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SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness  11/15/23
DESCRIPTION:etching by Alan Larkin \n  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n  \nNovember 15\, 2023 \n  \nWhere…do universal human rights begin? \nin small places\, \nclose to home— \nso close and so small \nthat they cannot be seen \non any map of the world. \n  \n—Eleanor Roosevelt (shared by Jill Littlewood \n* \n  \nOctober 23\, 2023 \n9:40 a.m. \nDear Johnny \n  \nThe weather is getting ready to change & the leaves are all changing too. Within the frame of my window all of the spiders are spinning their winter webs. I watch them & soon the birds will find them & two feet from my eyes I will see the winter feast of the birds. I find these things in life to be what polishes my mind\, the simple functions of all the life of all things around me. The moss growing on the rocks\, the autumn leaves falling off the tree\, the longing of love reciprocated with every beat of my heart. \n  \nI long to share all of this with the ones I love in life. To see the world in each other’s mind & eyes without the walls between any of us. We will all discover new wonders that will really be old ones\, but new to us. \n  \nDo you remember when your eyes first opened to see a redirection of your life? Was there a scene of contrast in the cloth you thought you were cut from & did you find you were truly made from something altogether different? For me it was a casting away of tools and hooks\, and a soul-cleansing rain that washed away a lifetime of blood\, bruises & filth. Once I simply “let go” my eyes opened\, and something like a waterfall poured into my mind\, flooded me inside. After that\, well…breathing & balance was needed. It’s a strange thing that the only way I can explain my transformation is with elemental references—which is unintentional. \n  \nLove You\, Love Me! \n  \n—Rocky Hutchinson \n* \n  \nI was on the University of Michigan campus last Thursday (11/9/23). I visited one of Ashley Lucas’s classes there. All the students in the class go into prison every week and teach workshops in theater\, creative writing\, or visual art. They had watched Bushra’s film “A Midsummer Night’s Dream in Prison.” We talked about Love. \n  \nWhen I think of “meditation & mindfulness\,” the first thing that comes to mind is quietly enjoying the the beauty and miraculousness of my human life on Earth. Out the window\, where I’m sitting right now\, in South Bend\, Indiana\, an old maple tree is dropping some of its bright yellow leaves. The Open Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue tries to be uplifting and is mostly intended to be inspirational\, to nurture peace\, love\, happiness\, beauty and goodness in our minds and hearts. This does not mean we ignore the violence\, the injustice\, and suffering that are always present in the world. When we read or listen to the news\, we are reminded of terrible ongoing tragedies in the Middle East\, in Ukraine\, Sudan\, and many other places. The suffering is real. The beauty is also real. The sorrows of the world do not negate the Love and Joy that are our birthrights. \n  \nAs Ashley and I were crossing the campus\, more than a hundred people lay on the ground. Many of them had small signs with someone’s picture on it. A woman in a hijab read the names of people in Gaza who have been killed. The list of names was very long. \n  \nIt felt to me like a real peace demonstration. No one was shouting. Jewish participants held signs that said: JEWS SAY CEASE FIRE NOW. Another sign said: NOT IN OUR NAME. To see some of the faces of those killed\, and to hear the names read\, was deeply moving to me\, and to Ashley\, and to many others I’m sure. \n  \nMy own position on the violence in the Middle East is simple. I’m against the killing of children. Always. Everywhere. At my age\, soldiers are children too. (The subtitle of Kurt Vonnegut’s novel Slaughterhouse Five is: “The Children’s Crusade.” It’s about World War II.) \n  \nRecommended listening: “Road to Peace\,” from Tom Waits’ 2006 “Orphans” album. \n  \nMay all people be happy. \nMay we live in peace & love. \n(Even if some people are making other choices.) \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \n                Big Eddy \n  \nIt’s where we camped as kids— \nthe Clackamas River fresh from \nfast water waves breaking boulders \nin long runs of rapids met a cliff \nthat turned its brawny rush to swirl \nback on itself under a lid of glass \nso you could see green stones deep \ninside their secret room where all \nthat rain slowed in thought to \nreconsider\, before going on. There  \nour river learned to retrace its steps\,  \nto ponder\, to reconcile\, restore itself\,  \nbecome young again. Oh\, my country. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nOh\, dear ambulance \nhigh above the hospital: \na sheer\, blue-white dust. \n  \n—Alex Tretbar \n* \n  \nStill \n  \nThere are possibilities \nmaybe less of them \nBut still \n  \nAs long as there is water \nsome nourishment \nheat \n  \nA cool breeze \nperhaps \nYou know; the basics \n  \nThere can be a moment \nthat shines \nbright skin on a piece of fruit \n  \nA flash of light \nas a bird wings away above \n  \nThe sound of a song \nsung in unison \nthe hum of it bearing \nthe weight of our well used bones \n  \n—Elizabeth Domike \n* \n  \nAs we approach the holiday season with Thanksgiving almost upon us\, this lovely poem by Gary Snyder is always a touchstone for me. In my hierarchy of values\, Gratitude and Kindness stand out as primary. Certainly aspirational even when I fail to meet the mark. Here is the poem: \n  \nPrayer for the Great Family  \n  \nGratitude to Mother Earth\, sailing through night and day—\nand to her soil: rich\, rare and sweet\nin our minds so be it. \n  \nGratitude to Plants\, the sun-facing\, light-changing leaf\nand fine root-hairs; standing still through wind\nand rain; their dance is in the flowering spiral grain\nin our minds so be it. \n  \nGratitude to Air\, bearing the soaring Swift and silent\nOwl at dawn. Breath of our song\nclear spirit breeze\nin our minds so be it. \n  \nGratitude to Wild Beings\, our brothers\, teaching secrets\,\nfreedoms\, and ways; who share with us their milk;\nself-complete\, brave and aware\nin our minds so be it. \n  \nGratitude to Water: clouds\, lakes\, rivers\, glaciers;\nholding or releasing; streaming through all\nour bodies salty seas\nin our minds so be it. \n  \nGratitude to the Sun: blinding pulsing light through\ntrunks of trees\, through mists\, warming caves where\nbears and snakes sleep—he who wakes us—\nin our minds so be it. \n  \nGratitude to the Great Sky\nwho holds billions of stars—and goes yet beyond that—\nbeyond all powers\, and thoughts\nand yet is within us—\nGrandfather Space.\nThe Mind is his Wife.\nso be it. \n  \n—Gary Snyder \n  \n—Jeffrey Sher \n* \n  \nFrom One to the Other \n  \nLips touch first\, \nnot a kiss\, not desire \nor response\, \nbut a gateway\, \nopen breath and movement\, \nenergy  \nfrom being to being\, \nfrom another wanderer \nsharing his deepest home\, \ndust on the pathways\, \ncold nights under stars\, \nyouth that wakes each morning\, \nage’s knowing acceptance\, \nthe ceaseless renewal of \natoms and smaller storms\, \neach one saying: \nThis moment\, \nthis exact place\, \nendlessly. \n  \n—Deborah Buchanan \n* \n  \n#79 Releasing Our Cows \n  \nOne day the Buddha was sitting in the forest with a number of monks when a peasant came by. He had just lost his cows; they had run away. He asked the monks whether they had seen his cows passing by. The Buddha said\, “No\, we haven’t seen your cows passing through here; you may want to look for them in another direction.” \nWhen the farmer had gone\, the Buddha turned to his monks\, smiled\, and said\, “Dear friends\, you should be very happy. You don’t have any cows to lose.” \nOne practice we can do is to take a piece of paper and write down the names of our cows. Then we can look deeply to see whether we’re capable of releasing some of them. We may have thought these things were crucial to our well-being\, but if we look deeply\, we may realize that they are the obstacles to our true joy and happiness. \n—from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh \n  \nI come from a long line of conservers. We all were reduce\, reuse\, and recyclers long before that catchy phrase appeared on the scene. Duct tape\, needle and thread\, Elmer’s glue\, needle-nose pliers were good friends and always close at hand. \n  \nOne of the best Christmas presents I ever got was one of my dad’s specially tended and cultivated compost piles. He named all three of them that year\, and I received the W A Mozart Compost Pile. Black gold\, they call it in the nurseries\, and that it is. \n  \nI save and reuse aluminum foil\, and plastic produce bags\, and sandwich bags\, and storage bags—for years!  Why not?! They’re all perfectly good when washed and hung to dry. My daughter gave me a wooden mobile with a dozen or so small clothespins attached to strings for hanging washed plastic bags. (The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.) One of her early boyfriends gave me one dozen washed\, dried and smoothed out sheets of aluminum foil he’d saved from deli sandwiches. Now that’s a thoughtful gift! \n  \nI darn and mend socks multiple times. Again—why not?!?! Ninety five percent of the sock is perfectly good. I have a friend who works at REI and she gives me all of her hole-y Smartwool socks. I mend them like new and give them back to her. She is ecstatic.  \n  \nGoodwill is my go-to luxury shopping spot; the Bend Goodwill has any and all of the best sports clothing\, barely worn and just my style. But. I’m really not even a shopper\, so any ‘come hither’ shopping sales are lost on me.  \n  \nSpeaking of camping\, I am never happier than when I am going to sleep in my cozy tent. I’ve turned it into a small home for a few days\, and often I genuinely believe that I could live in nothing bigger than a tent with a campfire and meadow nearby.  \n  \nOne of my husband’s first observations about me was: “You are the lowest maintenance woman I’ve ever known!” I like to believe it was said in admiration\, but I think the tone was more one of exasperation. \n  \nSo it’s not about cows and peasants and monks\, I know that\, but the thought is there: I can be happy with few “cows.” \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \nThere’s a lot of suffering in the world\, some feeling it closer to our hearts than usual. There is also the abundance of life changing before our eyes\, as the sky fills with a rush of yellow leaves in the wind. Impermanence\, filled with joy of birch\, and ginkgo\, and fig passing into their next stage. Is a fig tree still a tree without its leaves? \n  \nI’ve been reading The Book of Joy\, a conversation between the Dalai Lama and Desmond Tutu\, about lasting happiness in a changing world. They are discussing eight pillars of joy\, beginning with Perspective. Here’s an excerpt: \n  \nIf we are suffering\, the Dalai Lama suggests that we get a wider perspective\, to see the bigger picture. Scientists call this practice “self-distancing\,” and it allows us to think more clearly about our problems\, as well as to reduce our stress response. The ability to go beyond our own self-interest is essential for any good leader\, whether of a nation\, an organization\, or a family. The Dalai Lama suggests that by shifting our perspective to a broader\, more compassionate one\, we can avoid the worry and suffering of further pain.  \n  \n“Then\, another thing\,” the Dalai Lama continued. “There are different aspects to any event. For example\, we lost our own country and became refugees\, but that same experience gave us new opportunities to see more things. For me personally\, I had more opportunities to meet with different people\, different spiritual practitioners\, like you\, and also scientists. This new opportunity arrived because I became a refugee.  If I had remained in the Potala in Lhasa\, I would have stayed in what has often been described as a golden cage.  \n  \nSo personally\, I prefer the last five decades of refugee life. It’s more useful\, more opportunity to learn\, to experience life. Therefore\, if you look from one angle\, you see\, ‘Oh\, how bad\, how sad.’ But if you look from another angle at that same tragedy\, that same event\, you see that it gives me new opportunities. So\, it’s wonderful. That’s the main reason that I’m not sad and morose. There’s a Tibetan saying: ‘Wherever you have friends that’s your country\, and wherever you receive love\, that’s your home.’ “  \n  \nI have found this reading helpful\, along with the colorful leaves and the star-filled night skies of Autumn\, and conversing with my dear friends\, to keep centered and compassionate and joyful.   \n  \nI hope this season finds you well and thankful for life! \n  \n—Katie Radditz
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-11-15-23/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20231030
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20231207
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SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  11/2/23
DESCRIPTION:  \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \n  \nNovember 2\, 2023 \n  \nPeople who love are happy. \n  \n—Yogi Tea bag wisdom \n* \n  \nMy friends and I have been talking about the ongoing violence in the Middle East. Kim wrote: \n  \nI lie awake at night thinking about Gaza. I have a friend there. She has fled her home and is camped in a house near Rafah with six families. \nBombing happens there\, too. \nHence\, today’s (10/26) poem… \n  \n      Other Laws of War \n  \nWhere anger flares\, wisdom withers. \nWhere death thrives\, truth dies. \nBoth sides are the bad guys. \nAs with weather\, no one is in charge. \nEven precision kills children. \nWar funds the hate school. \nDead soldier\, mourning mother. \nStrategic advantage limits thought. \nYour vengeance vow is a trap. \nLocal victory\, regional defeat. \nKilling gives killers secret wounds. \nA war wounds a generation. \nEasy to start\, hard to end. \nMunitions makers always win. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nMark Danley reminded me about Mark Twain’s “The War Prayer\,” written in 1905. When asked if he intended to publish it\, Twain said: “No. I have told the whole truth in that\, and only dead men can tell the truth in this world. It can be published after my death.” Mark Twain died in 1910. “The War Prayer” was first published in 1923. \n  \n  \nThe War Prayer \n  \nIt was a time of great and exalting excitement. The country was up in arms\, the war was on\, in every breast burned the holy fire of patriotism. On every hand and far down the receding and fading spread of roofs and balconies a fluttering wilderness of flags flashed in the sun. Nightly\, the packed mass meetings listened\, panting\, to patriot oratory which stirred the deepest deeps of their hearts\, and which they interrupted at briefest intervals with cyclones of applause\, the tears running down their cheeks the while. In the churches the pastors preached devotion to flag and country\, and invoked the God of Battles—beseeching His aid in our good cause in outpourings of fervid eloquence which moved every listener. \n  \nSunday morning came. Next day the battalions would leave for the front; the church was filled; the volunteers were there\, their young faces alight with martial dreams—visions of the stern advance\, the gathering momentum\, the rushing charge\, the flashing sabers\, the flight of the foe\, the tumult\, the enveloping smoke\, the fierce pursuit\, the surrender Then home from the war\, bronzed heroes\, welcomed\, adored\, submerged in golden seas of glory! The service proceeded; a war chapter from the Old Testament was read; the first prayer was said. \n  \nThen came the “long” prayer. None could remember the like of it for passionate pleading and moving and beautiful language. The burden of its supplication was\, that an ever-merciful and benignant Father of us all would watch over our noble young soldiers\, and aid\, comfort\, and encourage them in their patriotic work. \n  \nAn aged stranger entered and moved with slow and noiseless step up the main aisle\, his eyes fixed upon the minister\, his long body clothed in a robe that reached to his feet\, his head bare\, his white hair descending in a frothy cataract to his shoulders\, his seamy face unnaturally pale\, pale even to ghastliness. He ascended to the preacher’s side and stood there waiting. \n  \nThe stranger touched his arm\, motioned him to step aside—which the startled minister did—and took his place. During some moments he surveyed the spellbound audience with solemn eyes\, in which burned an uncanny light. Then in a deep voice he said: \n  \n“I come from the Throne—bearing a message from Almighty God!” \n  \n“God’s servant and yours has prayed his prayer. Has he paused and taken thought? Is it one prayer? No\, it is two—one uttered\, the other not. Both have reached the ear of Him Who heareth all supplications\, the spoken and the unspoken. Ponder this—keep it in mind. If you would beseech a blessing upon yourself\, beware! lest without intent you invoke a curse upon a neighbor at the same time. If you pray for the blessing of rain upon your crop which needs it\, by that act you are possibly praying for a curse upon some neighbor’s crop which may not need rain and can be injured by it. \n  \n“You have heard your servant’s prayer—the uttered part of it. I am commissioned of God to put into words the other part of it—that part which the pastor\, and also you in your hearts—fervently prayed silently. And ignorantly and unthinkingly? God grant that it was so! You heard these words: ‘Grant us the victory\, O Lord our God!’ When you have prayed for victory you have prayed for many unmentioned results which follow victory–must follow it\, cannot help but follow it. Upon the listening spirit of God fell also the unspoken part of the prayer. He commandeth me to put it into words. Listen! \n  \n“O Lord our Father\, our young patriots\, idols of our hearts\, go forth to battle—be Thou near them! With them—in spirit—we also go forth from the sweet peace of our beloved firesides to smite the foe. O Lord our God\, help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their wounded\, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with little children to wander unfriended the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst\, sports of the sun flames of summer and the icy winds of winter\, broken in spirit\, worn with travail\, imploring Thee for the refuge of the grave and denied it. For our sakes who adore Thee\, Lord\, blast their hopes\, blight their lives\, protract their bitter pilgrimage\, make heavy their steps\, water their way with their tears\, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet! We ask it in the spirit of love\, of Him Who is the Source of Love\, and Who is the ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid\, with humble and contrite hearts. Amen. \n  \n(After a pause.) “Ye have prayed it; if ye still desire it\, speak! The messenger of the Most High waits!” \n  \nIt was believed afterward that the man was a lunatic\, because there was no sense in what he said. \n  \n—Mark Twain \n* \n  \nOn YouTube you can find a film version\, adapted by Marco Sanchez and directed by Michael Goorjian. \n* \n  \nfrom CNN’s website on October 27th: \n  \nSari Beth Rosenberg was teaching a high school history class in New York City recently when a student interrupted her with a question: “Are you Team Israel or Team Palestinian?”…. \n  \nRosenberg\, who is Jewish\, feared that getting into a conversation on the complexities of the conflict could alienate some of her students with ties to the Middle East. So she tried to turn the question into a learning experience. \n  \n“I told them I’m ‘Team Humanity\,’” she says. She told her students that she thought both the deadly Hamas terror attacks in Israel and Israel’s ongoing bombing of Gaza are horrific. \n* \n  \nWhen I was a young man it was against the law to not join the military. I refused to obey that law for the simple reason that I didn’t want to kill anyone. Instead of going to Vietnam\, I went to India and studied with yogis. \n  \nI am against all present and future wars. Our problems can be solved with words\, instead of violence. Wars represent a failure of dialogue\, of intelligence\, of empathy\, of good will\, of love\, of imagination. All children are our children.  \n  \nOn the Fields of Peace website (fieldsofpeace.org) we learn that in World War I\, one civilian was killed for every 9 soldiers. In World War II\, the ratio was one to one. In modern warfare\, one soldier is killed for every 9 (unarmed) civilians—most of whom are children. From the perspective of people my age\, soldiers are children. Here’s my latest version of the Metta Prayer: \n  \nMay all people be happy. \nMay we live in peace & love. \nEven if some people are making other choices. \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nThich Nhat Hanh (1926-2022) was a Vietnamese Buddhist monk who advocated for peace and refused to take a side in the war. He taught meditation & mindfulness to people throughout the world. He published many books\, including Being Peace\, Creating True Peace and Peace is Every Step. He was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize by Martin Luther King. Here is his poem “Please Call Me by My True Names\,” followed by an account of how he came to write it: \n  \nPlease Call Me by My True Names \n  \nDo not say that I’ll depart tomorrow— \neven today I am still arriving. \nLook deeply: every second I am arriving \nto be a bud on a Spring branch\, \nto be a tiny bird\, with still-fragile wings\, \nlearning to sing in my new nest\, \nto be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower\, \nto be a jewel hiding itself in a stone. \nI still arrive\, in order to laugh and to cry\, \nto fear and to hope\, \nthe rhythm of my heart is the birth and death \nof all that are alive. \nI am the mayfly metamorphosing \non the surface of the river\, \nand I am the bird which\, when Spring comes\, \narrives in time to eat the mayfly. \nI am the frog swimming happily \nin the clear water of a pond\, \nand I am the grass-snake \nthat silently feeds itself on the frog. \nI am the child in Uganda\, all skin and bones\, \nmy legs as thin as bamboo sticks. \nAnd I am the arms merchant\, \nselling deadly weapons to Uganda. \nI am the twelve-year-old girl\, \nrefugee on a small boat\, \nwho throws herself into the ocean \nafter being raped by a sea pirate. \nAnd I am the pirate\, \nmy heart not yet capable \nof seeing and loving. \nI am a member of the politburo\, \nwith plenty of power in my hands. \nAnd I am the man who has to pay his \n“debt of blood” to my people \ndying slowly in a forced labor camp. \nMy joy is like Spring\, so warm \nit makes flowers bloom all over the Earth. \nMy pain is like a river of tears\, \nso vast it fills the four oceans. \nPlease call me by my true names\, \nso I can hear all my cries and laughter at once\, \nso I can see that my joy and pain are one. \nPlease call me by my true names\, \nso I can wake up \nand so the door of my heart can be left open\, \nthe door of compassion. \n  \n  \nAfter the Vietnam War\, many people wrote to us in Plum Village. We received hundreds of letters each week from the refugee camps in Singapore\, Malaysia\, Indonesia\, Thailand\, and the Philippines\, hundreds each week. It was very painful to read them\, but we had to be in contact. We tried our best to help\, but the suffering was enormous\, and sometimes we were discouraged. It is said that half the boat people fleeing Vietnam died in the ocean; only half arrived at the shores of Southeast Asia. \n  \nThere are many young girls\, boat people\, who were raped by sea pirates. Even though the United Nations and many countries tried to help the government of Thailand prevent that kind of piracy\, sea pirates continued to inflict much suffering on the refugees. One day\, we received a letter telling us about a young girl on a small boat who was raped by a Thai pirate. She was only twelve\, and she jumped into the ocean and drowned herself. \n  \nWhen you first learn of something like that\, you get angry at the pirate. You naturally take the side of the girl. As you look more deeply you will see it differently. If you take the side of the little girl\, then it is easy. You only have to take a gun and shoot the pirate. But we can’t do that. In my meditation\, I saw that if I had been born in the village of the pirate and raised in the same conditions as he was\, I would now be the pirate. There is a great likelihood that I would become a pirate. I can’t condemn myself so easily. In my meditation\, I saw that many babies are born along the Gulf of Siam\, hundreds every day\, and if we educators\, social workers\, politicians\, and others do not do something about the situation\, in twenty-five years a number of them will become sea pirates. That is certain. If you or I were born today in those fishing villages\, we might become sea pirates in twenty-five years. If you take a gun and shoot the pirate\, you shoot all of us\, because all of us are to some extent responsible for this state of affairs. \n  \nAfter a long meditation\, I wrote this poem. In it\, there are three people: the twelve-year-old girl\, the pirate\, and me. Can we look at each other and recognize ourselves in each other? The title of the poem is “Please Call Me by My True Names\,” because I have so many names. When I hear one of the of these names\, I have to say\, “Yes.” \n  \n—Thich Nhat Hanh
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-11-2-23/
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DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20231022T150000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20231022T170000
DTSTAMP:20260425T090739
CREATED:20231021T174432Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20231021T175513Z
UID:4201-1697986800-1697994000@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!  10/22/23
DESCRIPTION:Grinnell Lake in Glacier National Park \n  \nBeloved Bibliophiles! \n  \nOn Sunday\, October 22nd\, our theme is Peace & War. \nWhat have you read–books\, essays\, poems–that illuminates this subject?  \nThe conversation will not be limited to what we’ve read\, but will also include what we’ve experienced and Will’s question: “How do you feed your soul in difficult times?” \n  \nThe Zoom gathering starts at 3 pm (PDT). Here’s the link: \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058 \n  \nI hope to see you there. \n  \npeace\, love & happiness  \n  \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-10-22-23/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20231015
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20231115
DTSTAMP:20260425T090739
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SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness  10/15/23
DESCRIPTION:  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n  \nOctober 15\, 2023 \n  \n  \nWalk beautifully\, talk beautifully\, live beautifully. \nLet your heart speak to other hearts. \n  \n—wisdom from Yogi Tea bags \n* \n  \nBe joyful\, though you have considered the facts. \n  \n—Wendell Berry \n* \n  \nSome excerpts from a recent letter (8/31/23) from Rocky: \n  \nToday was a good day for me here. Almost everything ran smoothly. My dog Nelly is programming well & so am I. I’m on my way to being one of the primary trainers. That means I will also be training another A.I.C. [Adult In Custody]! Real work! All of this is going well. \n  \nMy mind has been wondering & thinking about what we have been talking about in the whole relationship department. I’m not sure how all of that will happen. “Organically” I hope. But you do not have to worry about me trying to save anyone! I might be the one that needs to be saved. LOL. I’m getting out to a whole new world\, one that I do not know too much about. \n  \nHonestly\, I want someone I can admire and appreciate and muse over. A simple\, kind love that is fun & sweet. That would be really…nice. Hummm…we will see how it goes! It should be hard to find her I think. LOL. I would like to know & love someone completely & be known & loved by them. Kind & gently & with happiness. I don’t feel I am damaged any longer. I can only feel the scars\, which is really good. It took a long time for them to heal. \n  \nWhen I was 22 or 23 years old\, I was working as a “cedar maggot.” We did not cut down living trees\, but cut up and cleaned up what the old time pioneers left on the forest floor. You see\, bugs don’t like cedar wood too much & cedar does not really rot too fast. The old timers would cut only the “clear” wood\, from the stump to where the branches started\, and leave the rest to rot. That’s where we came in. We cut all that left over stuff and we turned it into cedar bolts for shakes & shingles. \n  \nOne morning I climbed up on a tall cedar stump to sharpen my saw. There\, stuck in the stump\, was a rusted old wedge & the head of an axe with a splintered handle! There were also five pieces of yellow glass and an aluminum ring laying in a pile of rust—the remains of an old time lantern! All that stuff had been there for a long time. \n  \nAll of these moments we all have in our lives are what we are made of—strands of our hearts\, links in our minds\, reflections in our souls. I\, in my mind\, have returned to that stump\, the smell of the woods\, many times over the many years I’ve been in prison. My place of peace & solace when the weight of correction becomes much too much. \n  \nThe place in the woods\, the stump\, wedge\, axe & lantern glass are all lost\, as they should be. Magic does not just linger in one place. Maybe I took it in my soul & that is a good thought & it’s true? I go there often & I could have captured it that day so long ago all for myself & that is a good thought. It makes me smile to think it’s all mine\, & now yours too. \n  \n—Rocky Hutchinson \n* \n  \n#363   Why Wait to be Happy? \n“Many people in our society are not happy\, even though the conditions for their happiness already exist. Their habit energy is always pushing them ahead\, preventing them from being happy in the here and now. But with a little bit of training\, we can all learn to recognize this energy every time it comes up. Why wait to be happy?”  \n—from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh \n  \nWhat makes me happy? What brings me joy? I’ll tell you\, for me\, it’s opening to love. Letting love in. \n  \nI have to admit\, sometimes I have episodes of resentment\, judgment\, selfishness\, defensiveness…more often than not\, though\, these episodes are brief and they just—melt away. The other day we were discussing Thanksgiving. I’d already offered to have Thanksgiving at our house\, for ‘my side’ of the family\, and then in passing\, I offered and invited David’s sister and others on ‘his side.’ When Mary called to confirm\, she breezily\, albeit apologetically\, announced that ‘everyone’ wanted to come\, like fourteen people!  ‘My side’ includes only five people. I had the distinct physical sensation of my heart balling up like a tight fist. ‘Fourteen\,’  I kind of gasped. Did I gasp\, or bellow? I’m not sure. I struggled for a bit with all those big negative feelings: resentment (pretty nervy to descend with fourteen people!)\, selfishness (‘my side’ will be engulfed!)\, judgment (they are not ‘my kind’ of people). But then the miracle happened: just as precipitously as my heart clenched into that hard fist\, it spilled open and…love…poured out. I just relaxed into love and happiness. “Well\, I think that will just be fine\,” I said. And I meant it. To have all those people\, young and old\, want to come up to our home on the mountain all of a sudden was a wonderful thing. I felt such love and happiness and joy at the thought of twenty family—‘my side’ or ‘his side’—spending the day of Thanksgiving together in our warm\, cozy home\, fire in the fireplace\, maybe even with a dazzling mountain view\, or maybe with a few snowflakes drifting down… \n  \nThis happens often; one moment I’m feeling a little ‘grrrr\,’ the next moment I’ve dissolved into love\, and happiness. Don’t ask me the formula\, the key to unlocking—I don’t understand it myself. I sure recognize it every time it comes up\, but don’t understand the radical nature of it. All I know is that I am in wonder of it myself and never fail to feel blessed. \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \npast parentage or gender \nbeyond sung vocables \nthe slipped-between \nthe so infinitesimal \nfault line \na limitless \ninteriority \n  \nbeyond the woven \nunicorn   the maiden \n(man-carved   worm-eaten) \nGod at her hip \nincipient \nthe untransfigured \ncottontail \nbluebell and primrose \ngrowing wild   a strawberry \nchagrin   night terrors \npast the earthlit \nunearthly masquerade \n  \n(we shall be changed) \n  \na silence opens \n  \n—excerpt from “Silence” by Amy Clampitt \n  \nMay we be at peace \nMay all be healed \nMay we be a source of healing for all beings. \n  \nlove\,  \n—Katie Radditz \n* \n  \nLast Thursday\, when friends had gathered for coffee and conversation\, Will Hornyak asked: “What do you do to feed your soul in difficult times?” I passed that question along to some friends\, and here is what they sent me: \n  \nThree poems from Kim for Gaza and Israel: \n  \n     War for the Holy Land \n  \nYou could say it’s Biblical\, this fury \nbetween the children of Yahweh and Allah\, \nthis frenzy of rockets and bombs opening \nthe gates of hell for fire to take and take \nwhere hungry Death stalks the streets. \n  \nWeak leaders need war\, or else we would \nrequire them to be wise and kind. Instead\, \nthis fury allows them to say\, “We wage war \nbecause it’s the anniversary of war\,” and \n“We wage war because they wage war\,” \n  \nand everyone else goes along with it\, \nan eye for an eye\, a child for a child. \n  \n  \n     Peacenik\, War-nik \n  \nWhen there are two sides\, \nand one side starts shooting\, \nwhat are the rest of us to do? \nPeace-mongers may run and hide\, \n  \nwhile war gives warriors a certain \nclarity: be the implement between \ncommand and death. Hawks seek \nprey\, while doves sort seed. \n  \nFlower child\, thistle child—when \nwe hear an angry leader speak \nof vengeance\, of human animals\, \nthen it’s up to all of us. \n  \n  \n     Armor \n  \nWhat armor can our hearts put on \nwhen facts and photos find us\, far war \nhunting us from hiding? Now news \nbecomes an implement to pry us open \nso we\, too\, carry children through smoke \nand rubble. We bury victims of atrocity\, \nflee with only what we can carry. We find \nour kinfolk heaped. We are the massacre. \nWe try to keep the beating drum from \ngiving in\, giving up. We guard our capacity \nfor hurt\, each wound proving we feel\, proving \ndivisions are a lie\, proving our complicity. \nOld heart\, let suffering prove we are kin. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nNavigation \n  \nIn early morning dark\, I could meditate. \nI have done. 40 mornings. Sa Ta Na Ma. \nThe fingers of both hands in rhythm. \nAwkward\, fumbly. Good for the brain \n  \nThey say. Integration of the hemispheres. \nInstead\, I feed the cat. Fend off the worst \nof the arthritis with small movements \nuntil I can sit upright at a keyboard. \n  \nNo\, not music. That would be lovely\, \na little Chopin. A laptop. Precious tool\, \ndictation. I close my eyes. And talk. \nIf I look\, I want to edit\, dangerous walk \n  \nThis revision thing. More conversational \nthis way. The petty indignities\, frets from \ndays before\, get out all the surface stuff\, \nthe annoyances\, so the sweet stuff \n  \nHas room to grow into the day. \nAn unexpected bloom of affection \nor engagement with something \nabsurd and wonderful. \n  \nDid you know that if you smell \nThe inside of your elbow \nIt clears the nasal palate for all \nThe aromas the next encounter will bring? \n  \nElizabeth Domike \n* \n  \nIn answer to Will’s question… \n  \nThe times are always difficult. There is still the urgent question: How do you feed your soul? I try to nurture peace\, love\, happiness and understanding within myself. Without them\, I don’t have much to offer my fellow mortals that might be helpful. And I enjoy them for their own sake. I try to live a life that is rich in meaning. Life is short. Each day\, each moment\, is precious. I try to pay attention. And not forget to say thank you thank you thank you. \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nI write. That takes many forms. Novel\, screenplay\, song\, essay\, memoir. Just whatever I’m currently doing\, that has a world I can dive into\, and let everything else fall away. If I’m too brain-tired to do any of that\, I’ll do a crossword puzzle\, and if that’s too much\, I’ll go for Wordle. I lose myself in words\, and if I’m doing a song\, the music is extra bonus points. \n  \n—J Kahn \n* \n  \nHow to cope with a calamity\, of which there seem to be a surfeit? I started to add “right now” but that is not true…there is always a surfeit of despair. One necessary action is to be involved in preventing or ameliorating the disaster. Often you can help others. It sustains all of us to mutually better situations and solve problems.  \n  \nHow else do we come to terms with difficulties? For me both music and poetry are deep sources of consolation. I started to list poems and then realized the list is endless. Follow your own loves and you will find many poems that speak to the heart. A good starting one is Wendell Berry’s: \n  \nThe Peace of Wild Things \n  \nWhen despair for the world grows in me\nand I wake in the night at the least sound\nin fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be\,\nI go and lie down where the wood drake\nrests in his beauty on the water\, and the great heron feeds.\nI come into the peace of wild things\nwho do not tax their lives with forethought\nof grief. I come into the presence of still water.\nAnd I feel above me the day-blind stars\nwaiting with their light. For a time\nI rest in the grace of the world\, and am free. \n  \nAnd\, yes\, being in the wild\, whether a city park or untrammeled mountains\, is a deep source of nurture. Not consolation. Nature can be wild and destructive but not cruel. It is a vital reminder of the nurture and persistence of the world.  \n  \nOliver Sacks said that music is the one art that is both abstract and emotional\, it can elevate and reassure us\, deeply touch the place where we have no words. That is certainly true\, and my music may be very different than yours but both are the endless world of sound and silence that envelop us. \n  \nBut above all: find what you love\, give yourself to it\, work through reward and pain and frustration. Give yourself to it. Your immersion will carry you through so many griefs. Don’t do it all alone. We need one another\, we need community and its irreplaceable links. As the poet June Jordan often reminded us\, we are a community in fact and in aspiration. \n  \n—Deborah Buchanan \n* \n  \nJill sent this poem: \n  \nThe Red Wheelbarrow \n  \nso much depends \nupon \n  \na red wheel \nbarrow \n  \nglazed with rain \nwater \n  \nbeside the white \nchickens \n  \n—William Carlos Williams \n  \n—Jill Littlewood
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-10-15-23/
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SUMMARY:SILENCE written and performed by Johnny Stallings
DESCRIPTION:painting of Johnny by Nancy Scharbach \n  \n  \nSILENCE \na theatre piece about meditation \nwritten & performed by \nJohnny Stallings \nSaturday\, October 14th\, at 7:30 pm \nat PAUSE *  133 SW 2nd\, #300
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/silence-written-and-performed-by-johnny-stallings/
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DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20231008T150000
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SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous! Mythic Ireland with Will Hornyak  10/8/23
DESCRIPTION:  \n  \nBeloved Bibliophiles! \n  \nOn Sunday\, October 8th\, at 3 p..m. (PDT)\, legendary storyteller WILL HORNYAK will be our SPECIAL GUEST! \nHere’s the link: \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058 \n  \n  \n  \nMythic Ireland  \n  \nTales\, Legends\, Songs and Lore From the Emerald Isle \n  \nIreland is deeply layered with the myths and tales of many peoples. The landscape is a living manuscript of the doings of countless gods and goddesses\, hags\, heroines\, sorceresses and saints. According to the mythologist Michael Dames\, “Each successive Irish culture seems to become mesmerized by the myths of the previous one. Nothing is rejected. Everything is synthesized.”  So\, over time the stories and plots have mixed and mingled infusing Ireland with a kind of psychic charge and a rich and soulful oral and written storytelling tradition.  We’ll take a stroll through a few tales and ideas. \n  \n–Will Hornyak
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-10-8-23/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20231005
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20231102
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SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  10/5/23
DESCRIPTION:  \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nOctober 5\, 2023 \n  \n  \nMy friend\, I am going to tell the story of my life\, as you wish; and if it were only the story of my life I think I would not tell it…. \nIt is the story of all life that is holy and is good to tell\, and of us two-leggeds sharing it with the four-leggeds and the wings of the air and all green things; for these are children of one mother and their father is one Spirit…. \nNow that I can see it all as from a lonely hilltop\, I know it was the story of a mighty vision given to a man too weak to use it; of a holy tree that should have flourished in a people’s heart with flowers and singing birds\, and now it is withered; and of a people’s dream that died in bloody snow. \nBut if the vision was true and mighty\, as I know\, it is true and mighty yet; for such things are of the spirit… \n  \n—Black Elk Speaks by Black Elk\, transcribed and edited by John G. Neihardt\, pp. 1-2 \n* \n  \nBlack Elk (Heháka Sápa) was born on December 1\, 1863 near the Little Powder River in the Montana Territory. He was a holy man of the Oglala Lakota people. He was second cousin of Crazy Horse\, fought in the Battle of Little Bighorn\, participated in the Ghost Dance movement\, survived the Wounded Knee Massacre and toured Europe with Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show. He is best known for the account of his life he gave to John G. Neihardt\, which was first published in 1932\, and remains in print to this day.  \nAt the age of nine\, Black Elk got a fever\, and remained lying as if dead for twelve days. While absent from this world\, he had a great vision. Here’s a brief excerpt: \n  \nAll the universe was silent\, listening; and then the great black stallion raised his voice and sang. The song he sang was this: \n  \n“My horses\, prancing they are coming. \nMy horses\, neighing they are coming; \nPrancing\, they are coming. \nAll over the universe they come. \nThey will dance; may you behold them. \n                                                             (4 times) \nA horse nation\, may you behold them.  \nMay you behold them.” \n                                                              (4 times) \n  \nHis voice was not loud\, but it went all over the universe and filled it. There was nothing that did not hear\, and it was more beautiful than anything can be. It was so beautiful that nothing anywhere could keep from dancing. The maidens danced\, and all the circled horses. The leaves on the trees\, the grasses on the hills and in the valleys\, the waters in the creeks and in the rivers and the lakes\, the four-legged and the two-legged and the wings of the air—all danced together to the music of the stallion’s song. \nAnd when I looked down upon my people yonder\, the cloud passed over\, blessing them with friendly rain\, and stood in the east with a flaming rainbow over it. \nThen all the horses went singing back to their places beyond the summit of the fourth ascent\, and all things sang along with them as they walked. \nAnd a Voice said: “All over the universe they have finished a day of happiness.” And looking down I saw that the whole wide circle of the day was beautiful and green\, with all fruits growing and all things kind and happy. \nAnd a Voice said: “Behold this day\, for it is yours to make. Now you shall stand upon the center of the earth to see\, for there they are taking you.” \nI was still on my bay horse\, and once more I felt the riders of the west\, the north\, the east\, the south\, behind me in formation\, as before\, and we were going east. I looked ahead and saw the mountains there with rocks and forests on them\, and from the mountains flashed all colors upward to the heavens. Then I was standing on the highest mountain of them all\, and round about beneath me was the whole hoop of the world.* And while I stood there I saw more than I can tell and I understood more than I saw; for I was seeing in a sacred manner the shapes of all things in the spirit\, and the shape of all shapes as they must live together like one being. And I saw that the sacred hoop of my people was one of many hoops that made one circle\, wide as daylight and as starlight\, and in the center grew one mighty flowering tree to shelter all the children of one mother and one father.  And I saw that it was holy. \n  \n*Black Elk said the mountain he stood upon in his vision was Harney Peak in the Black Hills.” But anywhere is the center of the world\,” he added. \n  \n—Black Elk Speaks by Black Elk\, transcribed and edited by John G. Neihardt\, pp. 41-43 \n* \n In his vision six grandfathers who were “old like hills\, like stars” blessed him and told him that he must save his people. He said: “I knew that these were not old men\, but the Powers of the World.” \nAs a nine-year-old boy\, he was unable to tell his people about his vision. By the time he was 17\, his tribe re-enacted much of his vision. This was a very important event in Black Elk’s life. As an old man\, he was heart-broken by what he had lived through and what had happened to his people. He was sad that he had been unable to make real the vision of peace and harmony that had been granted to him. At the end of his life he was a practicing Catholic. He also continued to perform the sacred rites of the Lakota people. \nIn 1947\, Joseph Epes Brown met Black Elk. Concerned that his sacred tradition not be lost\, Black Elk gave him an account of the seven sacred rites of the Oglala Sioux. In 1953\,  Brown published The Sacred Pipe. It is a treasure trove for indigenous peoples and for the rest of us\, whose ancestors were surely indigenous at some point. John Trudell used to say: “We all come from tribes.” \nBlack Elk died in 1950. His vision and his wisdom live on. \n* \n  \nKim Stafford was Oregon’s Poet Laureate from 2018-2020. \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 \nthe Multnomah 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 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—from Singer Come from Afar by Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nJoy Harjo is a member of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation. She was Poet Laureate of the United States from 2019-2022. She said about her work: \n  \n“I feel strongly that I have a responsibility to all the sources that I am: to all past and future ancestors\, to my home country\, to all places that I touch down on and that are myself\, to all voices\, all women\, all of my tribe\, all people\, all earth\, and beyond that to all beginnings and endings.” \n  \nMy House is the Red Earth \n  \nMy house is the red earth; it could be the center of the world. I’ve heard New York\, Paris\, or Tokyo called the center of the world\, but I say it is magnificently humble. You could drive by and miss it. Radio waves can obscure it. Words cannot construct it\, for there are some sounds left to sacred wordless form. For instance\, that fool crow\, picking through trash near the corral\, understands the center of the world as greasy strips of fat. Just ask him. He doesn’t have to say that the earth has turned scarlet through fierce belief\, after centuries of heartbreak and laughter—he perches on the blue bowl of the sky\, and laughs. \n  \n—from Secrets from the Center of the World by Joy Harjo \n* \n  \nJohn Trudell (1946-2015) was a member of the Santee Dakota tribe. \n  \nGrandfathers Whispering \n  \nGrandfathers whispering \nIn the wind \nRejoice at the life \nYou are a part of \nNatural energy \nBound to natural laws \nYou will survive this \nTemporary madness imposed upon you \nNatural life is longer \nThan oppressors illusionary insanity \nSpirits experience human deeds \nBut need not end \nThis is just one place of changes \n  \nSpirit life is forever if you want \nThe universe is your home \nYou can survive here \nDo not let them kill you \nKeep your spirit strong \nFor distant stars and distant drums \nAre the memories of spirit infancy \nChildren of earth let the spirit live \nSo you can grow in your place \n                                    In the universe \n  \n—from Lines from a Mined Mind by John Trudell \n* \n  \nGary Snyder won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1975. \n  \nMOTHER EARTH: HER WHALES \n  \nAn owl winks in the shadows \nA lizard lifts on tiptoes\, breathing hard \nYoung male sparrow stretches up his neck \n                     big head\, watching— \n  \nThe grasses are working in the sun. Turn it green. \nTurn it sweet. That we may eat. \nGrow our meat. \n  \nBrazil says “sovereign use of Natural Resources” \nThirty thousand kinds of unknown plants. \nThe living actual people of the jungle \n             sold and tortured— \nAnd a robot in a suit who peddles a delusion called “Brazil” \n             can speak for them? \n  \n             The whales turn and glisten\, plunge \n                     and sound and rise again\, \n             Hanging over subtly darkening deeps \n             Flowing like breathing planets \n                   in the sparkling whorls of \n                           living light— \n  \nAnd Japan quibbles for words on \n             what kind of whales they can kill? \nA once-great Buddhist nation \n             dribbles methyl mercury \n             like gonorrhea \n                            in the sea. \n  \nPère David’s Deer\, the Elaphure\, \nLived in the tule marshes of the Yellow River \nTwo thousand years ago—and lost its home to rice— \nThe forests of Lo-yang were logged and all the silt & \nSand flowed down\, and gone\, by 1200 AD— \n  \nWild Geese hatched out in Siberia \n                    head south over basins of the Yang\, the Huang\, \n                    what we call “China” \nOn flyways they have used a million years. \nAh China\, where are the tigers\, the wild boars\, \n                    the monkeys\, \n                        like the snows of yesteryear \nGone in a mist\, a flash\, and the dry hard ground \nIs parking space for fifty thousand trucks. \nIS man most precious of all things? \n—then let us love him\, and his brothers\, all those \nFading living beings— \n  \nNorth America\, Turtle Island\, taken by invaders \n             who wage war around the world. \nMay ants\, may abalone\, otters\, wolves and elk \nRise! and pull away their giving \n             from the robot nations. \n  \nSolidarity. The People. \nStanding Tree People! \nFlying Bird People! \nSwimming Sea People! \nFour-legged\, two legged\, people! \n  \nHow can the head-heavy power-hungry politic scientist \nGovernment         two-world         Capitalist-Imperialist \nThird-world          Communist        paper-shuffling male \n               non-farmer         jet-set        bureaucrats \nSpeak for the green of the leaf? Speak for the soil? \n  \n(Ah Margaret Mead…do you sometimes dream of Samoa?) \n  \nThe robots argue how to parcel out our Mother Earth \nTo last a little longer \n                      like vultures flapping \nBelching\, gurgling\, \n                       near a dying Doe. \n  \n“In yonder field a slain knight lies— \nWe’ll fly to him and eat his eyes \n                       with a down \n          derry derry derry down down.” \n  \n             An owl winks in the shadow \n             A lizard lifts on tiptoe \n                          breathing hard \n             The whales turn and glisten \n                           plunge and \n             Sound\, and rise again \n             Flowing like breathing planets \n  \n             In the sparkling whorls \n  \n             Of living light. \n                                                  Stockholm\, Summer Solstice 40072 \n  \n——from Turtle Island by Gary Snyder \n* \n  \nIn his old age\, Black Elk saw no contradiction between his traditional beliefs and those of Christianity: \n  \nWe have been told by the white men\, or at least by those who are Christian\, that God sent to men His son\, who would restore order and peace upon the earth; and we have been told that Jesus the Christ was crucified\, but that he shall come again at the Last Judgment\, the end of this world or cycle. This I understand and know that it is true\, but the white men should know that for the red people too\, it was the will of Wakan-Tanka\, the Great Spirit\, that an animal turn itself into a two-legged person in order to bring the most holy pipe to His people; and we too were taught that this White Buffalo Cow Woman who brought our sacred pipe will appear again at the end of this “world\,” a coming which we Indians know is now not very far off. \nMany people call it a “peace pipe\,” yet now there is no peace on earth or even between neighbors\, and I have been told that it has been a long time since there has been peace in the world. There is much talk of peace among the Christians\, yet this is just talk. Perhaps it may be\, and this is my prayer that\, through our sacred pipe\, and through this book in which I shall explain what our pipe really is\, peace may come to those peoples who can understand\, an understanding which must be of the heart and not of the head alone. Then they will realize that we Indians know the One true God\, and that we pray to him continually. \nI have wished to make this book through no other desire than to help my people in understanding the greatness and truth of our own tradition\, and also to help in bringing peace upon the earth\, not only among men\, but within men and between the whole of creation. \nWe should understand well that all things are the works of the Great Spirit. We should know that He is within all things: the trees\, the grasses\, the rivers\, the mountains\, and all the four-legged animals\, and the winged peoples; and even more important\, we should understand that He is also above all these things and peoples. When we do understand all this deeply in our hearts\, then we will fear\, and love\, and know the Great Spirit\, and then we will be and act and live as He intends. \n  \n—from Black Elk’s Foreword to The Sacred Pipe\, recorded and edited by Joseph Epes Brown
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-10-5-23/
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DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20230924T150000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20230924T170000
DTSTAMP:20260425T090739
CREATED:20230921T013128Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20230923T022623Z
UID:4151-1695567600-1695574800@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!  9/24/23
DESCRIPTION:Black Elk \n  \nThe leaves on the trees\, the grasses on the hills and in the valleys\, the waters in the creeks and in the rivers and the lakes\, the four-legged and the two-legged and the wings of the air—all danced together to the music of the stallion’s song. \n–Black Elk \n  \nBeloved Bibliophiles! \n  \nOn Sunday\, September 24th\, Johnny Stallings reads from:  \n  \nBlack Elk’s Great Vision \n  \nFollowed by a dialogue\, of course. \n  \nThe Zoom gathering starts at 3 pm (PDT). Here’s the link: \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058 \n  \nI hope to see you there. \n  \npeace\, love & happiness  \n  \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-9-24-23/
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20230917T190000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20230917T210000
DTSTAMP:20260425T090739
CREATED:20230913T044711Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20230913T044744Z
UID:4134-1694977200-1694984400@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:GOLDFINCHES!: a theatrical monologue by Johnny Stallings  9/17/23
DESCRIPTION:  \nGoldfinches! \n  \na theatrical monologue \nby \nJohnny Stallings \n  \nat PAUSE \nPAUSE is a meditation studio—133 SW 2nd Ave.\, Suite 300 \nSunday\, September 17th\, 7 p.m.
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/goldfinches-a-theatrical-monologue-by-johnny-stallings-9-17-23/
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20230915
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20231015
DTSTAMP:20260425T090739
CREATED:20230917T003740Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250717T162557Z
UID:4139-1694736000-1697327999@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue  9/15/23
DESCRIPTION:  \n  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n  \nSeptember 15\, 2023 \n  \nIf the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is\, infinite. \nFor man has closed himself up\, till he sees all things thro’ narrow chinks of his cavern. \n—William Blake\, from THE MARRIAGE of HEAVEN and HELL\n* \n  \n#103  A Garden of Poems \n  \nOne day in New York City\, I met a Buddhist scholar and I told her about my practice of mindfulness in the vegetable garden. I enjoy growing lettuce\, tomatoes\, and other vegetables\, and I like to spend time gardening every day. \nShe said\, “You shouldn’t spend your time growing vegetables. You should spend more time writing poems. Your poems are so beautiful. Everyone can grow lettuce\, but not everyone can write poems like you do.” \nI told her\, “If I don’t grow lettuce\, I can’t write poems.” \n  \n—from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh \n  \nThis one really made me laugh. For me\, it’s playing music\, or drawing\, or writing. If I don’t do these things it is difficult for me to think correctly in my day-to-day life. Everything is out of tune & I don’t feel right. One of the counselors here asked me about my drawings. I told her that I did not have time to draw anymore. She said\, “NO! You must find the time to draw & express yourself\, so you feel right!” \n  \nSo I found the time & she was right. I can in fact think better now. My tasks run smoother and I just feel better. So I do get what Thich Nhat Hanh is saying here. We must do the things that we are passionate about & we must do the things that feed our being so we’re capable of doing all of the things we need & want to do. \n  \nLove you all so much. \n  \n—Rocky Hutchinson \n* \n  \n#10    “Lotus in the Mud”       \n  \n“The goodness of suffering is something real. Without suffering\, there cannot be happiness. Without mud there cannot be any lotus flowers. So if you know how to suffer\, suffering is okay. And the moment you have that attitude\, you don’t suffer much anymore. And out of suffering\, a lotus flower of happiness can open.” \n—from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh \n  \nBefore I ever read this\, I believed this. Going back to my first marriage of thirteen years in an abusive\, alcoholic relationship\, I suffered in such a way that my mind and body simply shut down. I stopped talking\, I stopped eating\, I stopped feeling. It was the only way I could keep living—by not living. I suffered internally and externally\, not understanding either condition.  \n  \nIt was only when I escaped the marriage that I was released from suffering and moved—no\, vaulted\, catapulted\, jetted!—into joy\, into happiness. Into gratitude. I had plenty of scars\, physical and emotional\, but I came to understand and rejoice in what I had lived through. I rejoiced in the suffering\, because I was now living life. Getting unstuck from the mud of suffering is how I came to be grateful for the suffering. So to happiness\, I would add gratitude as an ingredient that blossoms from the mud.  \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \n                         Holy Land \n  \nWhere the angel gave black stone to the prophet\, \nwhere the old man woke under a tree\, where \na king killed a worthy friend\, first there is silence\,  \nthen singing\, chanting\, sweet smoke\, and visions. \n  \nWhere the bones of a frail saint lie\, where a newborn \nslept in straw\, where a father did not slay his son— \npilgrims have passed by places without stories  \nby the thousands to be here weeping and praying. \n  \nIt’s all in how you see it\, how you tell it.  \nOn this rocky hill\, a peasant met a virgin girl. \nOn that one\, he did not. Here a cathedral\,  \nthere only the wind twitching dry grass.  \n  \nUnder the sky in a burning world\, how can  \nwe choose what is holy and what is not? \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nI have already seen red leaves on a tree! Autumn is lulling in even during this hot summer day. I think of this poem\, as the beauty and sorrows in the world unfold together. And it helps me feel the expansive wonder of it all.   \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\nstarts 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\nfrom her leaves like a woman in love with winter\, dropping\nthe colored silks.\nNeither are we different in what we know.\nThere is a door. It opens. Then it is closed. But a slip of\nlight stays\, like a scrap of unreadable paper left on the floor\,\nor the one red leaf the snow releases in March. \n  \n—Jane Hirshfield\, from The Lives of the Heart: Poems \n  \n—Love and Peace\,  Katie Radditz \n* \n  \nOde to things (Oda a las cosas) \n  \nI have a crazy\, \ncrazy love of things. \nI like pliers\, \nand scissors. \nI love \ncups\, \nrings\, \nand bowls— \nnot to speak\, of course\, \nof hats. \nI love \nall things\, \nnot just \nthe grandest\, \nalso \nthe \ninfinite- \nly \nsmall— \nthimbles\, \nspurs\, \nplates\, \nand flower vases. \n  \nOh yes\, \nthe planet \nis sublime! \nIt’s full of \npipes \nweaving \nhand-held \nthrough tobacco smoke\, \nand keys \nand salt shakers— \neverything\, \nI mean\, \nthat is made \nby the hand of man\, every little thing: \nshapely shoes\, \nand fabric \nand each new \nbloodless birth \nof gold\, \neyeglasses\, \ncarpenter’s nails\, \nbrushes\, \nclocks\, compasses\, \ncoins\, and the so-soft \nsoftness of chairs. \n  \nMankind has \nbuilt \noh so many \nperfect \nthings! \nBuilt them of wool \nand of wood\, \nof glass and \nof rope: \nremarkable \ntables\, \nships\, and stairways. \n  \nI love \nall \nthings\, \nnot because they are \npassionate \nor sweet-smelling \nbut because\, \nI don’t know\, \nbecause \nthis ocean is yours\, \nand mine: \nthese buttons \nand wheels \nand little \nforgotten \ntreasures\, \nfans upon \nwhose feathers \nlove has scattered \nits blossoms\, \nglasses\, knives and \nscissors— \nall bear \nthe trace \nof someone’s fingers \non their handle or surface\, \nthe trace of a distant hand \nlost \nin the depths of forgetfulness. \n  \nI pause in houses\, \nstreets and \nelevators\, \ntouching things\, \nidentifying objects \nthat I secretly covet: \nthis one because it rings\, \nthat one because \nit’s as soft \nas the softness of a woman’s hip\, \nthat one there for its deep-sea color\,  \nand that one for its velvet feel. \n  \nO irrevocable  \nriver \nof things: \nno one can say \nthat I loved \nonly \nfish\, \nor the plants of the jungle and field\, \nthat I loved \nonly \nthose things that leap and climb\, desire\, and survive. \nIt’s not true: \nmany things conspired  \nto tell me the whole story. \nNot only did they touch me\, \nor my hand touched them: \nthey were \nso close \nthat they were a part  \nof my being\, \nthey were so alive with me \nthat they lived half my life \nand will die half my death. \n  \n—Pablo Neruda\, from Odes to Common Things\, edited & illustrated by Ferris Cook\, translated by Ken Krabbenhoft \n  \nlove to all\, \n—Johnny Stallings
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-9-15-23/
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DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20230910T150000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20230910T170000
DTSTAMP:20260425T090739
CREATED:20230910T004003Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20230921T013237Z
UID:4116-1694358000-1694365200@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!  9/10/23
DESCRIPTION:Old Mother Hubbard’s dog playing the flute (19th Century illustration) \n  \nBeloved Bibliophiles! \n  \nOur theme for Sunday\, September 10th is:  \n  \nMother Goose & Friends \n  \nWhat are your favorite nursery rhymes\, poems for children\, children’s folklore\, nonsense & children’s literature? The Zoom gathering starts at 3 pm (PDT). Here’s the link: \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058 \n  \nI hope to see you there. \n  \npeace\, love & happiness  \n  \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-9-10-23/
ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/09/0-1.jpeg
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20230907
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20231005
DTSTAMP:20260425T090739
CREATED:20230909T235237Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20230909T235602Z
UID:4105-1694044800-1696463999@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  9/7/23
DESCRIPTION:One Happy Man (Rocky Hutchinson) with Eight Puppies (two are black) \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nSeptember 7\, 2023 \n  \nIf you help one person\, you help humanity. \n—Ai Weiwei \n  \nKen Margolis sent this poem by Ai Qing\, who is the father of the artist Ai Weiwei: \n  \nYARKHOTO \nIt’s almost as if a caravan is wending its way through town \nA clamor of voices mingling with the tinkle of camel bells \nThe markets bustling as before \nAn incessant flow of carts and horses \nBut no—the splendid palace \nHas lapsed into ruin \nOf a thousand years of joys and sorrows \nNot a trace can be found \nYou who are living\, live the best life you can \nDon’t count on the earth to preserve memory \n  \n—Ai Qing  (1980) \n* \n  \nA letter from Abe Green: \n  \nIt’s early morning \n          I’m sitting in my backyard acquainting myself with the \nrichness of this new day \n          The sun bright and warm \n          The air intoxicatingly fresh           [small feather taped to the page] \n          I gulp it with delight \nA hundred thoughts clamor for my attention but I deny all in \nanticipation of the song birds arrival at my feeder \n          I am patient \nSuddenly a single wren swoops in alighting on the small \ntable next to my chair \n          Next to my arm \n          We both seem surprised and take cautious appraisal of  \none another \n          She inspecting this mysterious land-bound creature \n          I observing her intricate feathering \n          Her tiny yet powerful legs and feet \n          And most of all her dark probing eyes \n  \nGazing into those ebon portals I was confronted with the \nfull creative power of life \n          Did she see the same in mine? \n          Did she see the earth song in my heart? \n  \nHow beautiful those few heartbeats were for me and \n          How beautiful was her perfection \n  \nThen with three resonant chirps as if clarifying an essential \ntruth with this benign human \n          She took wing to be about further business \n  \n          How astonishing is creation in its continual \n          bursting forth with life \n  \n          And how wonderful is the human experience to be \n  \n                    Astonished! \n  \n—Abe Green \n* \n  \nDear Johnny \n  \nHey there\, my friend. It’s been quite some time now since I’ve written you a letter. But you know that I’ve just been really busy. My skills that I’ve been obtaining the last few years have been shining through the last few weeks in my work. It’s an amazing thing to see all you can accomplish when you really apply your heart\, mind & soul into life. The truth is\, is that for me the difficulties are worth the accomplishments. \n  \nMy lesson with the dog today went surprisingly well. The things I’m doing now are so hard to do\, but my trainer is very good at this & is helping me to be better too. As I performed all the “get help” cues with the dog\, I got to do them by the flowers I planted this Spring. As I gave direction to the dog with cues\, my eyes took in the beauty of the gladioluses\, brown eyed daisies\, foxgloves & a rose bush. It was an enchanted few seconds\, sacred in the pause of the mind. My hope is that my life will be this way once I’m out of here. I’m happy & wish to stay so. \n  \nWe got to take pictures with the puppies & you’ll be getting some soon. As luck would have it\, my favorite one\, “Unique\,” a 9 lb female black lab has moved into my cell “for a short stay.” She is a lot of work!! She is 41 days old & knows her name\, comes\, sits & potties on the pad. She will be doing rides & hills by 60 days old. They are an amazing litter…. \n  \nI wanted to let you and Nancy know about a movie I caught a few days ago. It’s called “Maudie”! It’s about a Canadian folk artist that had arthritis badly. Very good movie…very humble life. When I see such things…it gives me a sense of calmness\, knowing that the best lives are full of difficulties & that makes the joy we find in them all the sweeter for us\, and maybe for those we touch. \n  \nWell\, you can use this whole letter in the Open Road newsletter if you’d like. It’s all good & beautiful. I love you & miss you & hope to hear from you soon. \n  \nBeautiful things on the Golden path are like finding the best rocks in the river on a Summer’s day. The best things we all have in life are the joys we give & get & the love we let shine from our hearts that grow all the good things. It feels like I’ve got raven wings to fly on\, shiny\, strong and true\, for carrying all the love I have to all the ones I love so true. \n  \n—Rocky Hutchinson  (8/13/2023) \n* \n  \nPrairie Radio \n  \nWay out on open hills we get \nno reception—no news or message \ngets through\, so we listen to birds \nexplain existence\, and by scent of dust \nand flowers apprehend our chance. \n  \nBack home in cities\, signals bombard \nour tender minds with wars and other \ntroubles\, air around us thick with \nwarnings and sorrows\, light around us \nthick with poisons for heart and mind. \n  \nBut anywhere\, if you turn your head\, \nwind delivers light across prairie hills \nfrom far to inform your ancient soul. \n  \n—from Beauty So Intense You Shield Your Eyes by Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nScott Teitsworth recently read this inspiring passage from Brian Doyle’s essay “The Final Frontier” to some of his friends: \n  \n….I began\, slowly and dimly\, to realize that humble was the only finally truly honest way to be in this life. Anything else is ultimately cocky\, which is either foolish or a deliberate disguise you refuse to remove\, for complicated reasons perhaps not known even to you. \n  \nOf course you do your absolute best to find and hone and wield your divine gifts against the dark. You do your best to reach out tenderly to touch and elevate as many people as you can reach. You bring your naked love and defiant courage and salty grace to bear as much as you can\, with all the attentiveness and humor you can muster. This life is after all a miracle and we ought to pay fierce attention every moment\, as much as possible. \n  \nBut you cannot control anything. You cannot order or command everything. You cannot fix and repair everything. You cannot protect your children from pain and loss and tragedy and illness. You cannot be sure that you will always be married\, let alone happily married. You cannot be sure you will always be employed\, or healthy\, or relatively sane. \n  \nAll you can do is face the world with quiet grace and hope you make a sliver of difference. Humility does not mean self-abnegation\, lassitude\, detachment; it’s a more calm recognition that you must trust in that which does not make sense\, that which is unreasonable\, illogical\, silly\, ridiculous\, crazy by the measure of most of our culture. You must trust that you being the best possible you matters somehow. That trying to be an hones and tender parent will echo for centuries through your tribe. That doing your chosen work with creativity and diligence will shiver people far beyond your ken. That being an attentive and generous friend and citizen will prevent a thread or two of the social fabric from unraveling. And you must do all of this with the certain knowledge that you will never get proper credit for it\, and in fact the vast majority of things you do right will go utterly unremarked. Humility\, the final frontier\, as my brother Kevin used to say. When we are young we build a self\, a persona\, a story in which to reside\, or several selves in succession\, or several at once\, sometimes; when we are older we take on other roles and personas\, other masks and duties; and you and I both know men and women who become trapped in the selves they worked so hard to build\, so desperately imprisoned that sometimes they smash their lives simply to escape who they no longer wish to be; but finally\, I think\, if we are lucky\, if we read the book of pain and loss with humility\, we realize that we are all broken and small and brief\, that none among us is ultimately more valuable or rich or famous or beautiful than another; and then\, perhaps\, we begin to understand something deep and true about humility. \n  \nThis is what I know: that the small is huge\, that the tiny is vast\, that pain is part and parcel of the gift of joy\, and that this is love\, and then there is everything else. You either walk toward love or away from it with every breath you draw. Humility is the road to love. Humility\, maybe\, is love. That could be. I wouldn’t know; I’m a muddle and a conundrum shuffling slowly along the road\, gaping in wonder\, trying to just see and say what is\, trying to leave shreds and shards of ego along the road like wisps of litter and chaff. \n  \n—One Long River of Song by Brian Doyle\, pp. 58-59
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-9-7-23/
ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/09/0.jpeg
END:VEVENT
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20230815
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20230915
DTSTAMP:20260425T090739
CREATED:20230815T181346Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20230815T182230Z
UID:4089-1692057600-1694735999@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue  8/15/23
DESCRIPTION:  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n  \n  \nAugust 15\, 2023 \n  \nLive righteously and love everyone. \n—tag on a Yogi Tea bag \n  \n  \n#32 Constant Transformation  \n  \n“Impermanence and selflessness are not negative aspects of life\, but the very foundation on   which life is built. Impermanence is the constant transformation of things. Without impermanence\, there can be no life. Selflessness is the interdependent nature of all things. Without interdependence\, nothing could exist.”—from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh \n  \nA couple of things have happened in the last year or so that make this #32 of Constant Transformation jump out at me: \n  \n#1: I have a neighbor who uses people. It’s one thing to ask for favors and then offer some form of thanks or reciprocation—-no problem with that. This neighbor offers nothing\, and often just asks for more. I have been very ticked off about this. Years ago she asked me to ‘just swing by and water my geraniums. You’ll be walking Lolo anyway\, right?’ Okay\, sure. But this meant  watering 40 geraniums\, several times a week—for five months! While she was in Arizona! So I did. In return\, she gave me five lemons from her tree in Scottsdale. I did this for two years\, with no small amount of growing resentment and internal grumbling\, and then I politely but firmly refused\, feeling really taken advantage of. This last year she asked again\, and for some reason I said yes. This time I started admiring the bright red blooms in the pale\, midwinter light. I rubbed the leaves with my fingers and smelled their pungent flavor. It took me back to my dad’s geraniums and gave me sweet memories of him and my mom. It became a welcome task to take care of the geraniums\, and when she returned\, with five more lemons\, I thanked her gratefully for brightening up my wintertime. Because she did! \n  \nSecond transformation: I love to hike. I love burbling streams\, mossy banks\, nodding trilliums\, dark green branches of massive tree trunks.  Oh no! Another bag of dog poop left at the foot of that tree! What is wrong with you people?!?!?! If you’re going to bring your dog\, pick up your damned poop bags on the way out! Honestly\, I know you know it’s there. You just decided it’s no big deal to leave it. Snarl\, snarl\, grumble\, fume. The beauty fades and all I can think is…being pissed off! Well\, what’s the point of that? \n  \nSo one day I picked up the bag of poop and carried it out. I attached it to the rear windshield wiper of my car and took it home where I tossed it in the garbage can. Maybe they just didn’t see it when they were hiking out. You never know. Next time I picked up another bag. Somebody saw me carrying it and thanked me for carrying my dog’s poop bag out of the woods. Oh\, it’s not my dog’s\, it was just left on the trail\, I said. You’re a saint\, they said. Oh no\, I murmured\, modestly.  \n  \nBut aside from sort of feeling like a saint\, I felt good about helping keep my beautiful woods clean. I kept thinking that you don’t know\, maybe people do just forget or can’t find their dog’s poop bag. So I can help out and kind of keep things beautiful for me and for other hikers.  \n  \nThat was a couple of years ago\, and now I do it all the time. I’m a little bit miffed that nobody’s called me a saint again\, but I still get a good feeling when I see the clean and beautiful woods.  \n  \nComplete transformation. \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \nJude\, you’re a saint!  \n—(from the Editor) \n* \n  \n                   Artificial Light \n  \nBy bulbs and wires\, porch lights insult dusk\, \nstreetlights thieve stars from children\, headlights \nstab haste deep into wounded night. \n  \nBy day\, I squint by the pallor of false explanation\, \nthe sickly glow of lies claiming illumination \nwhile casting artificial darkness everywhere. \n  \nThis light blinds my mind. I seek real dark\, \nno human spark’s denial. I need thin shoes \nfinding my path by feel\, night stars\, grope touch\, \n  \nearth sleep\, nocturnal dreams\, then dawn. \n  \n—Kim Stafford   8-11-2023 \n* \n  \nNot Yet \n  \nA connoisseur of hands \n(because hers are crippled) \nsaid when looking at his \nthat they are the most beautiful \nshe had yet seen. \n  \nThe fact that they will leave \nthis world soon may have had \nsomething to do with this impression. \n  \nA glint of silver flashes as fish \nleap headlong \nout of the river into the sky. \n  \n—Elizabeth Domike \n* \n  \nMidsummer night dreaming \n  \nIt’s heating up—the Sun is beaming up there during the day. But the night sky is also fully alive with shooting stars. I’m sleeping outside to watch the Perseid meteor shower at its peak. It’s a new moon so a black sky\, no clouds or rain to block the view. I know it can sometimes make us feel insignificant looking at the cold stars\, but tonight I feel expansive\, to be alive and witness the amazing cosmos. The cooling breeze makes me feel in tune with the cedar trees and the birch that surround our home. Even though there is only a narrow strip of sky\, I can see the big dipper’s handle and there was one long streak of shooting star that seemed to welcome me to the party. I’m cooling down\, slowing down.  \n  \nI relate to this poem of Wendell Berry’s and am lucky to live where I can go out and lay down in the wild. \n  \nThe Peace of Wild Things \n  \nWhen despair for the world grows in me\nand I wake in the night at the least sound\nin fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be\,\nI go and lie down where the wood drake\nrests in his beauty on the water\, and the great heron feeds.\nI come into the peace of wild things\nwho do not tax their lives with forethought\nof grief. I come into the presence of still water.\nAnd I feel above me the day-blind stars\nwaiting with their light. For a time\nI rest in the grace of the world\, and am free. \n  \n—Wendell Berry \n  \nDreaming about and longing for summer’s past\, hiking in the snow-capped mountains\, along fresh creeks we could drink from\, having a young adult body with knees that could easily let me jump from boulder to boulder up McCord Creek in the Gorge. \n  \nImpermanence and desires – Thinking of Hermia and her many changing desires that are befuddling and too rapid. Finally they are debilitating\, all these loves won then lost\, until her legs fail her. This seems like a good Buddhist story. How important it is to not cling and be swept away\, to slow down and enjoy what there is here now. To stop running after things till our legs give out. \n  \nI like the quiet implied in Wendell Berry’s poem. There aren’t sounds after the first one that wakes him. And so I lie down outside when the traffic has stopped and I can hear the soothing wind in the trees and the silent stars that I know are always there. \n  \nI hope you all stay cool somehow and enjoy Midsummer Night dreaming. \n  \n—Katie Radditz \n* \n  \nIn this excerpt from Centuries of Meditations\, Thomas Traherne gives an account of how he experienced the world when he was a child: \n  \nThe corn was orient and immortal wheat\, which never should be reaped\, nor was ever sown. I thought it had stood from everlasting to everlasting. The dust and stones of the street were as precious as gold: the gates were at first the end of the world. The green trees when I saw them first through one of the gates transported and ravished me\, their sweetness and unusual beauty made my heart to leap\, and almost mad with ecstasy\, they were such strange and wonderful things. The Men! O what venerable and reverend creatures did the aged seem! Immortal Cherubims! And young men glittering and sparkling Angels\, and maids strange seraphic pieces of life and beauty! Boys and girls tumbling in the street\, and playing\, were moving jewels. I knew not that they were born or should die; But all things abided eternally as they were in their proper places. Eternity was manifest in the Light of the Day\, and something infinite behind everything appeared: which talked with my expectation and moved my desire. The city seemed to stand in Eden\, or to be built in Heaven. The streets were mine\, the temple was mine\, the people were mine\, their clothes and gold and silver were mine\, as much as their sparkling eyes\, fair skins and ruddy faces. The skies were mine\, and so were the sun and moon and stars\, and all the World was mine; and I the only spectator and enjoyer of it. I knew no churlish properties\, nor bounds\, nor divisions: but all properties and divisions were mine: all treasures and the possessors of them. So that with much ado I was corrupted\, and made to learn the dirty devices of this world. Which now I unlearn\, and become\, as it were\, a little child again that I may enter into the Kingdom of God. \n  \n—Thomas Traherne\, Centuries of Meditations\, Third Century\, Meditation #3 \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nUnderstanding Makes Compassion Possible (pt. 1) \n  \nUnderstanding is the substance out of which we fabricate compassion. What kind of understanding…? It’s the understanding that the other person suffers too. When we suffer\, we tend to believe we’re the victims of others\, that we are the only ones who suffer. This is not true—the other person also suffers. If we could only see the pain within him\, we would begin to understand him. Once understanding is present\, compassion becomes possible….The other person may be an inmate like us\, or a guard. If we look\, we can see there is a lot of suffering within him. Maybe he doesn’t know how to handle his suffering. Maybe he allows his suffering to grow…and this makes him and other people around him suffer. So with this kind of awareness or mindfulness\, you begin to understand\, and understanding will give rise to your compassion. With compassion in you\, you will suffer much less\, and you will be motivated by a desire to do something—or not do something—so the other person suffers less. Your way of looking or smiling at him may help him suffer less…. \n  \n—Thich Nhat Hanh  \n(This might be from the book Be Free Where You Are\, which is the record of a talk he gave at the Maryland Correctional Institution at Hagerstown—Ed.) \n  \nSometimes I struggle to want to allow compassion for some to develop. Is it unreasonable to want those who (seem to deliberately) cultivate the means of suffering for others to have even more suffering—because their actions show their mis-managed suffering? I guess the answer is in the question: If they have more\, then they will pass on more—hurt people hurt people. How sad this is\, that our world\, with all the advancements\, can’t evolve (communally) past the concerns of toddler-hood. Such as\, basic safety and hurting others to express our own pain. This was revealed for me in For Your Own Good and some other books Johnny shared with me. Compassion seems to be the path out\, and mindful awareness is the key unlocking the gate thereto. \n  \n—Michel Deforge
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-8-15-23/
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SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!  8/13/23
DESCRIPTION:  \nBeloved Bibliophiles! \n  \nOur theme for Sunday\, August 13th is:  \n  \nWhat Are Your Top Ten (or Fifteen) Favorite Novels of All Time? \n  \nThe Zoom gathering starts at 3 pm (PDT). Here’s the link: \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058 \n  \nI hope to see you there. \n  \npeace\, love & happiness  \n  \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-8-13-23/
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UID:4068-1691020800-1694044799@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  8/3/23
DESCRIPTION:  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nAugust 3\, 2023 \n  \nVISIONS OF UTOPIA & PARADISE \n  \nTo create around ourselves the kind of world that we wish to live in–isn’t that the most important project of our lives? \n  \n–from Alchemy of Snowness by the Russian clown\, Slava Polunin \n  \nGONZALO \nHad I plantation of this isle\, my lord— \nANTONIO \nHe’d sow ’t with nettle seed. \nSEBASTIAN  Or docks\, or mallows. \nGONZALO \nAnd were the king on ’t\, what would I do? \nSEBASTIAN  Scape being drunk\, for want of wine. \nGONZALO \nI’ th’ 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  Yet he would be king on ’t. \nANTONIO  The latter end of his commonwealth forgets \nthe beginning. \nGONZALO \nAll things in common nature should produce \nWithout sweat or endeavor; 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  No marrying ’mong his subjects? \nANTONIO  None\, man\, all idle: whores and knaves. \nGONZALO \nI would with such perfection govern\, sir\, \nT’ excel the Golden Age. \nSEBASTIAN  ’Save his Majesty! \nANTONIO \nLong live Gonzalo! \n  \n—from The Tempest by William Shakespeare\, Act 2\, scene 1 \n  \nHere’s an excerpt from Magdalena Cieślak’s interview with Stratis Panourios about a production of Shakespeare’s The Tempest\, which he directed at Korydallos prison in Athens: \n  \nMC:  One of the central characters in your production is Gonzalo. Can you explain why this particular character is of such importance for your reading of the play? In what way are his ideas of a utopian state crucial for the social role of the project?  \n  \nSP:  Gonzalo\, as Shakespeare mentions him in the list of characters\, is an honest old advisor from Naples\, and I see him the same way. Although he was appointed to dispose of Prospero and Miranda at sea\, he actually helped them survive\, giving them water\, food\, clothes and books that Prospero considered important….He is a positive thinker\, who believes in the will of Heaven…. \n  \nThe participants are baptized again through the performance. For the duration of the  rehearsals and their presence on stage\, they are reborn. This is particularly visible in the participant who plays Gonzalo\, as he becomes a different person\, even if just for a few months. The inmates call him Gonzalo inside the prison. And during his famous monologue\, when he says “And were the king of it\, what would I do?”\, he becomes a king\, president or prime minister of the country. After this  monologue he cannot be himself. He acquires respect and prestige\, even if this is related to a theatrical monologue. \n  \nHe is also given the opportunity to speak on behalf of all the prisoners—to say that he imagines their own world\, outside the prison. A world that is “upside down” or “opposite” to today’s world. In the monologue\, Gonzalo says: “I’ th’ commonwealth I would by contraries / Execute all things.” In our rehearsals we pondered on whether this world should be the norm and not the other way around….This verse opened a whole world to us.  \n  \nThrough extensive discussions during rehearsals we achieved a connection between the world of Gonzalo and Platonic ideals. Since the staging of our play not only involved rehearsals but also a lot of research\, one of the participants took the initiative to guide us with a lecture\, making an introduction to Plato’s work Politeia [The Republic]. As a modern Socrates\, a prisoner\, he spoke to us about the importance of justice and how much happier a righteous person is from an unjust one. He spoke to us about the definition of justice\, the structure of society\, property and privacy\, and philosopher-kings; he spoke about Plato’s Allegory of the Cave and the importance of the truth for different regimes; and about art\, utopias and dystopias. Our room was transformed into the “Gallipoli” of the book and all of us into philosopher-kings. We could talk for hours and hours about the issues in Plato’s Politeia\, so we decided for the time being that maybe one of our future performances would have the theme of Politeia\, where we could all study it thoroughly. \n  \nAs reference books and texts on the ideal state\, we studied Thomas Moore’s Utopia\, written in 1516\, presenting a story taking place on a strange island somewhere in the South Atlantic Ocean\, off the coast of South America. We could not help but associate Shakespeare with the reading of this book\, making sure that the decision to link the prison to Prospero’s Island was the right one. This reading was followed by references to the Biblical Garden in Eden\, Sir Philip Sydney’s Arcadia (1580)\, a summary of Michel de Montaigne’s Of Cannibals (1580). We ended our study with texts written by the participants on the subject of their own vision of an ideal state. The adaptation of Gonzalo’s monologue in our show was based on the texts by the participants. \n  \nThe  participant who plays Gonzalo now had the opportunity to talk about his ideal state\, a world without crime and prisons. Until then\, his voice was heard only in his apology in court\, while now his monologue was addressed to the spectators. And the spectators are by no means jurors. On the edge of the stage\, he was free not only to apologize but to share something very important: his own discovery and the thoughts of an ideal utopia. His words are dominated by a big “if.” “If” the world was different\, maybe he would not have to be in prison\, he would have the opportunity to live like other people. He would live a normal life and his childhood would be full of wonder and hope. Because in the conversations we had\, we likened this time to childhood\, which for most prisoners may have existed as an idealized state. In the rehearsals\, of course\, we experienced this through the joy of creation. \n  \n—from Multicultural Shakespeare\, vol. 26 (41) 2022 \n* \n  \nAlas!\, there was no “peace\, love\, happiness & understanding” in July because I was on the open road—traveling to Athens and Beirut\, where I showed Bushra’s film “A Midsummer Night’s Dream in Prison.” The conversations following the screenings were great! While in Athens\, I saw a production of “The Persians” by Aeschylus at Korydallos prison\, directed by my friend Stratis Panourios. One thing especially reminded me of our plays done in Oregon prisons. After the performances\, love and happiness were in the air—in prison! A miracle! \n  \nAt the end of the June issue of “peace\, love\, happiness & understanding\,” I invited everyone to share their visions of utopia and paradise. The subject turns out to be so big that all I can manage are a few random thoughts. Here they are: \n  \nThe word “utopia” was coined by Sir Thomas More for his novel Utopia. It is often said that it is a translation from Greek\, and that it means “no-place\,” but Thomas More was probably punning on two Greek words outopia\, meaning “no-place\,” and eutopia\, meaning “happy place.” Most creators of literary utopias were imagining societies where life would be better than the societies in which they lived—happy places! \n  \nPlato’s Republic is a grand vision of an ideal society. I wouldn’t want to live there. Ernest Callenbach’s Ecotopia is more my speed. But of course not everyone wants to live in the hippie version of paradise. \n  \nIn Christianity\, the word “Paradise” refers to the Garden of Eden and to Heaven. In the Garden of Eden a naked man and woman live in innocence\, without sin or death. There is just one rule: they can’t eat of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. Tempted by a talking snake\, they do just that. They get kicked out of the Garden before they are able to eat of the Tree of Life—and gain immortality thereby. They are punished for the sin of disobedience to the God who created them. A number of other punishments ensue\, but the most dramatic one is that they will die. \n  \nProbably the oldest story invented by humans is that when you die you don’t really die. You go somewhere else. In Christianity\, the basic idea is that when you die you go to Heaven if you have been good—and if you believe in Jesus Christ\, who died on the cross to save you from sin and death. If you have been bad—or are an unbeliever—you are damned and must go to Hell\, which is a place of eternal punishment. The idea that the good are rewarded after death and the bad are punished is an idea that is found in many cultures\, and in the writings of Plato. There’s a Tibetan board game called “Rebirth\,” which features a number of hells\, including “The Black Rope and Crushing Hells.” (Incidentally\, most of the squares on the board—on your journey to Nirvana—are states of consciousness above the heavenly realms of the gods.) \n  \nThere are lots and lots of visions of utopias\, dystopias\, paradises\, and hell realms of one kind and another. A fundamental obstacle to achieving utopian societies is that one person’s utopia is another person’s dystopia. Recently the Lincoln Project posted a video on YouTube in which Marjorie Taylor Greene describes the nightmarish Socialist Big Government dystopia that Democrats like Joe Biden represent—addressing education\, medical care\, urban problems\, rural poverty\, transportation\, food stamps\, welfare\, economic opportunity\, labor unions\, and environmental programs. This all sounds pretty good to some folks. \n  \nThere are many dystopian visions these days\, in books and films. Two of the most well-known dystopias of the Twentieth Century are George Orwell’s 1984 and Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World. Huxley’s utopian novel\, Island\, is less well-known. Dave Eggers has recently given us two novels set in a not-very-distant future\, in which efforts to create a technological utopia give the reader a distinctly dystopian feeling—The Circle and The Every. In The Road\, Cormac McCarthy imagines a future that is so ecologically devastated that human survival is in peril.  \n  \nCinematic dystopias abound. The series of Mad Max films is one example among many. Utopian visions are harder to come by. In Wim Wenders’ film Wings of Desire\, one of the angel protagonists exchanges his immortality for an earthly existence\, where he can enjoy the aroma of coffee and live with a beautiful trapeze artist. It’s like in the fairy tales where at least some of the people live happily ever after. This is also known as the “Hollywood Ending.” We leave the theater feeling good.  \n  \nThere were many utopian experiments in Nineteenth Century America—from the Oneida Community\, which lasted for 33 years\, to the Mormon Church\, which is still going strong. More recently\, lots of people started hippie communes. These days the term for people who get together to live more in accordance with their ideals is “intentional communities.” \n  \nThere’s a dark side to utopian visions\, especially when violence and coercion are used to “improve” the world. The Third Reich is a spectacular example. There are others. \n  \nLast weekend Nancy and I went to the Canterbury Renaissance Faire\, where some of our friends were performing Hamlet. The whole festival was someone’s utopian vision. Thousands of people came who enjoy imagining themselves as fairies\, medieval knights\, and other natural and supernatural characters of one kind and another. A play is a magical world\, whether it is performed at Korydallos prison or the Canterbury Faire. For a little while we are transported to another world. \n  \nIf you think of it in this way\, utopias are everywhere. Sometimes they are very brief. A perfect moment is paradise. \n  \nThe Big World is an endlessly complex system of ever-changing forces. While some people work for peace\, justice and ecology\, there are many countervailing forces in play. We have\, I think\, an obligation to make efforts to make the world a better place for all people—and for elephants and butterflies.  \n  \nIn addition to this extremely challenging undertaking\, we have a duty\, day-by-day\, to become better people—wiser\, kinder\, more happy\, more loving\, more free. Surrounded by dystopias and hells of one kind and another\, we can bless the day\, be thankful for our human life on earth\, be helpful to our fellow mortals\, create for ourselves and others moments when we find ourselves in Paradise. \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nMy new friend Spiros in Athens sent this poem: \n  \nAnd people mix and separate and they take nothing from each other. \nBecause love is the most difficult way to get to know one  another. \nBecause people\, my friend\, live in the moment they find a solace in the lives of others. \nAnd then you understand why the desperate become the greatest rebels. \nAnd we are suddenly defenseless\, \nlike a victor in the face of death or a defeated one facing Eternity… \n  \n— Tasos Leivaditis\, translated from the Greek by Spiros Chrisovitsianos \n* \n  \nKim wrote this poem this morning (8/3/23): \n  \n               Borrowed Aura \n  \nIn my dream\, our shop dealt in dazzlings— \neach soul’s essence distilled to mist \nwe could bottle and bestow to restore \nbalance\, a hint of your verve to enliven \nmy calm\, a whiff of my patience to guide \nyour eagerness\, gifts sifted for exchange \nuntil we each became whole. \n  \nWaking\, I walked into the forest of dawn \nwhere the scent of pitch brightened my mind\, \nghostly lichen on a limb re-set my life clock\, \na raven’s raspy shriek startled my pulse\, \ngreen light dazzled my numb soul\, \nas each turn in my pilgrim path \nnudged me toward wisdom. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nWords for Cup and Water \n  \nStepping through the dream-wall President Lincoln \ncradles a cat named Bob. Droplets of rain shine \non the hemlock tree which reached \nthe bedroom window just this year. \n  \nAll beveled mirrors still shimmer no matter \nwhat they reflect\, drugstore\, library\, bookshop \nall carry magazines\, hopes\, and dreams\, \none long loop running down \n  \nstreamlets in the mist. I make a nest with my hands\, \ntry to capture the mood of the mountain. \nthe President says\, “Don’t bother\, we have work to do.” \nInstead\, Bob washes\, framed by evening light. \n  \nWe pause for a moment. \nWatch a female Harrier glide golden\, \nover marshy fields opening before our eyes. \nSleeves rolled up; possibilities begin to appear nearby. \n  \n—Elizabeth Domike \n* \n  \nWhat an Angel Said \nafter Austin T. Holland \n  \nYou better believe it\, \nkid: the arkless sea \nis also a kind of ark. \n  \nMy grief has endless credit \nbut I blew it all on craps \nand now my eyes lack coins. \n  \nI never understood whether heaven-sent \nmeant from or to \nthat bright & high-rent place. \n  \nDivinate me. At the bottom \nof every teacup (in the dregs) \nyou’ll find a death’s-head. \n  \nTomorrow\, you’ll risk laughter \nwhen I ascend the compost pile \nin a huff of regeneration. \n  \nNext century\, I am \ncrowned with a wreath \nof black dove & white raven \n  \nfeathers. \n  \n—Alex Tretbar\, first published in Anti-Heroin Chic \n* \n  \nPerfect Day \n  \nit’s another perfect day on Planet Earth \nI carried a heavy stone from the truck to the back yard \nthe bright flowers shouted at me \nwoke me up \nreminded me \nwhat is true \n  \nfar away\, in Washington D. C.\, they are making plans to kill more people \nin order to get more money \n  \nand maybe oblivious to the blue sky \npeople in this city are charging off to work \npreoccupied with all their problems \n  \nthere are millions of ways to ignore \nand even to try to destroy \nthe beauty that calls to us everywhere \nfrom everyone \nfrom every thing \non this perfect day \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nWe shall study every philosophy\, search through all the scriptures\, consult every teacher and practice all spiritual exercises until our minds are swollen with the whole wisdom of the world. But in the end we shall return to the surprising fact that we walk\, eat\, sleep\, feel and breathe\, that whether we are deep in thought or idly passing the time of day\, we are alive. And when we can know just that to be the supreme experience of religion we shall know the final secret and join in the laughter of the gods. \n  \n—Alan Watts\, quoted in Wandering in Eden by Michael Adam
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-8-3-23/
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CREATED:20230802T202208Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20230802T202208Z
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SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue  7/15/23
DESCRIPTION:  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue   \n\n\n  \nJuly 15\, 2023    \n\n\n     \n\n\nJohnny is traveling and sends his joy and news below.   \n\n\nAnd so dear friends\, thank you for carrying on with your reflections and poems and stories for this edition of the Meditation and Mindfulness newsletter.    \n\n\nThanks to Andy for his gorgeous contribution from his newly finished collected visions of the Hundred Verses of Self Instruction. Here is his commentary on cover image:    \n\n\nVerse 9   \n\n\nThe Atmopadesha Satakam (Hundred Verses of Self Instruction) of Narayana Guru  \n\n\n  \n\n\nGrowing on both sides\, in a blossoming state\,  \n\n\nis the one vine which has come\, spread out and risen to the top of a tree;  \n\n\nremember that hell does not come   \n\n\nto the man dwelling in contemplation beneath it.  \n\n\n  \n\n\nThe image of a contemplative seated beneath a flowering tree is practically universal in world religious art. Narayana Guru’s use of the image contains several details that tie it to the Indian tradition of Advaita Vedanta\, and that would have been familiar to his original Indian audience. The tree is covered by a creeper that is two-sided\, with roots that are concealed from view. The invisible origin of the creeper\, with its attractive flowers hiding the supporting tree\, is actually a metaphor for the structure of human consciousness\, as outlined in greater detail in Vedantic writings such as the Mandukya Upanishad. There\, wakeful experience is explained as a complex interaction of perceived form and conceptual name\, with both name and form springing from a common hidden source of seeded memory. This structural picture is a fundamental understanding that underlies much of the Atmopadesha Satakam.   \n\n\nNarayana Guru was not interested in philosophy for its own sake; he was instead concerned with helping his fellow beings find their own way to lasting happiness. His use of the ideogram of the tree and the meditating being provides profound clues about how the moment-to-moment flow of our experience assembles itself\, how we can be caught by that flow\, and about how a dimension of our innermost Being remains free from bondage.  \n\n\nWe seldom question the validity of the ongoing flow of our experiences\, with their sensory richness\, or their linear organization in time. The birth of a child\, or the death of a loved one can suddenly expose the unconscious nature of our routine forms of understanding. Our experiences can be afflicted in countless ways\, through the thwarting of our exaggerated sense of personal control\, through our habits of desire or aversion or the rigidities of habitual thinking. In the terms of the verse\, the experiential world of names and forms\, and the afflicted states that accompany them\, are nurtured from sources that are invisible to us. Name\, form and memory function collectively to conceal a deeper reality.  \n\n\nThe emphasis of this verse is on noticing. The man dwelling in contemplation beneath the tree has discovered something priceless. He has learned that his own pure awareness permeates the entire field of the germination\, growth and dissolution of phenomenal experience\, and yet stands apart from it.  \n\n\n  \n\n\n-Andy Larkin  \n\n\n  \n\n\n ***  \n\n\nAh\, Summer . . . . . The soft polka dot flowers of Spring have passed. Summer blossoms are exploding. Red dahlias with fiery petals\, huge blue hydrangeas that droop with such languor. They make me as sleepy as Dorothy in the field of poppies. I pick them\, arrange them in bouquets\, give them as gifts. I like to drive with jars of flowers in the coffee cup holders. Their fading nature reminds me that beauty is constantly changing and reemerging in new forms. Life is short. “But here we are again\,” say these same but different flowers that come in summertime.  \n\n\nIn the summer\, I like to get out the book The Immense Journey (from 1957!)\, by Loren Eiseley\, and reread his essay\, “How Flowers Changed the World.” Eiseley describes what he calls “a soundless\, violent explosion” of seed-born plant life millions of years ago\, just as the Dinosaurs started to pass out and mammals arrived. At the heart of the explosion was a new kind of flora with magic seeds.  \n\n\n“Flowers changed the face of the planet. Without them\, the world we know would never have existed. Today we know that the appearance of the flowers contained also the equally mystifying emergence of human life. Borne on the wind or attached to animal hides\, the new plant life spread all over the world.  \n\n\nThe fantastic seeds skipping and hopping and flying about the woods and valleys brought with them an amazing adaptability. . . . If our whole lives had not been spent in the midst of it\, it would astound us. The old\, stiff\, sky-reaching wooden world changed into something that glowed here and there with strange colors\, put out queer\, unheard of fruits and little intricately carved seed cases\, and\, most important of all\, produced concentrated foods in a way that the land had never seen before.  \n\n\nIf it wasn’t for the high energy content of seeds produced by flowers humanity wouldn’t have flourished.  \n\n\n  \n\n\n“If it should turn out that we have mishandled our own lives as several civilizations before us have done\, it seems a pity that we should involve the violet and the tree frog in our departure.”  \n\n\n– from Loren Eiseley\, The Immense Journey  \n\n\n–Katie Radditz  \n\n\n  \n\n\n***  \n\n\nGreetings from Lebanon!    \n\n\nJohnny writes: I’m on the Open Road–visiting with my good friend Zeina Daccache in Lebanon. Some of you will remember when she came to see our production of “Twelve Angry Men” at Two Rivers prison in 2012. She had directed a production of the play at Roumieh prison in Lebanon and made a wonderful documentary about it: “Twelve Angry Lebanese.” We will be showing Bushra Azzouz’s film “A Midsummer Night’s Dream in Prison” here on Saturday\, July 15.  \n\n\nI’ve been reading John Moriarty’s amazing book Dreamtime and studying clown philosophy from Slava Polunin. Here’s an excerpt from his book\, The Sixth Door:  \n\n\n  \n\n\nFeelings and Emotions  \n\n\n  \n\n\nThere is one door that ought to be kept shut. Or so we’re told. Even Pushkin taught us\, “You shall be lord and master of your heart.” Behind this door live our FEELINGS and EMOTIONS\, which must never be given free reign\, if we are to believe the poet. There is a life of suppressed emotions\, a rational\, regular life\, led by persons of good breeding\, one that offers the most direct path to one’s goals. But it turns out that what we give up on this path is our own vitality: we become mere cogs in some sort of a giant mechanism. Only emotions can give us life in all its fullness. Just as in a child’s mind\, any little thing can assume tremendous importance and take you on a wild ride at the slightest pretext. Passion\, emotion\, excitement\, obsession with the least trifle—these are the things that make for a full life\, because they demand utmost commitment and openness to the whole world around you. Such emotional perception of reality is fundamental to a human being\, and theatre has the ability to inspire it.  \n\n\nTo be honest\, though\, not every kind of emotion appeals to me in equal measure. I suspect this is true of most people.  \n\n\nI happen to like positive emotions. The more positive\, the better.  \n\n\n  \n\n\nBecause a positive attitude actually makes the world a better place.  \n\n\n  \n\n\n  \n\n\nThere is nothing mystical about this. Simply put\, kindness and joy radiate a kind of energy that goes out into the world and has the ability to change it.  \n\n\n  \n\n\n–from Alchemy of Snowness by Slava Polunin\,   \n\n\npp. 76-77  \n\n\n  \n\n\n-Johnny Stallings  \n\n\n  \n\n\n***  \n\n\nThe Garden    \n\n\n     \n\n\nAll this time I have been standing here    \n\n\nI’ve never seen these trees before.    \n\n\n     \n\n\nAll this time I have been living here    \n\n\nI’ve always thought to go out.    \n\n\n     \n\n\nOut to find love\, beauty\, out to find    \n\n\npassion\, the wisdom of the ages.    \n\n\n     \n\n\nOut to feel\, out to see\, the wide sweep\,    \n\n\nthe hand of God.    \n\n\n     \n\n\nOut to the woods\, to the city\,    \n\n\nmessy\, vibrant\, all the hues\, full of life.    \n\n\n     \n\n\nNow I find standing here    \n\n\nlooking at this garden\,    \n\n\nit has everything.    \n\n\n     \n\n\nEverything I have been longing for\,    \n\n\nunfinished\,    \n\n\nperfect.    \n\n\n  \n\n\n-Elizabeth Domike    \n\n\n  \n\n\n***  \n\n\nThe Hammock    \n\n\n  \n\n\nWhen I lay my head in my mother’s lap    \n\n\nI think how day hides the stars\,    \n\n\nthe way I lay hidden once\, waiting    \n\n\ninside my mother’s singing to herself. And I remember    \n\n\nhow she carried me on her back    \n\n\nbetween home and the kindergarten\,    \n\n\nonce each morning and once each afternoon.    \n\n\n     \n\n\nI don’t know what my mother’s thinking.    \n\n\n     \n\n\nWhen my son lays his head in my lap\, I wonder:    \n\n\nDo his father’s kisses keep his father’s worries    \n\n\nfrom becoming his? I think\, Dear God\, and remember    \n\n\nthere are stars we haven’t heard from yet:    \n\n\nThey have so far to arrive. Amen\,    \n\n\nI think\, and I feel almost comforted.    \n\n\n     \n\n\nI’ve no idea what my child is thinking.    \n\n\nBetween two unknowns\, I live my life.    \n\n\nBetween my mother’s hopes\, older than I am    \n\n\nby coming before me\, and my child’s wishes\, older than I am    \n\n\nby outliving me. And what’s it like?    \n\n\nIs it a door\, and good-bye on either side?    \n\n\nA window\, and eternity on either side?    \n\n\nYes\, and a little singing between two great rests.    \n\n\n   \n\n\n-Li-Young Lee   \n\n\n“The Hammock” from Book of My Nights    \n\n\n  \n\n\n*** \nReverence the highest\, have patience with the lowest. Let this day’s performance of the meanest [most menial] duty be thy religion. Are the stars too distant? Pick up the pebble that lies at thy feet\, and from it learn the all.  \n\n\n  \n\n\n– Margaret Fuller  \n\n\n  \n\n\n***  \n\n\n  \n\n\nFollowing Navajo Songs  \n\n\n   \n\n\nBeauty all around me    \n\n\nBeauty in front    \n\n\nBeauty behind    \n\n\nBeauty above\, wind rustling the leaves    \n\n\nBeauty below\, hard ground    \n\n\nBeauty in the air\, soft\, soft    \n\n\nBeauty in my eyes\, tears    \n\n\nBeauty in my hands    \n\n\nfingers trailing pollen    \n\n\nBeauty in my footsteps    \n\n\nblossoms spring from the earth    \n\n\nBeauty in my heart    \n\n\ndark as thunder    \n\n\nBeauty in my heart    \n\n\nquiet as the last birds    \n\n\nin evening trees\,    \n\n\nBeauty    \n\n\nBeauty    \n\n\nBeauty    \n\n\n-Deborah Buchanan    \n\n\n  \n\n\n***  \n\n\n Yogi tea tag says today: “Uncage your heart\, free your heart\, let it be wild.”    \n\n\n  \n\n\nEast Side Footsteps (Sierra Nevada)  \n\n\n    \n\n\nOn those wild wide sandbars at Walker River\,    \n\n\nwe put toes into warm sand so fine    \n\n\nour feet sank to ankles    \n\n\nat each step. Summer’s end\, September\,    \n\n\ncelebrating birthdays\,    \n\n\nconvening halfway between    \n\n\nmy life in the Bay Area    \n\n\nand yours in Lone Pine.    \n\n\nYour great curly dog loped ahead.    \n\n\nOur toes caught split straws of earlier grasses    \n\n\nuntil they rounded over river rocks    \n\n\nso hot under foot\,    \n\n\nwe scurried and stumbled across them    \n\n\nto keep our feet from burning.    \n\n\nThen reached the cool mud at water’s edge\,    \n\n\nwhere tiny frogs leapt from sedges\,    \n\n\nalarmed by our thudding presence.    \n\n\nRocks in that river were slippery with algae.    \n\n\nIt took determination to find a level spot\,    \n\n\nan eddy\, where stones could not lurch us    \n\n\nto our knees\, nor current upend us.    \n\n\nThe air wafted sagebrush and river. Untamed.    \n\n\nInvigorating and peaceful\, all at once.    \n\n\nTwo friends’ brief pause    \n\n\nbefore ascending Sonora Pass.    \n\n\n    \n\n\n-Gail Lester\, (after William Stafford’s poem “Tamarisk”)  \n\n\n\n\n\nDesert Poem  \n\n\n  \n\n\nDesert paintbrush shows no mercy  \n\n\nravishing\, red smoldering your eyes.   \n\n\nCome to your knees to receive it. See  \n\n\nhow stems peg color to earth\, where  \n\n\nprairie flowers wild in their differences  \n\n\nare loyal in their fit: lupine crazy blue\,   \n\n\nyarrow dusky\, shy pink on scattered   \n\n\nfarewell-to-spring. Each flower whispers   \n\n\nfragrance to court small wings\, tiny tongues.   \n\n\nFrom every twig\, leaves offer gestures   \n\n\nof forgiveness to this wounded world.   \n\n\nPlants gather strands for our basket\,   \n\n\nand prairie hills weave them all together.   \n\n\nIn this place\, each pilgrim’s goal   \n\n\nis to be lost in wonder\, and   \n\n\nwith all flowers softly howl.  \n\n\n  \n\n\n– Kim Stafford  \n\n\n  \n\n\n\n\n\nExtract from Thich Nhat Hanh’s Understanding Our Mind   \n\n\n  \n\n\nMind Consciousness gives rise to actions that lead to ripening.  The mind consciousness plays the role of  gardener\, the one who sows\, waters\, and takes care of the earth.  The store consciousness is often described as the earth—the garden where the seeds that give rise to flowers and fruits are sown. Because mind consciousness can initiate an action that leads to the ripening of seeds in our store consciousness\, it is important that we learn about\, train\, and transform our mind consciousness. We act and speak on the basis of our thinking\, our cognition. Any action of body\, speech\, and mind that we take based on mind consciousness\, waters either positive or negative seeds within us. If we water negative seeds\, the result will be suffering. If we know how to water positive seeds\, there will be more understanding\, love\, and happiness. If mind consciousness learns to see in terms of impermanence\, nonself\, and interbeing\, it will help the seed of enlightenment to grow and bloom like a flower.  \n\n\nOne Hundred Percent Your True Home   -Thich Nhat Hanh  \n\n\n  \n\n\n“Be there truly. Be there with 100% of yourself. In every moment of your daily life. That is the essence of true Buddhist meditation. Each of us knows that we can do that\, so let us train to live each moment of our daily life deeply. That is why I like to define mindfulness as the energy that helps us to be there 100 percent. It is the energy of your true presence.”    \n\n\nWell. “…live each moment of our daily life deeply.” “…the energy of our true presence.”    \n\n\nIt is about that time of year again. Every year\, right around the middle of July\, my senses are heightened to an acute level of awareness. Everything tingles. The morning sunlight is slightly different\, its angle more oblique\, its color more amber-toned. The word ‘mellow’ comes to mind. The early mornings cooler and darker. The evening stars winking around 9:07pm\, then 9:04pm…then 8:56pm. Right around Bastille Day\, July 14th\, I send a text to sisters\, daughter and close friends who understand what’s coming\, every year…”Hey! Have you noticed how the sun is slanting differently? The mornings are a little cooler\, and darker? Do you think it feels a little…like…Fall???” Oh\, the roar of negation that follows: “Nooooo!!! No way! Stop it! Be quiet!!!”    \n\n\nI love Fall. l adore Fall. I am thinking and feeling and savoring Fall right now —on July 14th. I am in the moment but not in the moment.    \n\n\nDeep in the moment anticipation\, deep in the moment change. In the mountains\, August brings on the Fireweed and Gentians\, saying goodbye to Lupine and Avalanche lilies. Huckleberry leaves stain the slopes burgundy red. I tingle and savor with love the utter feel of change in all the senses—smell\, sight\, feel/touch\, hearing…taste? Sure! Who hasn’t bit into a warm peach\, apple\, or pear from an orchard and felt Fall in their bones?!    \n\n\nSo right now I’m in the future\, but more deeply in the present than at any other time of the year. Does that count as mindfulness? I hope you’ll say yes!    \n\n\n  \n\n\n-Jude Russel 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-7-15-23/
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SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!   7/30/23
DESCRIPTION:  \nBeloved Bibliophiles! \n  \nOur theme for Bibliophiles Unanimous! on Sunday\, July 30th is: What’s Going On? What are some books that have given you insight into what’s happening culturally\, politically\, ecologically\, historically\, sociologically\, spiritually\, psychologically? \nThe Zoom gathering commences at 3 pm (PDT). Here’s the link: \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058 \n  \n  \nI hope to see you there! \n  \npeace\, love & happiness \nJohnny \n  \n  \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-7-30-23/
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UID:4030-1690588800-1690761599@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Hamlet at Canterbury Renaissance Faire  7/29 & 7/30
DESCRIPTION:  \nPuck’s Rude Mechanicals present Hamlet by William Shakespeare at the Canterbury Renaissance Faire on Saturday & Sunday\, July 29 & 30.  \nPerformances are at 11 a.m. & 1 p.m. both days.  \nThe Canterbury Renaissance Faire is at 6569 Valley View Rd. NE\, Silverton\, OR 97381. For more info\, and to buy tickets\, go to the Canterbury Faire website at: \n  \ncanterburyfaire.com \n  \nRobin Goodfellow (a.k.a. Allen Mills) directs this Rotten In Denmark Production. The stellar cast includes Jeff Kuehner and Josh Underhill. \n  \nDon’t miss this!!! \n  \npeace\, love & happiness \n  \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/hamlet-at-canterbury-renaissance-faire-7-29-7-30/
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CREATED:20230803T003840Z
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UID:4054-1689379200-1692057599@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue  7/15/23
DESCRIPTION:  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n\n\n  \nJuly 15\, 2023 \n\n\n  \nJohnny is traveling and sends his joy and news below.  \n\n\nAnd so dear friends\, thank you for carrying on with your reflections and poems and stories for this edition of the Meditation and Mindfulness newsletter.   \n\n\nThanks to Andy for his gorgeous contribution from his newly finished collected visions of the Hundred Verses of Self Instruction. Here is his commentary on the cover image:   \n  \n\n\nVerse 9  \n\n\n  \n\n\nGrowing on both sides\, in a blossoming state\, \n\n\nis the one vine which has come\, spread out and risen to the top of a tree; \n\n\nremember that hell does not come  \n\n\nto the man dwelling in contemplation beneath it. \n\n\n\n\n  \n\n–from Atmopadesha Śatakam (One Hundred Verses of Self Instruction) of Narayana Guru \n\n\n  \n\n\n\n\nThe image of a contemplative seated beneath a flowering tree is practically universal in world religious art. Narayana Guru’s use of the image contains several details that tie it to the Indian tradition of Advaita Vedanta\, and that would have been familiar to his original Indian audience. The tree is covered by a creeper that is two-sided\, with roots that are concealed from view. The invisible origin of the creeper\, with its attractive flowers hiding the supporting tree\, is actually a metaphor for the structure of human consciousness\, as outlined in greater detail in Vedantic writings such as the Mandukya Upanishad. There\, wakeful experience is explained as a complex interaction of perceived form and conceptual name\, with both name and form springing from a common hidden source of seeded memory. This structural picture is a fundamental understanding that underlies much of the Atmopadesha Śatakam.  \n\n\nNarayana Guru was not interested in philosophy for its own sake; he was instead concerned with helping his fellow beings find their own way to lasting happiness. His use of the ideogram of the tree and the meditating being provides profound clues about how the moment-to-moment flow of our experience assembles itself\, how we can be caught by that flow\, and about how a dimension of our innermost Being remains free from bondage. \n\n\nWe seldom question the validity of the ongoing flow of our experiences\, with their sensory richness\, or their linear organization in time. The birth of a child\, or the death of a loved one can suddenly expose the unconscious nature of our routine forms of understanding. Our experiences can be afflicted in countless ways\, through the thwarting of our exaggerated sense of personal control\, through our habits of desire or aversion or the rigidities of habitual thinking. In the terms of the verse\, the experiential world of names and forms\, and the afflicted states that accompany them\, are nurtured from sources that are invisible to us. Name\, form and memory function collectively to conceal a deeper reality. \n\n\nThe emphasis of this verse is on noticing. The man dwelling in contemplation beneath the tree has discovered something priceless. He has learned that his own pure awareness permeates the entire field of the germination\, growth and dissolution of phenomenal experience\, and yet stands apart from it. \n\n\n  \n–Andy Larkin \n\n\n* \n\n\n  \n\n\nAh\, Summer . . . . . The soft polka dot flowers of Spring have passed. Summer blossoms are exploding. Red dahlias with fiery petals\, huge blue hydrangeas that droop with such languor. They make me as sleepy as Dorothy in the field of poppies. I pick them\, arrange them in bouquets\, give them as gifts. I like to drive with jars of flowers in the coffee cup holders. Their fading nature reminds me that beauty is constantly changing and re-emerging in new forms. Life is short. “But here we are again\,” say these same but different flowers that come in summertime. \n\n\nIn the summer\, I like to get out the book The Immense Journey (from 1957!)\, by Loren Eiseley\, and re-read his essay\, “How Flowers Changed the World.” Eiseley describes what he calls “a soundless\, violent explosion” of seed-born plant life millions of years ago\, just as the dinosaurs started to pass out and mammals arrived. At the heart of the explosion was a new kind of flora with magic seeds. \n\n\n“Flowers changed the face of the planet. Without them\, the world we know would never have existed. Today we know that the appearance of the flowers contained also the equally mystifying emergence of human life. Borne on the wind or attached to animal hides\, the new plant life spread all over the world. \n\n\nThe fantastic seeds skipping and hopping and flying about the woods and valleys brought with them an amazing adaptability. . . . If our whole lives had not been spent in the midst of it\, it would astound us. The old\, stiff\, sky-reaching wooden world changed into something that glowed here and there with strange colors\, put out queer\, unheard of fruits and little intricately carved seed cases\, and\, most important of all\, produced concentrated foods in a way that the land had never seen before. \n\n\nIf it wasn’t for the high energy content of seeds produced by flowers humanity wouldn’t have flourished.” \n\n\n  \n\n\n“If it should turn out that we have mishandled our own lives as several civilizations before us have done\, it seems a pity that we should involve the violet and the tree frog in our departure.” \n\n\n  \n— from Loren Eiseley\, The Immense Journey \n\n\n  \n—Katie Radditz \n* \n  \n\n\nGreetings from Lebanon! \n\n\nI’m on the Open Road–visiting with my good friend Zeina Daccache in Lebanon. Some of you will remember when she came to see our production of “Twelve Angry Men” at Two Rivers prison in 2012. She had directed a production of the play at Roumieh prison in Lebanon and made a wonderful documentary about it: “Twelve Angry Lebanese.” We will be showing Bushra Azzouz’s film “A Midsummer Night’s Dream in Prison” here on Saturday\, July 15. \n\n\nI’ve been reading John Moriarty’s amazing book Dreamtime and studying clown philosophy from Slava Polunin. Here’s an excerpt from his book Alchemy of Snowness: \n  \nThe Sixth Door \n\n\nFeelings and Emotions \n\n\n  \n\n\nThere is one door that ought to be kept shut. Or so we’re told. Even Pushkin taught us\, “You shall be lord and master of your heart.” Behind this door live our FEELINGS and EMOTIONS\, which must never be given free reign\, if we are to believe the poet. There is a life of suppressed emotions\, a rational\, regular life\, led by persons of good breeding\, one that offers the most direct path to one’s goals. But it turns out that what we give up on this path is our own vitality: we become mere cogs in some sort of a giant mechanism. Only emotions can give us life in all its fullness. Just as in a child’s mind\, any little thing can assume tremendous importance and take you on a wild ride at the slightest pretext. Passion\, emotion\, excitement\, obsession with the least trifle—these are the things that make for a full life\, because they demand utmost commitment and openness to the whole world around you. Such emotional perception of reality is fundamental to a human being\, and theatre has the ability to inspire it. \n\n\nTo be honest\, though\, not every kind of emotion appeals to me in equal measure. I suspect this is true of most people. \n\n\nI happen to like positive emotions. The more positive\, the better. \n\n\n  \n\n\nBecause a positive attitude actually makes the world a better place. \n\n\n  \n\n\n  \n\n\nThere is nothing mystical about this. Simply put\, kindness and joy radiate a kind of energy that goes out into the world and has the ability to change it. \n\n\n  \n\n\n—from Alchemy of Snownessby Slava Polunin\, pp. 76-77 \n\n\n  \n\n\n–Johnny Stallings \n* \n\n\n  \n\n\nThe Garden \n\n\n  \nAll this time I have been standing here   \n\n\nI’ve never seen these trees before.   \n\n\n  \nAll this time I have been living here   \n\n\nI’ve always thought to go out.  \n\n\n  \nOut to find love\, beauty\, out to find   \n\n\npassion\, the wisdom of the ages.   \n\n\n  \nOut to feel\, out to see\, the wide sweep\,   \n\n\nthe hand of God.   \n\n\n  \nOut to the woods\, to the city\,   \n\n\nmessy\, vibrant\, all the hues\, full of life.   \n\n\n  \nNow I find standing here   \n\n\nlooking at this garden\,   \n\n\nit has everything.   \n\n\n  \nEverything I have been longing for\,   \n\n\nunfinished\,   \n\n\nperfect.   \n\n\n  \n\n\n-Elizabeth Domike \n* \n\n\n  \n\n\nThe Hammock  \n\n\n  \n\n\nWhen I lay my head in my mother’s lap   \n\n\nI think how day hides the stars\,   \n\n\nthe way I lay hidden once\, waiting   \n\n\ninside my mother’s singing to herself. And I remember   \n\n\nhow she carried me on her back   \n\n\nbetween home and the kindergarten\,   \n\n\nonce each morning and once each afternoon.   \n\n\n  \nI don’t know what my mother’s thinking.   \n\n\n  \nWhen my son lays his head in my lap\, I wonder:   \n\n\nDo his father’s kisses keep his father’s worries   \n\n\nfrom becoming his? I think\, Dear God\, and remember \n\n\nthere are stars we haven’t heard from yet:   \n\n\nThey have so far to arrive. Amen\, \n\n\nI think\, and I feel almost comforted.   \n\n\n  \nI’ve no idea what my child is thinking.   \n\n\nBetween two unknowns\, I live my life.   \n\n\nBetween my mother’s hopes\, older than I am   \n\n\nby coming before me\, and my child’s wishes\, older than I am   \n\n\nby outliving me. And what’s it like?   \n\n\nIs it a door\, and good-bye on either side?   \n\n\nA window\, and eternity on either side?   \n\n\nYes\, and a little singing between two great rests.   \n\n\n  \n–Li-Young Lee\, from Book of My Nights \n* \n\n\nReverence the highest\, have patience with the lowest. Let this day’s performance of the meanest [most menial] duty be thy religion. Are the stars too distant? Pick up the pebble that lies at thy feet\, and from it learn the all. \n\n\n  \n\n\n— Margaret Fuller \n* \n\n\n  \n\n\nFollowing Navajo Songs \n\n\n  \nBeauty all around me   \n\n\nBeauty in front   \n\n\nBeauty behind   \n\n\nBeauty above\, wind rustling the leaves   \n\n\nBeauty below\, hard ground   \n\n\nBeauty in the air\, soft\, soft   \n\n\nBeauty in my eyes\, tears   \n\n\nBeauty in my hands   \n\n\nfingers trailing pollen   \n\n\nBeauty in my footsteps   \n\n\nblossoms spring from the earth   \n\n\nBeauty in my heart   \n\n\ndark as thunder   \n\n\nBeauty in my heart   \n\n\nquiet as the last birds   \n\n\nin evening trees\,   \n\n\nBeauty   \n\n\nBeauty   \n\n\nBeauty   \n\n\n  \n–Deborah Buchanan \n* \n\n\n  \n\n\nYogi tea tag says today: “Uncage your heart\, free your heart\, let it be wild.” \n\n\n  \n\n\nEast Side Footsteps (Sierra Nevada) \n\n\n  \nOn those wild wide sandbars at Walker River\,   \n\n\nwe put toes into warm sand so fine   \n\n\nour feet sank to ankles   \n\n\nat each step. Summer’s end\, September\,   \n\n\ncelebrating birthdays\,   \n\n\nconvening halfway between   \n\n\nmy life in the Bay Area \n\n\nand yours in Lone Pine.   \n\n\nYour great curly dog loped ahead.   \n\n\nOur toes caught split straws of earlier grasses   \n\n\nuntil they rounded over river rocks   \n\n\nso hot under foot\,   \n\n\nwe scurried and stumbled across them   \n\n\nto keep our feet from burning.   \n\n\nThen reached the cool mud at water’s edge\,   \n\n\nwhere tiny frogs leapt from sedges\,   \n\n\nalarmed by our thudding presence.   \n\n\nRocks in that river were slippery with algae.  \n\n\nIt took determination to find a level spot\,   \n\n\nan eddy\, where stones could not lurch us   \n\n\nto our knees\, nor current upend us.   \n\n\nThe air wafted sagebrush and river. Untamed.   \n\n\nInvigorating and peaceful\, all at once.   \n\n\nTwo friends’ brief pause   \n\n\nbefore ascending Sonora Pass.   \n\n\n  \n–Gail Lester\, (after William Stafford’s poem “Tamarisk”) \n* \n\n\n\n\n\n  \nDesert Poem \n\n\n  \n\n\nDesert paintbrush shows no mercy \n\n\nravishing\, red smoldering your eyes.  \n\n\nCome to your knees to receive it. See \n\n\nhow stems peg color to earth\, where \n\n\nprairie flowers wild in their differences \n\n\nare loyal in their fit: lupine crazy blue\,  \n\n\nyarrow dusky\, shy pink on scattered  \n\n\nfarewell-to-spring. Each flower whispers  \n\n\nfragrance to court small wings\, tiny tongues.  \n\n\nFrom every twig\, leaves offer gestures  \n\n\nof forgiveness to this wounded world.  \n\n\nPlants gather strands for our basket\,  \n\n\nand prairie hills weave them all together.  \n\n\nIn this place\, each pilgrim’s goal  \n\n\nis to be lost in wonder\, and  \n\n\nwith all flowers softly howl. \n\n\n  \n— Kim Stafford \n* \n\n\n  \n“Mind Consciousness gives rise to actions that lead to ripening.  The mind consciousness plays the role of  gardener\, the one who sows\, waters\, and takes care of the earth.  The store consciousness is often described as the earth—the garden where the seeds that give rise to flowers and fruits are sown. Because mind consciousness can initiate an action that leads to the ripening of seeds in our store consciousness\, it is important that we learn about\, train\, and transform our mind consciousness. We act and speak on the basis of our thinking\, our cognition. Any action of body\, speech\, and mind that we take based on mind consciousness\, waters either positive or negative seeds within us. If we water negative seeds\, the result will be suffering. If we know how to water positive seeds\, there will be more understanding\, love\, and happiness. If mind consciousness learns to see in terms of impermanence\, nonself\, and interbeing\, it will help the seed of enlightenment to grow and bloom like a flower.” \n\n\n\n  \nfrom Thich Nhat Hanh’s Understanding Our Mind \n\n\n\n* \n\n\n  \n\n\n“Be there truly. Be there with 100% of yourself. In every moment of your daily life. That is the essence of true Buddhist meditation. Each of us knows that we can do that\, so let us train to live each moment of our daily life deeply. That is why I like to define mindfulness as the energy that helps us to be there 100 percent. It is the energy of your true presence.” \n–from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh \n\n\n  \nWell. “…live each moment of our daily life deeply.” “…the energy of our true presence.”   \n\n\nIt is about that time of year again. Every year\, right around the middle of July\, my senses are heightened to an acute level of awareness. Everything tingles. The morning sunlight is slightly different\, its angle more oblique\, its color more amber-toned. The word “mellow” comes to mind. The early mornings cooler and darker. The evening stars winking around 9:07 pm\, then 9:04 pm…then 8:56 pm. Right around Bastille Day\, July 14th\, I send a text to sisters\, daughter and close friends who understand what’s coming\, every year… “Hey! Have you noticed how the sun is slanting differently? The mornings are a little cooler\, and darker? Do you think it feels a little…like…Fall???” Oh\, the roar of negation that follows: “Nooooo!!! No way! Stop it! Be quiet!!!” \n\n\nI love Fall. I adore Fall. I am thinking and feeling and savoring Fall right now —on July 14th. I am in the moment but not in the moment.   \n\n\nDeep in the moment anticipation\, deep in the moment change. In the mountains\, August brings on the Fireweed and Gentians\, saying goodbye to Lupine and Avalanche lilies. Huckleberry leaves stain the slopes burgundy red. I tingle and savor with love the utter feel of change in all the senses—smell\, sight\, feel/touch\, hearing…taste? Sure! Who hasn’t bit into a warm peach\, apple\, or pear from an orchard and felt Fall in their bones?!   \n\n\nSo right now I’m in the future\, but more deeply in the present than at any other time of the year. Does that count as mindfulness? I hope you’ll say yes! \n\n\n  \n\n\n–Jude Russell
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-7-15-23-2/
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20230618T190000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20230618T210000
DTSTAMP:20260425T090739
CREATED:20230603T155045Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20230603T160058Z
UID:3970-1687114800-1687122000@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Illuminated: Myths\, Poems & Music for the Summer Solstice  6/18/23
DESCRIPTION:         \n\n\n\n \n\n\n\n\n\n\nStoryteller Will Hornyak Presents\n\n  \n\n\n\n         \n\n\n\n \n\n\n\n\n\n   Illuminated \n\n\n\n\n         \n\n\n\n \n\n\n\n\n\nMyths\, Poems and Music for the Summer Solstice\n         \n\n\n\n \n\n\n From fiery feathers and the longing for light\, to tales of summer days ‘gone fishin\,’ join us for a celebration of the longest\, brightest days of the year.  Special guest musician Jeffrey Sher joins in for a tribute to Father’s Day. \n\n\n\n\n\n\n         \n\n\n\n \n\n\n\n\n\n\n Sunday June 18   7 p.m.\n      Ross Island Grocery and Cafe\n      3502 SW Corbett   Portland\n      Great Food and Drinks Available\n$15.00  Advance Tickets Recommended:\n\n\n\n\n\n         \n\n\n\n \n\n\n\n\n\n\nhttps://www.eventbrite.com/e/illuminated-myths-poems-and-music-for-the-summer-solstice-tickets-646775501937
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/illuminated-myths-poems-music-for-the-summer-solstice-6-18-23/
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20230618T150000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20230618T170000
DTSTAMP:20260425T090739
CREATED:20230614T171652Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20230614T173016Z
UID:4000-1687100400-1687107600@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!  6/18/23
DESCRIPTION:The Golden Age by Lucas Cranach the Elder \n  \nBeloved Bibliophiles \n  \nOur theme for Sunday\, June 18th is Visions of Utopia & Paradise. \nThe Zoom gathering commences at 3 pm (PDT). Here’s the link: \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058 \n  \nSee you there! \n  \npeace\, love & happiness \nJohnny \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-6-18-23/
ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/06/Goldenes-Zeitalter-1530-2.jpg
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20230617T130000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20230617T150000
DTSTAMP:20260425T090739
CREATED:20230509T171654Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20230613T180550Z
UID:3873-1687006800-1687014000@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:the dialogue continues...
DESCRIPTION:the dialogue continues… \n  \nThis monthly gathering in the Artspace room at Taborspace in Portland\, 5441 SE Belmont\, is a continuation of the meaning of life dialogues we had in Oregon prisons–at Two Rivers\, Columbia River & Coffee Creek. These Saturday dialogues are open to everyone.  \nThe first one was on April 15th\, 2023. The next two will be on Saturdays\, at 1 p.m.: June 17th & July 15th. There will be snacks! You are invited!
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/the-dialogue-continues/
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20230615
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20230715
DTSTAMP:20260425T090739
CREATED:20230620T001103Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250717T162413Z
UID:4009-1686787200-1689379199@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue  6/15/23
DESCRIPTION:  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n  \nJune 15\, 2023 \n  \nWe were talking about the love we all could share \nWhen we find it\, to try our best to hold it there with our love \nWith our love\, we could save the world…. \n  \nAnd the time will come when you see we’re all one \nAnd life flows on within you and without you \n  \n—George Harrison \n* \n  \nIn Fyodor Dostoevsky’s great novel The Brothers Karamazov there is a monk named Father Zossima. When I first read the novel\, almost fifty years ago\, I was impressed with the Father Zossima’s (Fyodor Dostoevsky’s) words. I still am: \n  \nBrothers\, do not be afraid of men’s sin\, love man also in his sin\, for this likeness of God’s love is the height of love on earth. Love all of God’s creation\, both the whole of it and every grain of sand. Love every leaf\, every ray of God’s light. Love animals\, love plants\, love each thing. If you love each thing\, you will perceive the mystery of God in things. Once you have perceived it\, you will begin tirelessly to perceive more and more of it every day. And you will come at last to love the whole world with an entire\, universal love…. \n  \nMy friends\, ask joy from God. Be joyful as children\, as birds in the air…. \n  \nWhen you are alone\, pray. Love to throw yourself down on the earth and kiss it. Kiss the earth and love it\, tirelessly\, insatiably\, love all men\, love all things\, seek this rapture and ecstasy. Water the earth with the tears of your joy\, and love those tears. Do not be ashamed of this ecstasy\, treasure it\, for it is a gift from God\, a great gift\, and it is not given to many\, but to those who are chosen. \n  \n—Fyodor Dostoevsky\, The Brothers Karamazov\, translated by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky\, pp. 338-341) \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nOn June 12\, I sat down to write a note on mindfulness; my computer said it was National Loving Day\, which celebrates the right to marry or not marry the person we love. It led me to be most mindful today and this week about the person I have been married to for almost 50 years. To begin anew\, with fresh eyes for the things about him I most cherish. Not just as a father of my children.  \n  \nUnaware It was a week early\, we celebrated Father’s Day last Sunday with our children and grandchildren by going to a baseball game. My husband\, Bill\, was happy all day\, enjoying a day off from work and gardening\, being in an element of his youth that he could share with the younger generation. It was so good to see him totally engaged.   \n  \nBill is an introvert\, 98% according to the test\, and so he can be easily satisfied living in a solitary way with little social involvement\, enjoying his tea and crossword and books and garden and a movie online. But getting out of that can also easily give him a burst of energy.  \n  \nMindful of my extroverted side that includes many friends and adventures\, I am accompanying him this week on his trip to the post office\, or to the deli\, or to the hardware/feed store. Then taking a few minutes aside for a picnic or a walk before sunset\, or even to sit together in the garden and watch the teenage chicks practice flying. I’m aware of how grateful I am to have the freedom to have a loving relationship\, and that we can share such simple joys. It’s so easy to take this for granted. Being mindful adds an extra spot of honey to our tea. And it makes others glad to be around us. As Thich Nhat Hanh liked to say\, “Happiness is not an individual matter!” \n  \nBelow is a link to the life-changing story of the Loving’s decision to marry: \n  \nhttps://www.usatoday.com/story/news/politics/2023/06/12/loving-day-supreme-court-interracial-marriage-loving-virginia/70313073007/ \n  \n—Katie Radditz \n* \n  \n#333 Recognizing Negative Energy  \nfrom Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh \n  \n“Negative habit energy always tries to emerge\, but if you’re mindful\, you recognize it. Mindfulness helps us to recognize the habits transmitted by our ancestors and parents\, or learned during our childhood. Often\, just recognizing these habits will make them lose their hold on you.” \n  \nLast year I found a great children’s book called Fortunately\, Unfortunately. It was a story about a little boy on his way to a birthday party. UNFORTUNATELY\, a bear started chasing him and he dropped his present. FORTUNATELY\, an eagle-eyed eagle swooped down and hooked the present’s bow in his beak and dropped it at the feet of the little boy. Gratefully\, the boy scooped it up and continued on his way. UNFORTUNATELY\, a gang of rascals…etc. etc. Finally\, of course\, FORTUNATELY\, he ends up at the party and gives his present to the little girl. \n  \nSo I read this story to my grandkids in Bozeman\, and they loved it. Then I said\, “Let’s make up our own story and draw a book and send it to your cousins in Arizona.” Which we did\, and spent 3-4 hours writing\, making art\, and thinking up funny stuff.  \n  \nSo I thought\, This is how I think\, automatically! If something is wrong\, or sad\, or difficult\, I say\, “Yes\, but just think of what ____ is going through everyday.” Or: “Yeah\, it really is pouring rain today\, but doesn’t everything smell so sweet now?” I have always done this; I’d never really thought about it until I read this story.  \n  \nAnd then I thought—What a great topic for prison group dialogue! So I asked: “How do you react or respond in these cases?” Discussion discussion!!  \n  \nAnd then the really fun part: We went around the circle and traded Fortunately/Unfortunately sentences\, the crazier the better. There were giraffes involved\, and badgers\, and 100 foot deep wells\, and 10\,000 foot high mountains\, and blonde wigs\, and zits\, and… Well\, it was crazy and hilarious and so much fun\, and it all told us a lot about all of us\, almost all positive. \n  \nSo that’s my take on recognizing negative energy. \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \nFeeling Old \n  \nLeaves begin to curl. Limbs begin \nto sag. The tree begins to lean. Know \nthe feeling? My buds—not so plump. \nMy heartwood—dry. My bark begins \nto wither\, my roots to lose their grip. \n  \nBut hey—the sun shines bright as ever. \nAll that fell to earth has turned to treasure\, \nthe sky’s still calling me to rise in praise\, \nand rain bestows that flavor fine as my \nfirst sip when a sapling with no name. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nThis amazing planet we live on is already Paradise. We can eat the grasses and the grains. Fruit fills the trees. There are fellow creatures to love and laugh with. This beautiful world is a gift.   \n  \nWe still live in the Garden of Eden. We just don’t take very good care of it.   \n  \nAll water is holy water. And every day is a holy day. \n  \n—Bill Faricy \n* \n  \nMichel finished reading The Compassion Book by Pema Chödrön in early May\, and for the rest of the month used Be Free Where You Are as the basis for the meditations in his journal. Be Free Where You Are is the record of a talk given by Thich Nhat Hanh at the Maryland Correctional Institute\, which was published in May of 2002. \n  \nMay 15\, 2023  You are a Miracle (part 2) \n“Dear Friends\, you are nothing less than a miracle. There may be times when you feel that you are worthless. But you are nothing less than a miracle. The fact that you are here—alive and capable of breathing in and out—is simple proof that you are a miracle. One string bean contains the whole cosmos in it: sunshine\, rain\, the whole earth\, time\, space and consciousness. You also contain the whole cosmos.” \n  \nDo you “feel” like a miracle? Seriously! Do you feel the wonder and amazement of “be”ing alive\, being able to breathe\, move\, exist? Each of us is valuable\, even when we believe the lies that we are not. I know it is hard to drown out the noise of self-doubt and hate\, wherever it arises from and for whatever cause; whatever the noise\, it’s a LIE! You\, me\, all of us—we are a miraculous creation\, here on Earth for some purpose. Fundamentally: to “be”—nothing more. Though many struggle to achieve even merely “be”ing\, it’s what we are: “be”ings. We can add to that by breathing\, walking eating…all our “do”ings too. Then\, there’s passing on genes\, knowledge\, wisdom to the next generation. Yet\, somehow\, with all the noise of “do”ing\, we forget “be”ing and how miraculous “be”ing is. I also believe we have one other purpose as we toddle along to our mouldering\, and that is LOVE. Love as appreciation of the miracle that is life\, appreciation for other “be”ings participating in the wonderful\, miraculous\, cacophony that is our life. (Certainly we’re averse to certain experiences\, thus memories linger and trepidation arises about past and future. None of that is real any longer\, nor will be.) Breathe\, smile\, “be” aware; there’s a special miracle in this world and it’s you. I know\, sounds trite and contrived. And it is…if you and I refuse to see the miracle of the cosmos that each of us is; breathe (deliberately)\, smile (knowing this cosmological secret)\, and be aware (of what it takes for you or I to continue to exist…) “You are a miracle!” Me too! \n  \n—Michel Deforge
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-6-15-23/
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20230604T150000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20230604T170000
DTSTAMP:20260425T090739
CREATED:20230601T150745Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20230728T012251Z
UID:3964-1685890800-1685898000@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!  6/4/23
DESCRIPTION:  \n \n  \nBeloved Bibliophiles \n  \nWe will have Poetry Reading! for Bibliophiles Unanimous! on Sunday\, June 4th. The Featured Poets are Elizabeth Domike & Alex Tretbar. \nThe Zoom gathering commences at 3 pm (PDT). Here’s the link: \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058 \n  \nBring along a poem or two of your own. \nSee you there! \n  \npeace\, love & poetry \nJohnny \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-6-4-23/
ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/06/Author-Photo-Alex-Tretbar.jpeg
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20230602T173000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20230602T193000
DTSTAMP:20260425T090739
CREATED:20230528T180744Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20230528T182237Z
UID:3948-1685727000-1685734200@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Roadside Attraction at Friday Night Market  6/2/23
DESCRIPTION:  \nRoadside Attraction\, featuring Morgan Faricy\, is playing at Friday Night Market in Milwaukie\, on June 2nd\, from 5:30 to 7:30. \nThe address is: \nMilwaukie Floral \nSE Lake Road \n  \nThis is a benefit of Open Hearts Open Minds. \n  \nBring your friends! \n  \npeace\, love & music \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/roadside-attraction-at-friday-night-market-6-2-23/
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20230601
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20230803
DTSTAMP:20260425T090739
CREATED:20230601T142659Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250718T135046Z
UID:3955-1685577600-1691020799@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  6/1/23
DESCRIPTION:  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nJune 1\, 2023 \n  \nArt Degraded\, Imagination Denied\, War Governed the Nations. \n—William Blake \n  \nPEACE \n  \nEarly Morning Hours \n  \nFrom the house silence flows \nto the ebony lawn \nglittering like a river. \nA small candle flickers\, \nmirroring the moon \nsliding down night’s curve. \nFir branches stand against the sky\, \nthe hours’ tall sentinels\, \nand the hum inside silence \nfills each shadowed crevice\, \nthe world inundated. \n  \n  \nThe Only Now \n  \nThe stripped body lies burrowed \nin a flower well\, utterly still\, \nand one wonders \nif it has died into the nectar. \nSheltered by night\, \nin the morning the bee resumes \nsipping\, covered in pollen \nbumbling from flower to flower\, \nhis home where he stops\, \nsatiated with sugared gold\, \nhis life and eating and bliss\, \nsleep and journey all one. \n  \n  \nUnexpected \n  \nRampant weeds crowd bee balm and hyssop\, \ndirt clings to roots\, leaves bend \nand in the midst of this fecundity\, \nI am digging\, pulling\, only \nthe sun’s heat on my back. \nMoving through the afternoon quiet \na feathered sound of wings \nis near\, slower and closer\, \nand a light weight comes to rest on my head. \nCould it be? I reach a hand up\, \nthe wings lift\, rise\, and are gone. \n  \n  \nThe Tree in the Universe \n  \nLight glints off cherries in the branches \nswaying slightly in summer breezes. \n  \nI too am swinging\, shimmering\, high \nin the tree\, resting in a dark trunk \n  \nadrift and asleep\, the sky \ndappling the light in the tree\, \n  \nabove the ground air my companion\, birds \nmy companions\, jumping and wondering\, \n  \nall of us in the branches\, in the light\, \ntime a mystery that moves in the tree\, \n  \noff the ground\, as my vision\, \nmy mind unrolls in front of me \n  \ncarrying my heart forward and backward\, \ninward\, time and space a single pulse \n  \nand the cherries shine\, the tree grows \nquietly upward and outward\, carrying me\, \n  \nthe birds\, and all around\, all around\, \nright here in the branches\, in time and in sight\, \n  \nI see that\, yes\, yes\, each particle\, \neach moment turning in the sky\, \n  \nin the tree\, flowing between us\, \nin us\, what I imagined\, what I dreamed \n  \nand dreaded and is now here—all of it divine. \n  \n—Deborah Buchanan \n* \n  \nA couple months ago my friend Ken Margolis was listening to the news. He heard a report on the war in Ukraine. Both sides were said to be running low on ammunition\, because they were both using 1\,ooo artillery shells per day. Two thousand artillery shells per day! More than one per minute. It was insane. He told his friends\, including me. He wondered: Is there is anything we can do to bring this war to an end? That question prompted me to choose the theme “Peace” for this month’s peace\, love\, happiness & understanding. The word “peace” has two main connotations: the absence of war\, and a calm\, quiet state of mind. When I invited people to contribute to this issue\, I said the topic is “peace\,” but didn’t specify which kind of peace. \n  \nFor me\, the “two kinds of peace” are not unrelated. In the early Eighties I wrote a fairly long essay called “The Ecology of Violence\, the Ecology of Peace: A Lived Revolution—Personally\, Locally\, Globally.” In it\, I explored topics like Authority\, Poverty\, Education\, Cruelty\, the Media\, Meditation\, Economics\, Ideology\, Ecology\, Family\, Culture\, Community\, and many more. One of the primary insights of Ecology is that everything is  inter-related to everything else. The Buddhist teacher Thich Nhat Hanh spoke of “interbeing.” It seems to me that our “job” is to help to co-create a culture that nurtures all people\, and to learn or re-learn how humans can live on this planet without destroying it—like all the other animals do. \n  \nMy outlook on life has been shaped by the fact that instead of going to Vietnam to kill people\, I went to India and studied with wise yogis. When I think of war\, instead of thinking about brave soldiers fighting to make the world a better place\, I think of that photograph of Vietnamese children who have been bombed with jellied gasoline. Every day the war goes on in Ukraine\, more children die. More mothers and fathers\, sisters and brothers die. It’s insane. \n  \nHere’s a poem I wrote: \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  \nAlex sent this poem by Tom Clark: \n  \nBolinas \n  \nMy wife’s recipe for a fairy: \nPut buttercup pollen \nAnd a canary feather \nIn a thimble. At midnight\, \nImmersed in my life’s current \nHowever it may flow \nIn the giant life around it \nThat whispers like a tree \nRocked by evening light\, \nA tide of beams \nBears my dreambound boat. \nThe boughs drop peace\, \nA star wanders toward dawn \nOver the dim wet leaves. \n  \n—Tom Clark \n  \n—Alex Tretbar \n* \n  \nTo me lately\, peacefulness is just being a happy person and trying to make others understand happiness in just a few seconds of every moment. If one can achieve this their life will be happy. I found this secret on my journey to the golden path. A friend told me about the golden path years ago. I live there now and the town I live in on the golden path is called simple bliss. \n  \nI also find peace in the sweat of my brow from a job well done. I can’t wait to work hard for the ones I love. Peace is free and it lives inside of us and if you have it in you\, my friends\, give it to those that don’t. \n  \n—Rocky Hutchinson \n* \n  \nSiddhartha’s prayer     \n  \nWhen they asked why he left \nhis people and his palace\,  \nthe response rose like fragrance from summer’s garden. \nThere is peace in every breath\, he said\, \nand every heartbeat \nand every footstep \nthat will no longer be forgotten \nor forsaken. \nI wish every thought to be a prayer \nevery word to be a poem \nevery touch an act of love\, \nand all to be  \nas it already is. \n               – amen \n  \n—Bill Faricy \n* \n  \nSurrounded \nMemorial Day 2023 \n  \nPerhaps there is the sound of water\, \nthe feel of a light breeze\, comfortable \nwarmth\, rustling leaves. \n  \nMaybe the colors make harmonies\, \nsmell of sandalwood\, taste \nof cardamom on the tongue. \n  \nThe temptation of a ladder rung \nto a nest above ruins sharp \nedged with smoke\, mist. \n  \nMissed. We’re here. This list \nof all that’s lost\, endless. Still \nfingers uncurl from a fist. \n  \nIn the end everyone was right. \nAll we wanted was a sense of \nbelonging\, a path\, not a fight. \n  \nInstead\, a respite\, for now. \nForever? The crowd surrounds us\, \nwhether we are aware\, or not. \n  \n—Elizabeth Domike \n* \n                          Peace Tree \n  \nMy calling is to rise. My purpose is to reach. \nWhere buildings fall\, I stand silent in the shouting. \nEven in billowing dust\, I begin the next peace. If  \nyou splinter me\, I will heal. After the battle\, I will  \nsilhouette dawn. I have seen seasons pass\, the rising  \nof anger\, fury of the storm\, return of calm. I’m still \nyearning for the sun\, still delving into dark. Rooted \npatriot of Earth\, I drink the sky to give you breath. \nNeutral in war\, I shade both sides. Send my seeds  \nacross the border\, I will be your diplomat of green. \nIf you plant me beside the graves of soldiers\, I will \nsay to their mothers with my leaves what they  \nmight have said in the wind that stirs. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nPeace Within\, Peace Without \n  \nWho doesn’t want to have peace within him or herself? Who doesn’t want to have world peace? I would say there are very few people in either category—a few\, maybe\, but not many. \n  \nHere is an inside aside: \nCan you have peace without love? \nCan you have peace without joy\, either within yourself or in the ‘world?’ \nIs peace synonymous with love? Is love synonymous with joy? \nAre there other words that define or are requirements for peace? Compassion? Connection? \n  \nWell\, I’m just throwing these out there\, as you can see\, but let’s go back to peace within/peace without. \n  \nHow can you be at peace within yourself and not be concerned about the world? It is overwhelming to think about trying to ‘fix’ the world\, for sure. We all know how that feels. Might as well give up on that and just work on being at peace within yourself\, right? Well\, that is impossible\, my friends. A spirit at peace is one who gnaws away\, tackles\, wrestles with—inch by inch\, foot by foot—-some part of the exterior world that is hurting\, be it other humans\, other creatures\, the world of nature. We do the work often never knowing whether or not we are achieving change\, lessening hurt\, creating love\, creating bond and connection and unity. This is not why we do it; we do the work because the work itself is what grows peace within us. And—-we have to do it.  \n  \nHa ha—but don’t get the idea that it is easy. It can be frightening\, hurtful\, frustrating\, and really hard; but something in us is propelled to keep on. And whatever that ‘something’ is\, brings (paradoxically) an inner peace. \n  \nSo we have to be in the world\, doing our bit\, small as it is; but always\, all of it\, from all of us is growing peace in the world. And just think if each and every one were to do this! World Peace!!! \n  \nWorking on the peace without is essential for the peace within…and vice versa. \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \nThe trouble with peace seems to be that it isn’t enough for us. Of course\, war is the ultimate step in a power struggle to determine who gets the gold and the throne. So\, in that sense\, battle skills are the most useful of all skills. \n  \nBut there is something more. At the same time we fear war\, we lust after it. We sing of arms and the man. War becomes the context for heroism\, nobility\, and deep companionship. It also destroys the beautiful\, kills the innocent\, and generates hatred in future generations. \n  \nIn spite of Elon Musk and other technological self-deceivers\, most people feel intuitively that life and death form some sort of continuum. To manifest its cycle of renewal\, life needs death. Does peace need war in some mysterious way? \n  \nWhen we think of Heaven\, we think No More War\, green meadows and grandchildren on our knee\, not the whole thing blown to bits by an incoming drone. War has its lobby\, its advocates and advertisers\, its prophets and profiteers. It’s only fair that a few of us take the other\, apparently less popular side\, and advocate for peace. \n  \n—Ken Margolis \n* \n  \n“Peace has been a theme in some of our earlier issues. Take a look at the peace\,love\, happiness & understanding Archive on the Open Road website. Here’s from June 24\, 2021: \n  \nhttps://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-6-24-21/ \n  \nFor July\, send me something about your own vision of Utopia or Paradise. \n  \npeace\,   \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-6-1-23/
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UID:3915-1685215800-1685221200@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Johnny Stallings performs Walt Whitman's "Song of Myself"  5/27/23
DESCRIPTION:painting of Walt Whitman by Rick Bartow\n\n\n  \n  \n For Walt’s 204th Birthday\, Johnny Stallings will be performing  \n  \nWalt Whitman’s “Song of Myself” \n  \nat PAUSE  \n  \nPAUSE is a meditation studio — 133 SW 2nd Ave.\, Suite 300\, (door code 54445) \n  \nSaturday\, May 27th\, 7:30 p.m. \n  \na benefit for the Open Road Film Fund  \n(for distributing Bushra Azzouz’s film “A Midsummer Night’s Dream in Prison”) \n  \nfor info\, call Johnny: 503-347-6869
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/johnny-stallings-performs-walt-whitmans-song-of-myself-5-27-23/
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DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20230521T150000
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CREATED:20230517T154102Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20230517T160931Z
UID:3921-1684681200-1684688400@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!  5/21/23
DESCRIPTION:Nobel Prize-winning author\, Doris Lessing \n  \nBeloved Bibliophiles!\n \nThe theme for our next Bibliophiles Unanimous! Zoom dialogue is Favorite Women Authors! Please join us at 3 p.m. (PDT)\, Sunday\, May 21st. \n \n\nHere’s the Zoom link:  \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058 \n  \n\n\n\n\n\npeace & love\n\n\n \n\n\nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-5-21-23/
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DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20230519T190000
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CREATED:20230419T222910Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20240610T231710Z
UID:3821-1684522800-1684530000@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Deck Boys Friday Night!
DESCRIPTION:Music Lovers!\n \nThis Friday\, May 19th\, from 7 to 9 pm\, Deck Boys (https://www.deckboys.com)–featuring the inimitable Jeffrey Sher!–are gonna rock the Ross Island Grocery & Cafe\, 3502 S. Corbett\, Ave\, in Portland.\n \nWanna have a good time?\n \nThis is the place to be.\n \n \npeace\, love & music\n \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/deck-boys-friday-night/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20230515
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CREATED:20230515T224532Z
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UID:3903-1684108800-1686787199@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue  5/15/23
DESCRIPTION:  \nMay 15\, 2023 \n  \nLet your heart speak to others’ hearts. \n—tag on Yogi Tea bag \n  \n                Gandhi Returns \n  \nAs if he had said enough in life\, he uttered  \nnot a word where we stood in the station  \nin my dream\, only a stillness in the bustle  \nall around us. Instead\, he listened\, turning  \nhis bright young face in welcome to every  \ntraveler as they made speeches of their own.  \nA mother told of her son\, and in Gandhi’s eyes  \nthe boy was hero. I told him how Ali in Tehran \nhad written me that poetry is oxygen\, and in  \nMahatma’s eyes\, this was a truth no gun  \ncould injure. One by one he summoned \nwitness from each pilgrim. Then\, smiling\,  \nin his folds of pale cotton he helped us  \nstruggle with our luggage onto the steaming  \ntrain. And when I turned\, I saw he had none. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nAlex Tretbar sent two translations of a poem by Rainer Maria Rilke—showing what a big difference a translator’s choices make. He prefers the Robert Bly version: \n  \nPALM \n  \nInterior of the hand. Sole that has come to walk \nonly on feelings. That faces upward \nand in its mirror \nreceives heavenly roads\, which travel \nalong themselves. \nThat has learned to walk upon water \nwhen it scoops\, \nthat walks upon wells\, \ntransfiguring every path. \nThat steps into other hands\, \nchanges those that are like it \ninto a landscape: \nwanders and arrives within them\, \nfills them with arrival. \n  \n—translated by Stephen Mitchell \n  \nPALM OF THE HAND \n  \nPalm of the hand. Sole that walks now \nonly on feeling. It turns over\, \nbecomes a mirror\, \nshows sky roads\, which \nthemselves are walking. \nIt has learned to walk on water\, \nwhen it dips down\, \nmoves on springs\, \ncauses all roads to fork. \nComes forward into other palms\, \nthose like itself \nturn into a countryside\, \nthrough them it travels and arrives\, \nfills them with having arrived. \n  \n—translated by Robert Bly \n* \n  \nI saw lots of Jet trails in the blue sky gaily criss-crossing \nand wondered how many of us might be able to see them. \nThen this poem\, that our beloved friend and  Zen teacher  \nBob Schaibly liked\, popped into my mind.   \n  \nLove Note \n  \nLet us hire a hundred planes \nStuff them with hot cotton smoke \nAnd write white poetry on the paper of the sky. \nLet the ant people on the hot summer beaches look up squinting \nRead feathery descriptions of your lips\, \nTraced by the sky writers. \n  \nWe’ll pick a calm noontime\, \nSun pressing wrinkles out of the steamy sea \nSky flat\, receptive. \n“Love\,” I’ll write\, and “mouth\,” and silver words. \n“Cling\,” I’ll write\, and “Stars\,” and oh\, don’t worry. \nThe words will all come easily enough. \nIt’s the idea that matters. \n  \nThen I’ll fly up in the highest plane’ \nAnd jump and parachute right through \nThe O in the word “Love” \nAnd land in your backyard\, \nAnd kiss you – home again. \n  \n—Joseph Siebel \n  \n—Katie Radditz \n* \n  \nAnd a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels… \n—Walt Whitman\, Song of Myself \n  \nThe Miraculousness of Everything \n  \nBecause life is short and each day is precious\, I like to begin each day by entering what I call “the Golden World”—a state of quiet joy. To do this\, I often reflect upon the miraculousness of everything. Puffy white clouds floating by in the sky—how do they do that? Where did these coffee beans come from? The trees I see out my window have brand new bright green leaves. How did that happen? Our neighborhood is full of tulips. The irises and the rhododendrons are just starting to bloom. The daphne and the daffodils have had their glorious days. The laptop computer that I’m typing this on was undreamt of when I was a boy. \n  \nMaybe the most impossible and amazing thing of all is that I am alive and aware. My eyes\, brain and nervous system somehow create the illusion of a three-dimensional world in full color. Scientists might say\, “It’s just photons of light hitting the surface of the eye\, sending an electrical current to your brain\, where the synapses in your visual cortex something something something…” Huh? Photons? Synapses? Brain? What the heck are those? Where did they come from? One of my little poems goes like this: \n  \nthere has never been \nis not now \nand will never be \nanything more perfect \nthan this glass of water \n  \nOops! Here I am again…in the Golden World. \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \n#186  The First Noble Truth \n“The Buddha told us to recognize the First Noble Truth\, the truth of suffering\, and to look deeply in order to discover the Second Noble Truth\, the cause of suffering.That is the only way the Fourth Noble Truth\, the path to transform suffering into happiness\, can reveal itself. So we have to emphasize the role of suffering. If we are so afraid of suffering\, we have no chance.” \n—from Your True Home  by Thich Nhat Hanh \n  \nWhen I was in the midst of deep suffering\, of course I couldn’t comprehend that this was a good thing\, leading to happiness. Sure didn’t feel like that to me. \n  \nThe suffering was thirteen years of marriage to a raging alcoholic—yes\, “raging” is not an exaggeration. Trying to cover a black eye with makeup\, wearing long-sleeved shirts to cover bruised arms\, making humiliating excuses for his passing out on the floor in the presence of company\, sharp\, cutting words more lasting than any physical pain…on and on. I thought if I left\, I would be seen as a failure in my parents’ eyes\, so I stayed and endured and excused for\, yes\, thirteen years. Believe me\, I was not thinking of these years as those leading to happiness. Upon divorce (thank you\, Al Anon)\, I eventually became a new person—or I became who I had been before marriage\, Jump-up Jude! I felt like a helium balloon released into the sky. Happiness and euphoria beyond belief. However\, I lived periods of time (and still do!)\, infused with what I would now call PTSD: Once I clambered over audience-filled seats in a theater in Ashland to escape sitting through a play by Sam Sheppard about an alcoholic husband who goes to bars and trades his car for bags of green peppers\, which he drunkenly spills on the kitchen table as he lurches home to his wife. I can’t watch the movie Elephant Man\, or The Days of Wine and Roses. Much as I wanted to\, I could not even sit and watch the delicious hunk\, Bradley Cooper\, starring in A Star is Born\, as he devolves into violent and abusive alcoholism. And I just can’t be around drunk people. I feel like I’m suffocating. \n  \nSo where does the happiness component come from that??? The happiness and benefit come from my ability to connect and empathize  with others who have been traumatized by life experiences. The kids I mentored\, the Indian woman whose family I helped for 18 years\, and most especially\, the men in prison I have spent time with for seven years; I have not lived their lives\, nor have they lived mine\, but we all have had deep trauma and all can relate to one another’s deep trauma in a blessedly bonding experience.  \n  \nIt truly is sheer happiness when one understands\, and is understood by another\, in experiences of trauma and suffering. I wouldn’t trade it for the world! \n  \n–Jude Russell \n* \n  \nOut Here \n  \nWe come out here to watch the stars \nfade as Orion heads home towards \nthe horizon. Low lying mist obscures his \nturning as waves curl and crash\, foamy flow \nup on newly deposited rocks\, old wood\, \nyellow toes of bald eagles foraging \namong crows\, pink footed gulls. \n  \nLight comes up slowly burning mist \naway. As we are away at the edge of the \nknown world. Beacons of cable laying ships\, \nbarges full of earth slowly appear \nas tide comes in. Now there is color \nas sky settles into her blue cloak\, hovers \nprotectively around the huge remnant \n  \nRock of sister cape worn down\, left \nstanding alone in calling distance of \nshore. Before us feasting on starlight \nthe sword edge crescent moon glints \nover barrier pine hills\, \nsweeps the way clear\, for us to make \nwhat we can of this fresh new day. \n  \n—Elizabeth Domike \n* \n  \nMichel is using a book by Pema Chödrön\, based on the slogans in her teacher Chögyam Trungpa’s book Training the Mind: And Cultivating Loving-Kindness\, as inspiration for his April meditation and mindfulness journal. Here are some excerpts: \n  \nApril 4\, 2023  #35  Don’t try to be the fastest. Don’t compete with others. \nI might offer a step further along: Don’t compare self to others—don’t get judgy\, of anything. I’m finding this is one of the lasting legacies of Jake Merriman and OHOM in my life: the letting go of judgement words. To do this one has to follow Johnny Stallings’ trait—compassion for everyone. I find that letting go of obsessive need to categorize and judge\, or sort out good/bad\, like/dislike\, etc. I will vie less and less against others\, or even self\, for prizes that do not exist. From this less judging space it becomes easier to understand and have compassion for an other\, and eventually even for self. \n  \nApril 20\, 2023  #48  Train without bias in all areas. It is crucial to do this pervasively and wholeheartedly. \nIT’S IMPORTANT TO INCLUDE EVERYONE AND \nEVERYTHING YOU MEET AS PART OF YOUR PRACTICE. \nTHEY BECOME THE MEANS BY WHICH YOU \nCULTIVATE COMPASSION AND WISDOM. \nWho doesn’t want to cultivate compassion and/or wisdom? I certainly have been striving to do this. There are certain beings (things are also included in this teaching—sigh) with whom I have a very challenged relationship. I don’t like them\, they don’t like me\, and neither is open to changing this. Yet\, I’m certain (from all my readings) these others are here for some greater purpose in my life; shouldn’t waste an opportunity to grow\, I may not get another one—then what? Go about with a malformed (uncorrected) ego\, as I do now? No thanks! I guess I better get busy with my work/training. \n  \nApril 21\, 2023  #49 Always meditate on whatever provokes resentment. \nDO TONGLEN PRACTICE WHENEVER YOU FEEL RESENTMENT. \nDO IT WITH SMALL THINGS ALL THE TIME. THEN YOU’LL BE \nPREPARED TO WORK WITH THE BIG ONES WHEN THEY ARISE. \nIt seems wise to work with resolving one’s resentments\, before they grow into “hates” for people\, beings\, or things. I believe all mindfulness practice is like this; sit now\, in silent reverie\, so amidst a fierce stormy barrage calm may prevail. Everything would simply build from there. Just breathe… \n  \nApril 23\, 2023  #49 Don’t be swayed by external circumstances. \nWHATEVER YOUR CIRCUMSTANCES\, PRACTICE  TONGLEN. \nWHATEVER IS WANTED\, SEND THAT OUT; WHATEVER IS \nUNWANTED\, BREATHE IT IN AND EXPERIENCE IT FOR \nYOURSELF AND ALL OTHERS IN THE SAME BOAT. \nThis speaks to equanimity—not allowing the outside storms of life to sway my little stuff. Currently\, I am bracing for the eventual passing of my father\, whom I’ve come to love very much. Alzheimer’s is taking a toll on his mind and personality. I don’t see it yet\, but my mom has to deal with many of the challenges that are arising. There’s nothing I can do for either of them; letting those concerns frazzle me doesn’t help any. All I can do is keep doing as best as I can. I’m not ready to let him go\, and at the same time he is already gone. My father I knew as a child is long gone—the one with whom I had so many conflicts and struggles—and the one I’ve come to know\, love\, and appreciate from prison\, he\, too\, is now gone. What’s left is the husk of of a man I once knew for his strength and resolve. He’s not dead\, nor has his mind gone completely yet. However\, the inevitable reality of time’s ravaging of mind and body are no longer easily ignored. It is time to embrace each moment\, as it may be the last one I get with him. Whether by phone\, or if I get to see him once more face-to-face\, truth is present that we all proceed apace to the same destiny—each on our own path and in our own time. \n  \n—Michel Deforge \n* \n  \nDear Mindful Meditators \n  \nOur Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue began on September 15\, 2020. It is mailed to 10 people who are in prison and emailed to about 60 people who aren’t—including 9 men who were in prison in September of 2020 who are now out of prison! Hallelujah! \n  \nWe had our first get-together on Saturday\, May 13th\, at Taborspace in Portland. In attendance were: Charles Erickson\, Nicole Rush\, Sam Muller\, Nancy Scharbach\, Katie Radditz & Johnny Stallings. We talked about how our “life journey” and our “spiritual journey” are the same thing. Everyone shared stories from their life. Abe Green visited us from Montana—via FaceTime. We all had a lovely time together.  \n  \nMay all people be happy. \nMay we live in peace & love. \n  \n—Johnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-5-15-23/
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