to want to get something down before I forget and move on to bigger prizes\, if any exist. I definitely do not want to be party to killing any child\, “no matter how lofty the reason.” At the same time I see myself as impotent to act\, powerless to affect change (even the faintest glimpse of a beginning). That letter [“To the Mothers and Fathers of Palestine and Israel”] said more\, in a more eloquent manner\, than I could hope to muster. All I could do was cry for the loss of all those precious children. And what about the ones who think they’re “all grown up” just because they’ve passed through a myriad of solar-year cycles? (Johnny still sees the child in each of us! How could we imagine these little boys and girls going to play at war being any different? They’re still mommy’s and daddy’s little bundle of joy; they’re still mourned when shot or killed or bombed or stabbed.) \n  \nAnd then my mind drifts to all the little boys and little girls playing at being grown-ups. Having babies of their own as babies themselves. Or\, heaven forbid\, falling victim to the drug dealing predators—(who\, by the way\, are still somebody’s little boys or girls)—or the lure of sex and/or alcohol. Each one a precious being. Sometimes killed by bullets of war and hate\, sometimes for other “lofty reasons.” Sometimes by their simple naïveté. \n  \nWhat can any of us do more than we do already? More laws won’t help. Look at the “War on Drugs\,” or “against gang violence”? No victories there. \n  \nI saw an advert for a show coming up where the brewery hired Bloods and Crips to work at the same factory and participate in the same “program”. I think it was a success\, for some; thus\, the show. Is it a cause for hope? Do we (I) have grounds to look for hope in prison\, as well as for life post-prison? May it be so\, a thousandfold! \n  \nAnd so I part\, once again\, with more pain reviewed and few answers to eschew\, having just re-read Kim’s OLD GLORY’S NEW RED\, BLACK\, AND BLUE. (It leads to rhyming.) As I go\, I still can’t help but wonder: What can I do\, where do I fit in? Am I fodder for the cannons of the nightly news\, or some other “frontline” war on humanity’s failings and weaknesses? I don’t rightly know. \n  \nWhat about you? Where do you fit in? To my world or my life—better yet\, to our world and our lives—each one of them does MATTER! It’s not something to frame a political slogan or program around. How do we pursue an end of killing children for any reason—lofty or not? \n  \n—Michel Deforge \n* \n  \nI’d like to say a few words to Michel\, and to whoever else is reading this\, about pacifism. I became a pacifist while I was in high school. It was simple: I didn’t want to kill anyone. (And I didn’t want to hire other people to kill for me\, or on my behalf.) It seemed wrong to me that I was required by law to join an organization whose purpose was to kill people.  \n  \nI think most people are already “almost pacifists.” They know that in war lots of people are killed and that is somehow “bad.” But\, many people would add\, “Sometimes it’s necessary.” In order to avoid some arguments\, I say that I am not for or against any past wars. They are over. It’s absurd to protest against something that has already happened. I am against all present and future wars. Anyone got a problem with that? \n  \n(Here is an interesting statistic from the Fields of Peace website\, fieldsofpeace.org: During World War I\, the ratio of soldier to civilian deaths was 9 to 1. In World War II\, it was 1 to 1. In today’s wars\, for every soldier killed\, nine civilians are killed. Most of them are children. Watch the two-minute video on the Home Page.)   \n  \n(Strictly speaking\, a pacifist is not necessarily opposed to all acts of violence\, just organized\, large-scale killing: war.) \n  \nMichel\, I think that if you weren’t already a pacifist\, you became one in the act of pondering and writing your journal entry. You say: \n  \nI definitely do not want to be party to killing any child\, “no matter how lofty the reason.” \n  \nThat’s all it takes. You’re in the club. Welcome. \n  \nIt’s a fun club to be in. Kim and I are in it. Kim’s dad William is in it. Their friend and neighbor Hideo Hashimoto is in it. The Dalai Lama is in it. So is Jesus. And Martin Luther King and Coretta Scott King and Mahatma Gandhi and Leo Tolstoy and Helen Keller and Dorothy Day and Albert Einstein and Bertrand Russell and Sigmund Freud and Helen Caldicott and Alice Walker and Howard Thoresen and Alan Benditt and Thich Nhat Hanh… It’s quite a long list. Made up mostly of people whose names we don’t know. \n  \nIn his poem\, Kim refers to the problem of war and violence\, but the primary focus is on questions raised by the Black Lives Matter movement of injustice and systemic racism. His poem is both playful and serious. It is the job of wise people to encourage us to perform thought experiments\, to challenge things we take for granted\, to imagine in new ways. Here’s the poem: \n  \nOld Glory’s New Red\, Black\, and Blue \n  \nCue the anthem\, slide down the flag \nthat flew through World Wars I and II\, \nthen assailed Korea\, Vietnam\, Afghanistan\, Iraq\, \nand now a hundred nameless places where drones \nlook down on weddings to seek out villains known \nor guessed—old wars and new\, the flag flown high \nto woo our crew to action for our banner blue\, our \ndevotion true—until money tattered it as inequality \ngrew\, and drew us\, first a few\, then more\, to view \nin new light the plain hue of white one clue \na change was due—so beat the drum’s \ntattoo and raise anew our flag \nof red\, black\, and blue. \n  \nSunset red\, shadows blue and black\, indigo \nand scarlet deja vu when dew falls heavy \nin the grass to strew starlight in diamonds \nthrough the dusk. No stew of sorrow at our \nrendezvous. No one to misconstrue this change \nas anything but patriotic on the avenue of many colors \nhitherto passed over when some hullabaloo\, some retinue \nof old privilege and this fresh generation’s overview \nbegan to see a world askew and must eschew \nold privations and renew our love of freedom \nto pursue our happiness and make taboo how \ncertain citizens because of color were subdued\, \nso bring forth now the red\, black\, and blue. \n  \nBrew a bold libation\, fire up the barbecue\, \nand offer feasting cordon bleu to celebrate \nwhat no judicial revue\, no internal revenue\, no \nvoodoo Waterloo from here to Timbuktu can make \nuntrue\, what no zoo of caged freedoms can deny \nsome citizens have been held second class in lieu \nof rights by law but yet false in fact. We say \nadieu to that. We’re all in one canoe\, our ship \nof state that flies the banner red\, black\, and blue. \n  \nNow we must interview each other\, give our leaders \none stern talking-to\, root out each residue of prejudice\, \noutdo old talk with questions and with follow-through\, \nhew the righteous line and find in black all colors joined\, \nall ethnicities of shade and blend and flavor\, so may good \naccrue. For we were gathered from one Genesis when God \nthrew galaxies together spinning with diversity beaucoup. \nIn keeping with that old creation\, we must now imbue \nour politics (that have been one big bugaboo) with kindness \nto us all at last\, undo each miscue that slew our honor \nso may ensue a tart fondue of plenty. We stir \nthe roux of flavors in our bold debut: Old Glory \ndressed up now in red\, black\, and blue. \n  \nBlue and black—this the color of a bruise: no news \nto those who made the Blues\, and something no-one could \nconfuse with anything but hurt. So set the Statue of Liberty \nat Standing Rock to face down opposition to democracy\, \nwealth flowing corrosive through pipes of steel to spew \ninto the river collateral trouble for the Water Keepers \nwho knew Pilgrims were first refugees\, seeking freedom \nfor faith first welcome to these shores. Does our dream \narc toward justice still? Can we call that effort true\, \nsupreme\, or is our legacy sunk to pay-per-view? \nWe must fly the red\, the black\, and blue. \n  \nThis mighty woman\, mother of exiles with a torch \nwho lifts her lamp beside the golden door shall dress \nher copper in these colors now to call this century’s \nhuddled masses in. Her beacon-hand reveals that \nat our best we are the watershed where myriad \nstreams are harvested\, rivulets gathered into one: \nAsian\, Eurasian\, African\, Bedouin\, Islander\, Blue- \nBlood Black\, and every lovely shade of brown\, \nfrom dark dusk to sand\, and every hue of Wanderer \nor Fugitive from darkness seeking light\, every Indian \nto this ground restored by right\, for this we fight\, \nfor this democracy our aspiration’s light\, for this \nto be true\, we will pledge allegiance now \nto the red\, the black\, the blue. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nHere’s a link to Edwin Starr’s 1969 version of “War”: \n  \nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=01-2pNCZiNk \n  \nAnd in 1985\, The Boss: \n  \nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mn91L9goKfQ \n  \n  \nPeace\, love and understanding \n  \n—Johnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-8-19-21/
END:VEVENT
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210815
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210915
DTSTAMP:20260425T071533
CREATED:20210819T144318Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20211130T003118Z
UID:2319-1628985600-1631663999@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue  8/15/21
DESCRIPTION:photo by Abe Green \n  \n  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n  \n August 15\, 2021 \n  \nThe purpose of life is to know yourself\, love yourself\, trust yourself\, and be yourself. \n—tag on a Yogi Tea bag \n* \n  \n7/15/21 \n#222 A Very Naive Idea \n  \n“Many people aspire to go to a place where pain and suffering do not exist\, a place where there is only happiness. This is a rather dangerous idea\, for compassion is not possible without pain and suffering.” (from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh) \n  \nWe don’t want to invite suffering\, but ideally we learn to welcome suffering when it enters our lives. If we live our lives fearfully avoiding suffering and pain\, we live a very limited existence. Living too carefully\, never risking pain\, failure\, unhappiness or loss cannot result in a full and fulfilling life. It results in a careful life; that is not enough for me. \n  \nSuffering bonds you to others in a deep\, rich\, long-lasting way. My first marriage of thirteen years was frightening\, abusive and dehumanizing\, and that is how I emerged. I still have scars\, but resilience and determination (and the specter of poverty) were more powerful motivators than continuing in a fearful\, cautious life. \n  \nThe gift of suffering was that I deeply\, instinctively care for others\, all others who suffer\, in any way\, not just in situations similar to mine. I have the three gifts that come from suffering: compassion\, understanding\, and love. That is the richness that comes from suffering. My heart is full. \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \n(Ronni Lacroute sent this poem by Mary Oliver:) \n  \nMindful \n  \nEvery day \nI see or hear \nsomething \nthat more or less \n  \nkills me \nwith delight\, \nthat leaves me \nlike a needle \n  \nin the haystack \nof light. \nIt was what I was born for— \nto look\, to listen\, \n  \nto lose myself \ninside this soft world— \nto instruct myself \nover and over \n  \nin joy\, \nand acclamation. \nNor am I talking  \nabout the exceptional\, \n  \nthe fearful\, the dreadful\, \nthe very extravagant— \nbut of the ordinary\, \nthe common\, the very drab\, \n  \nthe daily presentations. \nOh\, good scholar\, \nI say to myself\, \nhow can you help \n  \nbut grow wise \nwith such teachings \nas these— \nthe untrimmable light \n  \nof the world\, \nthe ocean’s shine\, \nthe prayers that are made \nout of grass? \n  \n—Mary Oliver \n* \n  \n(These are some excerpts from Michel’s meditation journal. The numbers refer to Thich Nhat Hanh’s book Your True Home.) \n  \nJuly 4\, 2021  Independence Day \n  \n….Today is a day to celebrate freedom. Yet\, how many of us are truly FREE? I really wonder: Must one be trapped in a concrete cage\, behind locked doors\, shut away from the rest of the world and forgotten to become un-free? No. Freedom can be lost\, taken away\, and given away from and by anyone outside of prison or within the box. In fact\, I’m not thinking of a prison for the body\, but one created within a mind\, and a tyranny not from others\, or perpetuated by “others\,” but of one from a tyrant within… \n  \nMany are prisoners of the mind. Some are as of yet unaware of the plight they face. Some have lost their focus—mistaking a tyranny from within for an external enmity. Each of us has a mind. Do we feed it? Exercise it wisely? Take it out to play? to learn? to exercise\, face challenges as it grows?…. \n  \nJuly 8\, 2021   #159 A Healing Mantra \n  \nIf we share compassion through a positive gesture/action\, to express being fully present (mindful) we can uplift another from his or her pit of despair to find a stable footing from which to move forward. We may also need to say such things to our own self. When I’m down or struggling\, there isn’t always a bodhisattva nearby to offer compassionate words. I can be that supporter of myself simply through positive self-talk…. \n  \nJuly 15\, 2021  #166 A Real Friendship \n  \nMay I offer that in learning to love self and/or other\, the key is to see the line of separation vanish. I’ve heard\, “Love your neighbor as yourself\,” and struggled due to lack (I thought) of ability to love myself. Lately a thought is percolating that if I stop seeing you as separate and apart from me\, but begin to see our inter-connectedness\, or our inter-dependency\, then I can learn to demonstrate love to both (in different ways). \n  \n—Michel Deforge \n* \n  \nHappy early 70th birthday! As my present to you\, I’ve written a poem in your honor: \n  \nAFTER \n  \nAnd you may find that you have nothing \nto say\, and that’s okay. The bird \n  \nyou pictured now because that’s the way \nthe brain works \n  \nand the concentric circles of its song— \nthey are always there. Jung defined \n  \nthe unconscious as everything \nyou have forgotten\, everything \n  \nyou’re not currently thinking about\, \nand everything you do not know. \n  \nThat narrows it down. \nSo the conscious mind is really \n  \nonly very little of what goes on— \nlike a lightbulb compared to the dawn. \n  \n—Alex Tretbar \n* \n  \nAugust 11\, 2021 \n  \nI’m turning 70 next Tuesday\, August 17th. It doesn’t seem possible! How did I get so old? It seems like just last week I was 19. What happened? \n  \nMaybe the reason getting older is bewildering is that our body ages\, but something inside us doesn’t. Whoever it is\, or whatever it is that looks out through my eyes—and even observes my thoughts!—hasn’t aged a bit! \n  \nI’m enjoying my human life on Earth! I didn’t make a plan. I’ve been meandering along like the half-wit third son in the fairy tales who somehow ends up with the princess\, thanks to help he got from a magic toad. (My dad once said to me: “John\, if anyone says you’re a wit\, they’d be half right.”) \n  \nI’ve been (and still am) very fortunate. (On another occasion\, my dad said: “John\, if you fell into a ditch\, you’d come up with the deed to the town.”) I suppose the greatest good fortune was that I got hefty amounts of love and encouragement when I was a little boy.  \n  \nWhen I got a little older\, instead of going to Vietnam to kill people\, I went to India to study meditation and mindfulness from wise yogis. That was lucky. \n  \nIt was my good fortune to come of age in the Hippie Era. Had I been born ten years earlier\, I might have become a beatnik! Hippies were into Peace & Love. That sounded good to me. Still does. Flower power! \n  \nFinding Nancy Scharbach was unexpected. More Good Fortune!  \n  \nAbout the same time we got together\, I wandered into a prison. I met a lot of lovely people there. We had long talks. We put on plays. We had great times together! I still have lots of friends in prison. We write to each other. I have friends who have graduated from prison\, who I can see on the outside. \n  \nI have lots of friends! If you’re reading this\, you are probably one of them. \n  \nI have much much more to be grateful for. Too much to try to describe here. And fresh blessings arrive every day\, without fail. I’m grateful that I feel grateful. I’m happy that I’m happy. I love loving and being loved. \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \n                          Your Walden \n  \nFor some\, only sleep is the hut by moonlight\,  \nsleep the pond pure and still\, sleep the essential  \nrefuge for solitary rumination\, the secret escape \nfrom quiet desperations that each day crowd your breath\,  \ndim your vision\, narrow your hope. Others find a porch \nand sit\, composed\, or a tree to muse in shade\, or a hilltop\,  \nhigher than wires and roads\, to look far\, kindling the power  \nto simplify\, to transcend\, if only for a moment. \n  \nYou learned the hard way your soul is green and withers\,  \nstarving without some touch to wood\, earth\, and silence. You \ntook the crash course in complexity for years and years. So now \nyou find a place separate from screen and machine\, a place  \nbeyond getting and spending\, a space to let the buried eden  \nof the wild self bud and blossom. You take your Walden—call it  \nringer-off\, screen asleep\, brass keys all banished to the drawer— \nso at last you may dawn into yourself\, deliberate\, and awake. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nI love where I now live (North Central Montana)\, it’s where I grew up. I understand it in ways that elude those not from here\, and though the land and its people can be difficult\, it is also magnificently beautiful and allows me access to a natural world I’ve not found elsewhere. \n  \nWhat is often missing here though is my ability to engage in the kind of conversations that challenge me\, expand me\, and support me as I journey away from a spiritually vacuous “self” toward enlightenment. \n  \nThat’s why “The Open Road” is such a precious gift—I feel I belong to this wonderful community of thinkers and explorers. I continue to have struggles and setbacks\, but with each letter I breathe in a freshness that renews my desire to be a better human\, to care and to really see myself in others and they in me. \n  \nAnd it is getting easier! \n  \nI savor all the writings\, but especially by those I personally know. An excellent example is String Clements “Learning to Smile.” I shared the incentive yard at TRCI with String and many a day we practiced mindfulness as we walked the track. (Remember General Sherman\, Tim?) \n  \nThese days I practice my mindfulness most often out in nature where I’ve come to realize all things carry the same spark I carry in my own heart and each thing I observe becomes “the best part.” There are no saints…or sinners\, no self-righteous…no condemned\, everything is on equal terms. I’ve concluded not only do I belong to the human tribe\, I also belong to the life tribe\, and strive to conduct myself accordingly. I’d like to add that mindfulness can be practiced anywhere (as Mr. Clements and I proved at TRCI). Most difficult for me is just getting my mind to “shut up” and listen. \n  \nHere are a few thoughts: \n  \n* Life will always challenge you. The trick is to polish all  the moments to make them shine. That’s both sides of the coin\, not just the pretty or easy ones. Each moment\, each day is precious and should never be wasted or cast aside. \n—Anne Burke quote from Salt of the Earth by Ethan Hubbard \n  \n* Walk in good direction\, come to good place. \n  \n*Only for a time have we borrowed our life from the sum of things. \n  \n* Let go of expectations and accept whatever shows up for you. \n—Katie Radditz \n  \nI thank all who have touched my life in such a positive\, kind\, and loving way—you now live in me! \n  \nAnd I will not forget you. \n  \nPeace and love \n  \nAbe Green  2021 \n  \n(Abe added this:) \n  \nPaul Enso Hillman spoke these words: \n  \nI say “Namaste” because I like what it means\, not because I’m a Hindu. \n  \nA lot of people think I’m a Christian because they think I talk about Christian values\, but the truth is I’m really talking about Human values. \n  \nI’ve been asked if I’m a Buddhist just because I’ve discovered inner Peace. \n  \nA lot of my friends are Pagans and they think I’m one also because I say that being in nature is my idea of going to church. \n  \nDo you want to know what I really am? \n  \nIt’s very simple\, I don’t need a label to define me. \n  \nI am a piece of the universe\, sentient and manifested and… \n  \nI am awake! \n  \n—Abe Green \n* \n  \nAugust 15\, 2021 \nMeditation and Mindfulness \nHAPPY BIRTHDAY\, JOHNNY!!! \n  \nLast month I sent in a topic on Suffering\, but I forgot to include the attachment in the email to Johnny. He said\, “No worries\, I’ll just put it in the August edition.” But then I thought\, how lame to offer a writing on Suffering for Johnny’s very special birthday edition. It really should be something more in keeping with Johnny’s true raison d’être: LOVE! \n  \nSo # 326 – Equanimity  – fills the bill to perfection. \n  \n“True love does not choose one person. When true love is there\, you shine like a lamp. You don’t just shine on one person in the room. That light you emit is for everyone in the room. If you really have love in you\, everyone around you will benefit—not only humans\, but animals\, plants\, and minerals. Love\, true love\, is that.True love is equanimity.” \n  \nThis is Johnny. This is what Johnny emits. His love just spreads out\, sometimes to the bewilderment (how can he be so patient with that guy???)\, the embarrassment (uh oh\, here come the tears again!)\, the frustration (can’t he see that that guy really doesn’t deserve love?) of others. That is Johnny: He just loves with equanimity and abandon. \n  \nJude Russell \n* \n  \nEvery moment offers a myriad of wonders\, opportunities and insights – it is just a matter of how and what we focus our attention on\, and how we perceive it.  – John Kabat Zinn  \n  \nMy friend Sarah has been feeling disheartened lately – about the state of our Earth’s health\, the continuing pandemic\, and her small role in life. She is a generous and engaged person. Her daughter has moved nearby and Sarah loves being with her new grandchild. Her wishes have been fulfilled. But after such high expectations\, the question of what is her purpose in life set in. She remembers what her mother once told her\, “Remember it’s not the big things that count\, it’s the small things.” There will always be the big issues looming. It is a challenge to be engaged in helping to change the world for the better. Meditation can help by training us to focus on our personal small moments of happiness\, compassion\, and healing.   \n  \nIf we choose to rush or force meditation\, we might not experience much or have many great moments.  \n  \nBut by allowing ourselves to be curious\, inquisitive\, attentive and have an open mind\, we can make those small moments wonderful.  \n  \nI have been reading a classic Sufi book called The Conference of the Birds. It is full of parables about taking a spiritual journey. My friend was listening to a CD of chanting and birds flew to his deck to listen. As soon as the music ended the birds flew off. Another friend had two birds come sit on her balcony when she moved into a new apartment. It helped to ease her loneliness and to help her make a transition. These moments that are particular to us can help move us in a direction of paying attention\, of being engaged inwardly as well as outwardly\, and of loving the beauty of the world. It can make us grateful for being alive.    \n  \nI have been enjoying reading and studying The Conference of the Birds along with my friends who had the birds magically visit them. I have also been paying attention to the gifts of feathers that my neighbors—blue jays\, wild turkeys\, crows\, wrens\, even the chickens—have left in my yard and along the paths that I walk. I find one almost every day and have a collection now in my garden flower bed. These are small moments and small tokens that make me joyous to feel the “interbeing” that Thay instructs us to realize. It makes me happy to be alive here and now\, and to share this with whoever comes my way. Gratitude is a strong mindfulness practice for beginning and ending the day.   \n  \nThis morning Sarah sent me a text saying she is paying attention to the birds too! She wrote\, “I’m enjoying migrations!”  \n  \nWhat can be a small moment for some\, can be the single most important moment in another person’s life.  \n  \nHow about you? Do you sometimes see big things in small moments?  \n  \nMay you be aware and happy in some small moments today.  Thank you for being a part of  our mindfulness group and sharing your own experiences here. Below is a poem by Kim’s dad\, William Stafford.   \n  \nBe well and know peace\,  Katie  \n  \nThings I Learned Last Week \n  \nAnts\, when they meet each other\, \nusually pass on the right. \n  \nSometimes you can open a sticky \ndoor with your elbow. \n  \nA man in Boston has dedicated himself \nto telling about injustice. \nFor three thousand dollars he will \ncome to your town and tell you about it. \n  \nSchopenhauer was a pessimist but \nhe played the flute. \n  \nYeats\, Pound\, and Eliot saw art as \ngrowing from other art. They studied that. \n  \nIf I ever die\, I’d like it to be \nin the evening. That way\, I’ll have \nall the dark to go with me\, and no one \nwill see how I begin to hobble along. \n  \nIn the Pentagon one person’s job is to \ntake pins out of towns\, hills\, and fields\, \nand then save the pins for later. \n  \n—William Stafford \n* \n  \n8-10-21 \n  \nGot your letter today: “The Golden World!” I needed to hear that more than you know\, Johnny. I need to come home and it’s nice to know & remember that I can come home & how good home is. I was so focused on what was lost that I lost track of what I have & what I have is pretty damn good. In fact\, what I lost I loved very much\, but what I have now is very much here & not lost & that right now is life & life must be lived\, now\, loved and grown. Sometimes I wish that you would have been my father\, Johnny\, & in many ways you have been. \n  \nThe Golden World is real. I forgot about it. It should be shared with the world. It will make all the world a better place. I’m done being in misery….I’m on my way home. \n  \n—Rocky Hutchinson
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-8-15-21/
ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/08/0-30.jpeg
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20210808T150000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20210808T170000
DTSTAMP:20260425T071533
CREATED:20210807T215000Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20210807T215139Z
UID:2307-1628434800-1628442000@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!: Poetry Corner  8/8/21
DESCRIPTION:  \nBeloved Bibliophiles!  \n  \nPOETRY CORNER is our theme for our Zoom gathering on Sunday\, August 8\, at 3 pm (PDT). Here’s the link:  \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/83135193074 \n  \nBring some of your favorite poems and read them to us!  \n  \npeace\, love & happiness   \nJohnny \n  \n  \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-poetry-corner-8-8-21/
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210805
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210819
DTSTAMP:20260425T071533
CREATED:20210806T205130Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250718T124300Z
UID:2300-1628121600-1629331199@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  8/5/21
DESCRIPTION:  \n  \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nAugust 5\, 2021 \n  \nTHE THREE QUESTIONS \n  \nIt once occurred to a certain king that if he always knew the right time to begin everything; if he knew who were the right people to listen to\, and whom to avoid; and\, above all\, if he always knew what was the most important thing to do\, he would never fail in anything he might undertake. \n  \nAnd this thought having occurred to him\, he had it proclaimed throughout his kingdom that he would give a great reward to anyone who would teach him what was the right time for every action\, and who were the most necessary people\, and how he might know what was the most important thing to do. \n  \nAnd learned men came to the king\, but they all answered his questions differently. \n  \nIn reply to the first question\, some said that to know the right time for every action\, one must draw up in advance a table of days\, months\, and years\, and must live strictly according to it. Only thus\, said they\, could everything be done at its proper time. Others declared that it was impossible to decide beforehand the right time for every action\, but that\, not letting oneself be absorbed in idle pastimes\, one should always attend to all that was going on\, and then do what was most needful. Others\, again\, said that however attentive the king might be to what was going on\, it was impossible for one man to decide correctly the right time for every action\, but that he should have a council of wise men who would help him to fix the proper time for everything. \n  \nBut then again others said there were some things which could not wait to be laid before a council\, but about which one had at once to decide whether to undertake them or not. But in order to decide that\, one must know beforehand what was going to happen. It is only magicians who know that; and\, therefore\, in order to know the right time for every action\, one must consult magicians. \n  \nEqually various were the answers to the second question. Some said the people the king most needed were his councilors; others\, the priests; others\, the doctors; while some said the warriors were the most necessary. \n  \nTo the third question\, as to what was the most important occupation\, some replied that the most important thing in the world was science. Others said it was skill in warfare; and others\, again\, that it was religious worship. \n  \nAll the answers being different\, the king agreed with none of them\, and gave the reward to none. But still wishing to find the right answers to his questions\, he decided to consult a hermit\, widely renowned for his wisdom. \n  \nThe hermit lived in a wood which he never quitted\, and he received none but common folk. So the king put on simple clothes and\, before reaching the hermit’s cell\, dismounted from his horse. Leaving his bodyguard behind\, he went on alone. \n  \nWhen the king approached\, the hermit was digging the ground in front of his hut. Seeing the king\, he greeted him and went on digging. The hermit was frail and weak\, and each time he stuck his spade into the ground and turned a little earth\, he breathed heavily. \n  \nThe king went up to him and said: “I have come to you\, wise hermit\, to ask you to answer three questions: How can I learn to do the right thing at the right time? Who are the people I most need\, and to whom should I\, therefore\, pay more attention than to the rest? And\, what affairs are the most important and need my first attention?” \n  \nThe hermit listened to the king\, but answered nothing. He just spat on his hand and recommenced digging. \n  \n“You are tired\,” said the king\, “let me take the spade and work awhile for you.” \n  \n“Thanks!” said the hermit\, and\, giving the spade to the king\, he sat down on the ground. \n  \nWhen he had dug two beds\, the king stopped and repeated his questions. The hermit again gave no answer\, but rose\, stretched out his hand for the spade\, and said: \n  \n“Now rest awhile – and let me work a bit.” \n  \nBut the king did not give him the spade\, and continued to dig. One hour passed\, and another. The sun began to sink behind the trees\, and the king at last stuck the spade into the ground\, and said: \n  \n“I came to you\, wise man\, for an answer to my questions. If you can give me none\, tell me so\, and I will return home.” \n  \n“Here comes someone running\,” said the hermit. “Let us see who it is.” \n  \nThe king turned round and saw a bearded man come running out of the wood. The man held his hands pressed against his stomach\, and blood was flowing from under them. When he reached the king\, he fell fainting on the ground\, moaning feebly. The king and the hermit unfastened the man’s clothing. There was a large wound in his stomach. The king washed it as best he could\, and bandaged it with his handkerchief and with a towel the hermit had. But the blood would not stop flowing\, and the king again and again removed the bandage soaked with warm blood\, and washed and re-bandaged the wound. When at last the blood ceased flowing\, the man revived and asked for something to drink. The king brought fresh water and gave it to him. Meanwhile the sun had set\, and it had become cool. So the king\, with the hermit’s help\, carried the wounded man into the hut and laid him on the bed. Lying on the bed\, the man closed his eyes and was quiet; but the king was so tired from his walk and from the work he had done that he crouched down on the threshold\, and also fell asleep – so soundly that he slept all through the short summer night. \n  \nWhen he awoke in the morning\, it was long before he could remember where he was\, or who was the strange bearded man lying on the bed and gazing intently at him with shining eyes. \n  \n“Forgive me!” said the bearded man in a weak voice\, when he saw that the king was awake and was looking at him. \n  \n“I do not know you\, and have nothing to forgive you for\,” said the king. \n  \n“You do not know me\, but I know you. I am that enemy of yours who swore to revenge himself on you\, because you executed his brother and seized his property. I knew you had gone alone to see the hermit\, and I resolved to kill you on your way back. But the day passed and you did not return. So I came out from my ambush to find you\, and came upon your bodyguard\, and they recognized me\, and wounded me. I escaped from them\, but should have bled to death had you not dressed my wound. I wished to kill you\, and you have saved my life. Now\, if I live\, and if you wish it\, I will serve you as your most faithful slave\, and will bid my sons do the same. Forgive me!” \n  \nThe king was very glad to have made peace with his enemy so easily\, and to have gained him for a friend\, and he not only forgave him\, but said he would send his servants and his own physician to attend him\, and promised to restore his property. \n  \nHaving taken leave of the wounded man\, the king went out into the porch and looked around for the hermit. Before going away he wished once more to beg an answer to the questions he had put. The hermit was outside\, on his knees\, sowing seeds in the beds that had been dug the day before. \n  \nThe king approached him and said\, “For the last time\, I pray you to answer my questions\, wise man.” \n  \n“You have already been answered!” said the hermit\, still crouching on his thin legs\, and looking up at the king\, who stood before him. \n  \n“How answered? What do you mean?” asked the king. \n  \n“Do you not see?” replied the hermit. “If you had not pitied my weakness yesterday\, and had not dug these beds for me\, but had gone your way\, that man would have attacked you\, and you would have repented of not having stayed with me. So the most important time was when you were digging the beds; and I was the most important man; and to do me good was your most important business. Afterwards\, when that man ran to us\, the most important time was when you were attending to him\, for if you had not bound up his wounds he would have died without having made peace with you. So he was the most important man\, and what you did for him was your most important business. Remember then: there is only one time that is important – now! It is the most important time because it is the only time when we have any power. The most necessary person is the one with whom you are\, for no man knows whether he will ever have dealings with anyone else: and the most important affair is to do that person good\, because for that purpose alone was man sent into this life.” \n  \n—Leo Tolstoy (translated by Louise and Aylmer Maude)
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-8-5-21/
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DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20210725T130000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20210725T150000
DTSTAMP:20260425T071533
CREATED:20210722T211808Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20210722T213348Z
UID:2291-1627218000-1627225200@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!: What Are Your Favorite Documentary Films?
DESCRIPTION:  \n  \nThis Sunday\, July 25th\, at 1 pm\, we’re going to go crazy\, break all the rules\, and talk about films–instead of books!!! WHAT ARE YOUR FAVORITE DOCUMENTARY FILMS? Here’s the link:  \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/83135193074 \n  \nCinephiles: This is your chance! \nI hope to see you there! \n  \npeace\, love & happiness \n  \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-what-are-your-favorite-documentary-films/
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210722
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210805
DTSTAMP:20260425T071533
CREATED:20210722T194118Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250718T124120Z
UID:2285-1626912000-1628121599@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  7/22/21
DESCRIPTION:  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \n  \nTHE ART OF HAPPINESS \n  \nJuly 22\, 2021 \n  \nThis is a TEDx talk by Slava Polunin:  \n  \nI was asked one day\, “Are you happy?” I needed to think\, to sit and reflect\, and I figured\, actually\, I’ve been happy for all my life\, without breaks\, just happiness from morning till night\, all day long\, without days off or holidays. Nothing but happiness. Why? How is that possible? How could that happen? I did not do anything for it\, I did not want anything for it. Just felt happy\, and that was it. So I started analyzing. For so many centuries\, mankind\, smart people with briefcases and ties\, have been thinking\, reckoning\, telling everybody to go here\, go there\, this way to happiness\, that way to happiness\, but they don’t succeed.  \n  \nSo I figured\, the smart have failed. And I thought\, we need to establish an alternative\, an International Fools Academy. I founded that Academy and appointed myself its irreplaceable president. So\, for some 20-30 years I’ve been the President of the World Fools Academy. Our members are the biggest fools\, idiots who are somehow always happy. There is just no way to change it; whatever you do\, they just remain happy\, there’s no way of beating that happiness out of them. Do not think that they are dimwits with no family\, no kids\, no problems\, no tragedies—they have everything like everyone else. But such a person enters a room and everything is lit up with sunlight\, they kind of radiate it\, making everybody drop whatever they’re doing and rush after happiness\, towards happiness. And it’s with those people I now create all kinds of organizations.  \n  \nI figured there is only one way: you have to create small\, tiny oases. I realized that I won’t change the world anyway\, so take just a tiny space\, three meters\, and in those three meters make sure that everything exists in harmony\, in happiness\, in joy—that was my dream. So I created first one theater\, then a second theater\, then a third one. Later some other organizations\, all different and very cute. And everywhere I strove to create just one thing—a harmony in a tiny space\, and then try to expand that harmony with all my might\, to push its walls as far as possible. Sometimes I succeed quite okay\, sometimes not so much\, but this formula—create harmony around you and then try to expand it as far as you can—it works perfectly. And so\, as I am always in the middle\, I’m always happy\, I’m in harmony\, always among my friends\, and always full of joy. \n  \nSo\, what are the signs of happiness? I’ll try to sound like a scientist now. (Laughter) We sat and thought for a long time: what are the signs of happiness? How do you recognize it? It turned out to be simple—whistling. As soon as you start whistling\, no doubt you’re happy. So\, the first sign of happiness is whistling\, the second is singing\, the third one is bouncing. So\, you walk…(Bounces across the stage) (Laughter) (Applause) Those are indisputable signs proven by centuries\, decades\, by thousands of people and by myself.  \n  \nNow\, how do you reach that happiness? There are probably as many different kinds of happiness as there are people. There are so many possibilities of happiness\, so many varieties. And it is hard to tell them apart: one is vibrant energy\, that’s happiness; another just sat down—and he’s zen\, happy already. Not everybody needs it all. Some people need some things\, so they have different ways to get there. My scheme is very simple: while you create\, you are happy. What does “create” mean? It means you’re getting closer to yourself. The act of creating is an ideal ignition key. Just switch on creativity\, and you’re already happy. My creativity scheme is simple: if people around me feel joy\, if they feel happy\, that’s when my happiness begins. So\, you start that engine\, they get in\, you join them\, and everything is fine. So\, only do the stuff you’re getting a kick out of. (Applause) It cannot be simpler: if you’re always doing what you get a kick out of\, it works like a charm; follow that rule\, and everything will be all right. Do it only together with those you want to hug. (Applause) Because everything lights up around them and near them. I collect those\, I have this collection of happy joyful people\, in one group\, in another group\, in the third one. I have no other. Don’t let cynics or whiners in. Period. A separate section for cynics\, another one for whiners\, and a separate one for the happy ones. (Laughter) I will tell you\, they will envy you and run over to your side. No need to teach anyone\, they will want it themselves.  \n  \nAlong the same lines\, at “Melnitsa” we have a week long immersion in happiness where the first thing is to transform yourself\, your hair\, which I don’t have\, of course\, but those who do\, transform it\, and I can transform my beard like that\, or put curls in it. Transform yourself\, change your clothes\, if you wore grey\, try on green\, and the other way around\, it’s a kick toward you expanding your world\, you start crawling out of your own self. First into your hair\, then into your suit\, then into the room\, into your friends\, then out into your village\, and into your city. It’s important\, once you understood what you are all about\, it’s important to fill as much space as possible with this. Kind of reveal yourself\, fulfill yourself.  \n  \nSo\, what is that creativity that makes everyone happy for some reason? For me\, there are about three or four main things. It’s a game: try and do everything you usually did seriously\, try to play at it. In fact\, it is quite an amazing thing! When I was signing a contract on Broadway for nine months\, (Laughter) it came to the point where I started freaking out\, taking medicine\, a doctor checked me up\, because I was panicking\, afraid that my favorite baby will get turned into some Broadway piece of crap. And then we realized: one more step and I’ll go nuts\, because everything I do I try to make it really perfect. That’s when I felt I couldn’t stand it any longer. So we realized it was time to play: one day we came in as punks\, next day we came in as those in ties\, the day after as somebody else\, and we negotiated while acting that way. And everything changed\, because it’s not me\, it’s him showing off. Everything became easy. If you apply this method of playful attitude toward life\, you distance yourself\, and life is there while you’re in a free fly and laughing at what happens\, and so on. Game is a great key for this story. \n  \nFantasy—they say\, “What a daydreamer!\,” so I thought\, where does creativity begin at all\, where do happiness and joy begin? All begins with fantasy\, not by thinking\, “Here’s life and here’s something weird\, some accompanying dreams\, fantasies\, and imagination\, hopes and so on\, all on the periphery\, while real life is here.” But in fact\, this is life\, and all that is something on its side\, it can never reach such a perfection. And your mission is to try to make this out of that. To try and make life as perfect as your fantasy. When you thought about something\, and it suddenly comes to life\, that miracle of such a joy and happiness cannot even be experienced any other way.  \n  \nWhen I was only trying to understand why I needed to perform\, why I’m out there\, what I’m doing there\, I realized that there is an expression “anima allegra\,” joyful soul. It might have come from the Greeks\, I think\, from somewhere there. Joyful soul. What is a joyful soul? That’s where we should remember about love. It is probably born out of falling in love with this world. That is\, if you’re in love with this world then the joy emerges\, because there’s a harmony: great person here and great person there\, and together you are a wonderful creature. Because things are tough when you’re not in love with the world. There might be some back doors\, but the straightest way is just to love the world.  \n  \nBut how can you love this world\, how can you get to love it at all? Only if you’re a child. Someone out there already said it\, looked like me with a different beard. But in order to love this world you need to remain a child. This is the best rule there is. What does it mean\, to be a child? What is it\, to be a child? (Looking at his note cards) Well\, it’s not written here. (Laughter) So\, what is it\, to be a child? Perhaps\, it is something like\, “Wow!” Yes\, definitely\, to be a child means to say every day: “Wow! Wow!” Because this is the definition\, this awe before this world through…(Child’s voice from the audience: “I’m a child!”)…Yay! (Slava laughs) (Applause) To be a child is to get surprised\, every day get surprised by everything. “What is this? Why is that? How is it here? I want it\, too!” And so\, in everything: to touch\, “Ah\, why\, what are you doing?” To get yourself into everything\, participate in everything\, in spite of everything\, because this is what it is\, the state of “Wow!” I don’t know\, I love it when all that stops and this boost of life starts\, when you’re no longer reacting\, no longer controlling\, cannot comprehend anything\, just doing something not knowing why\, or what for\, and so on. Usually\, joy has no reason. The real joy has no reason\, it just occurs because life is good. That’s why it is here\, the main joy occurs in this place. All other joys help a little\, but the main joy occurs in here. \n  \nMarcel Marceau told me once—I learned from many: sometimes I went to Raikin\, sometimes to Marcel Marceau\, I used to attach myself to someone and hang there\, carrying bags—(Laughter) and he said\, “You need to learn only from the great.” I was like\, “Oh\, that’s very important\, what an important thought\, I need to act upon it\, whom else should I follow?” Now I understand that there’s no need to follow anyone. It turned out that our greatest teachers are our children. So\, I follow my granddaughters nonstop now. (Applause) How on earth do they manage to be happy and joyful all the time? A little bit (Makes frustration noises) and life’s awesome again. (Laughter) Really\, I’m studying\, trying to see how. Still remains a mystery to me. I’m following and recording them\, their actions\, trying to repeat everything but nothing works that way they can make it work. \n  \nThen\, the fools in our Academy have a lot of rules which we follow and which work very well. Do not write down a list of problems. What do you need them for? Why do you need such a list? Why do you need the news? Why do you need the TV? All of it is really unnecessary\, why on earth get interested in it? (Applause) Write down every tiny achievement\, the tiniest success\, write it all down\, underline\, make a total of everyday results. Accumulate the joyful and the beautiful. That’s why in our theater everything is very simple: a show ends\, I go backstage and everybody is like\, “Well?\,” because they all know that they won’t hear a single negative word from me. Try all you want\, I will go on\, “Again wonderful! I can’t believe you always manage to perform that well!” (Laughter) (Applause)  \n  \nTurn the mundane into festive and fantastic. Run—there is a word for it—away from a dull life into the middle of something… Never mind. In short\, don’t “dull-shit” your life. (Laughter) (Applause) Why is everybody in grey\, anyway? Put on some colors! And so turn every minute of your life into something colorful\, joyous\, awesome and amazing. I have it all separated in my library: here is all the comical stuff\, there is all the absurd\, fantastic. For me\, those always go together\, because the fantastic and the absurd both lead to the other side of the planet\, to the other side of life really—might not even be on Earth\, but somewhere in the universe. These two things give us some kind of a fantastic balance\, when clashing the joyous and the fantastic create such a vision of the world that makes you shiver\, gives you goosebumps. (Looks at his arm) “Again\, goosebumps!”  \n  \nSo\, fantastic\, festive\, and mundane—blah\, blah\, blah—Got it! There is this man in the history of theater\, Meyerhold\, who said\, “If you want to be there\, stretch the leg out there\, because in order to get there you need to have balance.” It is hard to find a more thorough person on earth. And it’s me. It is even harder to find a more careless person. And it’s also me. So\, I’m starting s huge project\, and in the middle of it\, “Ah!” (starts to walk offstage) because I already imagined how it’s going to end. And then there is thoroughness: until each little hair is not bent to one side\, until my show doesn’t smell with exactly the right color\, until all of it comes to a place\, I cannot fully enjoy the whole thing. So\, everything is produced out of these opposite things. You need to be a completely reckless and headless doofus\, and at the same time you need to methodically and thoroughly go through every millimeter of what you’re doing. Then forget about that altogether\, and it’ll flow out in an unexpected way. And if you don’t preserve that balance\, your whole beautiful thing will fall. Or that other very costly thing—it will also fall. That is\, those things can only work when you keep both sides at the same time in harmony. Once you shift a little\, “Let’s increase the ticket price\,”—ah\, (starts to fall sideways) or you shift like\, “Let’s don’t give a damn about that and just fly free.” (gestures falling from the sky) So\, a shift to either side….only balance on the edge\, on the edge. (walks a tightrope)  \n  \nI always said\, “Only do the impossible. Because all the rest will be done by others.” (Applause) It’s true. When you put a star at the very horizon\, and then crawl to it\, swim in mud\, and all the time you feel that beauty that shines upon you. So\, when you aspire to the impossible and it comes true in the end\, you understand\, that’s what you were doing all that for. Then there is no longer mud\, nor a deep river\, or whatever.  \n  \nAnd here goes the opposite: “But always value what you have.” So\, if you don’t plan to land in a mental institution\, or even worse than that\, there is only one way—balance again. Always aspire to the infinite\, and always love every moment of what you have. If you find yourself in a small room\, not even yours\, rented\, temporary\, it’s good that you have that place\, quiet\, warm\, where no one bothers you. It gets expanded—you get a garage—okay\, I’ll make a theater in a garage\, it has a cold draft\, no problem. It means you keep those two things balanced every time anyway\, and if you stop keeping that balance between the ideal and what you’ve got\, which is good fortune\, luck\, indeed\, what have you done to deserve it all? Just like that\, doofus\, you’ve got things people only dream about all their lives.  \n  \nFeet in the water: this is yet another great rule. Feet in the water. What does it mean? Every 12 years I need to change my occupation. It means that every 12 years I stop the train and say\, “Thanks. Bye!” And I see where I want to go next. For that you need to get your feet in the water\, sit for a month\, and figure out: what is it you seek most\, why do you want to do it\, what do you need it for\, whether you need it in the first place. Don’t you ever keep living on auto-pilot\, never. Fear the most automatic repetition of what you already saw\, know\, and have no interest in. Break free—but you can crash big time\, this is the biggest problem. Not everyone has the courage. Do you know where courage comes from? If you tried something a hundred times\, then you know how tough your courage is. So\, you need to try more\, the more you try\, the more you know\, whether it’s worth getting out of or better to endure. \n  \nHooooh!: the last one! (cue card) Create your life the way you create a piece of art. This is the only way to love it. Create your life the way you create a piece of art. Embrace this attitude toward your every step\, your every encounter\, toward every day of your life. \n  \nThank you. \n  \n(Translated from the Russian by Yulia Kallistratova) \n  \nHere’s a link to this talk: \n  \nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4LxwbPFLUHY \n  \nMay all beings be happy!
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-7-22-21/
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