BEGIN:VCALENDAR
VERSION:2.0
PRODID:-//The Open Road:  a learning community - ECPv6.15.3//NONSGML v1.0//EN
CALSCALE:GREGORIAN
METHOD:PUBLISH
X-WR-CALNAME:The Open Road:  a learning community
X-ORIGINAL-URL:https://openroadpdx.com
X-WR-CALDESC:Events for The Open Road:  a learning community
REFRESH-INTERVAL;VALUE=DURATION:PT1H
X-Robots-Tag:noindex
X-PUBLISHED-TTL:PT1H
BEGIN:VTIMEZONE
TZID:America/Los_Angeles
BEGIN:DAYLIGHT
TZOFFSETFROM:-0800
TZOFFSETTO:-0700
TZNAME:PDT
DTSTART:20200308T100000
END:DAYLIGHT
BEGIN:STANDARD
TZOFFSETFROM:-0700
TZOFFSETTO:-0800
TZNAME:PST
DTSTART:20201101T090000
END:STANDARD
END:VTIMEZONE
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20200625
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20200702
DTSTAMP:20260503T123539
CREATED:20200625T153328Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250718T115933Z
UID:984-1593043200-1593647999@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  6/25/20
DESCRIPTION:THE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nJune 25\, 2020 \n  \nJon Roush sent this poem: \n  \nIf I can stop one Heart from breaking \nI shall not live in vain \nIf I can ease one Life the Aching \nOr cool one Pain \n  \nOr help one fainting Robin \nUnto his Nest again \nI shall not live in Vain. \n  \n—Emily Dickinson \n* \n  \nA short time after I got the poem from Jon\, I got a letter from Josh Underhill (5/30/20). He seems to be thinking along the same lines as Emily. After some preliminaries\, here’s what he had to say: \n  \nI am not sure if I agree with your words “I don’t feel like I have much influence on the world\, but I create my world…” I do however agree each of us lives and creates our world from moment to moment and we choose whether or not to live in hell or paradise. Because I believe that\, and you seem to also\, our own moment to moments\, and our own choice in living in hell or paradise I believe influences the world. Everything we do from moment to moment\, our hell or paradise\, all has a ripple effect in the world. Even a smile to someone passing on the sidewalk may transform their day\, causing them to not flip-off the car that cuts them off that would have ended up in a road rage and loss of life. You can not say you haven’t changed our lives in Group Dialogue\, changed our world\, and in that changed the way we address the world\, in turn changing the world of those around us\, our friends and families. The ripple effect. I have something on this subject that I’ll see if I can find to include with this letter\, which maybe you can put in an upcoming newsletter. We all on this world are connected\, interdependent of one another and without others around us changing the world\, our world withers and dies. So see\, everything you do influences the world. \nThe thing that scares me about this belief is those things done in wrong or hurt\, what many of us are guilty of\, and has sent some to prison for. Those things we each have done\, what ripple effect did it have on the world? That is something I will not get into right now\, and in some ways don’t want to think about. Guess that’s the choice of living in hell or paradise. \n  \nJosh appended this quote to his letter: \n  \nThe life that I touch for good or ill will touch another life\, and that in turn another\, until who knows where the trembling stops or in what far place and time my touch will be felt. \n  \n—Frederick Buechner \n* \n  \nAfter reading Josh’s letter\, I wondered what exactly I had written to him (4/20/20). Here are a few excerpts: \n  \nIt’s a beautiful Spring day today. We have bright yellow goldfinches and bright red house finches flying around our back yard. I enjoyed your quote from Mr. Shin about being present to what you are doing in the moment. Moments are important. We are so busy thinking about the past and imagining the future that we need to be reminded to pay attention to where we are and to what’s happening within us and around us…. \nFor me\, meditation and mindfulness have been very helpful for my well-being. My mind is not as noisy as it once was. I can easily find my way to what I call “The Golden World….” \nHave you finished reading Ishmael yet? The stories we tell ourselves shape the world in which we live. This is true individually and collectively. When we change our stories\, we change our world—and to some extent we even change the world. I don’t feel like I have much influence on “the world\,” but I create “my world” from moment to moment\, and whether I live in a paradise or in a hell is more-or-less up to me. Outside factors impinge on my happiness\, but how I process my experience and knowledge makes a big difference in whether I am enjoying my life or am miserable. \nIshmael is about the stories we have been telling ourselves collectively that have brought us to a situation where we are destroying the ecological health of our beautiful planet. In order to live in ways that are not so destructive\, we will need new stories. \nWilliam Blake said: “every thing that lives is Holy.” That’s a good start. \nMay all people be happy. \nMay we be peaceful and at ease. \nMay we be well in body and mind. \nMay we live in love. \n* \nWhen I wrote to Josh to ask his permission to publish excerpts from our exchange of letters in this newsletter\, he said “yes\,” and asked me to also include some things I wrote (6/9/20) in reply to his letter. I’m including a couple sentences in square brackets\, although Josh\, who is modest\, didn’t ask me to : \n  \nEverything has a ripple effect—good things and bad things. The Big World—what I was calling “the world”—has a LOT of forces in play. I think there are way more good deeds than bad deeds being done right now everywhere in the world. Basically\, people are good and want to be helpful to each other. The good deeds are often subtle\, like the example you gave\, of smiling at someone as you pass on the sidewalk. But the wrong and hurtful things that you mention in your letter sometimes create more of a wave than a ripple…. \nA man in our dialogue group who was serving a life sentence once said that he could never undo the deed or make amends to the loved ones of the person he killed. He said he hoped that by living a good life\, he would be able to help so many people that in the balance\, at the end of his life\, the good would outweigh the bad…. \nI think it is wise of you not to dwell on the negative ripples that went out from what you’ve done in the past…. Shame and guilt don’t help you or anyone else…. \n[You have nurtured and strengthened what is best in you—your kindness and generosity\, your thoughtfulness toward others. You are living the life of a good man\, and that not only benefits others with a ripple effect\, it benefits you every hour of every day of your life….] \nBe kind to yourself. Don’t engage in negative self-talk. Don’t put yourself down or belittle yourself. Don’t engage with shame or guilt. Don’t dwell in the past. Love everyone!—including Josh Underhill. That beautiful innocent person you were when you were three years old is still who you are in essence. You are worthy to love and be loved. \nYes\, there are ripple effects that result from our negative thoughts and actions. But your job and my job is to:  \nAccentuate the positive\,  \nEliminate the negative\,  \nLatch on to the affirmative\, \nAnd don’t mess with Mr. In-Between! \n* \n  \n(Note: Josh and I and other actors sang this Johnny Mercer song together after one of the plays we did at Two Rivers prison.)  \n  \nLet’s close with more Emily: \n  \nA letter is a joy of Earth — \nIt is denied the Gods — \n  \n& \n  \nThe Infinite a sudden Guest \nHas been assumed to be — \nBut how can that stupendous come \nWhich never went away? \n  \n  \n—This issue was co-edited by Josh Underhill & Johnny Stallings
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-6-25-20/
END:VEVENT
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20200702
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20200709
DTSTAMP:20260503T123539
CREATED:20200702T170806Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250718T120031Z
UID:1001-1593648000-1594252799@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding 7/2/20
DESCRIPTION:THE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nJuly 2\, 2020 \n  \nThis is a simple story I tell myself about our human life on Earth. We start out as perfect innocent beings. Then something happens to us. We become “adulterated.” We learn to think and talk. We learn and co-create stories about who we are and about the world in which we live and our relation to it. We become grownups. Which is great. But. We are now stuck with our stories\, which we repeat over and over. We have lost much of the spontaneous joy and wonder we had when we were very small. And the maps we have made of the world\, though useful and even necessary\, are an extreme over-simplification—(like this one)—of our life. \n  \nBut that is not the end of the story. Once we have achieved something like “well-adjusted normal\,” we want more. We want a life rich in meaning. We want happiness! Love! We want to live in such a way that we bless each day\, that our life gets better and better as it goes along\, until we are amazed at what a miracle it all is. \n  \nHere are two of William Blake’s poems of innocence: \n  \nInfant Joy \n  \n“I have no name: \nI am but two days old.” \nWhat shall I call thee? \n“I happy am\, \nJoy is my name.” \nSweet joy befall thee! \n  \nPretty joy! \nSweet joy but two days old\, \nSweet joy I call thee: \nThou dost smile\, \nI sing the while\, \nSweet joy befall thee \n* \n  \nLaughing Song \n  \nWhen the green hills laugh with the voice of joy\, \nAnd the dimpling stream runs laughing by; \nWhen the air does laugh with our merry wit\, \nAnd the green hill laughs with the noise of it; \n  \nWhen the meadows laugh with lively green\, \nAnd the grasshopper laughs in the merry scene\, \nWhen Mary and Susan and Emily \nWith their sweet round mouths sing “Ha\, Ha\, He!” \n  \nWhen the painted birds laugh in the shade\, \nWhere our table with cherries and nuts is spread\, \nCome live & be merry\, and join with me\, \nTo sing the sweet chorus of “Ha\, Ha\, He!” \n* \n  \nBut then something happens to these innocent children: \n  \nThe School Boy \n  \nI love to rise in a summer morn \nWhen the birds sing on every tree; \nThe distant huntsman winds his horn\, \nAnd the sky-lark sings with me. \nO! what sweet company. \n  \nBut to go to school in a summer morn\, \nO! it drives all joy away; \nUnder a cruel eye outworn\, \nThe little ones spend the day \nIn sighing and dismay. \n  \nAh! then at times I drooping sit\, \nAnd spend many an anxious hour\, \nNor in my book can I take delight\, \nNor sit in learning’s bower\, \nWorn thro’ with the dreary shower. \n  \nHow can the bird that is born for joy \nSit in a cage and sing? \nHow can a child\, when fears annoy\, \nBut droop his tender wing\, \nAnd forget his youthful spring? \n  \nO! father & mother\, if buds are nip’d \nAnd blossoms blown away\, \nAnd if the tender plants are strip’d \nOf their joy in the springing day\, \nBy sorrow and care’s dismay\, \n  \nHow shall the summer arise in joy\, \nOr the summer fruits appear? \nOr how shall we gather what griefs destroy\, \nOr bless the mellowing year\, \nWhen the blasts of winter appear? \n* \n  \nThe GARDEN of LOVE \n  \nI went to the Garden of Love\, \nAnd saw what I never had seen: \nA Chapel was built in the midst\, \nWhere I used to play on the green. \n  \nAnd the gates of this Chapel were shut\, \nAnd “Thou shalt not” writ over the door; \nSo I turn’d to the Garden of Love \nThat so many sweet flowers bore; \n  \nAnd I saw it was filled with graves\, \nAnd tomb-stones where flowers should be; \nAnd Priests in black gowns were walking their rounds\, \nAnd binding with briars my joys & desires. \n* \n  \nHere’s William Wordsworth’s account: \n  \nOde on Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood \n  \nThere was a time when meadow\, grove\, and stream\, \nThe earth\, and every common sight \n                 To me did seem \n            Apparelled in celestial light\, \nThe glory and the freshness of a dream. \nIt is not now as it hath been of yore;— \n             Turn wheresoe’er I may\, \n              By night or day\, \nThe things which I have seen I now can see no more. \n            The rainbow comes and goes\, \n            And lovely is the rose; \n            The moon doth with delight \n     Look round her when the heavens are bare; \n            Waters on a starry night \n            Are beautiful and fair; \n     The sunshine is a glorious birth; \n     But yet I know\, where’er I go\, \nThat there hath past away a glory from the earth. \nNow\, while the birds thus sing a joyous song\, \n     And while the young lambs bound \n            As to the tabor’s sound\, \nTo me alone there came a thought of grief: \nA timely utterance gave that thought relief\, \n            And I again am strong. \nThe cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep\,— \nNo more shall grief of mine the season wrong: \nI hear the echoes through the mountains throng. \nThe winds come to me from the fields of sleep\, \n            And all the earth is gay; \n                Land and sea \n     Give themselves up to jollity\, \n            And with the heart of May \n     Doth every beast keep holiday;— \n                Thou child of joy\, \nShout round me\, let me hear thy shouts\, thou happy \n        Shepherd-boy! \n                 Ye blesséd Creatures\, I have heard the call  \n     Ye to each other make; I see \nThe heavens laugh with you in your jubilee; \n     My heart is at your festival\, \n       My head hath its coronal\, \nThe fulness of your bliss\, I feel—I feel it all. \n         O evil day! if I were sullen \n         While Earth herself is adorning \n              This sweet May-morning; \n         And the children are culling \n              On every side \n         In a thousand valleys far and wide \n         Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm\, \nAnd the babe leaps up on his mother’s arm:— \n         I hear\, I hear\, with joy I hear! \n         —But there’s a tree\, of many\, one\, \nA single field which I have look’d upon\, \nBoth of them speak of something that is gone: \n              The pansy at my feet \n              Doth the same tale repeat: \nWhither is fled the visionary gleam? \nWhere is it now\, the glory and the dream? \nOur birth is but a sleep and a forgetting; \nThe Soul that rises with us\, our life’s Star\, \n          Hath had elsewhere its setting \n               And cometh from afar; \n          Not in entire forgetfulness\, \n          And not in utter nakedness\, \nBut trailing clouds of glory do we come  \n               From God\, who is our home: \nHeaven lies about us in our infancy! \nShades of the prison-house begin to close \n               Upon the growing Boy\, \nBut he beholds the light\, and whence it flows\, \n               He sees it in his joy; \nThe Youth\, who daily farther from the east \n     Must travel\, still is Nature’s priest\, \n          And by the vision splendid \n          Is on his way attended; \nAt length the Man perceives it die away\, \nAnd fade into the light of common day… \n* \n  \nThis is about the first third of Wordsworth’s poem. For the complete poem\, click this link: \n  \nhttps://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45536/ode-intimations-of-immortality-from-recollections-of-early-childhood  \n  \nHe is sad that he has lost something that he vividly remembers having as a child: “There hath past away a glory from the earth.” William Blake and Thomas Traherne were able to find it\, or something like it\, in the later part of their lives. Here is Thomas Traherne’s poem “Innocence\,” along with a link: \n  \nInnocence \n\n\n\n  \nBut that which most I wonder at\, which most \nI did esteem my bliss\, which most I boast\, \nAnd ever shall enjoy\, is that within \nI felt no stain\, nor spot of sin. \n\nNo darkness then did overshade\, \n      But all within was pure and bright\, \nNo guilt did crush\, nor fear invade \n      But all my soul was full of light. \n\nA joyful sense and purity \n      Is all I can remember; \n   The very night to me was bright\, \n      ’Twas summer in December. \n\nA serious meditation did employ \nMy soul within\, which taken up with joy \nDid seem no outward thing to note\, but fly \nAll objects that do feed the eye. \n\nWhile it those very objects did \n      Admire\, and prize\, and praise\, and love\, \nWhich in their glory most are hid\, \n      Which presence only doth remove. \n\n      Their constant daily presence I \nRejoicing at\, did see; \n      And that which takes them from the eye \nOf others\, offer’d them to me. \n\nNo inward inclination did I feel \nTo avarice or pride: my soul did kneel \nIn admiration all the day. No lust\, nor strife\, \nPolluted then my infant life. \n\nNo fraud nor anger in me mov’d\, \n      No malice\, jealousy\, or spite; \nAll that I saw I truly lov’d. \n      Contentment only and delight \n\n      Were in my soul. O Heav’n! what bliss \nDid I enjoy and feel! \n      What powerful delight did this \nInspire! for this I daily kneel. \n\nWhether it be that nature is so pure\, \nAnd custom only vicious; or that sure \nGod did by miracle the guilt remove\, \nAnd make my soul to feel his love \n\nSo early: or that ’twas one day\, \n      Wherein this happiness I found; \nWhose strength and brightness so do ray\, \n      That still it seems me to surround; \n\nWhat ere it is\, it is a light \n      So endless unto me \nThat I a world of true delight \n      Did then and to this day do see. \n\nThat prospect was the gate of Heav’n\, that day \nThe ancient light of Eden did convey \nInto my soul: I was an Adam there \nA little Adam in a sphere \n\nOf joys! O there my ravish’d sense \n      Was entertain’d in Paradise\, \nAnd had a sight of innocence \n      Which was beyond all bound and price. \n\nAn antepast of Heaven sure! \n      I on the earth did reign; \nWithin\, without me\, all was pure; \n      I must become a child again. \n  \n\n–Thomas Traherne \n\n\n  \n https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45414/innocence.)  \n  \nHere’s what Hamlet had to say. I’ve used it in a previous newsletter (4/23/20)\, but\, hey!\, some things are worth reading more than once. Hamlet knows intellectually that the world is beautiful and people are glorious\, but he just can’t feel it: \n  \nHamlet.  \nI have of late\, but wherefore I know not\, lost all my mirth\, foregone all custom of exercises\, and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame the earth seems to me a sterile promontory\, this most excellent canopy\, the air\, look you\, this brave o’erhanging firmament\, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire—why it appears nothing to me but a foul and pestilent congregation of vapors.  What a piece of work is a man\, how noble in reason\, how infinite in faculties\, in form and moving how express and admirable\, in action how like an angel\, in apprehension how like a god\, the beauty of the world\, the paragon of animals—and yet\, to me\, what is this quintessence of dust?  Man delights not me.  No\, nor woman\, neither. \n* \n  \nI have the nutty idea that every child is an incarnation of the Divine. Recently\, I had the good fortune to meet Zak and Rina’s daughter Nina\, who was born on May 6th. She proved once again—(like every baby I’ve ever met)—that Augustine was wrong. We are born in innocence\, not in sin. Our job is to welcome each new arrival on this planet and to co-create a culture that nurtures their well-being. \n  \n—Johnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-7-2-20/
END:VEVENT
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20200709
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20200716
DTSTAMP:20260503T123539
CREATED:20200708T173254Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20200708T173510Z
UID:1016-1594252800-1594857599@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  7/9/20
DESCRIPTION:THE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nJuly 9\, 2020 \n  \nlove is a place \n& through this place of \nlove move \n(with brightness of peace) \nall places \n  \nyes is a world \n& in this world of \nyes live \n(skilfully curled) \nall worlds \n  \n—e.e. cummings \n* \n  \nCan I see another’s woe\, \nAnd not be in sorrow too? \nCan I see another’s grief\, \nAnd not seek for kind relief? \n  \nCan I see a falling tear\, \nAnd not feel my sorrow’s share? \nCan a father see his child \nWeep\, nor be with sorrow filled? \n  \nCan a mother sit and hear \nAn infant groan\, an infant fear? \nNo\, no! never can it be! \nNever\, never can it be!… \n  \n—from “On Another’s Sorrow” by William Blake \n* \n  \nLonnie Glinksi\, who was in our dialogue and theater groups at Two Rivers prison—(he played Ophelia in our 2015 production of “Hamlet”)—sent me a letter on June 4th. With his permission\, I’m sharing a slightly edited version: \n  \nDear Johnny \n  \nIn recent days I have suffered a loss of a dear man who has moved on. He turned 91 last month. With a few adaptations he loved to play ping pong\, though spending most of the day in a wheelchair. \nHe is an artist that draws wonderful pictures. He spent much energy writing poems\, telling stories of his life\, and trying to write songs\, but he never quite got the hang of that. \nWe would argue over topics\, would fight over the songs. We would laugh at each other for no reason at all. And while he was here\, he was the person I could talk to about topics and feelings of which I now write. \nWith the recent Supreme Court decision regarding unanimous verdicts\, it appears he will be going home or for re-trial. No one will tell me where he moved on to; I only know he is not here. \nWhile that spark of joy for him remains alive in my heart\, the waves of grief that wash through my body repeatedly attempt to drown out that joy. The experience of having the spark and the grief of his leaving at the same time is new for me. \nI had a pen-pal through the U.U. outreach by that I could write to about such things\, but he came down with cancer. He promised to write if he could\, but has not written. The grief of that loss is different than the current one. \nAlthough uncomfortable\, I am not attempting to make it go away. Instead I just watch it\, feel it\, know it is there. Repeatedly\, it washes through me like a wave when I look at the place where he used to sit. \nLee was hard of hearing and had to see your lips for conversations. Since he couldn’t hear himself he spoke really loudly\, irritating those without that challenge. Now I expect to hear that voice while I’m in my cell\, through the multiple voices and dayroom noises\, and it isn’t there. Another wave. \nThen I feel the spark\, the joy for his experience and what he has to look forward to. So I watch this spark\, feel this spark\, and like the wave\, I leave it be. \n  \n—Lonnie Glinski \n* \n  \nI was Zooming with some friends this morning (7/3)\, and the subject came up of “All the Problems in the World”—a familiar theme in our conversations. All of us were feeling that the problems are so many and so old and so big that\, for each of us\, our efforts to make the world a better place were puny and woefully inadequate. One friend said: “Homelessness. I have a spare bedroom: I should be letting a homeless person sleep here.” And I remembered my friend Nick. Lonnie’s letter makes me think that I should do the laptop equivalent of putting pen to paper and say a few things about Nick. I’m terrible at remembering dates. How long ago was it that he died? I pulled up his obituary: \n  \nConsoletti\, Nick\, May 10\, 1947 to May 31\, 2012. Nick Consoletti\, Ph.D.\, passed away at home in Hillsboro on May 31\, 2012\, at the age of 65. Nick was a philosopher\, scholar\, musician\, brilliant conversationalist and poet\, dedicated traveler and a tremendously kind\, loving and loyal friend. Our authentic and gentle friend is greatly loved and missed. \n  \nI met Nick in the late Seventies. In a coffee shop\, of course. Most of the people who knew him probably met him in a coffee shop. This one was in the basement of an old brick building on the Portland State University campus. In addition to coffee shops\, Nick liked college campuses and libraries—places you could meet people who liked to talk about “All the Problems in the World\,” and how they could be solved. His two favorite authors were Buckminster Fuller—a man who had practical solutions for All the Problems in the World—and J. Krishnamurti\, who also had ideas about how the world could be transformed. According to him\, we just needed to be free of fear\, free of ideas of past and future\, free from authorities (inner and outer)\, free from ambition and ideologies and nationalism\, free from our opinions\, from “the known\,” from our carefully constructed autobiographies. Here’s a Krishnamurti quote: “Thought is always old; thought is never new; thought can never be free.” \n  \nBut back to Nick. He had a heavy backpack\, which included a sleeping bag\, books\, and maybe a tent. In coffee shops and on college campuses\, Nick would meet people who might offer him a couch to crash on. Over a period of 30 years or so\, Nick probably stayed with me\, on average\, one or two nights a month. He hitchhiked from one end of the country to the other\, but mostly up and down the West Coast\, from the Bay Area to Seattle\, with stops in Eugene and Portland. Once a year\, he would go all the way down to Ojai\, in Southern California for Krishnamurti’s annual talks.  \n  \nNick didn’t smoke\, drink\, take drugs or eat meat. He never asked for money\, but if given five or ten bucks\, he would quietly put it in his pocket. He played the dulcimer in coffee shops with a nearby hat for possible donations. He was a walking encyclopedia. He attended LOTS of conferences that featured cutting-edge thinkers. He wanted to hear them in person: Gregory Bateson\, David Bohm\, Erich Jantsch—it was a very long list! Whatever topic you might mention\, Nick would instantly tell you the name of an article or book that would educate you further on the subject.  \n  \nHis main interest was in “appropriate technology\,” or how we humans can live in a sustainable way on this planet\, without relentlessly destroying the health of the ecosphere. He was baffled by the fact that so much was known about how we could live more sustainably\, and yet we persist in living in ways which indicate a lack of concern for future generations. Nick would have loved Greta Thunberg! \n  \nIn the brief obituary\, you might notice that he had a Ph.D. degree and that he died at home. Nick didn’t have a “home”—his own apartment—until the last year of his life: after his kidneys failed and he had to stay in one place for his twice-weekly dialysis treatments.  \n  \nInspired by David Bohm’s ideas about dialogue\, Nick—without money and without a home—earned his doctorate by facilitating a dialogue group and writing a dissertation about it. After he got his degree\, he applied to some colleges\, but was never offered a job. He continued to be an exemplary Coffee Shop Philosopher right up until the end. When I decided to “do something” at Two Rivers prison in 2006\, maybe it was Nick’s example that inspired me to start a dialogue group\, rather than “teach a class.” I learned a lot from Nick. I miss him. \n  \n—Johnny Stallings
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-7-9-20/
ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/07/nickcgf.jpg
END:VEVENT
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20200716
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20200723
DTSTAMP:20260503T123539
CREATED:20200716T171508Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20200717T003510Z
UID:1038-1594857600-1595462399@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  7/16/20
DESCRIPTION:Three amigos bringing in the New Year at Alma del Sol in Guanajuato\, Mexico: Johnny Stallings\, Hugo Anaya & Kim Stafford. \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nJuly 16\, 2020 \n  \nI asked Kim Stafford if he would write something for our newsletter about his experience as Poet Laureate. Like the generous writer and human being described in his essay\, he said “Yes.” \n* \n  \nTo Be a Better Person \nMy 100 poetry events as Oregon’s 9th Poet Laureate \n  \nWhen I met the Poet Laureate of Linn-Benton Community College I learned what my work as a poet is really about. This student poet\, chosen by his teachers to serve as a writer and reader of poems at various campus events for a year\, was telling me about his work teaching writing at the juvenile detention center as a volunteer\, sharing poems with fellow students\, opening meetings with a poem\, and other acts of generous incantation. Then he said it: “I don’t write poems to become a better poet. I write poems to become a better person.” \n  \nThat’s it! That’s what poetry is for—the writing of it\, the reading of it\, teaching\, sharing\, posting\, publishing\, handing off to a friend in need of lyric buoyancy. It’s not just a literary activity. It’s a human activity\, a way to become more awake\, more human\, humane\, compassionate\, alive\, and connected. \n  \nI wish I could remember that student’s name\, but I will never forget what he taught me. And maybe something like that will be the legacy of my own work as wandering bard in Oregon. Years after I’m gone\, people in little towns will say\, “This guy came and told us the great thing about poetry is you can’t make money doing it—so you are completely free in how you do it. I can’t remember his name\, but he said a poem could save your life. He said a poem could make you live at a deeper level\, closer to community\, more ready to take hard things in life as they come\, and to help others with gentle words.” \n  \nAs Oregon’s 9th Poet Laureate from May 2018 through May 2020\, I was a sitting duck\, but a willing one. There was an “event request form” on the website of the Oregon Cultural Trust\, and it took about five minutes for anyone—a librarian\, teacher\, writer\, reader\, or other individual—to fill out the form\, it would come to me\, and I could not say no. Would I drive to the Alvord Desert to read poems as part of an open air piano concert (with Hunter Noack of www.inalandscape.org)? Yes! Would I drive to Klamath Falls to read poems…to Gold Beach…to Astoria…to Madras\, Stayton\, Astoria\, the Umatilla Reservation at Tamástslikt Cultural Center? Oh yes. Would I write with veterans for the V.A. Hospital? Would I work with inmates at Coffee Creek Women’s Prison\, Columbia River Correctional Institution\, at the Two Rivers Correctional Institution? Yes\, of course. Would I do an assembly for 120 primary students…for seventeen immigrants becoming citizens…for the Oregon House of Representatives…for a winery\, a business association\, a city council? Absolutely. Would I meet with one young writer full of fury and eloquence to help her onto the path of poetry? Yes. \n  \nThe job was a two-year rush of such encounters where all kinds of people wrote all kinds of things\, and I traveled to meet with them and together raise the human spirit.  \n  \nNow that the torch has been passed to a new Oregon Poet Laureate\, Anis Mojgani (his event-request form is here: https://culturaltrust.org/oregon-poet-laureate/calendar/)\, I still feel I have the calling of poet as servant of the people. Since my official term ended in May\, I’ve taught a class online in Scotland\, done a radio interview with a station in Newport\, put poetry prompts and other writer resources on my website (www.kimstaffordpoet.com)\, given several poetry readings online\, and hatched public service projects with other artists for individuals and families sheltering at home. \n  \nIn a way\, the job of a poet laureate is the same as the job of any writer: Something came to my page that I would love to share with you. It’s about discovery\, generosity\, and connection: \n  \nDew & Honey \nSip by sip in thimble cup \nthe meadow bees will drink it up \nthen ferry home to bounty’s hive \nby flowers’ flavor hum and thrive \nto show us how through word and song \nby gesture small and patience long \nin spite of our old foolish ways \nwe may fashion better days. \n  \nSo\, my friend\, come sip and savor \nsyllables as crumbs of pleasure. \nBy sunrise\, in our conversations\, \nwe begin a better nation. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \nBefore visiting our dialogue group at Two Rivers prison\, Kim wrote this poem and brought it with him as a gift for the men in the group: \n  \nTwo Rivers \n  \nOne river flows above ground— \neveryone can see it shining \nacross the land\, following the valley \nand shaping the valley\, never at rest. \n  \nAnd some people say\, I know who \nyou are…I know what you’ve done… \nwhat you lost…where you came from… \nwhere you are going. I know. \n  \nBut what do they know of you\, really? \nFor another river flows below all that\, \ninvisible\, at the speed of a dream \ninside you—intuitive\, curious\, innocent. \n  \nAnd you say\, I know who I want to be… \nI know what I’ve learned…I know what I love… \nI need to know who I really am. So you remember\, \nyou wonder\, you write\, you shape story\, \n  \nand you say to yourself on the page\, \nHidden river\, spill your secrets \nat the wellspring. I hold forth \nmy cup no one else can see. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nThe ending of his poem reminds me of this brief quote from Sylvia Plath: \n  \nSo many people are shut up tight inside themselves like boxes\, yet they would open up\, unfolding quite wonderfully if only you were interested in them. \n  \n—Sylvia Plath \n* \n  \nIn the spirit of Kim’s essay\, here’s some life advice from Walt Whitman: \n  \nThis is what you shall do; Love the earth and sun and the animals\, despise riches\, give alms to every one that asks\, stand up for the stupid and crazy\, devote your income and labor to others\, hate tyrants\, argue not concerning God\, have patience and indulgence toward the people\, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men\, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families\, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life\, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book\, dismiss whatever insults your own soul\, and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body. \n  \nfrom the preface to the 1855 edition of Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman \n* \n  \nRecently\, I was listening to a talk Cornel West gave at the University of Oregon on April 26\, 2019 called “What It Means to Be Human.” It’s always a joy to be enlivened by his lively mind! Here’s a link:  \n  \nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Aekb3ppKm5w&t=480s \n  \nI was talking with Kim about “the poet’s job.”  A short time later he sent me some of his aphorisms on the subject. Here they are: \n  \nIt is the poet’s job to turn fact into food\, loss into learning\, and pain into song.  \n  \nThe poet’s work is to be the Eric Snowden of the inner life: All shall be revealed. \n  \nAll a writer can do is compose clues to what can never be spoken\, footnotes to the inexpressible. \n  \nA poet’s remedy for myriad troubles: Cook up a feast of words\, and see what you learn. \n  \nLike a bird lifting from a twig\, the poet steps away from all freight. Even as you plod the road\, your soul is in flight. \n  \nA poet’s work is to compose a filmed parade of images with a sound track of percussive words. \n  \nPoetry is the moonlight of the interior life—waxing and waning\, causing the soul to flood and ebb. \n  \nEveryone should compose their own text for the tee shirt they wear along the summer avenue—so we could be known by what we are willing to say. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nAnd he sent some quotes from other poets: \n  \nThe poet’s job is to put into words those feelings we all have that are so deep\, so important\, and yet so difficult to name\, to tell the truth in such a beautiful way\, that people cannot live without it. \n  \n—Jane Kenyon \n* \n  \nPoetry isn’t a profession\, it’s a way of life. It’s an empty basket; you put your life into it and make something out of that. \n  \n—Mary Oliver \n* \n  \nWant to take workshop from Kim? Go to his website\, click on workshops\, and sign up for one. Here’s the link: \n  \nwww.kimstaffordpoet.com \n* \n  \nI recently read Susan Griffin’s long essay “The Eros of Everyday Life” again. I read it with the kind of pleasure I’ve been getting from standing in the backyard in the summer sun\, picking blackberries\, putting them into my mouth one at a time and crushing them between my tongue and the top of my mouth. Here’s a quote: \n  \nEverything I encounter permeates me\, washes in and out\, leaving a tracery\, placing me in that beautiful paradox of being by which I am both a solitary creature and everyone\, everything. \n  \n—Susan Griffin \n* \nThat’s it for now\, y’all. Until next time… \n  \n—Johnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-7-16-20/
ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/07/IMG_1672-2.jpeg
END:VEVENT
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20200723
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20200730
DTSTAMP:20260503T123539
CREATED:20200723T041150Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20200723T041525Z
UID:1053-1595462400-1596067199@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  7/23/20
DESCRIPTION:THE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nJuly 23\, 2020 \n  \n“The world is a Dancer; it is a Rosary; it is a Torrent; it is a Boat; a Mist; a Spider’s Snare: it is what you will; and the metaphor will hold\, and it will give the imagination keen pleasure.  Swifter than light the world converts itself into the thing you name\, and all things find their right place under this new and capricious classification.  Must I call the heaven and the earth a maypole and country fair with booths\, or an anthill\, or an old coat\, in order to give you the shock of pleasure which the imagination loves and the sense of spiritual greatness?  Call it a blossom\, a rod\, a wreath of parsley\, a tamarisk-crown\, a cock\, a sparrow\, the ear instantly hears and the spirit leaps to the trope.”   \n  \n(The Journals of Ralph Waldo Emerson\, edited by Linscott\, pp. 197-198\, (1841)) \n* \n  \nBattle or Picnic? \n  \nLife has often been described as a battle. Perhaps the most famous example is the Bhagavad Gita. Just as a great battle is about to begin\, the warrior-prince Arjuna asks his charioteer and guru\, the god Krishna\, to drive their chariot between the two armies. Time stops. Filled with pity\, and unwilling to kill his kinsmen who are on the opposing side\, Arjuna refuses to fight. Krishna urges Arjuna to do his duty\, to stand up and fight like a man. He teaches Arjuna that the highest liberation comes from the realization that one’s self is the unborn and undying Self of all—not other than God. Arjuna decides to join the fight\, the battle begins\, and everyone on both sides is slaughtered. \n  \nThe Bhagavad Gita is a complex wisdom text which is located in the middle of a story about war. It is essentially about yoga and how to live a life of inner peace and freedom\, but the plot of the epic in which it is set requires Arjuna to fight in the war. So\, a central metaphor suggests that life is a battle\, and the honorable thing is to boldly do what is required of you. \n  \nWe are often reminded that life is a struggle or a battle. Darwin’s idea of the survival of the fittest is used to support this idea. Our economic system is predicated on the idea of a fierce competition which many people will inevitably lose. Too bad for them. \n  \nI like the Buddhist teacher Thich Nhat Hanh. In one of his talks at a meditation retreat\, he began by saying: “Some people think that a meditation retreat is a kind of picnic…” When someone is an expert in a field\, he usually warns newcomers that such expertise requires years of discipline and hard work. So\, I was expecting Thich Nhat Hanh to continue by saying\, “…but it’s not.” He surprised me by next saying: “I love picnics!” And I thought to myself: “I love picnics\, too! Everyone loves picnics! Picnics are lovely!” \n  \nAnd it occurred to me that rather than thinking of life as a struggle\, as some kind of ordeal\, as a battle to be fought\, I would think of my life as a picnic. Why not? As we learn from Ralph Waldo Emerson’s entertaining journal entry that I am using as the epigram for this essay\, we can say anything we want. I have the feeling that life is everything-at-once. But I can’t imagine everything-at-once. So\, for now\, I’m going with “picnic.” \n  \nIt’s a picnic to which everyone is invited. A gathering. A feast. Little kids are running around. Maybe there’s a softball game. There’s potato salad. Sandwiches. Lemonade. There might be pie. Ants. At a picnic\, everyone has the feeling that life is good. \n  \nSince we’re here just a little while\, doesn’t that sound good? As a metaphor\, isn’t it preferable to a scene of chaos\, confusion and carnage? \n  \nIn the UNESCO Constitution\, signed in November of 1945\, it says: “…wars begin in the minds of men…” We should choose our metaphors wisely. \n  \n—Johnny Stallings  (11/14/19) \n* \n  \nNaomi Shihab Nye really goes to town with metaphors in this poem: \n  \nSifter \n  \nWhen our English teacher gave \nour first writing assignment of the year\, \nBecome a kitchen implement \nin 2 descriptive paragraphs\, I did not think \nbutcher knife or frying pan\, \nI thought immediately \nof soft flour sifting through the little holes \nof the sifter and the sifter’s pleasing circular \nswishing sound\, and wrote it down. \nRhoda became a teaspoon\, \nRoberto a funnel\, \nJim a muffin tin \nand Forrest a soup pot. \nWe read our paragraphs out loud. \nAbby was a blender. Everyone laughed \nand acted giddy\, but the more we thought about it\, \nwe were all everything in the whole kitchen\, \ndrawers and drainers\, \nsinging teapot and grapefruit spoon \nwith serrated edges\, we were all the \nempty cup\, the tray. \nThis\, said our teacher\, is the beauty of metaphor. \nIt opens doors. \nWhat I could not know then \nwas how being a sifter \nwould help me all year long. \nWhen bad days came \nI would close my eyes and feel them passing \nthrough the tiny holes. \nWhen good days came \nI would try to contain them gently \nthe way flour remains \nin the sifter until you turn the handle. \nTime\, time. I was a sweet sifter in time \nand no one ever knew. \n  \n—Naomi Shihab Nye \n* \n  \nHoward Thoresen has often recommended to me the book Metaphors We Live By by George Lakoff and Mark Johnson.  \n  \nJeff Kuehner sent a couple poems: \n  \nThe Panther \n  \nHis vision\, from the constantly passing bars\, \nhas grown so weary that it cannot hold \nanything else. It seems to him there are \na thousand bars; and behind the bars\, no world. \n  \nAs he paces in cramped circles\, over and over\, \nthe movement of his powerful soft strides \nis like a ritual dance around a center \nin which a mighty will stands paralyzed. \n  \nOnly at times\, the curtain of the pupils \nlifts quietly—. An image enters in\, \nrushes down through the tensed\, arrested muscles\, \nplunges into the heart and is gone. \n  \n—Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926)\, translated from the German by Stephen Mitchell \n* \n  \nThere Will Come Soft Rains \n  \n(War Time) \n  \nThere will come soft rains and the smell of the ground\, \nAnd swallows circling with their shimmering sound; \n  \nAnd frogs in the pools singing at night\, \nAnd wild plum trees in tremulous white\, \n  \nRobins will wear their feathery fire \nWhistling their whims on a low fence-wire; \n  \nAnd not one will know of the war\, not one \nWill care at last when it is done. \n  \nNot one would mind\, neither bird nor tree \nIf mankind perished utterly; \n  \nAnd Spring herself\, when she woke at dawn\, \nWould scarcely know that we were gone. \n  \n—Sara Teasdale (1884-1933) \n* \n  \nHere’s a link to a short (12 minutes) film on “Sacred Economics” featuring Charles Eisenstein: \n  \nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EEZkQv25uEs \n  \nThat’s it for this issue of “peace\, love\, happiness & understanding.” Tune in next week for another exciting episode. \n  \n—Johnny Stallings
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-7-23-20/
ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/07/Unknown-2.jpeg
END:VEVENT
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20200730
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20200806
DTSTAMP:20260503T123539
CREATED:20200730T170704Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250718T120243Z
UID:1075-1596067200-1596671999@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  7/30/20
DESCRIPTION:Cartoon by Gary Larson \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nOh no! Not another Humor Issue! \n  \nJuly 30\, 2020 \n  \nA three-legged dog walks into a bar and says: “I’m lookin for the man who shot my paw.” \n  \nWhy did the hipster burn his mouth? \nHe drank his coffee before it was cool. \n  \nI told my wife she was drawing her eyebrows too high. \nShe looked at me surprised. \n  \nI got my daughter a fridge for her birthday. \nI can’t wait to see her face light up when she opens it. \n  \nWhat did the pirate say when he became an octogenarian? \nAye matey. \n  \nA sandwich walks into a bar. The bartender says\, “Sorry\, we don’t serve food here.” \n  \nWhy did the yogurt go to the art exhibition? \nBecause it was cultured. \n  \nHow do you throw a space party? \nYou planet. \n  \nWhat did one hat say to the other? \nYou stay here. I’ll go on ahead. \n  \nA horse walks into a bar. The bartender asks what he’d like. The horse doesn’t reply because it’s a horse and obviously can’t speak or understand English. Several people get up and leave\, sensing the danger in having a large live animal in an enclosed space. \n* \nA young boy enters a barber shop and the barber whispers to his customer\, “This is the dumbest kid in the world. Watch while I prove it to you.” \nThe barber puts a dollar bill in one hand and two quarters in the other\, then calls the boy over and asks\, “Which do you want\, son?” The boy takes the quarters and leaves. \n“What did I tell you?” said the barber. “That kid never learns!” \nLater\, when the customer leaves\, he sees the same young boy coming out of the ice cream parlor. “Hey\, son! May I ask you a question? Why did you take the quarters instead of the dollar bill?” \nThe boy licked his cone and replied: “Because the day I take the dollar the game is over!” \n* \nAn American businessman was at the pier of a small coastal Mexican village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked. Inside the small boat were several large yellowfin tuna. The American complimented the fisherman on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took to catch them. The fisherman replied that it only took a little while. The American then asked why didn’t he stay out longer and catch more fish. The fisherman said he had enough to support his family’s immediate needs. \nThe businessman then asked\, “But what do you do with the rest of your time?” \nThe fisherman said\, “I sleep late\, fish a little\, play with my children\, take siesta with my wife\, Maria\, stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine and play guitar with my amigos. I have a full and busy life\, señor.” \nThe businessman scoffed. “I am a Wharton MBA and could help you. You should spend more time fishing and with the proceeds\, buy a bigger boat. With the proceeds from the bigger boat you could buy several boats. Eventually you would have a fleet of fishing boats. Instead of selling your catch to a middleman you would sell directly to the processor\, eventually opening your own cannery. You would control the product\, processing and distribution. You would need to leave this small coastal fishing village and move to Mexico City\, then L.A.\, and eventually New York City\, where you will run your expanding enterprise.” \nThe fisherman asked\, “But how long will this all take?” \nTo which the businessman replied\, “Fifteen or 20 years.” \n“But what then?” \nThe businessman laughed and said\, “That’s the best part. When the time is right you would announce an IPO and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich. You would make millions.” \n“Millions? Then what?” \nThe businessman said\, “Then you would retire. Move to a small coastal fishing village where you would sleep late\, fish a little\, play with your kids\, take siesta with your wife\, stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play your guitar with your friends.” \n* \nA guy said to God\, “God\, is it true that to you a billion years is like a second?” \nGod said\, “Yes.” \nThe guy said\, “God\, is it true that to you a billion dollars is like a penny?” \nGod said\, “Yes.” \nThe guy said\, “God\, can I have a penny?” \nGod said\, “Sure\, just a second.” \n* \nA string bean took his friend\, an eggplant\, to the hospital. \nString Bean: How is he\, Doc? Can you save his life? \nDoctor: I have good news and bad news. The good news is I can save his life. The bad news is he’ll be a vegetable the rest of his life. \n* \nTwo young salmon are swimming along one day. As they do\, they are passed by a wiser\, older fish coming the other way. \nThe wiser fish greets the two as he passes\, saying\, “Morning\, boys! How’s the water?” \nThe other two continue to swim in silence for a little while\, until the first one turns to the other and asks\, “What’s water?” \n  \n—“Borrowed” from the Internet and joke books by Johnny Stallings \n* \nOne day the first grade teacher was reading the story of Chicken Little to her class. She came to the part of the story where Chicken Little tried to warn the farmer.  \nShe read\, “…. and so Chicken Little went up to the farmer and said\, “The sky is falling\, the sky is falling!” \nThe teacher paused\, then asked the class\, “And what do you think that farmer said?” \nOne little girl raised her hand and said\, “I think he said: ‘I’ll be darned! A talking chicken!’” \n—Will Weigler \n* \n  \nFor an extra bit of fun you might try this video of people singing and dancing on top of a train in India. (I’ve ridden in this train\, but not on it.): \n  \nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PQmrmVs10X8 \n  \nMay all people be happy! \n  \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-7-30/
END:VEVENT
END:VCALENDAR