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DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20210919T150000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20210919T170000
DTSTAMP:20260425T182824
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:20260425T182824
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:20260425T182824
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:20260425T182824
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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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210902
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210916
DTSTAMP:20260425T182824
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:20260425T182824
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:20260425T182824
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
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210815
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210915
DTSTAMP:20260425T182824
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:20260425T182824
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:20260425T182824
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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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20210725T130000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20210725T150000
DTSTAMP:20260425T182824
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/
END:VEVENT
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210722
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210805
DTSTAMP:20260425T182824
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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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210715
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210815
DTSTAMP:20260425T182824
CREATED:20210716T153424Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20210716T153546Z
UID:2277-1626307200-1628985599@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue  7/15/21
DESCRIPTION:  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n  \n July 15\, 2021 \n  \nRhyming With Thich Nhat Hanh \n  \n1 \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 \nmost daunting of all was rhyming that name \nfor a poet\, perhaps\, the ultimate shame \nsuddenly hungry and ready to roam \nhe put down the book and started for home \nWhen he got to the sidewalk the poet could tell \nhis sense of direction was not doing well \nthe sun was now setting\, the clouds darker gray \nit was not a good time to be losing his way \na man from the yard sale saw his distress \nand showed him a bus that would pass his address \nslumped in a seat as the bus took him home \nhe feared he might never again write a poem \nthen he thought of the book that he found in the trunk \nand wished he had spent more time with the monk \nThat night the poet fell into a dream \nthe moon deep blue\, the sky rich cream \na brindle cat\, in a bare black oak \nwas playing a fiddle with a lively stroke \nin a dark red vest and odd shaped hat \nhe swayed as he fiddled on the limb where he sat \nabove the tree\, in the cream colored sky \napproaching the moon\, was a cow who could fly \nA gasp escaped from the poet’s throat \nthe music stopped on a jagged note \nthe soaring bovine paused mid-air \nthe fiddling cat conjured a glare \n  \n2 \nWhat is your problem\, poetry man? \nDid something happen that’s not in your plan’? \nAs the poet described his rhyming confusion \nThe cat cut in with a crisp conclusion \nYou can’t find a rhyme for Thich Nhat Hanh? \nPoetry man\, you’re putting me on \nBy now the cow had cleared the moon \nand sang a sympathetic tune \nEasy\, cat\, he’s flesh and bone \nhe thinks\, in life\, he’s all alone \nwith broken compass and hobbled rhyme \nhis sails are empty on the sea of time \nThe cat tipped back his pork pie hat \nwith stingy brim and crown so flat \nOf course you’re right\, dear nimble cow \nhe’s everywhere but here and now \nrhyme adds power to a tale \nlike the gust of wind that fills a sail \nand rhymes add balance but aren’t essential \nto celebrate this world’s potential \nThich Nhat Hanh has an open vision \nhe honors the world’s unseen precision \nfor example\, in a sheet of paper \nhe sees a cloud of water vapor \nwithout rain there’d be no trees \nno trees\, no paper\, if you please \nAs the cow was gliding back to earth \nthe poet admired her supple girth \nshe wasn’t slender\, nor even trim \nbut she moved with ease and bovine vim \nher coat light brown\, with islands white \nthe streak on her forehead\, a comet in flight \ntouching down near the big black oak \nshe flicked her tail and again she spoke \nThat sheet of paper is a fine example \nof endless connections we might sample \nlook more closely and straightaway \nyou’ll see the sunshine of the day \n  \n3 \nwith no sunshine\, we all know\, \nthere’s no way a tree can grow \nso in this simple paper sheet \nrain and sun and tree all meet \nThe cat chimed in so calm and cool \nlike he was sunning by a pool \nAs we savor these connections \nwe open out in all directions \nand though the parts may seem diverse: \nthe earth\, the stars\, the universe \neverything that we perceive \nis in the universal weave \nLike a water lily in the sun \nglowing\, growing\, we are one \nThe poet smiled\, for he could see \nthat lily floating full and free \nhe took a breath\, he heard a cough \nhis darned alarm was going off \nHe hit the snooze and tried to think \nhis brain a frozen skating rink \ngone the guiding conversation \noozing back\, the deep frustration \nno words of cat or even cow \nto keep him in the here and now \nand still no rhyme for Thich Nhat Hanh \nhow could a poet carry on? \nBut . . . something has been gently changed \nhis rhyming pathway rearranged \nthe porkpie cat and comet cow  \nhave clarified his course somehow \nand though they live inside a dream \nthe gifts they offer flow downstream \nwith new connections comes a dawn \nrevealing rhymes with Thich Nhat Hanh \n  \n—Nick Eldredge\, 2020 \nnickeld109@gmail.com \n* \n  \nHere are some excerpts from Michel’s meditation journal. The numbers refer to meditations in Thich Nhat Hanh’s book\, Your True Home: \n  \nJune 14\, 2021  #143  Everyone Smiles \n  \nIt’s a lovely sentiment\, one I hope can be true. It’s a Butterfly Effect moment: “Smile and the whole world smiles with you.” Or\, so it’s been said. There are times when smiling is just damn hard to do. Or\, I just don’t wanna do it! But\, a truth is that if I smile—shake myself up a little and struggle through my pain\, to smile from my toes—others will smile back \, genuinely happy to be see and be seen. We can alter our minds’ courses\, as well as our emotional states. Smiling is one of the positive ways. So\, if you see someone smiling\, look at him or her—(wonder to yourself: what’s going on?)—and\, while making eye contact\, share in their smile. And\, when you find one who has no smile of his or her own\, again\, looking deeply at them\, smile your warmest\, most compassionate\, well-wishing smile. (It’s instinctive to smile back to a genuine smile.) It’s hard not to chortle and smile as I write these thoughts of smiling\, sharing smiles\, and just being happy. It’s a choice each of us is allowed to make. Doing so makes the world better\, even for a brief painful moment\, just for the price of one simple\, genuine\, loving\, compassionate smile shared\, intentionally or not\, with the world around. (It makes everyone look better!) \n* \n  \nJune 20\, 2021  #149  When Strong Emotions Arise  —  Happy Father’s Day! \n  \nI can really use this one; last night I was racked with deep grief as I have never felt grief or sadness before. I still haven’t a clue as to why. It just came over me as I began my evening prayer service\, and caused deep overwhelming sadness. It lasted for minutes. An eternity that might not end\, I thought. I knew I didn’t want to stop it\, but breathe through the experience. At the same time I found judgement about self-indulgence—how protracted grief can be self-indulgent. I don’t know\, but there it was—a self-induced indictment for “being” (acting) self-indulgent with an experience (and display?) of deep grief of unknown/undefined origin. \n  \nEventually\, a focus on the breath did calm the overwhelm. Even now I can sense this same sadness just below the surface of attention\, as if it rests just below my skin. I can’t bring it to surface just now\, yet I am aware of its presence as part of my being. I accept it as part of me and for reasons (deep past pain\, maybe?) unknown just now\, I don’t know its origin or cause. Maybe I’ll experience it again\, or not. When I do “feel” it again I can rest with it\, breathe and release a need to define or judge it. \n  \nIf I attempt to resist\, restrain\, or even fight back the tears\, I’ll only end up suffering a worse mess than if I allow the sensations to run their course through this body. I hope to have enough presence of mind to relax and observe what is coming up\, as I also focus on breathing. I can allow curiosity\, yet I’ll not want to push too hard or the critical self will arise and condemn\, adding to the grief and suffering\, instead of allowing it to be what it is\, and (eventually) to reveal its source and originating cause—it could be related to childhood traumas\, grief for lost innocence\, or time lost from not bonding with my father (who may not live to see my scheduled release date: he’s 85 now.) \n  \nWhat will matter is how I do/don’t allow myself and the body to experience these feelings\, sensations\, emotions when they arise again. If I fight\, it will only be more powerful the next time\, with the added sensations of the self-battle for restraint and any new emotions about that strong feeling arising. By fighting it\, instead of letting it be\, I see that I create a past-future tether which pulls at me to not be in the now. It prevents the strength and healing needed to allow this to arise again and for me to just be with myself as it happens\, allowing the senses to be part of my now—breathing “quietly\,” “calmly”—looking with compassionate curiosity at what came up\, not needing to define or judge\, but just to be. \n* \n  \nJune 21\, 2021  #148  Fearless Bodhisattvas \n  \nIt would be nice to be “fearless.” I guess once I transcend attachment and aversion I can be a help to others on their journey out of suffering. It’s next-level stuff\, as some may say. To me it seems important to keep this suffering of others in mind\, not to take it on\, but\, maybe\, to join them under their burden and in doing so lighten their suffering\, even for a moment\, so they can get a glimpse of Reality as it is. Maybe not. It could mean something totally different. \n* \n  \nJune 22\, 2021  #150  The Arhat \n  \nFinally! Recognition for doing “nothing.” I find it very easy\, even in here\, to get caught up with being busy\, doing stuff—it’s important\, mind you\, just ask and when I have the time I’ll let you know how busy I am with all of my importance. I find it sad that\, as a culture\, we value packing and cramming each and every moment of a day with stuff. Sure it’s important\, and we want to make the most of the few moments we have left. But\, wouldn’t it be nice to breathe\, relax and just enjoy each moment as it passes before us—instead of working and struggling to “do”—and make the most of a moment we can’t get back. And then\, suffering for not enjoying the moment more fully. I find it scary how familiar this sounds to me. \n  \n—Michel Deforge \n* \n  \n                       Song Sparrow \n                    Melospiza melodia \n  \nThicket hidden\, choir of one\, message invisible  \nsent to pierce my invisible spirit\, how do you  \nknow me so well to tune your secrets to my own? \n  \nDenizen of thorn and shadow\, you yet sing  \nsilver clear\, flit\, flurry\, and disappear\, \nleaving your psalms in me. \n  \nThis ministry\, gospel of the good by hint  \nand revelation\, begins in your breath to fill  \nthe sky\, unruly syllables of song salvation. \n  \nSparrow\, let our bargain be: You remind me  \nof the covenant between wild and human life\, \nand your thicket I will defend. \n* \n  \n    Midrash on a Sacred Encounter \n  \nWhen the little ones gathered at my feet \nthey couldn’t stop laughing every time \nI spoke a poem\, as if they were wild birds \nand I scattered seed for their singing and singing\, \nsinging back to my songs and stories\, and they  \nfed me questions as old as psalms: How long  \ndoes it take to write a poem… what’s the longest  \npoem… who taught you poems… what’s  \nthe oldest poem… what’s oldest  \ninside a poem…what is a poem  \nand what is not? \n  \nThen they laughed and clapped \nand I bowed and felt blessed \nand we went out into sunlight \nand all went forth to heal the world. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nTo love is the greatest thing in life; it is very important to talk about love\, to feel it\, to nourish it\, to treasure it\, otherwise it will be dissipated\, for the world is very brutal. If while you are young you don’t feel love\, if you don’t look with love at people\, at animals\, at flowers\, when you grow up you find that your life is empty; you will be very lonely\, and the dark shadows of fear will follow you always. But the moment you have in your heart this extraordinary thing called love and feel the depth\, the delight\, the ecstasy of it\, you will discover that for you the world is transformed. \n  \nKatie Radditz sent this quote from J. Krishnamurti (1895-1986) \n* \n  \nThe state of wordlessness can be elusive. When we talk about it\, we use words. Try this baby meditation and see what happens. Imagine that you are a baby\, newly arrived on Planet Earth. You look around. You have no words for anything. Nothing you see has a name. You don’t know words like “meditation\,” “mindfulness\,” “breath\,” “thought\,” “present\,” or “moment.” You don’t know who you are. You have no name. You don’t have any regrets. You don’t have any plans for the future. You don’t have any problems. You don’t know what’s going on—but it’s extremely interesting! \n  \n(Typing this dialogue up at a coffee shop\, just now my the nonstop love-in baseball cap elicited this question from a guy: “Where is it?” To which I replied: “It’s here. It’s now. It’s everywhere and always.”) \n  \nIf you are a reader of the Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue\, please consider submitting something in time for the August issue\, which comes out on August 15th. August 17th is my 70th birthday. You could do it as  your birthday present to me. It would make me happy. \n  \n  \nMay all people be happy. \nMay we live in peace and love. \n  \n—Johnny Stallings
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-7-15-21/
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DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20210711T150000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20210711T170000
DTSTAMP:20260425T182824
CREATED:20210709T024543Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20210709T024657Z
UID:2266-1626015600-1626022800@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!: Your Favorite 50 Books of the Last 50 Years
DESCRIPTION:  \nWhat are your favorite 50 books of the past 50 years? Make a list\, and join the Zoom gathering on Sunday\, July 11th\, at 3 pm (PDT). Here’s the link: \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/83135193074 \n  \nSee you there! \n  \npeace & love \n  \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-your-favorite-50-books-of-the-last-50-years/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210708
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210722
DTSTAMP:20260425T182824
CREATED:20210708T153913Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250718T123947Z
UID:2256-1625702400-1626911999@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  7/8/21
DESCRIPTION:  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \n  \nDREAMS OF BETTER WORLDS \n  \nJuly 8\, 2021 \n  \nI once asked my friend Howard Thoresen what he thought the future would be like. “Like the present\,” he said. \n  \nIn the drawings above\, the artist Robert Crumb gives three versions of the future of the same street corner. In the first\, everything is more-or-less dead. The second is a high-tech future\, with flying cars. The third is a hippie ecotopian future. One of the things I think Howard was getting at is that all three of these “futures” exist right now. Somewhere there’s a terrible drought and the crops have died. Somewhere there’s a city where tall skyscrapers have skins of mirrored glass. And somewhere someone is riding her bike to the organic vegetable market. \n  \nIn movies and popular culture dystopian visions abound. Back in the Hippie Days\, before the Internet\, we had a Bible of Hope known as The Whole Earth Catalog. On the cover\, it had a picture of our planet as seen from space. \n  \nIn the Fifties\, in America\, World War Two was over and many people dreamed of raising a happy family—like the ones on TV—in their house in the suburbs\, with a two-car garage and an automatic washer and dryer. A company advertised: PROGRESS IS OUR MOST IMPORTANT PRODUCT. The idea was that things were better than they had ever been\, and they would just keep getting better and better. \n  \nAround 1970\, we got the Bad News. Ecologists told us that there were too many people on the planet for its “carrying capacity.” Plant and animal species were becoming extinct. Forests were being cut down\, topsoil was being exhausted and eroded\, fresh water sources were being depleted. Factories were poisoning the air\, the soil and the rivers. The climate was changing. The trajectory we were on\, they said\, was not taking us to a better place\, but to a worse one. \n  \nThis came as quite a shock. All our stories had told us that humanity was ascending from a state where life was “nasty\, brutish and short” to a more and more civilized\, more and more “modern” one\, where all our problems would be abolished by rational problem solving\, economic prosperity and technological progress. \n  \nOne of the thinkers featured in the Whole Earth Catalog was R. Buckminster Fuller\, the inventor of the geodesic dome\, and a “futurist.” He wrote a book called Utopia or Oblivion. These\, he said\, were our options. He said that he didn’t find the subject of oblivion very interesting\, so he spent his life trying to figure out how\, together\, we could “make the world work.” He said he had done the math\, and it was quite possible for everyone on this planet to have enough to eat and a place to live. We could educate all the children and provide health care for everyone. \n  \nIt makes you wonder: why aren’t we doing that? \n  \nWhen we go camping\, we’re supposed to leave the campsite better than we found it. Individually and collectively\, we would like to do that with our planet. One problem is that we can never give an adequate answer to the question: “What’s going on here?” There’s always too much going on at every moment. I don’t know what’s happening in my backyard right now. What are all the worms up to? And everything is always growing and changing—within me and around me. \n  \nAnother difficulty is that people have different ideas about what the most important problems are and about how things could be improved. Each of us has our own utopian dreams. \n  \nIn The Tempest\, while Gonzalo puts forward his ideas of what he would do if he was king of the island\, hecklers are busy finding all the flaws in his Big Idea: \n  \nGONZALO \nHad I plantation of this isle\, my lord\,– \nANTONIO \nHe’ld sow’t with nettle-seed. \nSEBASTIAN \nOr docks\, or mallows. \nGONZALO \nAnd were the king on’t\, what would I do? \nSEBASTIAN \n‘Scape being drunk for want of wine. \nGONZALO \nI’ the commonwealth I would by contraries \nExecute all things; for no kind of traffic \nWould I admit; no name of magistrate; \nLetters should not be known; riches\, poverty\, \nAnd use of service\, none; contract\, succession\, \nBourn\, bound of land\, tilth\, vineyard\, none; \nNo use of metal\, corn\, or wine\, or oil; \nNo occupation; all men idle\, all; \nAnd women too\, but innocent and pure; \nNo sovereignty;– \nSEBASTIAN \nYet he would be king on’t. \nANTONIO \nThe latter end of his commonwealth forgets the \nbeginning. \nGONZALO \nAll things in common nature should produce \nWithout sweat or endeavour: treason\, felony\, \nSword\, pike\, knife\, gun\, or need of any engine\, \nWould I not have; but nature should bring forth\, \nOf its own kind\, all foison\, all abundance\, \nTo feed my innocent people. \nSEBASTIAN \nNo marrying ‘mong his subjects? \nANTONIO \nNone\, man; all idle: whores and knaves. \nGONZALO \nI would with such perfection govern\, sir\, \nTo excel the golden age. \nSEBASTIAN \nGod save his majesty! \nANTONIO \nLong live Gonzalo! \n* \n  \nIn Joyce’s Ulysses\, Leopold Bloom fantasizes about being an eloquent politician: \n  \nBLOOM \n  \nI stand for the reform of municipal morals and the plain ten commandments. New worlds for old. Union of all\, jew\, moslem and gentile. Three acres and a cow for all children of nature. Saloon motor hearses. Compulsory manual labour for all. All parks open to the public day and night. Electric dishscrubbers. Tuberculosis\, lunacy\, war and mendicancy must now cease. General amnesty\, weekly carnival with masked licence\, bonuses for all\, esperanto the universal language with universal brotherhood. No more patriotism of barspongers and dropsical impostors. Free money\, free rent\, free love and a free lay church in a free lay state. \n  \nShakespeare and Joyce are having fun with our proclivity to imagine ourselves in charge of everyone and everything. \n  \nThe protagonist of Dostoevsky’s short story “Dream of a Ridiculous Man\,” is depressed. He wants to find the right day to commit suicide. He falls asleep in his chair and dreams that he travels through space to a planet just like Earth—except that everything there is perfect. Everyone there is happy. They love each other. They love the animals. They talk to the trees. In his dream\, the unfortunate narrator corrupts that world. Things get worse and worse\, until it resembles our own. When he wakes from the dream\, he wants to live! He feels that his mission in life is to convince everyone that we need to love each other. He is certain that if we could do that our world would become a Paradise. \n  \nParadises and utopias come in all shapes and sizes. A perfect moment is Paradise. When we write a poem or paint a picture\, we create a perfect little world. \n  \nThe philosopher Wittgenstein contrasted the idea of “the world” with the idea of “my world.” It’s fun to ponder this distinction. If you wanted to change the world for the better\, it would be quite hard to do because it’s so big and there are so many forces in play. But my world—the world as I experience it—changes from day to day. We create a new world from moment to moment. A happy person lives in a friendly world. An angry person lives in a world full of adversaries. We create our own Heaven. Or Hell. We can see the kind of world Marc Chagall lived in by looking at his paintings. \n  \nPeople have imagined that Paradise existed sometime long ago\, or will arrive at some time in the distant Future. Maybe after we die—if we’re good. Hesiod spoke of a long-ago Golden Age\, when people were happy\, lived long\, and didn’t have to work. In the Bible\, our first parents lived in a Garden until they were kicked out for disobedience. Karl Marx believed that some day a casteless\, classless society would be ushered in\, and all would be well. Paradise is always elsewhere. \n  \nIn contrast to this story\, Thich Nhat Hanh says: “The present moment is a wonderful moment.” I don’t have to wait for The End of War in the world\, in order to abolish the conflict within myself. I could live in Love right now. It’s not against the law. \n  \nOne of my favorite books is The Big Orange Splot by Daniel Pinkwater. In it\, one day a seagull drops a bucket of orange paint on the roof of Mr. Plumbean’s house. Instead of fixing the problem\, Mr. Plumbean painted his house to look like all his dreams.  \n  \nIt reminds me of the colorful\, wildly imaginative architecture of Gaudi and Hundertwasser.  \n  \nThe Mexican muralists Rivera\, Orozco and Siqueros painted walls in Mexico\, and inspired thousands of people to do likewise around the world. \n  \nThanks to YouTube\, we can tour the barn of the Bread & Puppet Theater in Glover\, Vermont \n  \nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OV232D962pE \n  \nor the home of the clown Slava Polunin in France \n  \nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yy9DqXzGEAI&t=12s \n  \nor accompany Dr. John “Slomo” Kitchin as he skates along the sidewalks of San Diego \n  \nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xn87-mcnoVc \n  \nMaybe Paradise is not far away. Maybe we’re in it right now.
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-7-8-21/
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DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20210627T130000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20210627T150000
DTSTAMP:20260425T182824
CREATED:20210615T231258Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20210626T172012Z
UID:2232-1624798800-1624806000@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!: PLAYS!
DESCRIPTION:my first play\, circa 1956\, Columbia Falls\, Montana (JS) \n  \nBeloved Bibliophiles! \n  \nOn June 27th\, at 1 pm\, we will gather together on Zoom to talk about PLAYS!–reading them\, watching them\, performing them. The Zoom link is:  \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/83135193074 \n  \nHope to see you there!  \n  \npeace\, love & katharsis   \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-plays/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210624
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210708
DTSTAMP:20260425T182824
CREATED:20210624T231228Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20210624T231324Z
UID:2245-1624492800-1625702399@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  6/24/21
DESCRIPTION:sidewalk message \n  \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nJune 24\, 2021 \n  \nBe kind whenever possible. It is always possible. \n—Dalai Lama \n* \n  \nThe other day I was thinking about what I would say if asked to give a TED talk. Here’s what I wrote: \n  \nLove to faults is always blind\, \nAlways is to joy inclin’d\, \nLawless\, wing’d & unconfin’d\, \nAnd breaks all chains from every mind. \n  \nthat’s William Blake \n  \nI’d like to talk about love \nand so I shall \nnot the fascinating question of the relation between love and sex \nbut another kind of love: \nunconditional love for everyone and every thing \nis such a love possible? \nthat’s an open question \nbut surely it is possible to have this as an aspiration \nfor our love to grow and grow as we go along on our life journey \nit is good to begin with this axiom: \nwe are one human family \nthat means: \nall children are our children \nall children are our children \nevery child\, everywhere in the world \nif you accept this as true\, then war becomes impossible \nunthinkable \nfor whenever we drop a bomb on our so-called “enemies” we would at the same time murder some of our own children \nsurely we don’t want to do that \nit’s much more pleasant to have no enemies  \nthere’s no one to fear \nwe can live in love \nthe preamble to the UNESCO constitution says: \n“wars begin in the minds of men” \nso\, that’s where they must end\, too \nwe can end the wars within ourselves \nby doing our own inner work \nthe other kind of war—between nations and groups of people— \nends with acts of imagination\, informed by love \nby the knowledge that each person’s life is as limitless and precious as our own \nif we don’t imagine that we have enemies\, we don’t have enemies \nthis is true\, because we are one human family  \nand all children are our children \nwe have no enemies \nthere is no “other” \nthere is no scapegoat upon whom to project all our sins \nwe are not born in sin \n(every newborn baby proves Saint Augustine was wrong about that) \nwe are born in love \nwe grow in love \nthat’s why we came here \nto love and be loved \nthat’s why we came to this earth \nthat’s why we came to this room \nlove has no limit \nit has no beginning or end \nto quote the Bible: \nwho loves not\, knows not God \nfor God is love \nJesus enjoined us to love our neighbors as ourselves  \nand to love our enemies \nif you love your enemies\, they are no longer enemies \nthey are friends \nbrothers and sisters \n* \nour family is larger than the human family \nit includes every living being \nand rocks and rivers and clouds \nThich Nhat Hanh speaks of interbeing \nwe all inter-are \nthe trees provide oxygen for us to breathe \neach of our bodies is a host for millions of micro-organisms\, without which we couldn’t digest our food \nit’s wonderful! \nwhether or not you postulate a creator\, this world is amazing!  \nevery particle of creation is miraculous \neverywhere you look is another miracle \nour breath\, the circulation of our blood\, our brain\, the bees pollinating the fruit trees— \nthe Web of Life! \n* \nthe odds against any one of us being born are impossibly large— \nthe chance meeting of our parents\, the moment of conception\, the zillions of little swimmers— \nand yet here we are \nit is great good fortune \nhere we are with our precious human bodies and brains \nour thoughts\, our emotions\, our imaginings \nwe are in this well-lit room\, where the temperature is regulated for our comfort \nwe are all suitably clothed \nwell-fed \nwe are very fortunate \nmany people\, as we know\, are not so fortunate \neveryone should have access to clean and abundant drinking water \nno one should go to bed hungry \nno one should live in fear \nwe have a lot of work to do \ncompassion is the essential prerequisite \n* \nthe earth is hurting\, too \nwe have been relentlessly destroying the ecological health of our planet—especially since the advent of the Industrial Revolution \nwe have to learn\, or re-learn\, how to live on this earth in ways that are not so destructive \nthis\, too\, begins with love \nwe must love our Mother Earth \n* \nand as the poet Auden said: \n“we must love one another or die” \nof course you probably got the memo that we’re all going to die anyway \nwe are mortal beings \nthe question is: \nhow shall we live? \nmay I have the envelope please? \nand the answer to the question “How shall we live?” is… \nin Love \n  \nthank you \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nI shared it with Kim Stafford\, who sent me a poem and also a letter that his friend  Charles Busch had written to the mothers and fathers of Palestine and Israel: \n  \nFor the Bird        \n Singing before Dawn  \n  \nSome people presume to be hopeful \nwhen there is no evidence for hope\, \nto be happy when there is no cause. \nLet me say now\, I’m with them.  \n  \nIn deep darkness on a cold twig \nin a dangerous world\, one first \nlittle fluff lets out a peep\, a warble\, \na song—and in a little while\, behold:  \n  \nthe first glimmer comes\, then a glow \nfilters through the misty trees\, \nthen the bold sun rises\, then \neveryone starts bustling about.  \n  \nAnd that first crazy optimist\,  \ncan we forgive her for thinking\, dawn by dawn\,  \n“Hey\, I made that happen! \nAnd oh\, life is so fine.” \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nLetter to the Mothers and Fathers of Palestine and Israel\, \n  \nWe have read the names of the 69 children killed in the 11-day exchange of violence between your peoples. Though we live far away\, your grief reaches us\, for we too have daughters and sons we love and cannot imagine life without. \n  \nQusai al-Qawlaq (6 months)\, Ibrahim al-Rantisi (6 months)\, Muhammade-Zain al-Attar (9 months) \n  \nThe deaths of your children point to the dark truth of modern warfare: For every 1 combatant killed\, 9 civilians are killed\, the majority of them children. These numbers have been reported consistently for decades\, but are hard to hear. War has become the killing of children. \n  \nDain Ishkontana (2)\, Yazan al-Masri (2)\, Nagham Salha (2)\, Adam al-Qawlaq (3)\, Yahya Ishkontana (4) \n  \nWe at Fields of Peace\, a small nonprofit on the coast of Oregon\, have a Mission: To stop the killing of children in wars. Today\, we recommit to working for a lasting peace in your land by daring to propose a way to a new beginning. \n  \nBaraa al-Gharabli (5)\, Ido Avigal (5)\, Amira al-Attar (6)\, Butheina Obaid (6)\, Abdurrahman al-Hadidi (7) \n  \nWe know there have been countless failed attempts at peacemaking. And we know that there are seemingly intractable issues—borders\, occupation\, settlements\, refugees\, statehood. But we also know that the majority of peoples on both sides desperately want and demand peace. \n  \nZaid al-Qawlaq (8)\, Bilal Abu Hatab (9)\, Yara al-Qawlaq (9)\, Yahya al-Hadidi (10)\, Mira al-Ifranji (11) \n  \nTo begin anew\, a shared perspective is needed\, one that rises above the narratives on each side that justify violence. The perspective we propose is the view from the eyes of mothers and fathers. They see that to gain a whole world is not worth the killing of a single child. \n  \nAbdullah Jouda (12)\, Hala Rifi (13)\, Ahmad al-Hawajri (14)\, Muhammad Suleiman (15)\, Nadine Awad (16) \n  \nTo unite the mothers and fathers of Palestine and Israel into a force for peace\, a common commitment is needed. The commitment we propose is an obvious one: make A Promise to Our Children. It begins\, \n  \nI will not be a part of the killing \nof any child\, \nno matter how lofty the reason. \nThese words may seem slight given the history and walls that divide your land\, but words hold the power of creation. They set in motion the good that is waiting in us to be born. Nothing new begins without words. But they must be said out loud\, and someone must go first. \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. \nSpoken\, these words will travel out\, be heard and repeated by other mothers and fathers\, by grandparents\, godparents\, by all who say the name of a child with love. They will serve notice to leaders: “Stop the killing of children in wars. Stop wars.” Spoken\, the words will also travel in\, reminding us of who we are\, giving us courage to stand and act. \n  \nThere is a way to a new beginning. It is simple and immediate: See with the eyes of mothers and fathers. Make A Promise to Our Children. It begins\, \n  \nI will not be a part of the killing \nof any child\, \nno matter how lofty the reason. \n  \nThank you\, \nFields of Peace \n  \nJune\, 2021 \nfieldsofpeace.org
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-6-24-21/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210615
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210715
DTSTAMP:20260425T182824
CREATED:20210615T224651Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20210615T225414Z
UID:2223-1623715200-1626307199@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue  6/15/21
DESCRIPTION:Open Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n   \nJune 15\, 2021 \n  \nYou are equally as beautiful as the universe. \n—tag on a Yogi Tea bag \n* \nIt is easy to see the conventional character of roles. For a man who is a father may also be a doctor and an artist\, as well as an employee and a brother. And it is obvious that even the sum total of these role labels will be far from supplying an adequate description of the man himself\, even though it may place him in certain general classifications. But the conventions which govern human identity are more subtle and much less obvious than these. We learn\, very thoroughly though far less explicitly\, to identify ourselves with an equally conventional view of “myself.” For the conventional “self” or “person” is composed mainly of a history consisting of selected memories\, and beginning from the moment of parturition. According to convention\, I am not simply what I am doing now. I am also what I have done\, and my conventionally edited version of my past is made to seem almost more the real “me” than what I am at this moment. For what I am seems so fleeting and intangible\, but what I was  is fixed and final. It is the firm basis for predictions of what I will be in the future\, and so it comes about that I am more closely identified with what no longer exists than with what actually is! \n  \n—Alan Watts\, from The Way of Zen\, p. 6 \n* \nEsoterica  \n  \nShall I write for the ages? Shall I compose  \nfor a scholar’s delectation? Shall footnotes \nbe the explication implement for my puzzles\,  \nmy utterance reeking of the lamp? Shall glossy  \nlyricism enamel my philosophies? Shall I play  \ncat and mouse\, merciless with a reader’s mind?  \nShall I strive to conceal my meaning so teachers \nmay tease their students for the great shazam?  \n  \nDo not hang my painting  in the parlor\,  \nsaid Van Gogh—I see it in the cabin of a boat \nstorm-tossed at sea\, as a help to frightened sailors. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \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  \nYou can take any object whatsoever–a stick or a stone\, a dog or a child–draw a ring around it so that it is seen as separate from everything else\, and thus contemplate it in its mystery aspect–the aspect of the mystery of its being\, which is the mystery of all being–and it will have there and then become a proper object of worshipful regard. So\, any object can become an adequate base for meditation\, since the whole mystery of man and nature and of everything else is in any object that you want to regard. \n  \n—Joseph Campbell\, from Mythic Worlds\, Modern Words: On the Art of James Joyce\, p. 130 \n* \n  \nI hear and behold God in every object\, yet understand God not in the least\, \nNor do I understand who there can be more wonderful than myself. \n  \nWhy should I wish to see God better than this day? \nI see something of God each hour of the twenty-four\, and each moment then\, \nIn the faces of men and women I see God\, and in my own face in the glass\, \nI find letters from God dropt in the street\, and every one is signed by God’s name\, \nAnd I leave them where they are\, for I know that wheresoe’er I go\, \nOthers will punctually come for ever and ever. \n  \n—Walt Whitman\, from “Song of Myself” \n* \n  \nAnd this our life\, exempt from public haunt\,  \nFinds tongues in trees\, books in the running brooks\,  \nsermons in stones\, and good in every thing.  \nI would not change it. \n  \n—William Shakespeare\, from As You Like It\, Act II\, scene 1 \n* \n  \nHere are some excerpts from Michel’s meditation journal. The numbers refer to passages from the book Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh. (JS) \n  \nMay 3\, 2021  #113  The Beautiful Earth \n  \nThis one ended up not being about the entitled topic: certainly it does start there…and ends where we can help others find/touch peace more often in their lives\, realizing that the Earth and all it contains is already beautiful. I appreciate that Thây tells/reminds us that we are “able to”—“We can allow ourselves…” How often do we do this—allow ourselves to do anything for ourselves?; let alone\, walking mindfully or touching the Earth. Certainly\, it can be a greater challenge for those of us located in the box. But\, we can let our spirit soar outside this box\, our minds don’t have to be imprisoned along with our bodies. (As an aside: How many do you know and/or notice whose mind is as trapped as their body\, unable to see any beauty or kindness inside here?) Even walking on concrete we can touch the Earth. Even looking at concrete walls\, or at a sky above\, we can recognize the beauty of the Earth around us—as we once knew it\, or as we can see it now in faces of people\, or pictures\, or birds flying overhead. We can allow ourselves to live\, breathe\, see\, feel\, and even “be” outside the box. We only need to “see” it… \n* \n  \nMay 24\, 2021  #128  Peace is Contagious \n  \nI guess I have not experienced this truth yet. I see war as a result of greed\, hatred\, delusion: this is contagious\, in a way. Peace has certainly been a byproduct of meditation practice\, as has happiness with ease. I wonder if this is the intent of using “contagious.” \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  \nPeace is the antithesis of greed\, hate\, and delusion (The Three Poisons). Meditation is part of the path for overcoming the self-told lies leading to these three poisons. So\, if this is known—(this is known\, isn’t it?)—then why don’t more people pursue peace this way: divesting of false narratives\, of grasping for what others have\, and the desire to erase the otherness? \n  \nIt all comes down to choices. We each make choices. Some will blind us to reality\, and others bring sharp relief. Each person gets to choose. When one discovers the path of peace\, he or she wants others to share in it—contagious. \n* \n  \nMay 31\, 2021  #133  Where the Buddhas Live \n  \n….We are all sleeping Buddhas. And\, we all share this planet together. We can all love ourselves\, in the now\, as it is\, as we really are\, seen in the “others” with whom we share the air we breathe\, the sunlight that warms our body\, on this planet provided for us to live. Where do the buddhas live? In you and in me and in each person we encounter. Can you see it? Can you feel this? \n  \nLove \nMichel Deforge \n* \n  \nOne of my favorite “children’s books” is Cosmic View: The Universe in 40 Jumps by Kees Boeke\, published by John Day\, 1957. It has long been out of print but some amazing soul has scanned the whole book to a PDF:  \n  \nhttp://www.arvindguptatoys.com/arvindgupta/cosmic-view.pdf \n  \nAnd in 1968 Canadian Broadcasting made a film based on it:  \n  \nhttps://letterboxd.com/film/cosmic-zoom/ \n  \nWe take size and our reactions to it almost by rote\, not seeing how very relative our slice or box of the universe is. And these two\, the book and film\, remind us of  that. In addition there is a great French movie\, Microcosmos\, about the life of insects in a field in France.  \n  \nhttps://www.imdb.com/title/tt0117040/ \n  \nTalk about different worlds and sizes! Which is just what I have done in this recent poem of mine\, that I am attaching. \n  \nlove\,  \nDeb \n  \nOpening the Hubble Galaxy Calendar \n  \nIn a summer field the camera inches closer\, the air’s hum becomes louder\, thicker and we watch small creatures move through wilds of grass and dirt\, beings so tiny our lordly bodies rarely see them\, human vision inattentive to antennas\, faceted eyes\, and carapace. How unimaginable these day-long worlds are to us and we to them\, our one hundred years beyond reach in the universe of insect life. \n  \nAnts\, worms\, and crickets\, dynasties of arachnid and lepidoptera rush to mind each morning as I open another color-enhanced photograph from the Hubble telescope\, each one bringing the unexpected into view: the Horse Head Nebula rearing as if a stallion\, a butterfly configuration composed of galaxy upon galaxy\, streams of gas and water\, glowing fire. What can we know of 100 million light-years\, these interstellar worlds? \n  \nO\, how like insects we are\, hands and legs\, thorax and mandibles all waving in the limitless dark. \n  \n—Deborah Buchanan \n* \n  \n#161 Think Globally \n  \n“…When we see things globally we have more wisdom and we feel much better We are not caught by small situations…” \n  \nI don’t remember when I first started doing this\, but I know it was many\, many decades ago\, during my first rocky marriage. When caught up with tormenting thoughts I would extricate myself by saying\, “Look at the big picture. Look at you\, now\, in this time. This is nothing; you are nothing. In the “Grand Scheme of Things” this doesn’t matter. You don’t matter (you do\, but you don’t). It is nothing. Things will change.” I would detach myself\, look at the situation from the outside\, like a scientist\, untethering myself from the suffocating emotional bind. I would think of centuries\, of eons\, eras\, of countries\, continents\, planets\, the universe — and all the inhabitants therein\, and how their lives could be monstrous compared to mine. \n  \nThen I would count up the joys in my life\, remembering what I had within and without me that others globally could not experience. I would get specific\, enumerate details—loving\, supportive parents and siblings; vegetables in my garden ready to pick; good physical (if not mental) health; art; adoring\, adorable dog; freedom from addictions (for now); the trees and mountains calling me… \n  \nIf nothing else\, the time it took me to go through this process would invariably diffuse the heretofore unbearable situation. \n  \nI am everything. I am nothing. \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \nI love this poem: \n  \nI am one \nWho eats his breakfast \nGazing at morning glories \n  \n—Basho \n  \nhttps://matsuobashohaiku.home.blog/2019/04/12/gazing-at-morning-glories-eating-breakfast-basho/ \n  \nI am still contemplating the story Michel sent about fishing with a straight hook. Picturing this fisherman/fisherwoman sitting with companions who are intent on catching fish for dinner\, or sport.  \n  \nThe difference seems to me about letting go of expectations\, come what may\, but staying engaged with companions in the present moment. A surprise might come that feels magical\, but it isn’t about waiting for something better in the future. But the straight hook does make that fisherbeing unique amongst others. I am sending some quotes on this thought: \n  \nIf you always sit in expectation\, you’re not in the present moment. The present moment contains the whole of life.  \n—Thich Nhat Hanh   \n  \nLetting go is a painful part of life. But according to Buddhism\, we must let go of attachment and desires if we are to experience happiness. \nHowever\, letting go doesn’t mean you don’t care about anyone and anything. It actually means you can experience life and love fully and openly without clinging to it for your survival. \nAccording to Buddhism\, this is the only way to experience true freedom and happiness.  \nLetting go gives us freedom\, and freedom is the only condition for happiness. If\, in our heart\, we still cling to anything—anger\, anxiety\, or possessions—we cannot be free. \n—Thich Nhat Hanh   \n  \nThe greatest loss of time is delay and expectation\, which depend upon the future. We let go of the present\, which we have in our power\, and look forward to that which depends upon chance\, and so relinquish a certainty for an uncertainty. \n—Seneca   \n  \nIf we deny our happiness\, resist our satisfaction\, we lessen the importance of their deprivation. We must risk delight….We must have the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless furnace of this world….( injustice cannot be the only measure of our attention)….We must admit there will be music despite everything.      \n—Jack Gilbert \n  \nLet Go Of Expectations  \n  \n“If it weren’t for my mind\, my meditation would be excellent.” \n—Pema Chödrön     \n  \nShe continues:      \n  \nEvery meditation is different. Some of them will be peaceful throughout and you may feel a deep sense of joy. Other times your mind might be wild with thoughts of the day\, responsibilities you have yet to fulfill\, or emotions that percolate to the surface of your mind.  \n  \nHere are some steps you can take during your practice so that you avoid unnecessary turmoil and disappointment:  \n  \n\nAccept whatever shows up for you. If your mind is wild with thoughts\, simply let them arise without judgement. When you catch yourself being aware of these thoughts\, you can remind yourself to focus once again on your breath.\n\n\nSometimes you may experience emotions arising. Again\, allow them to move through you without judgement. Emotions need to move through us\, otherwise they can become stuck within our body and cause discomfort or even disease later in life. The release of that emotion could be the very thing that brings some relief and a quieter mind. \n\n\nRelease expectations of a specific outcome before you go in to a meditation. Some people will enter meditations with the hope that they will be able to manifest money\, relationships or health. High expectations of a specific outcome can lead to disappointments when they do not arise immediately. The less you expect of your meditation the easier you will find happiness. \n\n* \n  \nOK\, you are now ready to begin\, take a calm\, deep breath. \n—Katie Radditz
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-6-15-21/
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DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20210613T150000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20210613T170000
DTSTAMP:20260425T182824
CREATED:20210601T140213Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20210611T163618Z
UID:2208-1623596400-1623603600@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!: BLOOMSDAY CELEBRATION!!!  6/13/21
DESCRIPTION:James Joyce (1882-1941) \n  \n  \nOn June 13th\, we will celebrate Bloomsday! On June 16th\, 1904 two fictional characters–Leopold Bloom and Stephen Dedalus–wandered the streets of Dublin\, Ireland\, in what many bibliophiles consider the greatest novel of the 20th Century\, James Joyce’s Ulysses. On Sunday\, June 13th\, at 3 pm (PDT) we will journey together through those same streets and see what adventures befall us. Here’s the Zoom link:  \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/83135193074 \n  \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-bloomsday-celebration-6-13-21/
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210610
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210624
DTSTAMP:20260425T182824
CREATED:20210610T151739Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250718T123728Z
UID:2214-1623283200-1624492799@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  6/10/21
DESCRIPTION:  \n  \nJune 10\, 2021 \n  \nThis is the Nobel Prize Lecture that Wisława Szymborska gave on December 7th\, 1996: \n  \nThe poet and the world \n  \nThey say the first sentence in any speech is always the hardest. Well\, that one’s behind me\, anyway. But I have a feeling that the sentences to come – the third\, the sixth\, the tenth\, and so on\, up to the final line – will be just as hard\, since I’m supposed to talk about poetry. I’ve said very little on the subject\, next to nothing\, in fact. And whenever I have said anything\, I’ve always had the sneaking suspicion that I’m not very good at it. This is why my lecture will be rather short. All imperfection is easier to tolerate if served up in small doses. \n  \nContemporary poets are skeptical and suspicious even\, or perhaps especially\, about themselves. They publicly confess to being poets only reluctantly\, as if they were a little ashamed of it. But in our clamorous times it’s much easier to acknowledge your faults\, at least if they’re attractively packaged\, than to recognize your own merits\, since these are hidden deeper and you never quite believe in them yourself … When filling in questionnaires or chatting with strangers\, that is\, when they can’t avoid revealing their profession\, poets prefer to use the general term “writer” or replace “poet” with the name of whatever job they do in addition to writing. Bureaucrats and bus passengers respond with a touch of incredulity and alarm when they find out that they’re dealing with a poet. I suppose philosophers may meet with a similar reaction. Still\, they’re in a better position\, since as often as not they can embellish their calling with some kind of scholarly title. Professor of philosophy – now that sounds much more respectable. \n  \nBut there are no professors of poetry. This would mean\, after all\, that poetry is an occupation requiring specialized study\, regular examinations\, theoretical articles with bibliographies and footnotes attached\, and finally\, ceremoniously conferred diplomas. And this would mean\, in turn\, that it’s not enough to cover pages with even the most exquisite poems in order to become a poet. The crucial element is some slip of paper bearing an official stamp. Let us recall that the pride of Russian poetry\, the future Nobel Laureate Joseph Brodsky was once sentenced to internal exile precisely on such grounds. They called him “a parasite\,” because he lacked official certification granting him the right to be a poet … \n  \nSeveral years ago\, I had the honor and pleasure of meeting Brodsky in person. And I noticed that\, of all the poets I’ve known\, he was the only one who enjoyed calling himself a poet. He pronounced the word without inhibitions. \n  \nJust the opposite – he spoke it with defiant freedom. It seems to me that this must have been because he recalled the brutal humiliations he had experienced in his youth. \n  \nIn more fortunate countries\, where human dignity isn’t assaulted so readily\, poets yearn\, of course\, to be published\, read\, and understood\, but they do little\, if anything\, to set themselves above the common herd and the daily grind. And yet it wasn’t so long ago\, in this century’s first decades\, that poets strove to shock us with their extravagant dress and eccentric behavior. But all this was merely for the sake of public display. The moment always came when poets had to close the doors behind them\, strip off their mantles\, fripperies\, and other poetic paraphernalia\, and confront – silently\, patiently awaiting their own selves – the still white sheet of paper. For this is finally what really counts. \n  \nIt’s not accidental that film biographies of great scientists and artists are produced in droves. The more ambitious directors seek to reproduce convincingly the creative process that led to important scientific discoveries or the emergence of a masterpiece. And one can depict certain kinds of scientific labor with some success. Laboratories\, sundry instruments\, elaborate machinery brought to life: such scenes may hold the audience’s interest for a while. And those moments of uncertainty – will the experiment\, conducted for the thousandth time with some tiny modification\, finally yield the desired result? – can be quite dramatic. Films about painters can be spectacular\, as they go about recreating every stage of a famous painting’s evolution\, from the first penciled line to the final brush-stroke. Music swells in films about composers: the first bars of the melody that rings in the musician’s ears finally emerge as a mature work in symphonic form. Of course this is all quite naive and doesn’t explain the strange mental state popularly known as inspiration\, but at least there’s something to look at and listen to. \n  \nBut poets are the worst. Their work is hopelessly unphotogenic. Someone sits at a table or lies on a sofa while staring motionless at a wall or ceiling. Once in a while this person writes down seven lines only to cross out one of them fifteen minutes later\, and then another hour passes\, during which nothing happens … Who could stand to watch this kind of thing? \n  \nI’ve mentioned inspiration. Contemporary poets answer evasively when asked what it is\, and if it actually exists. It’s not that they’ve never known the blessing of this inner impulse. It’s just not easy to explain something to someone else that you don’t understand yourself. \n  \nWhen I’m asked about this on occasion\, I hedge the question too. But my answer is this: inspiration is not the exclusive privilege of poets or artists generally. There is\, has been\, and will always be a certain group of people whom inspiration visits. It’s made up of all those who’ve consciously chosen their calling and do their job with love and imagination. It may include doctors\, teachers\, gardeners – and I could list a hundred more professions. Their work becomes one continuous adventure as long as they manage to keep discovering new challenges in it. Difficulties and setbacks never quell their curiosity. A swarm of new questions emerges from every problem they solve. Whatever inspiration is\, it’s born from a continuous “I don’t know.” \n  \nThere aren’t many such people. Most of the earth’s inhabitants work to get by. They work because they have to. They didn’t pick this or that kind of job out of passion; the circumstances of their lives did the choosing for them. Loveless work\, boring work\, work valued only because others haven’t got even that much\, however loveless and boring – this is one of the harshest human miseries. And there’s no sign that coming centuries will produce any changes for the better as far as this goes. \n  \nAnd so\, though I may deny poets their monopoly on inspiration\, I still place them in a select group of Fortune’s darlings. \n  \nAt this point\, though\, certain doubts may arise in my audience. All sorts of torturers\, dictators\, fanatics\, and demagogues struggling for power by way of a few loudly shouted slogans also enjoy their jobs\, and they too perform their duties with inventive fervor. Well\, yes\, but they “know.” They know\, and whatever they know is enough for them once and for all. They don’t want to find out about anything else\, since that might diminish their arguments’ force. And any knowledge that doesn’t lead to new questions quickly dies out: it fails to maintain the temperature required for sustaining life. In the most extreme cases\, cases well known from ancient and modern history\, it even poses a lethal threat to society. \n  \nThis is why I value that little phrase “I don’t know” so highly. It’s small\, but it flies on mighty wings. It expands our lives to include the spaces within us as well as those outer expanses in which our tiny Earth hangs suspended. If Isaac Newton had never said to himself “I don’t know\,” the apples in his little orchard might have dropped to the ground like hailstones and at best he would have stooped to pick them up and gobble them with gusto. Had my compatriot Marie Sklodowska-Curie never said to herself “I don’t know”\, she probably would have wound up teaching chemistry at some private high school for young ladies from good families\, and would have ended her days performing this otherwise perfectly respectable job. But she kept on saying “I don’t know\,” and these words led her\, not just once but twice\, to Stockholm\, where restless\, questing spirits are occasionally rewarded with the Nobel Prize. \n  \nPoets\, if they’re genuine\, must also keep repeating “I don’t know.” Each poem marks an effort to answer this statement\, but as soon as the final period hits the page\, the poet begins to hesitate\, starts to realize that this particular answer was pure makeshift that’s absolutely inadequate to boot. So the poets keep on trying\, and sooner or later the consecutive results of their self-dissatisfaction are clipped together with a giant paperclip by literary historians and called their “oeuvre” … \n  \nI sometimes dream of situations that can’t possibly come true. I audaciously imagine\, for example\, that I get a chance to chat with the Ecclesiastes\, the author of that moving lament on the vanity of all human endeavors. I would bow very deeply before him\, because he is\, after all\, one of the greatest poets\, for me at least. That done\, I would grab his hand. “‘There’s nothing new under the sun’: that’s what you wrote\, Ecclesiastes. But you yourself were born new under the sun. And the poem you created is also new under the sun\, since no one wrote it down before you. And all your readers are also new under the sun\, since those who lived before you couldn’t read your poem. And that cypress that you’re sitting under hasn’t been growing since the dawn of time. It came into being by way of another cypress similar to yours\, but not exactly the same. And Ecclesiastes\, I’d also like to ask you what new thing under the sun you’re planning to work on now? A further supplement to the thoughts you’ve already expressed? Or maybe you’re tempted to contradict some of them now? In your earlier work you mentioned joy – so what if it’s fleeting? So maybe your new-under-the-sun poem will be about joy? Have you taken notes yet\, do you have drafts? I doubt you’ll say\, ‘I’ve written everything down\, I’ve got nothing left to add.’ There’s no poet in the world who can say this\, least of all a great poet like yourself.” \n  \nThe world – whatever we might think when terrified by its vastness and our own impotence\, or embittered by its indifference to individual suffering\, of people\, animals\, and perhaps even plants\, for why are we so sure that plants feel no pain; whatever we might think of its expanses pierced by the rays of stars surrounded by planets we’ve just begun to discover\, planets already dead? still dead? we just don’t know; whatever we might think of this measureless theater to which we’ve got reserved tickets\, but tickets whose lifespan is laughably short\, bounded as it is by two arbitrary dates; whatever else we might think of this world – it is astonishing. \n  \nBut “astonishing” is an epithet concealing a logical trap. We’re astonished\, after all\, by things that deviate from some well-known and universally acknowledged norm\, from an obviousness we’ve grown accustomed to. Now the point is\, there is no such obvious world. Our astonishment exists per se and isn’t based on comparison with something else. \n  \nGranted\, in daily speech\, where we don’t stop to consider every word\, we all use phrases like “the ordinary world\,” “ordinary life\,” “the ordinary course of events” … But in the language of poetry\, where every word is weighed\, nothing is usual or normal. Not a single stone and not a single cloud above it. Not a single day and not a single night after it. And above all\, not a single existence\, not anyone’s existence in this world. \n  \nIt looks like poets will always have their work cut out for them. \n  \n— Wisława Szymborska \nTranslated from Polish by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh. \n* \n  \nHere is one of her poems: \n  \nA Few Words On The Soul \n  \nWe have a soul at times. \nNo one’s got it non-stop\, \nfor keeps. \n  \nDay after day\, \nyear after year \nmay pass without it. \n  \nSometimes \nit will settle for awhile \nonly in childhood’s fears and raptures. \nSometimes only in astonishment \nthat we are old. \n  \nIt rarely lends a hand \nin uphill tasks\, \nlike moving furniture\, \nor lifting luggage\, \nor going miles in shoes that pinch. \n  \nIt usually steps out \nwhenever meat needs chopping \nor forms have to be filled. \n  \nFor every thousand conversations \nit participates in one\, \nif even that\, \nsince it prefers silence. \n  \nJust when our body goes from ache to pain\, \nit slips off-duty. \n  \nIt’s picky: \nit doesn’t like seeing us in crowds\, \nour hustling for a dubious advantage \nand creaky machinations make it sick. \n  \nJoy and sorrow \naren’t two different feelings for it. \nIt attends us \nonly when the two are joined. \n  \nWe can count on it \nwhen we’re sure of nothing \nand curious about everything. \n  \nAmong the material objects \nit favors clocks with pendulums \nand mirrors\, which keep on working \neven when no one is looking. \n  \nIt won’t say where it comes from \nor when it’s taking off again\, \nthough it’s clearly expecting such questions. \n  \nWe need it \nbut apparently \nit needs us \nfor some reason too. \n  \n— Wisława Szymborska \nTranslated from the Polish by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh.
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-6-10-21/
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LAST-MODIFIED:20210531T155219Z
UID:2164-1622332800-1623542399@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!: Annual Group Reading of Walt Whitman's "Song of "Myself"  5/30/21
DESCRIPTION:painting by Rick Bartow \n  \n  \nEach moment and whatever happens\, thrills me with joy. \n–Walt Whitman\, from “Song of Myself” \n  \nTo celebrate Walt’s 202nd birthday\, on Sunday\, May 30th we performed the sacred rite of reading Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself” together. Readers and Listeners who joined the gathering included:  \n  \nMartha Ragland\, Brent Gregston\, Claire Stock\, Prabu Muruganantham\, Mary Real-Leflar\, Tad Leflar\, Jeffrey Sher\, Nancy Scharbach\, Marianne Pulfer\, Todd Oleson\, Katie Radditz\, Gail Lester\, Andy Larkin\, Scott Teitsworth\, Deborah Buchanan\, Carla Grant\, Ken Margolis\, Alan Benditt\, Carmen Bernier-Grand\, Nick Eldredge\, Jude Russell\, Will Hornyak and me. \n  \nThis poem changed my life. And continues to inspire me. In this interview I did a few years ago on Marfa Public Radio\, I elaborate on what the poem means to me. If you’re interested\, here’s a link to that interview:  \n  \n https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T0D6WmHaSE8&t=25s \n  \nAll truths wait in all things.  \n  \n–Johnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-annual-group-reading-of-walt-whitmans-song-of-myself-5-30-21/
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LAST-MODIFIED:20210518T174835Z
UID:1954-1621123200-1622332799@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!: ALL THINGS GREEK  5/16/21
DESCRIPTION:Dionysus \n  \n\n  \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nStratis Panourios was our Hierophant \n  \n  \nThe Ethiops say that their gods are flat-nosed and black\, while the Thracians say that theirs have blue eyes and red hair. Yet if cattle or horses or lions had hands and could draw\, and could sculpt like men\, then the horses would draw their gods like horses\, and cattle like cattle; each would shape bodies of gods in the likeness of their own. \n  \n\n\n\n\n–Xenophanes (died: 475 B.C.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n  \nOn Sunday\, May 16\, Stratis Panourios was our Special Guest. He is fluent it English\, but his friend Lena translated for him so that he could give the clearest expression to his thoughts. He talked about a production of Aeschylus’ play The Persians which he is directing at a prison in Athens. He emphasized the character of Xerxes\, who returns to Persia after leading the Persian army to a terrible defeat by the Greeks. Stratis said that men coming out of prison face a difficulty analogous to that of Xerxes\, and that when he talked with them about it\, he was very moved by their stories. \nWe had a lively Zoom gathering\, which included Keith Scales\, Curt Tofteland\, Kim Stafford\, Gail Lester\, Martha Ragland\, Todd Oleson\, Demetra Ariston\, Brent Gregston and Katie Radditz. \nIf you’d like to watch a video recording of the conversation\, let me know\, and I’ll email it to you. \nειρήνη &  αγάπη \nJohnny \n  \n  \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-all-things-greek-4-11-21/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210515
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CREATED:20210518T155600Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20210916T003424Z
UID:2171-1621036800-1623715199@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue  5/15/21
DESCRIPTION:  \nThis picture is based on Verse 18 from “A Hundred Verses of Self-Instruction” by the South Indian master of mindfulness meditation\, Narayana Guru: \n  \nThe “I” is not dark; if it were dark we would be in a state of blindness\, \nunable to know even “I\,I”; \nas we do know\, the “I” is not darkness; \nthus\, for making this known\, this should be told to anyone. \n  \nThe author is inviting us once again to recognize a simple truth: there is a continuous background awareness operating in us that watches our actions\, the arising of our mental states\, our dreaming and even our breathing in a timeless unbroken flow of attention. It simply exists\, prior to any more definite notions we could have about our personal identity\, our names\, our age\, our sex and so on. \n  \nThis pure awareness can’t see itself directly\, but that doesn’t mean it’s dark or absent. We know it’s there\, because it illuminates the objects of our inner and outer experience. \n  \nBecause it’s absolutely featureless\, and because we all share it\, we could say\, in a sense\, that we are one Being. And although everyone calls their inner awareness “I”\, this is an “I” that is actually shared by all. \n  \nOur mental states are cycling in constant flux\, sometimes light and sometimes very dark indeed. So here the author is offering a kindly reminder: our moments of deepest confusion can be known\, as such\, only by virtue of that light in us that watches. \n  \n–Andy Larkin \n  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n  \n May 15\, 2021 \n  \nKatie Radditz is editing this month’s Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue\, while Nancy and I are in Mexico. (JS) \n  \nHello dear friends\, \n  \n Last 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 R \n  \nHere is a poem by Deb that reminds us of all the life going on beneath our feet while above our minds can be spinning  –  \n  \nWhite Orchid \n  \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  \nFirst Light Meditation this morning May 16 –  \n  \nYou pedal furiously \ninto a future you’re trying \nhard to prolong \nby this exercise\, \nthough the landscape \nthat rolls by here is time \npassing\, with its lists \nof things undone \nor not done properly\, \nand all this effort\, \nthe fierce monotony \nof this ride feels \nmuch like life itself — \ngoing nowhere \nstrenuously… your legs \nbeginning to throb\, as if \nthe body communicates \nin a code of pain\, saying \nnever mind the future\, \nyou’re here \nright now\, alive. \n  \n–Linda Pastan \n  \nTwo entries from Michel’s journal: \n  \nApril 29\, 2021 #111 Taking Care of the Future \n  \nThe Future is being made out of the present\, so the best way to take care of the future is to take care of the present moment. This is logical and clear. Spending a lot of time speculating and worrying about the future is totally useless. We can only take care of our future by taking care of the present moment\, because the future is made out of only one substance: the present. Only if you are anchored in the present can you prepare well for the future.  (Thich Nhat Hanh\, from Your True Home) \n  \nMichel writes about how to deal with his father’s coming death –  \n  \nIt becomes a matter of focus:  Do I dwell on the inevitable loss? Or\, do I focus my attention and energy on the now\, striving to be fully present to any of life’s moments\, making the most out of each one? The result of the second has some happiness for now and later; the former is only anguish and suffering.  \n  \nMay 2\, 2021  Michel sends this Buddhist story to ponder and respond to from your own life experience  –   \n  \nIt is from a Zen teacher who begins\,   “We might say that Zen practice is about directly experiencing the most satisfying kind of aliveness. The path of practice is about how we may go about realizing this possibility in our everyday lives\, regardless of the circumstances\, whether they’re comfortable or whether they’re challenging circumstances.”  \n  \nThere’s a story about a fisherman in a remote village in ancient China. As was the custom with people in the village\, each day they would go to the mountain stream that ran through the main part of the village and they would fish for their dinner. One day this fisherman showed up using a straight hook\, rather than using a curved hook with a barb. He began fishing next to his neighbors\, and they all started to make fun of him. They said\, “What are you going to do with that? Why are you trying to fish with a straight hook?” And he said\, “You may catch an ordinary fish with your curved hook with a barb on it. But one day I may catch an extraordinary fish with my straight hook.” And it’s said that he continued to fish in this way for 40 years. News of this unusual fisherman and his way of fishing spread throughout all of China\, even to the Imperial Court. The Emperor was very interested to see\, “What is this all about? What is this person doing? What’s this straight-hook fishing?” So he gathered together an entourage. They traveled up to the remote mountain village. Of course\, he arrived to see this now old man with his line fishing with a straight hook\, and he said\, “Old Man\, whatever were you hoping to catch with this straight hook?” And he replied\, “I was hoping to catch you\, dear Emperor.”  \n  \nThe teacher comments  –   So\, here we are together\, separated by time and distance but engaged as a learning community. Sitting quietly\, each of us on our own and all of us together\, putting our hook in this water. What are we hoping to catch? Maybe some piece of understanding\, clarity or insight. Maybe relief from some difficulty or challenge we’re facing. Maybe some way that we can help somebody who we care about deeply; who’s having some difficulty. We don’t know what to do. Maybe we’ll find some way we can really be of help and support. Maybe we don’t know why we’re casting our line into this water of meditation. Maybe it doesn’t matter to us at all. And we can’t know. I mean\, this is a story\, so we can’t know what the intention really of this old man fishing in this unusual way was. Could he ever have imagined that he’d catch an emperor at the end of his straight hook? But there’s the possibility in this slippery kind of situation\, where we’re numbed leading into the moment with what we know\, with what we understand\, with what we think works\, with what makes sense to us. We’re entering a moment in a wider way\, wider margins on how we’re approaching this feeling of directly experiencing the most satisfying kind of aliveness. And it marks a shift. It’s a shift from relying on our habits\, on our past\, or thinking what we know; our associations. Enter in the present situation in our experiencing of it\, not just for ideas about it. So the possibility of practice is not just to know ourselves as the idea we have of ourselves\, but to know ourselves directly\, which is much wider than those ideas. . . We could be open to possibilities much wider than what we can imagine. The possibility of fishing without a specific sense of what it is that we’re going to gain\, what the outcome is going to be.  \n  \n–Paul Rosenblum Roshi  \n  \nA few excerpts from Michel’s comments –  \n  \nI’ll allow everyone to develop each one’s meaning to this story\, so you can catch your own fish.  I just found the idea interesting as a launching point for his talk\, “this feeling of directly experiencing the most satisfying kind of aliveness. And it marks a shift from relying on our habits\, on our past or thinking what we know\, our associations.”   \n  \n(Michel continues): How do I fish with a straight hook\, unconcerned/unattached to a specific outcome to my actions?  \n  \nThe Roshi went on to share about Suzuki Roshi and how he would interact with the world: receiving\, using both hands\, drawing the “gift” into himself–and giving\, in the same way from his center with both hands. Suzuki’s whole being was involved. This reminds me of how Johnny sees us (or how his perspective was first described to me) as our 3-5 year old selves – innocent\, vulnerable\, etc.  Think back\, before you learned to be selfish\, to protect a separate “self\,” to a time when we engaged in each moment with both hands and total focus on that moment. Think of receiving a full glass of milk to carry to the table\, how we might use both hands to not drop\, and totally focus to not spill\, as we walked to our destination.  \n  \nWhat might life be like if/when we re-discover this engagement\, attention and focus? How would we treat others as well as ourself? Would it be engaged\, attentive\, focused? Would others feel loved\, or our compassion as we offer a hand up from a fall?  What would the world look like when we all learn to enter now with no thought of past or not holding anything back for any possible future but putting all of “self” into now\,  fishing with a straight hook? \n  \nHow often and how easy it is to get caught up in a narrative where I only use a part of my self (one-handed\, not two) and look more toward what I can get instead of giving and extending my whole self.  It’s that fishing hook story again. Is my hook for just an ordinary\, everday fish? Or am I fishing for an Emperor\, something unique and unexpected? \n  \n–Michel Deforge \n  \n# 241 What are you Doing?     \n  \nOne day as I walked through the kitchen\, I saw someone cleaning vegetables and I asked\, ‘What are you doing?’  I was playing the role of a spiritual friend.  Even though it was obvious that they were washing vegetables\, I asked the question to wake the person up to how happy they could be\, just washing the vegetables.  If we aren’t doing something with joy\, that moment is wasted.  (Thich Nhat Hanh\, from Your True Home) \n  \nI haven’t an inkling of a clue\, if honesty permits me to be so brazen. Though I have pondered this question many times.  \n  \nElusive conclusions leave me in a turnstile\, spinning in circles\, never out\, never in.  \n  \n…I was chasing down the past and looking for the future\, but crystal balls cast upside down reflections. \n  \nI think the question shouldn’t be what am I doing but rather\, what will I be doing in the now? A question for every passing second\, before it passes.   \n       \nParting Glass \n  \nMy life is a glass \nThat’s been filled many times \nIt’s been put through the wash \nDropped on the floor \nAnd is now a chipped trinket \nOn a shelf by the door \nBut soon\, very soon\, the glass will not matter \nFor its structure will weaken and eventually shatter \nThen it will sparkle bright in the Sun \nThen\, only then\, my life will be done. \n  \n–Joshua Barnes\, 2021 \n  \nWhat are you doing?  It makes me think of my friend Ron raking leaves.  Every year he would complain in the Fall when the thousands of leaves fell from his giant maple tree.  The time he needed to spend raking them up and putting into compost bags. I started to find one red and gold leaf with a tinge of green left at the center and put it on his windshield or into his book for a book mark.  One day\, he woke up and realized how easy and happy he could feel if he just enjoyed the fleeting moments of getting to rake these individually unique and beautiful leaves that had given him shade all summer.  He started working with gratitude and joy\, paying attention\, and it became a meditation he almost looked forward to.   (kr) \n  \nHere are two poems that reflect on some of the submissions above. (kr) \n  \nThree Times My Life has Opened \n  \nThree times my life has opened.\nOnce\, into darkness and rain.\nOnce\, into what the body carries at all times within it and starts\n          to remember each time it enters the act of love.\nOnce\, to the fire that holds all.\nThese three were not different.\nYou will recognize what I am saying or you will not.\nBut outside my window all day a maple has stepped from her\n          leaves like a woman in love with winter\, dropping the\n          colored silks.\nNeither are we different in what we know.\nThere is a door. It opens. Then it is closed. But a slip of light stays\,\n          like a scrap of unreadable paper left on the floor\, or the one\n          red leaf the snow releases in March. \n  \n– Jane Hirshfield\, from The Lives of the Heart: Poems \n  \n  \nThe Song of Wandering Aengus\n  \nI went out to the hazel wood\, \nBecause a fire was in my head\, \nAnd cut and peeled a hazel wand\, \nAnd hooked a berry to a thread; \nAnd when white moths were on the wing\, \nAnd moth-like stars were flickering out\, \nI dropped the berry in a stream \nAnd caught a little silver trout. \n  \nWhen I had laid it on the floor \nI went to blow the fire a-flame\, \nBut something rustled on the floor\, \nAnd someone called me by my name: \nIt had become a glimmering girl \nWith apple blossom in her hair \nWho called me by my name and ran \nAnd faded through the brightening air. \n  \nThough I am old with wandering \nThrough hollow lands and hilly lands\, \nI will find out where she has gone\, \nAnd kiss her lips and take her hands; \nAnd walk among long dappled grass\, \nAnd pluck till time and times are done\, \nThe silver apples of the moon\, \nThe golden apples of the sun. \n  \n–William Butler Yeats \n  \nA note of gratitude from Abe Green\, \n  \nFriends\,  \n  \nThank you so much for having me on your mailing list. I am honored. \n  \nEach week\, no matter my emotional or spiritual condition\, I am inspired by the wisdom and love enclosed.  I somehow become fuller with each reading . . . a miracle!  \n  \nPeace and Love\,  \nAbe \n                     \n  \n Treadmill \n(written this morning for you by Kim Stafford) \n  \nDo you ever have the feeling you’re plodding  \nin place\, trying to climb the down escalator\, \ntreading water as time’s river slides away? \n  \nDay after day you faithfully attend to life’s  \nadministration\, to mere maintenance\, as your \nbutterflies of aspiration flit from sight. \n  \nYour old dream is real— your shoes are made  \nof stone\, each step a struggle as you stagger across  \nlevel ground\, too young to be a codger\, and yet…. \n  \nWhat if you look up when wind shakes the trees\, \nthe pine sheds a pollen cloud\, the maple shakes  \nher skirt inviting you to dance? \n  \n–Kim Stafford \n  \n#357: The Simple Act of Walking \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  \nI want to include something from Alex Tretbar that I meant to include in an earlier issue\, but lost track of. Here it is!: (JS) \n  \n…I thought I’d pick your brain on the thorny subject of “desire.” I just finished Balzac’s The Wild Ass’s Skin—(La Peau de chagrin” is the original title\, “chagrin” being both “sorrow” and “a kind of grained leather\, ordinarily made of the skin of a mule or an ass”)—in which\, (pardon the summary\, if you’ve read it before)\, a man\, fallen on hard times\, finds in a novelty shop a piece of “chagrin” that will grant him any wish\, but each wish causes the skin to shrink. Once it shrinks to a certain small size\, the owner dies. He eventually discovers that unspoken wishes\, desires merely thought of\, also shrink the skin\, so he’s driven into solitude & reclusion to avoid shrinking it further by accident. At one point\, he tries to enlist a scientist’s help in stretching the skin to prolong his life\, (this fails)\, but the scientist says this: “Everything is motion. Thought is motion. Nature is based upon motion. Death is a form of motion whose end is imperfectly understood.” \n  \nThinking on it\, it does seem that any desire\, at its core\, is aimed at a particular arrangement of time & space. You want things to change in just such a way\, and then you want them to stay that way. This flies in the face of the never-ending motion that is nature & the universe. Resistance to change is a root of much suffering. So\, where & how does “desire” figure in Buddhist (or just “mindful”) thought? Can desire ever be healthy? \n  \nOr is it\, by nature\, essentially like trying to sweep back the tide with a broom? \n  \nLooking forward to reading your thoughts on this! \n  \n—Alex Tretbar \n  \nRather than sharing in this Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue what I wrote to Alex\, I’d like to invite all of you readers to engage his insights and questions for yourselves. There are some great writing prompts! You could also start a conversation with a friend by reading what he wrote and using it as a jumping-off place for dialogue. I’ve kept a journal for fifty years. In it\, I like to explore these kinds of ideas and questions. If you don’t keep a journal\, you might try doing it as a way to inquire into questions like these\, to better understand yourself and the world. \n  \nMy contribution for the Merry Month of May is the quote from e. e. cummings: \n  \nI’d rather learn from one bird how to sing \nthan teach ten thousand stars how not to dance \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n  \nMetta Meditation  –    \n  \nMay I be healed.  May I be a source of healing for all beings. \nMay you be healed. May you be a source of healing for all beings. \nMay we be healed. May we be a source of healing for all beings.  \n  \nFarewell. Walk in peace\, be in love\,   \n  \n–Katie \n  \n*
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-5-15-21/
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210429
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210610
DTSTAMP:20260425T182824
CREATED:20210429T154953Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250718T123511Z
UID:2150-1619654400-1623283199@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  4/29/21
DESCRIPTION:THE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nApril 29\, 2021 \n  \nBIBLIOMANIA \n  \nI like to think of myself as a bibliophile\, but the correct term would probably be “bibliomaniac.” There is definitely something nutty about my relationship with books. Here’s an example: \n  \nOne day I had selected a stack of about eight books to check out from the downtown branch of the Multnomah County Library. I brought them to the front desk. The librarian began checking them out. About halfway through the pile she said: “I’m gonna have to cut you off here. This doesn’t happen very often. You aren’t allowed to have more than 500 books checked out at a time.” \n  \nSee what I mean. \n  \nI love books. I console myself with the thought that there are worse things to be addicted to. Probably meth would be worse\, in the long run. \n  \nAs a lad\, I hated school. It impinged upon my freedom to go wherever I felt like going and do whatever I felt like doing. Halfway through my Freshman year in college\, it dawned on me that going to school was optional. I walked away. I still sometimes have dreams where I walk out of school and get the most wonderful feeling! \n  \nOnce I left school\, I started reading like a madman. I could read anything I wanted to! It was thrilling! I carried a backpack with me wherever I went\, with at least five or six books in it. I had to have a lot of books to choose from\, because I didn’t know in advance which book I would be in the mood to read once I sat down in the coffee shop. I carried a bag of books with me for many years before I noticed that most people were walking around without any books! That seemed strange to me. It still does.  \n  \nLike\, what if someone found themself somewhere with nothing to read? What would they do? Fortunately\, I’ve never had that experience. \n  \nI start the day sitting on the couch. Then I begin building my nest. By ten o’clock I am surrounded by piles of books. Ask Nancy. \n  \nInstead of going for a long walk\, I’m much more likely to reserve a book from the library with a title like: 50 Best Oregon Hiking Trails.  \n  \nI consider my books to be my friends. And many of the authors\, likewise. I feel very fortunate to have Walt Whitman and William Shakespeare as companions on my life journey. And it’s lovely to make new friends. Wikipedia says that Thomas Traherne died in 1674\, but that doesn’t bother me in the slightest. We just recently became close. \n  \nAs I get older I read less and less\, and slower and slower\, but I still need to have a lot of books nearby—maybe the way some people enjoy having their golden lab sleeping next to them. When I come home\, all my books wag their tails. The shelves are crowded with worlds waiting to be explored. \n  \nThere are so many books! Way too many to read in a single lifetime! (Maybe I’ll have to come back again and again\, and get a new library card every time.) Of the books I have read\, I can’t remember much. Nevertheless\, some books changed the way I see and experience the world. I guess one of my ambitions is to live a life rich in meaning. Books have helped me with that. \n  \nI read slowly. Sometimes a few words are enough to satisfy me. I put the book back on the pile\, happy as a clam at high tide. \n  \nI’ve always dreamed of writing a book. I’ve gotten so much pleasure from reading books\, I’d like to give that same pleasure to others. But I don’t know what to say. Or how to say it. I’ve kept a journal for fifty years. I write letters. I’ve written a few poems and stories\, theater pieces and essays. I guess I’m writing this little essay\, or whatever it is. If I do ever manage to get something I’ve written published between the covers of a book\, it will probably consist of short things. I don’t seem to have the attention span or the work ethic to write something long. \n  \nWhen I was young\, I just assumed I’d effortlessly write a great book someday. Perhaps the “effortlessly” is the clue to why it never happened. Who knows? I may still write a book and get it published. I’m not dead yet. \n  \nHere are a few of the books I’ve enjoyed most: \n  \nI put a picture of Autobiography of a Yogi on the first page. I read that book when I was 19 and it opened up a world that I didn’t know existed—the world of the Indian yogi. It turned out that that world was quite congenial to me. In my twenties\, I lived for a couple years in India with yogis. For yogis\, silence—inner stillness—is important. For me\, too. \n  \nThree of my favorite short stories are: “A Christmas Carol” by Charles Dickens\, “Dream of a Ridiculous Man” by Fyodor Dostoevsky\, and “Tenth of December” by George Saunders. (Jason Beito recommended the latter story to me.) The words “human” and “humane” are related. It feels like certain works of fiction subtly enlarge our humanity\, make us more human—more kind. Maybe all of Charles Dickens’ works do this. One thing the world could use a lot more of is kindness. These stories can help us with that. \n  \nI’m re-reading Huckleberry Finn (again). The older I get\, the better it gets. I’m not alone in rating it the greatest American novel. It would be hard to find a more entertaining story\, or a more keen-eyed observer of human foibles than Huck. \n  \nLast Sunday\, we celebrated William Shakespeare’s 457th birthday on Zoom with friends from all over the place—Curt Tofteland and Ashley Lucas from Michigan\, Howard Thoresen from New York\, Stratis Panourios from Athens\, Alan Benditt from Seattle\, Todd Oleson from Walla Walla\, Keith Scales from Eureka Springs\, Arkansas\, Aaron Gilbert from Roseburg\, Allen Mills from Newberg\, and a number of friends from Portland. Since a lot of us have had experience acting\, directing and going to see Shakespeare plays in prison\, that’s mostly what we talked about. \n  \nWhat makes William Shakespeare so important to me has to do with the fact that he didn’t write novels—he wrote plays. And you can do the plays! Putting on his plays is an even greater pleasure than reading them. You learn the words! You play the parts! You rehearse the scenes over and over. Finally\, you perform the plays for your friends! In his day\, actors were called “players.” Kids need to play\, but grownups do too. There is no one more fun to play with than Will. And no better place to play the plays than in prison. \n  \nAnother book I’m re-reading (again) is Shakespeare and the Goddess of Complete Being by Ted Hughes. It’s my favorite book about Shakespeare. Ted Hughes is a poet; with great intuition and sympathy he explores the personal\, historical and mythological dimensions of Shakespeare’s plays and poems. I had always wondered about Shakespeare’s inner life—who was he? Ted Hughes goes where a vast army of Shakespeare scholars have never dreamed of going. For me\, reading the book is thrilling—which is kind of weird for a book of literary criticism\, if that’s what it is. Okay\, that’s not what it is. But what is it? I don’t know. It doesn’t fit into any categories. It’s not like any other book. When I get to the end\, I’ll start again at the beginning. \n  \nOver the years\, in trying to better understand the meaning of my human life on Earth—(what’s going on here?)—I’ve continued to study what might be called “the wisdom of the East.” Joseph Campbell is one of my favorite guides. If this is a subject that interests you\, I would highly recommend the book Talks With Ramana Maharshi\, and the writings of R. H. Blyth\, J. Krishnamurti\, Shunryu Suzuki\, Thich Nhat Hanh\, Alan Watts\, Lao Tzu\, Seng Ts’an and Han Shan. \n  \nI’ve probably read more nonfiction than fiction. With nonfiction I can learn things I didn’t know\, and even change my inner landscape. I thought this essay would be about how books have shaped the way I see and experience the world\, but my mind meandered off in other directions. Maybe I’ll write that essay another day. \n  \nFor a bibliomaniac like me\, the subject of books has no beginning or end. Like the great globe itself\, the world of books is vast beyond our ability to know it. \n  \nA poem that changed my life and has enriched it endlessly is “Song of Myself\,” by Walt Whitman. It’s good to read and re-read it aloud\, as often as possible. If when you read it\, you mean what you say and feel it\, it will do something big to you. \n  \nIf I could take only one book to the proverbial desert island\, I’d take The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. A most rare vision! It hath no bottom. \n  \n  \nWe’re off to Mexico next week! Back in a month. \nOur revels now are ended. These our actors\, \nAs I foretold you\, were all spirits and \nAre melted into air\, into thin air: \nAnd\, like the baseless fabric of this vision\, \nThe cloud-capp’d towers\, the gorgeous palaces\, \nThe solemn temples\, the great globe itself\, \nYea\, all which it inherit\, shall dissolve \nAnd\, like this insubstantial pageant faded\, \nLeave not a rack behind. We are such stuff \nAs dreams are made on\, and our little life \nIs rounded with a sleep.   \n                      \n—William Shakespeare\, Prospero from The Tempest\, Act 4\, scene 1 \n  \n  \npeace & love \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-4-29-21/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210425
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210516
DTSTAMP:20260425T182824
CREATED:20210402T155615Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20210427T182246Z
UID:2014-1619308800-1621123199@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!: Will Shakespeare's 457th Birthday Party!!! 4/25/21
DESCRIPTION:the Cobbe portrait \n  \nI know a bank where the wild thyme blows\, \nWhere oxlips and the nodding violet grows\, \nQuite over-canopied with luscious woodbine \nWith sweet musk-roses and with eglantine: \nAnd there the snake throws her enamell’d skin\, \nWeed wide enough to wrap a fairy in… \n  \n—A Midsummer Night’s Dream\, Oberon\, Act 2\, scene 1 \n  \nBeloved Bibliophiles!  \n  \nWe had a lovely Zoom gathering on April 25th\, to celebrate Will’s 457th birthday (two days late). Because many of the people had experience doing Shakespeare plays in prison\, or going to see them there\, that’s mainly what we talked about. Friends from all over the world joined our conversation.  \nAaron Gilbert played Helena in A Midsummer Night’s Dream and Sir Toby Belch in Twelfth Night at Two Rivers prison. He joined us from Roseburg. \nAllen Mills joined us from his truck (maybe somewhere in the vicinity of Newberg)\, while he took a coffee break from work. Allen played Hamlet\, Puck and Feste at Two Rivers prison.  \n Some of the Actor/Directors who enlivened our conversation were:  \nCurt Tofteland of Shakespeare Behind Bars\, from Michigan.  \nStratis Panourios from Athens.  \nAshley Lucas of the Prison Creative Arts Project at the University of Michigan.  \nAlan Benditt\, from Seattle.  \nHoward Thoresen from New York.  \nKeith Scales from Eureka Springs\, Arkansas. \nTodd Oleson from Walla Walla\, Washington.  \nOther lovely friends who joined the conversation\, included Gail Lester from San Rafael\, and Portlanders Martha Ragland\, Jeffrey Sher\, Deborah Buchanan\, Tad Leflar and Nancy Scharbach. \nAnd of course Will Shakespeare was with us in spirit! \n  \n  \npeace\, love & happiness   \nJohnny \n  \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-will-shakespeares-457th-birthday-party-4-25-21/
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210415
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210515
DTSTAMP:20260425T182824
CREATED:20210416T163844Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20210416T164502Z
UID:2109-1618444800-1621036799@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue  4/15/21
DESCRIPTION:  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n  \n  \nSongs are thoughts\, sung out with the breath when people are moved by great forces and ordinary speech no longer suffices. Man is moved just like the ice floe sailing here and there in the current. His thoughts are driven by a flowing force when he feels joy\, when he feels fear\, when he feels sorrow. Thoughts can wash over him like a flood\, making his breath come in gasps and his heart throb. Something like an abatement in the weather will keep him thawed up. And then it will happen that we\, who always think we are small\, will feel still smaller. And we will fear to use words. But it will happen that the words we need will come of themselves. When the words we want to use shoot up of themselves–we get a new song. \n  \n—Orpingalik\, Netsilik Inuit \n  \n April 15\, 2020 \n  \nWelcome to our eighth meditation and mindfulness dialogue! The numbers below refer to passages from the book Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh. The tag on my Yogi tea bag says: “Let your heart speak to other hearts.” \n* \n  \nA MEMORY OF WHAT \nafter Tracy K. Smith \n  \nAngels with days for eyes \nlay their hands on the dead. \n  \nWho is so fixed & desolate \nthat they cannot see the walls of honey \n  \nclosing in on a fugitive grief? They wince so \nbeautifully against the sun\, calamity: \n  \nchildren\, aspects of children\, falling \nin love with a flower. They are lost \n  \nin a memory of what the field was. \nIn a memory of when the field was \n  \nin love with a flower\, we are lost \nchildren\, aspects of children\, falling \n  \nbeautifully against the sun\, calamity \nclosing in on a future grief. We wince so \n  \nwe cannot see the walls of honey. \nWhat is fixed & desolate \n  \nlays its hand on the dead \nangels with days for eyes. \n* \n  \nAMONG THE CATTAILS \n  \nIf all that’s left are ashes \nin a lazy\, bending wind \namong the cattails— \nif a moth is blown off course \nand lost in lust \nfor wander\, a crazing of grasses— \nif the cottonwoods are twinned \nby the sky’s calm sister\, \nsunrisen water—if \nyou find one day that you miss me\, \nmiss everyone\, and your days \nare an inconsolable star \nwithout a night to fall from— \nwe will wake as seedlings \namong the cattails. \n  \n—Alex Tretbar \n* \n  \nI have been unusually busy and am only now catching up on my readings. I apologize to this group for my comments printed in the January 15th newsletter. These were intended as a personal communication with Johnny\, and not at all intended for the newsletter. The miscommunication is entirely my fault\, I did not adequately delineate my comments as a side conversation. The context was Johnny and I discussing tradition and lineage\, and my own confusions about these topics. My comments were not in any way a criticism of this group or its participants. \n  \n—Shad Alexander \n* \n  \nMy Foolproof Plan for World Peace \n  \nI hereby declare today to be International Love Day. \nAnd a General Armistice. \nAll hostilities must cease on International Love Day. \nHenceforward\, every day is International Love Day. \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \n[Three entries from Michel’s (almost) daily March meditation journal.] \n  \nMarch 7\, 2021  #92  Don’t Take Side \n  \nReconciliation is a beautiful idea. Yet\, even in here\, every one of us wants to be on “a side”—the winning sports team (or unit ball team)\, the “right” side of the power players (however one sees power displayed in prison: violence/aggression\, staff informant\, etc.)\, having the “right” charges and/or associates leading to the right job. Because whatever or whomever is of the “wrong” is to be despised\, belittled\, attacked\, exploited\, destroyed\, not tolerated to co-exist. So much suffering\, trauma\, and drama exists over this dualistic battle. I don’t recall (free) society being any different—possibly more subtle in some areas. We always have those who have/want power\, those who want to be close to power\, since they can’t have their own\, and those who run from power (maybe over-simplified\, and/or “wrongly” thought out.) \n  \nAs I read on\, Thây reminds me that: “What we (I) need are people who are capable of loving and not taking sides so that they can embrace the whole of reality….” “look at all beings with the eyes of compassion\, and we (I) can do the real work of helping to alleviate suffering.” I see that\, not only do I need/want to have people in my life “capable of loving and not taking sides\,” I also need/want to be that person in the world. When I (we) “look at all beings with the eyes of compassion…” it alleviates suffering—mine and theirs. \n  \nWhile I desire reconciliation with former friends and victims of my selfish choices\, I wonder how much simpler reconciliation I can do among my current friends and associates and/or family\, with whom I have contact. Or\, how much I need with my own self—letting me “off the hook” (providing forgivness) for mistakes\, big and small\, no longer taking a “side\,” and cultivating loving compassion to ease suffering in my world. \n  \nI imagine this reconciliation isn’t easy\, but it can’t be “hard” either. Thây wants me (us) to continue practicing mindfulness and reconciliation till I (we) see the suffering of others as my (our) own.  \n  \nThis is where it gets deep and demands much\, to give up self as separate from other\, and to see that we’re all made from the same mud. We all share the same source. Even though we insist on seeing separateness—me vs. you\, us vs. them—reconciliation helps us see the common ground we share\, upon which we can begin anew to build a future together\, not excluding anyone\, to strive toward relieving (alleviating)  suffering. \n  \nI believe I can do this work of developing mindfulness—breathing\, being aware\, holding compassion (instead of contempt)\, sharing love as acceptance\, patience and understanding. \n* \n  \nMarch 9\, 2021  #93  The Spiritual Dimension \n  \nOh\, if only all people pursued peace! What an amazing world this would be. But\, Wait! I can encourage friends\, family\, and anyone who is open to do so. I can bring the peace I have (find\, learn) into the world I already live in\, to begin a healing work in others I contact. Remind me again: Why is it I need to wait for the (war) world leaders to pull out and learn the ways of peace for their lives? Short answer: I don’t. I can communicate my desires for them to learn and pursue peace. But\, I can only find and cultivate my own. And\, I can support anyone else’s journey by expressing/living a life of peace. \n* \n  \nMarch 24\, 2021  #102  Like the Moon in the Sky \n  \n“Abandoning ideas” could be scary; especially if they are ideas of identity—“me\,” this self. It’s not that I cease to exist\, per se\, or that I wholly abandon my role in this play going on here. I LET GO of my attachment to the “role” and the “character’s” story. Shakespeare put it well when he called us all merely actors. \n  \nTo me\, an actor picks up a role: and a part in the story is begun. He or she develops a backstory\, beyond what’s provided\, to drive the character through conflicts to resolution. When the curtain falls for the last time\, the actor sets down the role and picks up with the role of the self. (But it’s not really different.) \n  \nI think this freedom Thây is speaking of today is like that actor. When I set down my attachment to all the stories spun for this role of Michel: then\, I become free to exist and move as I was created\, to be the person I came here to be—instead of this assumed role I was once convinced was the “real” me. (PS: I think glimpses of the “real” do shine through\, as with all actors bringing a piece of the self to a role.) \n  \nThe more I identify and attach to this story/role\, the more I face the challenge to discover a “real” self within this role. Thây is right\, happiness can’t come from this conflict (inner turmoil). It comes easily when I set down attachment to this role of “me.” The story of Michel persists\, until it ends: My participation is how I pursue suffering\, or ease into happiness…my breathing exercises. \n  \n—Michel Deforge \n* \n  \nQuiet Day \n  \nDawn day. Gone gray. \nNo car. No key. No place to be. \nNo task. No mask. No fancy shoes. \nNo news. Nothing to lose. \nNo greeting. No meeting. \nA quiet nook. A long look. \nNo call. No knock. Forgotten clock. \nSinging birds. Few words. Taking stock. \nDusk slow. Moon glow. Let go. \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\, from Singer Come from Afar\, Red Hen Press\, 2021 \n* \n  \n#50  The Basic Principle \n  \n“Have we wasted our hours and our days?Are we wasting our lives? These are important questions.” \n  \nWaste: This is what caught my attention. All my life (well\, at least for the last 30 years or so) my guiding desire\, my guiding principle has been to Not Waste Life. Live this life! Be Alive!  Do Not Waste  Life. If you are afraid of something\, move into it; don’t run from it. Expand\, don’t contract.  \n  \nTo that end\, I have had a (very) full life. Full of good times and also very difficult times. I am aware of and grateful for both. Many will say that I have Too Many Things going on. Do you ever stop going? they ask. To be clear\, these activities are not things I think I should be doing. They are all passions\, things I love\, or feel strongly about —some despite\, or because of their difficulty or complexity. \n  \nMy husband has set some rules: For every new thing you take on\, something else has to go. You want to sing in the Voci Choir? Fine\, then you might stop leading those hikes for young girls. Learn how to graft fruit trees? Cool\, but stop digging and potting up your two hundred plants for the plant sale. Take classes in Middle eastern cooking? Cook meals for that new Hispanic family? Only if you stop cooking for that other family.  \n  \nSo I’m busy\, maybe ‘over scheduled.’ That is until recently when I had to stop everything for two months to recover from foot surgery. And not like the Pandemic Stop\, when I could still ride my bike and hike and carry on almost as always. This stoppage has a requirement of REST\, of HEALING\, of SLEEP\, of RECOVERY. In other words\, being quite…motionless. \n  \nThis has undermined my brain pattern of ‘activity’ as being ‘not wasting life.’ If I can’t ‘do’ anything\, I must be wasting life. But then I came around to this: I am ‘doing’ something active by recovering\, by healing. That is ‘productive!’ Whew! I am not wasting life.  \n  \nBut then I read the rest of The Basic Principle. “Practicing Buddhism is to be alive in each moment. When we practice sitting or walking\, we have the means to do it perfectly. During the rest of the day\, we also practice. It is more difficult\, but it is possible. The sitting and the walking must be extended to the non-walking\, non-sitting moments of our day. That is the basic principle of meditation.”  Not wasting life is not about being active\, or being active in being inactive. It’s not about being ‘productive\,’ although I’ve never been proud of the word nor used it as a complimentary personal characteristic. Moment by moment being active and aware\, being still and aware. Being in the moment\, every moment. Not wasting life is about being alive in each moment. It is not about always doing something. \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \nMorning Walk \n  \nIn the park \nImmersed in birdsong \nDrowned in trees \nI breathe it in \nUntil I smile \n  \n—Kristen Sagan \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  \nThis sense of transformation is also ours just by noticing and being present to how we feel when happiness or kindness shows up.  \n  \nMy wish for us all this beautiful month of spring is to enjoy and notice the rebirth in the world; this can resonate within ourselves.  If you don’t have a wonderful outside view\, may you find some quiet time for breathing meditation.  I like to take that time every day at 3 p.m. and know that others are creating lovingkindness energy along with me.  In Vietnam at the same time\, Thich Nhat Hanh and Sister Chan Kong and the monks and nuns will be meditating together in the morning after ringing the temple bell.   \n  \nHere is a note from Thich Nhat Hanh on what we can do paying attention to our breath: \n  \n“Our breathing is a stable solid ground that is always there for us to take refuge in. Whenever we are carried away by regret about something that has happened\, or swept away in our fears or anxiety in the future\, we can return to our breathing\, and re-establish ourselves in the present moment.  \n  \nWe don’t need to control the breath in any way. We simply encounter it\, just as it is. It may be long or short\, deep or shallow. With the gentle energy of mindfulness it will naturally become slower and deeper.” \n  \nPeace and Love\,   \n  \nIf i could I would send you all peach blossoms\,     \n  \n—Katie Radditz
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-4-15-21/
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210415
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210429
DTSTAMP:20260425T182824
CREATED:20210416T160729Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20210416T161533Z
UID:2098-1618444800-1619654399@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  4/15/21
DESCRIPTION:  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nApril 15\, 2021 \n  \nAll beings rejoice! A new book of Kim’s poems has just been published by Red Hen Press! Sing! Dance! Make Merry! Get your copy today! Act now! Easy monthly payments! No money down! Makes a great gift for all occasions! With Kim’s permission\, here’s a small sampling from the Treasure Trove: \n  \nPoetry in Prison \n  \nYou’re in\, but the question is: \nwhat’s in you? What story \naching to be told do you hold \nin solitary\, shackled\, denied \nits rights to visitors? \n  \nThe hard things that happened are gold \nyou hammer into shape\, the pain \nyou twist\, the grief you make shimmer\, \nthe lost good thing you restore \nby telling it back into being. \n  \nEveryone is in prison\, one way \nor another. And everyone is \nfree\, one way or another. The trick \nis to find your way to bear the story \nforth\, so it shines in the listener’s eyes. \n* \n  \nBlue Brick from the Midwest \n  \nAfter my father collapsed like a bolt of light\, toppled without a word\, \nI was the one to enter his study\, find the jagged note to our mother he \nscratched as he reeled\, the freight train of his departure hurtling \nthrough his heart— \n  \n \n  \n—a sentiment he did not speak in seventy-nine years\, as a tough customer\, \naffable but stern\, inert when grief came\, reserved as granite \nwhen my brother died\, cracking plaintive jokes when we trembled \nin the hospital\, mother going under the knife. \n  \nHis way was trenchant\, oblique. He distrusted those who \ntalk about God\, preferring to honor the holy with a glance\, \na nod\, or silence. Delving deeper\, the day he died\, we found \nin his sock drawer\, under that scant set of flimsy raiment\, the fetching \nphoto of the flirt; our mother\, coy at the sink\, looking back \nover her shoulder\, dressed only in an apron with a big bow. \nNo fool like an old fool. \n  \nAnd delving deeper\, at the back of the bottom file (the niche \nwhere one would hide the stuff of blackmail) I touched the blue \nbrick of love letters our mother had sent him when they \ncourted in the war—brittle leaves kissed snug together \nand bound with string\, the trouble he had carried \nin secret through every move since 1943. She knew \nthem not\, nor had his. “Oh Billy\,” she said. \n  \nFather\, early years taught your way with the heart’s contraband \nwhen the dirty thirties blunted your bravado\, tornado snatched \nyour friends\, the war your tenderness\, and left you with these secrets \nhoarded for us to find when you were gone. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nAt last Sunday’s Bibliophiles Unanimous! Zoom gathering (April 11th) we shared “Mystic Poems and Prose.” I read William Stafford’s poem “Ask Me.” Kim has a story about this poem (my paraphrase): \n  \nThere was a big event at the Oregon Historical Society for the 100th Anniversary of William Stafford’s birth. OPB was there. Very Important People from the historical society and literary societies\, et cetera. A homeless man wandered in\, and headed for the table with the cookies. The cookies were being guarded by Someone of Importance. The homeless guy asked\, “What’s going on?” “We’re honoring a poet.” “Is he any good?” “Yes\, we think so: William Stafford.” The homeless man says\, “Ask me.” “Ask you what?” “Some time when the river is ice ask me mistakes I have made…” After the Uninvited Guest had finished reciting the poem\, the Guardian of the Refreshment Table asked\, “Would you like some cookies?” \n  \nAsk Me \n  \nSome time when the river is ice ask me \nmistakes I have made. Ask me whether \nwhat I have done is my life. Others \nhave come in their slow way into \nmy thought\, and some have tried to help \nor to hurt: ask me what difference \ntheir strongest love or hate has made. \n  \nI will listen to what you say. \nYou and I can turn and look \nat the silent river and wait. We know \nthe current is there\, hidden; and there \nare comings and goings from miles away \nthat hold the stillness exactly before us. \nWhat the river says\, that is what I say. \n  \n–William Stafford  (1914-1993) \n* \n  \nAt the Zoom gathering Todd Oleson read his favorite Emily Dickinson poem: \n  \nGod made a little Gentian – \nIt tried – to be a Rose – \nAnd failed – and all the Summer laughed – \nBut just before the Snows \n  \nThere rose a Purple Creature – \nThat ravished all the Hill – \nAnd Summer hid her Forehead – \nAnd Mockery – was still – \n  \nThe Frosts were her condition – \nThe Tyrian would not come \nUntil the North – invoke it – \nCreator – Shall I – bloom? \n  \n–Emily Dickinson  (1830-1886) \n* \n  \nJude read this poem by William Blake: \n  \nThe Divine Image \n  \nTo Mercy\, Pity\, Peace\, and Love \nAll pray in their distress; \nAnd to these virtues of delight \nReturn their thankfulness. \n  \nFor Mercy\, Pity\, Peace\, and Love \nIs God\, our father dear\, \nAnd Mercy\, Pity\, Peace\, and Love \nIs Man\, his child and care. \n  \nFor Mercy has a human heart\, \nPity a human face\, \nAnd Love\, the human form divine\, \nAnd Peace\, the human dress. \n  \nThen every man\, of every clime\, \nThat prays in his distress\, \nPrays to the human form divine\, \nLove\, Mercy\, Pity\, Peace. \n  \nAnd all must love the human form\, \nIn heathen\, turk\, or jew; \nWhere Mercy\, Love\, & Pity dwell \nThere God is dwelling too. \n  \n–William Blake  (1757-1857) \n* \n  \nLast Fall\, I walked out the back door and found the deck and the entire back yard covered with little orange polka dots. It was mysterious! Where had they come from? I looked up and discovered that a flock of cedar waxwings was flying back and forth from our maple tree to some neighbor’s bush or tree\, bringing hundreds (maybe thousands!) of orange berries. They ate the berries in the maple tree and spit out the skins. Mystery solved. This has absolutely nothing to do with the following poem\, which I have always loved: \n  \nWaxwings   \n  \nFour tao philosophers as cedar waxwings \nchat on a February berrybush \nin sun\, and I am one. \n  \nSuch merriment and such sobriety– \nthe small wild fruit on the tall stalk– \nwas this not always my true style? \n  \nAbove an elegance of snow\, beneath \na silk-blue sky a brotherhood of four \nbirds. Can you mistake us? \n  \nTo sun\, to feast\, and to converse \nand all together–for this I have abandoned all my other lives. \n  \n–Robert Francis  (1901-1987) \n* \n  \nWe bibliophiles didn’t get around to mystic prose last Sunday\, but as a special “peace\, love\, happiness & understanding” bonus\, here’s something loving and lovely from Thomas Traherne: \n  \n47  \nWhat life can be more pleasant\, than that which is delighted in itself\, and in all objects; in which also all objects infinitely delight? What life can be more pleasant\, than that which is blessed in all\, and glorious before all? Now this life is the life of Love. For this end therefore did He desire to Love\, that He might be Love. Infinitely delightful to all objects\, infinitely delighted in all\, and infinitely pleased in Himself\, for being infinitely delightful to all\, and delighted in all. All this He attaineth by Love. For Love is the most delightful of all employments. All the objects of Love are delightful to it\, and Love is delightful to all its objects. Well then may Love be the end of loving\, which is so complete. It being a thing so delightful\, that God infinitely rejoiceth in Himself for being Love. And thus you see how God is the end of Himself. He doth what He doth\, that He may be what He is: Wise and glorious and bountiful and blessed in being Perfect Love.  \n  \n48  \nLove is so divine and perfect a thing\, that it is worthy to be the very end and being of the Deity. It is His goodness\, and it is His glory. We therefore so vastly delight in Love\, because all these excellencies and all other whatsoever lie within it. By Loving a Soul does propagate and beget itself. By Loving it does dilate and magnify itself. By Loving it does enlarge and delight itself. By Loving also it delighteth others\, as by Loving it doth honor and enrich itself. But above all by Loving it does attain itself. Love also being the end of Souls\, which are never perfect till they are in act what they are in power. They were made to love\, and are dark and vain and comfortless till they do it. Till they love they are idle\, or mis-employed. Till they love they are desolate; without their objects\, and narrow and little\, and dishonorable: but when they shine by Love upon all objects\, they are accompanied with them and enlightened by them. Till we become therefore all Act as God is\, we can never rest\, nor ever be satisfied.  \n  \n–Thomas Traherne  (1636-1674) \n* \n  \nIn Centuries of Meditations\, Thomas Traherne has just over four hundred meditations. In the “Second Century\,” he goes on an extended meditation of love\, from numbers 39-67. I have included two typical ones.  \n  \nMay all people be happy.  \nMay we live in love.   \n  \n—Johnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-4-15-21/
ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/04/0-2-2.jpeg
END:VEVENT
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210411
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210425
DTSTAMP:20260425T182824
CREATED:20210401T180606Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20210416T181836Z
UID:2001-1618099200-1619308799@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!: Mystical Poetry & Prose  4/11 - 4/24/21
DESCRIPTION:Thomas Traherne (1636-1674) \n  \n  \nSongs are thoughts\, sung out with the breath when people are moved by great forces and ordinary speech no longer suffices. Man is moved just like the ice floe sailing here and there in the current. His thoughts are driven by a flowing force when he feels joy\, when he feels fear\, when he feels sorrow. Thoughts can wash over him like a flood\, making his breath come in gasps and his heart throb. Something like an abatement in the weather will keep him thawed up. And then it will happen that we\, who always think we are small\, will feel still smaller. And we will fear to use words. But it will happen that the words we need will come of themselves. When the words we want to use shoot up of themselves–we get a new song. \n  \n–Orpingalik\,  Netsilik Inuit \n  \nOn Sunday\, April 11th\, our theme was MYSTIC POETRY & PROSE from Animist\, Polytheist\, Hindu\, Taoist\, Buddhist\, Jewish\, Christian & Muslim mystics.  \n  \nTodd Oleson read a poem by Emily Dickinson and two poems by Lawrence Ferlinghetti\, Jude Russell read poems by Rilke\, Roethke & Blake. Dave Duncan read a poem by Sylvia Plath\, which reminded me of a passage from Hamlet. Martha Ragland read the opening of Tagore’s Gitanjali. Nick Eldredge read the lyrics to Into the Mystic by Van Morrison. I read poems by Staffords William & Kim\, and Waxwings by Robert Francis. Here are some the poems:  \n  \nGod made a little Gentian – \nIt tried – to be a Rose – \nAnd failed – and all the Summer laughed – \nBut just before the Snows \n  \nThere rose a Purple Creature – \nThat ravished all the Hill – \nAnd Summer hid her Forehead – \nAnd Mockery – was still – \n  \nThe Frosts were her condition – \nThe Tyrian would not come \nUntil the North – invoke it – \nCreator – Shall I – bloom? \n  \n–Emily Dickinson  (1830-1886) \n* \n  \nA Better Resurrection \n  \nI have no wit\, I have no words\, no tears; \nMy heart within me like a stone \nIs numbed too much for hopes or fears; \nLook right\, look left\, I dwell alone; \nA lift mine eyes\, but dimmed with grief \nNo everlasting hills I see; \nMy life is like the falling leaf; \nJesus\, quicken me. \n  \n–Sylvia Plath \n* \n  \nHamlet.  I have of late\, but wherefore I know not\, lost all my mirth\, foregone all custom of exercises\, and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame the earth seems to me a sterile promontory\, this most excellent canopy\, the air\, look you\, this brave o’erhanging firmament\, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire—why it appears nothing to me but a foul and pestilent congregation of vapors.  What a piece of work is a man\, how noble in reason\, how infinite in faculties\, in form and moving how express and admirable\, in action how like an angel\, in apprehension how like a god\, the beauty of the world\, the paragon of animals—and yet\, to me\, what is this quintessence of dust?  Man delights not me.  No\, nor woman\, neither.  \n  \n–Will Shakespeare \n* \n  \n“Ich lebe mein Leben in wachsenden Ringen” \n  \n“I live my life in widening circles  \nthat reach out across the world. \nI may not complete this last one \nbut I give myself to it. \n  \nI circle around God\, around the primordial tower. \nI’ve been circling for thousands of years \nand I still don’t know: am I a falcon\, \na storm\, or a great song?” \n* \n  \n“Alles wird wieder gross sein und gewaltig” \n  \n“All will come again into its strength: \nthe fields undivided\, the waters undammed\, \nthe trees towering and the walls built low\, \nAnd in the valleys\, people as strong \nand varied as the land. \n  \nAnd no churches where God \nis imprisoned and lamented \nlike a trapped and wounded animal. \nThe houses welcoming all who knock \nand a sense of boundless offering \nin all relations\, amd in you and me. \n  \nNo yearning for an afterlife\, no looking beyond\, \nno belittling of death\, \nbut only longing for what belongs to us \nand serving earth\, lest we remain unused.” \n  \n(I have to add one more here\, read and absorbed shortly after I had experienced my life changing ‘mystical experience\,’ and was still in the deepest throes of LOVE) (I still love it) (Jude) \n  \n”Losch mir die Augen aus; ich kann dich sehen” \n  \n“Extinguish my eyes\, I’ll go on seeing you\, \nSeal my ears\, I’ll go on hearing you\, \nAnd without feet I can make my way to you\, \nwithout a mouth I can swear your name. \n  \nBreak off my arms\, I’ll take hold of you \nwith my heart as a hand\, \nStop my heart\, and my brain will  start to beat\, \nAnd if you consume my brain with fire\, \nI’ll feel you burn in every drop of my blood.” \n  \nRilke’s Book of Hours: Love Poems to God\, translated by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy\,  1996 \n* \n  \nGitanjali \n  \nI \nThou hast made me endless\, such is thy pleasure. This frail vessel thou emptiest again and again\, and fillest it ever with fresh life. \nThis little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales\, and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new. \nAt the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable. \nThy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine. Ages pass\, and still thou poorest\, and still there is room to fill. \n  \n–Rabrindranath Tagore \n* \n  \nInto the Mystic \n  \nWe were born before the wind \nAlso younger than the sun \nEre the bonnie boat was won as we sailed into the mystic \nHark\, now hear the sailors cry \nSmell the sea and feel the sky \nLet your soul and spirit fly into the mystic \n  \nAnd when that fog horn blows I will be coming home \nAnd when the fog horn blows I want to hear it \nI don’t have to fear it \n  \nAnd I want to rock your gypsy soul \nJust like way back in the days of old \nAnd magnificently we will flow into the mystic \n  \nWhen that fog horn blows you know I will be coming home \nAnd when that fog horn whistle blows I got to hear it \nI don’t have to fear it \n  \nAnd I want to rock your gypsy soul \nJust like way back in the days of old \nAnd together we will flow into the mystic \nCome on girl… \n  \nToo late to stop now…  \n  \n–Van Morrison \n* \n  \nAsk Me \n  \n  \nSome time when the river is ice ask me \nmistakes I have made. Ask me whether \nwhat I have done is my life. Others \nhave come in their slow way into \nmy thought\, and some have tried to help \nor to hurt: ask me what difference \ntheir strongest love or hate has made. \n  \n  \nI will listen to what you say. \nYou and I can turn and look \nat the silent river and wait. We know \nthe current is there\, hidden; and there \nare comings and goings from miles away \nthat hold the stillness exactly before us. \nWhat the river says\, that is what I say. \n  \n  \n–William Stafford  (1914-1993) \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\, and 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 the 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  \nThe Divine Image \n  \nTo Mercy\, Pity\, Peace\, and Love \nAll pray in their distress; \nAnd to these virtues of delight \nReturn their thankfulness. \n  \nFor Mercy\, Pity\, Peace\, and Love \nIs God\, our father dear\, \nAnd Mercy\, Pity\, Peace\, and Love \nIs Man\, his child and care. \n  \nFor Mercy has a human heart\, \nPity a human face\, \nAnd Love\, the human form divine\, \nAnd Peace\, the human dress. \n  \nThen every man\, of every clime\, \nThat prays in his distress\, \nPrays to the human form divine\, \nLove\, Mercy\, Pity\, Peace. \n  \nAnd all must love the human form\, \nIn heathen\, turk\, or jew; \nWhere Mercy\, Love\, & Pity dwell \nThere God is dwelling too. \n  \n–William Blake  (1757-1857) \n* \n  \nIn a Dark Time \n\n\n\n  \nIn a dark time\, the eye begins to see\, \nI meet my shadow in the deepening shade;    \nI hear my echo in the echoing wood— \nA lord of nature weeping to a tree. \nI live between the heron and the wren\,    \nBeasts of the hill and serpents of the den. \n\n  \nWhat’s madness but nobility of soul \nAt odds with circumstance? The day’s on fire!    \nI know the purity of pure despair\, \nMy shadow pinned against a sweating wall.    \nThat place among the rocks—is it a cave\,    \nOr winding path? The edge is what I have. \n\n  \nA steady storm of correspondences! \nA night flowing with birds\, a ragged moon\,    \nAnd in broad day the midnight come again!    \nA man goes far to find out what he is— \nDeath of the self in a long\, tearless night\,    \nAll natural shapes blazing unnatural light. \n\n  \nDark\, dark my light\, and darker my desire.    \nMy soul\, like some heat-maddened summer fly\,    \nKeeps buzzing at the sill. Which I is I? \nA fallen man\, I climb out of my fear.    \nThe mind enters itself\, and God the mind\,    \nAnd one is One\, free in the tearing wind. \n\n  \n\n\n–Theodore Roethke  (1908-1963) \n* \n  \n\n\n\n\nConstantly risking absurdity \n                                             and death \n            whenever he performs \n                                        above the heads \n                                                            of his audience \n   the poet like an acrobat \n                                 climbs on rime \n                                          to a high wire of his own making \nand balancing on eyebeams \n                                     above a sea of faces \n             paces his way \n                               to the other side of day \n    performing entrechats \n                               and sleight-of-foot tricks \nand other high theatrics \n                               and all without mistaking \n                     any thing \n                               for what it may not be \n\n       For he’s the super realist \n                                     who must perforce perceive \n                   taut truth \n                                 before the taking of each stance or step \nin his supposed advance \n                                  toward that still higher perch \nwhere Beauty stands and waits \n                                     with gravity \n                                                to start her death-defying leap \n\n      And he \n             a little charleychaplin man \n                                           who may or may not catch \n               her fair eternal form \n                                     spreadeagled in the empty air \n                  of existence \n* \n\n\n  \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                                         17\n\nThis life is not a circus where\nthe shy performing dogs of love\n                                                   look on\n\nas time flicks out\n                            its tricky whip\n                                                   to race us thru our paces\nYet gay parading floats drift by\n                               decorated with gorgeous gussies in silk tights\n                                       and attended by moithering monkeys\n                                                                  make-believe monks\n                                                                  horny hiawathas\n                                          and baboons astride tame tigers\n                                                     with ladies inside\n                      while googly horns make merrygoround music\n                  and pantomimic pierrots castrate disaster\n                               with strange sad laughter\n             and gory gorillas toss tender maidens heavenward\n                    while cakewalkers and carnie hustlers\n                all gassed to the gills\n                    strike playbill poses\n           and stagger after every\n                                              wheeling thing\nWhile still around the ring\n                                    lope the misshapen camels of lust\n   and all us Emmet Kelley clowns\n                                always making up imaginary scenes\nwith all our masks for faces\n                            even eat fake Last Suppers\n                                                         at collapsible tables\n             and mocking cross ourselves \n                                                          in sawdust crosses\n\nAnd yet gobble up at last\n                                to shrive our circus souls\n            the also imaginary\n                                         wafers of grace\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n–Lawrence Ferlinghetti \n* \n  \nWaxwings   \n  \nFour tao philosophers as cedar waxwings \nchat on a February berrybush \nin sun\, and I am one. \n  \nSuch merriment and such sobriety– \nthe small wild fruit on the tall stalk– \nwas this not always my true style? \n  \nAbove an elegance of snow\, beneath \na silk-blue sky a brotherhood of four \nbirds. Can you mistake us? \n  \nTo sun\, to feast\, and to converse \nand all together–for this I have abandoned all my other lives. \n  \n–Robert Francis  (1901-1987) \n* \n  \nIs anyone still reading this? It’s getting pretty long. But not long enough. On April 11th\, we didn’t get around to mystic prose\, but here’s something loving and lovely from Thomas Traherne: \n  \n47  \n  \nWhat life can be more pleasant\, than that which is delighted in itself\, and in all objects; in which also all objects infinitely delight? What life can be more pleasant\, than that which is blessed in all\, and glorious before all? Now this life is the life of Love. For this end therefore did He desire to Love\, that He might be Love. Infinitely delightful to all objects\, infinitely delighted in all\, and infinitely pleased in Himself\, for being infinitely delightful to all\, and delighted in all. All this He attaineth by Love. For Love is the most delightful of all employments. All the objects of Love are delightful to it\, and Love is delightful to all its objects. Well then may Love be the end of loving\, which is so complete. It being a thing so delightful\, that God infinitely rejoiceth in Himself for being Love. And thus you see how God is the end of Himself. He doth what He doth\, that He may be what He is: Wise and glorious and bountiful and blessed in being Perfect Love.  \n  \n  \n48  \n  \nLove is so divine and perfect a thing\, that it is worthy to be the very end and being of the Deity. It is His goodness\, and it is His glory. We therefore so vastly delight in Love\, because all these excellencies and all other whatsoever lie within it. By Loving a Soul does propagate and beget itself. By Loving it does dilate and magnify itself. By Loving it does enlarge and delight itself. By Loving also it delighteth others\, as by Loving it doth honor and enrich itself. But above all by Loving it does attain itself. Love also being the end of Souls\, which are never perfect till they are in act what they are in power. They were made to love\, and are dark and vain and comfortless till they do it. Till they love they are idle\, or mis-employed. Till they love they are desolate; without their objects\, and narrow and little\, and dishonorable: but when they shine by Love upon all objects\, they are accompanied with them and enlightened by them. Till we become therefore all Act as God is\, we can never rest\, nor ever be satisfied.  \n  \n–Thomas Traherne  (1636-1674) \n* \n  \n  \n(In Centuries of Meditations\, Thomas Traherne has just over four hundred meditations. In the “Second Century\,” he goes on an extended meditation of love\, from numbers 39-67. I have included two typical ones.) \n  \nMay all beings be happy. \nMay we live in love. \n  \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-mystical-poetry-prose-4-11-21/
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210401
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210415
DTSTAMP:20260425T182824
CREATED:20210401T153639Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20210401T154228Z
UID:1993-1617235200-1618444799@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  4/1/21
DESCRIPTION:The Aged Aged man\, illustration by John Tenniel (see the last poem) \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nApril 1\, 2021 \n  \nJerry Smith sent this inspiring prose poem: \n  \nAnd the people stayed home. And read books\, and listened\, and rested\, and exercised\, and made art\, and played games\, and learned new ways of being\, and were still. And listened more deeply. Some meditated\, some prayed\, some danced. Some met their shadows. And the people began to think differently. \n  \nAnd the people healed. And\, in the absence of people living in ignorant\, dangerous\, mindless\, and heartless ways\, the earth began to heal. \n  \nAnd when the danger passed\, and the people joined together again\, they grieved their losses\, and made new choices\, and dreamed new images\, and created new ways to live and heal the earth fully\, as they had been healed. \n  \n—Kitty O’Meara \n* \n  \nRocky sent this poem just in time for this issue: \n  \n     Recently\, after 45 years on earth\, \nmy whole being has been touched by love. \n     A lifetime of issues kept me from \nfeeling the truth of this most powerful emotion. \n     For the first good while I was uncertain \n& thought I was having heart problems. \n     In fact that is what happens to the \nheart when filled with arrows of love. \n     Until now\, I’ve never cried for love; \nthese tears are from the deepest pain. \n     My love is here\, free & it is real; \nit is unselfish\, it is hunting for the same. \n     The capability & potency & strength \nof the Love in me feels like lightning in my heart. \n     This is what will shatter the walls \nof this prison & cast me into the stars. \n  \n—Rocky Hutchinson \n* \n  \nOn Sunday\, March 28th\, for our Bibliophiles Unanimous! Zoom gathering we read\, recited and sang “Story Poems” to each other. Kim Stafford sent a link to a video\, along with these words: \n  \n“here’s a film I made a few years back…based on a ballad I wrote 20 years ago…about an encounter over 40 years ago…” \n  \nhttps://vimeo.com/259870242 \n  \nHe also sent a text version for this issue of “peace\, love\, happiness & understanding\,” for our friends in prison who can’t watch the video. The italicized parts are sung: \n  \nI’ll Do Anything\, Watch Me Try \n  \nI was driving south along Interstate 5 in the Spring\, forty years ago\, and I picked up a hitchhiker with bandages on both hands. \n     “Is this a Mailbu?” he said\, climbing into my car. “My name’s Dan. I used to have a Malibu\, but she burned.” \n     “We was driving along\,” he said\, “me and Ruth and the boys—looking for work\, and the damn car catches on fire…” He told his whole sad story… \n  \nIt ain’t all honey & roses down in Portland\, \nwhen you got no work and hungry children\, \nDriving along down Burnside in the evening\, \nlook in every doorway for a sign. \n  \nI’ll do anything\, watch me try: \nfix your engine\, mend your road\, \nCrack my fingers\, break my back \non any load you lead me to. \n  \nWhen we came to a little town\, he said to let him out on Main Street. I shook Dan’s hand\, gently so as not to hurt the burn\, and then I gave him my coat\, and all the money I had on me. He set off down the street\, and I got in the car and drove south. \n  \nThere’s a place a few miles farther on\, where I sat by the river under a cottonwood with my guitar\, and Dan’s story turned into a song. \n  \nThe kids were sleeping in the back seat\, \nSoftly talking in their way. \nAny more they’re never sure\, \nWhen it’s night\, and when it’s day… \n  \nThen somehow a fire broke out\, \nin the backseat\, on the floor— \nI grabbed John\, and Ruth grabbed Daniel\, \nclosed my eyes and out the door. \n  \nI left the kids with my brother out in Gresham. \nRuth went wandering on her own. \nI got to find a job and make some dollars\, \nput it all together again. \n  \nWhen I got where I was going\, I told my friends about Dan\, and the burning car\, and one of them said\, “You didn’t give him any money\, did you? That’s a scam!” They made me feel small\, and a fool. But then\, heading north\, I stopped under the tree again\, and made a new verse about my friends. \n  \nNow the man who told that story was a drifter \nI picked up walking down Interstate 5. \nI gave him money and I told my friends— \nThey laughed and said\, “You got skinned alive!” \n  \nNo song should end without some kind of mercy. \nNo one’s life should be like this song. \nBut mine has been\, and you who listen\, \nbless your luck. So long. \n  \nWhat’s it like to be alone on the road? What’s it like to have a family\, a car\, a plan—and then to lose it all? And for my friends—what’s it like to guard your heart with denial\, so you can protect yourself from another person’s pain? \n  \nI was a student then\, writing a dissertation. I pretty much lived in the library. But Dan’s witness made me a singer instead. And I needed his pluck\, a few years later\, when my own family fell apart\, and I wandered alone. \n  \nI hope the story he told was but a fable\, \nI hope he spent that money on wine. \nI hope that Ruth is still with the family. \nI hope their Chevy is running fine. \n  \nFor every story you hear that’s a lie\, \nthere’s a hundred hard and true. \nI’ll give my money again to the stranger\, \nshare the money as I pass through. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n*  \n  \nHere are some great story poems. Read them aloud to someone!: \n  \nAbou Ben Adhem \n  \nAbou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!) \nAwoke one night from a deep dream of peace\, \nAnd saw\, within the moonlight in his room\, \nMaking it rich\, and like a lily in bloom\, \nAn angel writing in a book of gold:— \nExceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold\, \nAnd to the presence in the room he said\, \n“What writest thou?”—The vision raised its head\, \nAnd with a look made of all sweet accord\, \nAnswered\, “The names of those who love the Lord.” \n“And is mine one?” said Abou. “Nay\, not so\,” \nReplied the angel. Abou spoke more low\, \nBut cheerly still; and said\, “I pray thee\, then\, \nWrite me as one that loves his fellow men.” \n  \nThe angel wrote\, and vanished. The next night \nIt came again with a great wakening light\, \nAnd showed the names whom love of God had blest\, \nAnd lo! Ben Adhem’s name led all the rest. \n  \n—Leigh Hunt  (1784-1859) \n* \n  \nNirvana \n  \nnot much chance\, \ncompletely cut loose from \npurpose\, \nhe was a young man \nriding a bus \nthrough North Carolina \non the way to somewhere \nand it began to snow \nand the bus stopped \nat a little café \nin the hills \nand the passengers  \nentered. \nhe sat at the counter \nwith the others\, \nhe ordered and the \nfood arrived. \nthe meal was \nparticularly \ngood \nand the \ncoffee. \nthe waitress was \nunlike the women \nhe had \nknown. \nshe was unaffected\, \nthere was a natural  \nhumor which came \nfrom her. \nthe fry cook said \ncrazy things. \nthe dishwasher\, \nin back\, \nlaughed\, a good \nclean \npleasant \nlaugh. \nthe young man watched \nthe snow through the \nwindows. \nhe wanted to stay \nin that café \nforever. \nthe curious feeling \nswam through him \nthat everything \nwas \nbeautiful \nthere\, \nthat it would always \nstay beautiful \nthere. \nthen the bus driver \ntold the passengers \nthat it was time \nto board. \nthe young man \nthought\, I’ll just sit \nhere\, I’ll just stay \nhere. \nbut then \nhe rose and followed \nthe others into the \nbus. \nhe found his seat \nand looked at the café \nthrough the bus \nwindow. \nthen the bus moved \noff\, down a curve\, \ndownward\, out of \nthe hills. \nthe young man \nlooked straight \nforward. \nhe heard the other \npassengers \nspeaking \nof other things\, \nor they were \nreading \nor \nattempting to \nsleep. \nthey had not \nnoticed \nthe \nmagic. \nthe young man \nput his head to \none side\, \nclosed his \neyes\, \npretended to \nsleep. \nthere was nothing \nelse to do- \njust listen to the \nsound of the \nengine\, \nthe sound of the \ntires \nin the \nsnow. \n  \n—Charles Bukowski  (1920-1994) \n* \n  \nThe Three Hermits \n  \nThree old hermits took the air  \nBy a cold and desolate sea\,  \nFirst was muttering a prayer\,  \nSecond rummaged for a flea;  \nOn a windy stone\, the third\,  \nGiddy with his hundredth year\,  \nSang unnoticed like a bird:  \n‘Though the Door of Death is near  \nAnd what waits behind the door\,  \nThree times in a single day  \nI\, though upright on the shore\,  \nFall asleep when I should pray.’  \nSo the first\, but now the second:  \n‘We’re but given what we have eamed  \nWhen all thoughts and deeds are reckoned\,  \nSo it’s plain to be discerned  \nThat the shades of holy men  \nWho have failed\, being weak of will\,  \nPass the Door of Birth again\,  \nAnd are plagued by crowds\, until  \nThey’ve the passion to escape.’  \nMoaned the other\, ‘They are thrown  \nInto some most fearful shape.’  \nBut the second mocked his moan:  \n‘They are not changed to anything\,  \nHaving loved God once\, but maybe  \nTo a poet or a king  \nOr a witty lovely lady.’  \nWhile he’d rummaged rags and hair\,  \nCaught and cracked his flea\, the third\,  \nGiddy with his hundredth year\,  \nSang unnoticed like a bird. \n  \n—William Butler Yeats  (1865-1939) \n*            \n  \nThree Angels \n  \nThree angels up above the street \nEach one playing a horn \nDressed in green robes with wings that stick out \nThey’ve been there since Christmas morn \nThe wildest cat from Montana passes by in a flash \nThen a lady in a bright orange dress \nOne U-Haul trailer\, a truck with no wheels \nThe Tenth Avenue bus going west \nThe dogs and pigeons fly up and they flutter around \nA man with a badge skips by \nThree fellas crawlin’ on their way back to work \nNobody stops to ask why \nThe bakery truck stops outside of that fence \nWhere the angels stand high on their poles \nThe driver peeks out\, trying to find one face \nIn this concrete world full of souls \nThe angels play on their horns all day \nThe whole earth in progression seems to pass by \nBut does anyone hear the music they play \nDoes anyone even try? \n  \n—Bob Dylan \n* \n  \nA Story That Could Be True \n  \nIf you were exchanged in the cradle and \nyour real mother died \nwithout ever telling the story \nthen no one knows your name\, \nand somewhere in the world \nyour father is lost and needs you \nbut you are far away. \n  \nHe can never find \nhow true you are\, how ready. \nWhen the great wind comes \nand the robberies of the rain \nyou stand on the corner shivering. \nThe people who go by— \nyou wonder at their calm. \n  \nThey miss the whisper that runs \nany day in your mind\, \n“Who are you really\, wanderer?”— \nand the answer you have to give \nno matter how dark and cold \nthe world around you is: \n“Maybe I’m a king.” \n  \n—William Stafford  (1914-1993) \n* \n  \nThe Aged Aged Man \n  \nI’ll tell thee everything I can; \n     There’s little to relate\, \nI saw an aged\, aged man\, \n     A-sitting on a gate. \n“Who are you\, aged man?” I said. \n     “And how is it you live?” \nAnd his answer trickled through my head \n     Like water through a sieve. \n  \nHe said\, “I look for butterflies \n     That sleep among the wheat; \nI make them into mutton-pies\, \n     And sell them in the street. \nI sell them unto men\,” he said\, \n     “Who sail on stormy seas; \nAnd that’s the way I get my bread– \n     A trifle\, if you please.” \n  \nBut I was thinking of a plan \n     To dye one’s whiskers green\, \nAnd always use so large a fan \n     That they could not be seen. \nSo\, having no reply to give \n     To what the old man said\, \nI cried\, “Come\, tell me how you live!” \n     And thumped him on the head. \n  \nHis accents mild took up the tale; \n     He said\, “I go my ways\, \nAnd when I find a mountain-rill\, \n     I set it in a blaze; \nAnd thence they make a stuff they call \n     Rowland’s Macassar Oil– \nYet twopence-halfpenny is all \n     They give me for my toil.” \n  \nBut I was thinking of a way \n     To feed one’s self on batter\, \nAnd so go on from day to day \n     Getting a little fatter. \nI shook him well from side to side\, \n     Until his face was blue\, \n“Come\, tell me how you live\,” I cried\, \n     “And what it is you do!” \n  \nHe said\, “I hunt for haddocks’ eyes \n     Among the heather bright\, \nAnd work them into waistcoat-buttons \n     In the silent night. \nAnd these I do not sell for gold \n     Or coin of silvery shine\, \nBut for a copper halfpenny\, \n     And that will purchase nine. \n  \n“I sometimes dig for buttered rolls\, \n     Or set limed twigs for crabs; \nI sometimes search the grassy knolls \n     For wheels of hansom-cabs. \nAnd that’s the way” (he gave a wink) \n     “By which I get my wealth– \nAnd very gladly will I drink \n     Your honor’s noble health.” \n  \nI heard him then\, for I had just \n     Completed my design \nTo keep the Menai bridge from rust \n     By boiling it in wine. \nI thanked him much for telling me \n     The way he got his wealth\, \nBut chiefly for his wish that he \n     Might drink my noble health. \n  \nAnd now\, if e’er by chance I put \n     My fingers into glue\, \nOr madly squeeze a right-hand foot \n     Into a left-hand shoe\, \nOr if I drop upon my toe \n     A very heavy weight\, \nI weep\, for it reminds me so \nOf that old man I used to know– \nWhose look was mild\, whose speech was slow\, \nWhose hair was whiter than the snow\, \nWhose face was very like a crow\, \nWith eyes\, like cinders\, all aglow\, \nWho seemed distracted with his woe\, \nWho rocked his body to and fro\, \nAnd muttered mumblingly and low\, \nAs if his mouth were full of dough\, \nWho snorted like a buffalo– \nThat summer evening long ago\, \nA-sitting on a gate. \n  \n—Lewis Carroll  (1832-1898)
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-4-1-21/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210328
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210411
DTSTAMP:20260425T182824
CREATED:20210317T170432Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20210329T041217Z
UID:1861-1616889600-1618099199@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!: STORY POEMS  3/28
DESCRIPTION:  \nBeloved Bibliophiles! \n  \nWe had a lovely gathering on Sunday\, March 28th. Our theme was STORY POEMS. We talked about poems we remembered from our childhood–nursery rhymes and the words to songs.  \nJude Russell read “Jabberwocky” by Lewis Carroll.  \nCharles Erickson sang “Woverton Mountain” for us.  \nI took a whack at Woody Guthrie’s song: “Pretty Boy Floyd the Outlaw.” \nKatie Radditz told us about Father Fox’s Pennyrhymes by Clyde and Wendy Watson and she read a couple of them for us.  \nKim Stafford was unable to join us\, but he sent this beautiful video he made\, “I’ll Do Anything”: \n  \n \n  \n  \nMartha Ragland read “Little Breeches” by Colonel John Hay that she found in the book Story Poems\, edited by Louis Untermeyer.  \nThat reminded me of another 19th Century classic\, “The Green Eye of the Yellow God\,” by J. Milton Hayes\, which I read. I also read the old Scottish Ballad “Edward\, Edward.” \nKatie read “The Song of Wandering Aengus” by W. B. Yeats.  \nDave Duncan told us that his brother Jack died yesterday\, and read this poem for us by Emily Dickinson: \n  \nI heard a Fly buzz – when I died – \nThe Stillness in the Room \nWas like the Stillness in the Air – \nBetween the Heaves of Storm – \n  \nThe Eyes around – had wrung them dry – \nAnd Breaths were gathering firm \nFor that Last Onset – when the King \nBe witnessed – in the Room – \n  \nI willed my Keepsakes – Signed away \nWhat portion of me be \nAssignable – and then it was \nThere interposed a Fly – \n  \nWith Blue – uncertain stumbling Buzz – \nBetween the light – and me – \nAnd then the Windows failed – and then \nI could not see to see – \n* \n  \nWe ended our gathering by listening to a song that Dave loves: “Father and Son” by Yusuf Cat Stevens. \nHere’s a link: \n  \n \n  \nLook for more poems in the upcoming (April 1st) issue of peace\, love\, happiness & understanding. It will be published on this website. \n  \npeace\, love & poetry \n  \nJohnny \n  \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-story-poems-3-28/
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