BEGIN:VCALENDAR
VERSION:2.0
PRODID:-//The Open Road:  a learning community - ECPv6.15.3//NONSGML v1.0//EN
CALSCALE:GREGORIAN
METHOD:PUBLISH
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:20210314T100000
END:DAYLIGHT
BEGIN:STANDARD
TZOFFSETFROM:-0700
TZOFFSETTO:-0800
TZNAME:PST
DTSTART:20211107T090000
END:STANDARD
END:VTIMEZONE
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210429
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210610
DTSTAMP:20260427T181031
CREATED:20210429T154953Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250718T123511Z
UID:2150-1619654400-1623283199@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  4/29/21
DESCRIPTION:THE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nApril 29\, 2021 \n  \nBIBLIOMANIA \n  \nI like to think of myself as a bibliophile\, but the correct term would probably be “bibliomaniac.” There is definitely something nutty about my relationship with books. Here’s an example: \n  \nOne day I had selected a stack of about eight books to check out from the downtown branch of the Multnomah County Library. I brought them to the front desk. The librarian began checking them out. About halfway through the pile she said: “I’m gonna have to cut you off here. This doesn’t happen very often. You aren’t allowed to have more than 500 books checked out at a time.” \n  \nSee what I mean. \n  \nI love books. I console myself with the thought that there are worse things to be addicted to. Probably meth would be worse\, in the long run. \n  \nAs a lad\, I hated school. It impinged upon my freedom to go wherever I felt like going and do whatever I felt like doing. Halfway through my Freshman year in college\, it dawned on me that going to school was optional. I walked away. I still sometimes have dreams where I walk out of school and get the most wonderful feeling! \n  \nOnce I left school\, I started reading like a madman. I could read anything I wanted to! It was thrilling! I carried a backpack with me wherever I went\, with at least five or six books in it. I had to have a lot of books to choose from\, because I didn’t know in advance which book I would be in the mood to read once I sat down in the coffee shop. I carried a bag of books with me for many years before I noticed that most people were walking around without any books! That seemed strange to me. It still does.  \n  \nLike\, what if someone found themself somewhere with nothing to read? What would they do? Fortunately\, I’ve never had that experience. \n  \nI start the day sitting on the couch. Then I begin building my nest. By ten o’clock I am surrounded by piles of books. Ask Nancy. \n  \nInstead of going for a long walk\, I’m much more likely to reserve a book from the library with a title like: 50 Best Oregon Hiking Trails.  \n  \nI consider my books to be my friends. And many of the authors\, likewise. I feel very fortunate to have Walt Whitman and William Shakespeare as companions on my life journey. And it’s lovely to make new friends. Wikipedia says that Thomas Traherne died in 1674\, but that doesn’t bother me in the slightest. We just recently became close. \n  \nAs I get older I read less and less\, and slower and slower\, but I still need to have a lot of books nearby—maybe the way some people enjoy having their golden lab sleeping next to them. When I come home\, all my books wag their tails. The shelves are crowded with worlds waiting to be explored. \n  \nThere are so many books! Way too many to read in a single lifetime! (Maybe I’ll have to come back again and again\, and get a new library card every time.) Of the books I have read\, I can’t remember much. Nevertheless\, some books changed the way I see and experience the world. I guess one of my ambitions is to live a life rich in meaning. Books have helped me with that. \n  \nI read slowly. Sometimes a few words are enough to satisfy me. I put the book back on the pile\, happy as a clam at high tide. \n  \nI’ve always dreamed of writing a book. I’ve gotten so much pleasure from reading books\, I’d like to give that same pleasure to others. But I don’t know what to say. Or how to say it. I’ve kept a journal for fifty years. I write letters. I’ve written a few poems and stories\, theater pieces and essays. I guess I’m writing this little essay\, or whatever it is. If I do ever manage to get something I’ve written published between the covers of a book\, it will probably consist of short things. I don’t seem to have the attention span or the work ethic to write something long. \n  \nWhen I was young\, I just assumed I’d effortlessly write a great book someday. Perhaps the “effortlessly” is the clue to why it never happened. Who knows? I may still write a book and get it published. I’m not dead yet. \n  \nHere are a few of the books I’ve enjoyed most: \n  \nI put a picture of Autobiography of a Yogi on the first page. I read that book when I was 19 and it opened up a world that I didn’t know existed—the world of the Indian yogi. It turned out that that world was quite congenial to me. In my twenties\, I lived for a couple years in India with yogis. For yogis\, silence—inner stillness—is important. For me\, too. \n  \nThree of my favorite short stories are: “A Christmas Carol” by Charles Dickens\, “Dream of a Ridiculous Man” by Fyodor Dostoevsky\, and “Tenth of December” by George Saunders. (Jason Beito recommended the latter story to me.) The words “human” and “humane” are related. It feels like certain works of fiction subtly enlarge our humanity\, make us more human—more kind. Maybe all of Charles Dickens’ works do this. One thing the world could use a lot more of is kindness. These stories can help us with that. \n  \nI’m re-reading Huckleberry Finn (again). The older I get\, the better it gets. I’m not alone in rating it the greatest American novel. It would be hard to find a more entertaining story\, or a more keen-eyed observer of human foibles than Huck. \n  \nLast Sunday\, we celebrated William Shakespeare’s 457th birthday on Zoom with friends from all over the place—Curt Tofteland and Ashley Lucas from Michigan\, Howard Thoresen from New York\, Stratis Panourios from Athens\, Alan Benditt from Seattle\, Todd Oleson from Walla Walla\, Keith Scales from Eureka Springs\, Arkansas\, Aaron Gilbert from Roseburg\, Allen Mills from Newberg\, and a number of friends from Portland. Since a lot of us have had experience acting\, directing and going to see Shakespeare plays in prison\, that’s mostly what we talked about. \n  \nWhat makes William Shakespeare so important to me has to do with the fact that he didn’t write novels—he wrote plays. And you can do the plays! Putting on his plays is an even greater pleasure than reading them. You learn the words! You play the parts! You rehearse the scenes over and over. Finally\, you perform the plays for your friends! In his day\, actors were called “players.” Kids need to play\, but grownups do too. There is no one more fun to play with than Will. And no better place to play the plays than in prison. \n  \nAnother book I’m re-reading (again) is Shakespeare and the Goddess of Complete Being by Ted Hughes. It’s my favorite book about Shakespeare. Ted Hughes is a poet; with great intuition and sympathy he explores the personal\, historical and mythological dimensions of Shakespeare’s plays and poems. I had always wondered about Shakespeare’s inner life—who was he? Ted Hughes goes where a vast army of Shakespeare scholars have never dreamed of going. For me\, reading the book is thrilling—which is kind of weird for a book of literary criticism\, if that’s what it is. Okay\, that’s not what it is. But what is it? I don’t know. It doesn’t fit into any categories. It’s not like any other book. When I get to the end\, I’ll start again at the beginning. \n  \nOver the years\, in trying to better understand the meaning of my human life on Earth—(what’s going on here?)—I’ve continued to study what might be called “the wisdom of the East.” Joseph Campbell is one of my favorite guides. If this is a subject that interests you\, I would highly recommend the book Talks With Ramana Maharshi\, and the writings of R. H. Blyth\, J. Krishnamurti\, Shunryu Suzuki\, Thich Nhat Hanh\, Alan Watts\, Lao Tzu\, Seng Ts’an and Han Shan. \n  \nI’ve probably read more nonfiction than fiction. With nonfiction I can learn things I didn’t know\, and even change my inner landscape. I thought this essay would be about how books have shaped the way I see and experience the world\, but my mind meandered off in other directions. Maybe I’ll write that essay another day. \n  \nFor a bibliomaniac like me\, the subject of books has no beginning or end. Like the great globe itself\, the world of books is vast beyond our ability to know it. \n  \nA poem that changed my life and has enriched it endlessly is “Song of Myself\,” by Walt Whitman. It’s good to read and re-read it aloud\, as often as possible. If when you read it\, you mean what you say and feel it\, it will do something big to you. \n  \nIf I could take only one book to the proverbial desert island\, I’d take The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. A most rare vision! It hath no bottom. \n  \n  \nWe’re off to Mexico next week! Back in a month. \nOur revels now are ended. These our actors\, \nAs I foretold you\, were all spirits and \nAre melted into air\, into thin air: \nAnd\, like the baseless fabric of this vision\, \nThe cloud-capp’d towers\, the gorgeous palaces\, \nThe solemn temples\, the great globe itself\, \nYea\, all which it inherit\, shall dissolve \nAnd\, like this insubstantial pageant faded\, \nLeave not a rack behind. We are such stuff \nAs dreams are made on\, and our little life \nIs rounded with a sleep.   \n                      \n—William Shakespeare\, Prospero from The Tempest\, Act 4\, scene 1 \n  \n  \npeace & love \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-4-29-21/
END:VEVENT
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210515
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210615
DTSTAMP:20260427T181031
CREATED:20210518T155600Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20210916T003424Z
UID:2171-1621036800-1623715199@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue  5/15/21
DESCRIPTION:  \nThis picture is based on Verse 18 from “A Hundred Verses of Self-Instruction” by the South Indian master of mindfulness meditation\, Narayana Guru: \n  \nThe “I” is not dark; if it were dark we would be in a state of blindness\, \nunable to know even “I\,I”; \nas we do know\, the “I” is not darkness; \nthus\, for making this known\, this should be told to anyone. \n  \nThe author is inviting us once again to recognize a simple truth: there is a continuous background awareness operating in us that watches our actions\, the arising of our mental states\, our dreaming and even our breathing in a timeless unbroken flow of attention. It simply exists\, prior to any more definite notions we could have about our personal identity\, our names\, our age\, our sex and so on. \n  \nThis pure awareness can’t see itself directly\, but that doesn’t mean it’s dark or absent. We know it’s there\, because it illuminates the objects of our inner and outer experience. \n  \nBecause it’s absolutely featureless\, and because we all share it\, we could say\, in a sense\, that we are one Being. And although everyone calls their inner awareness “I”\, this is an “I” that is actually shared by all. \n  \nOur mental states are cycling in constant flux\, sometimes light and sometimes very dark indeed. So here the author is offering a kindly reminder: our moments of deepest confusion can be known\, as such\, only by virtue of that light in us that watches. \n  \n–Andy Larkin \n  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n  \n May 15\, 2021 \n  \nKatie Radditz is editing this month’s Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue\, while Nancy and I are in Mexico. (JS) \n  \nHello dear friends\, \n  \n Last week\, I went to Walla Walla to help take care of my grand kids while their parents worked there for a few days. It was joyful and freeing to be out after covid vaccines\, no masks necessary in the outdoors. The bare hills and the towering rock walls with giant wind mills are a huge contrast to our home landscape in Portland in the cedar trees and lush spring greens and reds of rhododendrons\, yellow tulips\, orange poppies.  I hadn’t been on I-84 going East for more than a year.  The last time was visiting at Two Rivers. On our return we came past the prison.  And I was filled with the feeling of being home and homesick at the same time. It was hard not to be able to come inside.  So we stopped\, went down to the river and I meditated with you\, just breathing the same air. Being at ease.  And I pictured the banner that hangs in the trees at Plum Village when one arrives on retreat.  It blows gently in the breeze with Thay’s calligraphy that says\, “You have arrived. You are home.”  It was a wonderful moment of being home.  We are always arriving\, right here\, right now.  This was most refreshing\, and I felt grateful for having been welcomed there always\, in that magical\, loving dialogue group.    \n  \n—  Katie R \n  \nHere is a poem by Deb that reminds us of all the life going on beneath our feet while above our minds can be spinning  –  \n  \nWhite Orchid \n  \nWaxy petals unfurl slowly against the tropical earth pale insects burrow in drawn by fragrance escaping molecule by molecule through soft loam surrounding the tendril of whitened stem piercing soil branching off a flower then another creeping underground this life unseen unheeded above ground our life drawing sustenance from the dark explosion    \n  \n—   Deborah Buchanan \n  \nFirst Light Meditation this morning May 16 –  \n  \nYou pedal furiously \ninto a future you’re trying \nhard to prolong \nby this exercise\, \nthough the landscape \nthat rolls by here is time \npassing\, with its lists \nof things undone \nor not done properly\, \nand all this effort\, \nthe fierce monotony \nof this ride feels \nmuch like life itself — \ngoing nowhere \nstrenuously… your legs \nbeginning to throb\, as if \nthe body communicates \nin a code of pain\, saying \nnever mind the future\, \nyou’re here \nright now\, alive. \n  \n–Linda Pastan \n  \nTwo entries from Michel’s journal: \n  \nApril 29\, 2021 #111 Taking Care of the Future \n  \nThe Future is being made out of the present\, so the best way to take care of the future is to take care of the present moment. This is logical and clear. Spending a lot of time speculating and worrying about the future is totally useless. We can only take care of our future by taking care of the present moment\, because the future is made out of only one substance: the present. Only if you are anchored in the present can you prepare well for the future.  (Thich Nhat Hanh\, from Your True Home) \n  \nMichel writes about how to deal with his father’s coming death –  \n  \nIt becomes a matter of focus:  Do I dwell on the inevitable loss? Or\, do I focus my attention and energy on the now\, striving to be fully present to any of life’s moments\, making the most out of each one? The result of the second has some happiness for now and later; the former is only anguish and suffering.  \n  \nMay 2\, 2021  Michel sends this Buddhist story to ponder and respond to from your own life experience  –   \n  \nIt is from a Zen teacher who begins\,   “We might say that Zen practice is about directly experiencing the most satisfying kind of aliveness. The path of practice is about how we may go about realizing this possibility in our everyday lives\, regardless of the circumstances\, whether they’re comfortable or whether they’re challenging circumstances.”  \n  \nThere’s a story about a fisherman in a remote village in ancient China. As was the custom with people in the village\, each day they would go to the mountain stream that ran through the main part of the village and they would fish for their dinner. One day this fisherman showed up using a straight hook\, rather than using a curved hook with a barb. He began fishing next to his neighbors\, and they all started to make fun of him. They said\, “What are you going to do with that? Why are you trying to fish with a straight hook?” And he said\, “You may catch an ordinary fish with your curved hook with a barb on it. But one day I may catch an extraordinary fish with my straight hook.” And it’s said that he continued to fish in this way for 40 years. News of this unusual fisherman and his way of fishing spread throughout all of China\, even to the Imperial Court. The Emperor was very interested to see\, “What is this all about? What is this person doing? What’s this straight-hook fishing?” So he gathered together an entourage. They traveled up to the remote mountain village. Of course\, he arrived to see this now old man with his line fishing with a straight hook\, and he said\, “Old Man\, whatever were you hoping to catch with this straight hook?” And he replied\, “I was hoping to catch you\, dear Emperor.”  \n  \nThe teacher comments  –   So\, here we are together\, separated by time and distance but engaged as a learning community. Sitting quietly\, each of us on our own and all of us together\, putting our hook in this water. What are we hoping to catch? Maybe some piece of understanding\, clarity or insight. Maybe relief from some difficulty or challenge we’re facing. Maybe some way that we can help somebody who we care about deeply; who’s having some difficulty. We don’t know what to do. Maybe we’ll find some way we can really be of help and support. Maybe we don’t know why we’re casting our line into this water of meditation. Maybe it doesn’t matter to us at all. And we can’t know. I mean\, this is a story\, so we can’t know what the intention really of this old man fishing in this unusual way was. Could he ever have imagined that he’d catch an emperor at the end of his straight hook? But there’s the possibility in this slippery kind of situation\, where we’re numbed leading into the moment with what we know\, with what we understand\, with what we think works\, with what makes sense to us. We’re entering a moment in a wider way\, wider margins on how we’re approaching this feeling of directly experiencing the most satisfying kind of aliveness. And it marks a shift. It’s a shift from relying on our habits\, on our past\, or thinking what we know; our associations. Enter in the present situation in our experiencing of it\, not just for ideas about it. So the possibility of practice is not just to know ourselves as the idea we have of ourselves\, but to know ourselves directly\, which is much wider than those ideas. . . We could be open to possibilities much wider than what we can imagine. The possibility of fishing without a specific sense of what it is that we’re going to gain\, what the outcome is going to be.  \n  \n–Paul Rosenblum Roshi  \n  \nA few excerpts from Michel’s comments –  \n  \nI’ll allow everyone to develop each one’s meaning to this story\, so you can catch your own fish.  I just found the idea interesting as a launching point for his talk\, “this feeling of directly experiencing the most satisfying kind of aliveness. And it marks a shift from relying on our habits\, on our past or thinking what we know\, our associations.”   \n  \n(Michel continues): How do I fish with a straight hook\, unconcerned/unattached to a specific outcome to my actions?  \n  \nThe Roshi went on to share about Suzuki Roshi and how he would interact with the world: receiving\, using both hands\, drawing the “gift” into himself–and giving\, in the same way from his center with both hands. Suzuki’s whole being was involved. This reminds me of how Johnny sees us (or how his perspective was first described to me) as our 3-5 year old selves – innocent\, vulnerable\, etc.  Think back\, before you learned to be selfish\, to protect a separate “self\,” to a time when we engaged in each moment with both hands and total focus on that moment. Think of receiving a full glass of milk to carry to the table\, how we might use both hands to not drop\, and totally focus to not spill\, as we walked to our destination.  \n  \nWhat might life be like if/when we re-discover this engagement\, attention and focus? How would we treat others as well as ourself? Would it be engaged\, attentive\, focused? Would others feel loved\, or our compassion as we offer a hand up from a fall?  What would the world look like when we all learn to enter now with no thought of past or not holding anything back for any possible future but putting all of “self” into now\,  fishing with a straight hook? \n  \nHow often and how easy it is to get caught up in a narrative where I only use a part of my self (one-handed\, not two) and look more toward what I can get instead of giving and extending my whole self.  It’s that fishing hook story again. Is my hook for just an ordinary\, everday fish? Or am I fishing for an Emperor\, something unique and unexpected? \n  \n–Michel Deforge \n  \n# 241 What are you Doing?     \n  \nOne day as I walked through the kitchen\, I saw someone cleaning vegetables and I asked\, ‘What are you doing?’  I was playing the role of a spiritual friend.  Even though it was obvious that they were washing vegetables\, I asked the question to wake the person up to how happy they could be\, just washing the vegetables.  If we aren’t doing something with joy\, that moment is wasted.  (Thich Nhat Hanh\, from Your True Home) \n  \nI haven’t an inkling of a clue\, if honesty permits me to be so brazen. Though I have pondered this question many times.  \n  \nElusive conclusions leave me in a turnstile\, spinning in circles\, never out\, never in.  \n  \n…I was chasing down the past and looking for the future\, but crystal balls cast upside down reflections. \n  \nI think the question shouldn’t be what am I doing but rather\, what will I be doing in the now? A question for every passing second\, before it passes.   \n       \nParting Glass \n  \nMy life is a glass \nThat’s been filled many times \nIt’s been put through the wash \nDropped on the floor \nAnd is now a chipped trinket \nOn a shelf by the door \nBut soon\, very soon\, the glass will not matter \nFor its structure will weaken and eventually shatter \nThen it will sparkle bright in the Sun \nThen\, only then\, my life will be done. \n  \n–Joshua Barnes\, 2021 \n  \nWhat are you doing?  It makes me think of my friend Ron raking leaves.  Every year he would complain in the Fall when the thousands of leaves fell from his giant maple tree.  The time he needed to spend raking them up and putting into compost bags. I started to find one red and gold leaf with a tinge of green left at the center and put it on his windshield or into his book for a book mark.  One day\, he woke up and realized how easy and happy he could feel if he just enjoyed the fleeting moments of getting to rake these individually unique and beautiful leaves that had given him shade all summer.  He started working with gratitude and joy\, paying attention\, and it became a meditation he almost looked forward to.   (kr) \n  \nHere are two poems that reflect on some of the submissions above. (kr) \n  \nThree Times My Life has Opened \n  \nThree times my life has opened.\nOnce\, into darkness and rain.\nOnce\, into what the body carries at all times within it and starts\n          to remember each time it enters the act of love.\nOnce\, to the fire that holds all.\nThese three were not different.\nYou will recognize what I am saying or you will not.\nBut outside my window all day a maple has stepped from her\n          leaves like a woman in love with winter\, dropping the\n          colored silks.\nNeither are we different in what we know.\nThere is a door. It opens. Then it is closed. But a slip of light stays\,\n          like a scrap of unreadable paper left on the floor\, or the one\n          red leaf the snow releases in March. \n  \n– Jane Hirshfield\, from The Lives of the Heart: Poems \n  \n  \nThe Song of Wandering Aengus\n  \nI went out to the hazel wood\, \nBecause a fire was in my head\, \nAnd cut and peeled a hazel wand\, \nAnd hooked a berry to a thread; \nAnd when white moths were on the wing\, \nAnd moth-like stars were flickering out\, \nI dropped the berry in a stream \nAnd caught a little silver trout. \n  \nWhen I had laid it on the floor \nI went to blow the fire a-flame\, \nBut something rustled on the floor\, \nAnd someone called me by my name: \nIt had become a glimmering girl \nWith apple blossom in her hair \nWho called me by my name and ran \nAnd faded through the brightening air. \n  \nThough I am old with wandering \nThrough hollow lands and hilly lands\, \nI will find out where she has gone\, \nAnd kiss her lips and take her hands; \nAnd walk among long dappled grass\, \nAnd pluck till time and times are done\, \nThe silver apples of the moon\, \nThe golden apples of the sun. \n  \n–William Butler Yeats \n  \nA note of gratitude from Abe Green\, \n  \nFriends\,  \n  \nThank you so much for having me on your mailing list. I am honored. \n  \nEach week\, no matter my emotional or spiritual condition\, I am inspired by the wisdom and love enclosed.  I somehow become fuller with each reading . . . a miracle!  \n  \nPeace and Love\,  \nAbe \n                     \n  \n Treadmill \n(written this morning for you by Kim Stafford) \n  \nDo you ever have the feeling you’re plodding  \nin place\, trying to climb the down escalator\, \ntreading water as time’s river slides away? \n  \nDay after day you faithfully attend to life’s  \nadministration\, to mere maintenance\, as your \nbutterflies of aspiration flit from sight. \n  \nYour old dream is real— your shoes are made  \nof stone\, each step a struggle as you stagger across  \nlevel ground\, too young to be a codger\, and yet…. \n  \nWhat if you look up when wind shakes the trees\, \nthe pine sheds a pollen cloud\, the maple shakes  \nher skirt inviting you to dance? \n  \n–Kim Stafford \n  \n#357: The Simple Act of Walking \n  \nWalking is as simple as putting one foot in front of the other. But we often find it difficult or tedious. We drive a few blocks rather than walk in order to “save time.” When we understand the interconnectedness of our body and our mind\, the simple act of walking like the Buddha can feel supremely easy and pleasurable.  (Thich Nhat Hanh\, from Your True Home) \n  \nLet’s start with that first sentence: “Walking is as simple as putting one foot in front of the other.” I said I was not going to dwell on my foot surgery any longer\, but this short passage just spoke to me with force. \n  \nThis ‘recovery’ from a supposedly minor operation is taking much longer\, with a few more uncertain results possible\, than I was led to expect. Complications\, infection\, antibiotics\, more doctor appointments and different approaches have been accompanied by a range of emotions on my part. Eager anticipation\, determination\, trust\, puzzlement\, frustration\, doubt\, fear\, elation\, discouragement\, encouragement—you name it\, I’ve felt it. Acceptance hasn’t yet set in… \n  \nSo since February 25\, “walking is as simple as putting one foot in front of the other” has been a dream—and a mockery. I dream of the moment I can get my swollen foot into a shoe and then put one foot in front of the other\, but the result is that I treasure the thought of that simple act. Is that what it takes to treasure life? Why is it that we have such difficulty appreciating these present moments\, these simple acts\, and just hurry through them to get to the ‘next thing?’ \n  \nThe gift in all of this is that I have slowed down\, learned deep appreciation for the simple act of walking (and plenty of other things)\, learned thoughtfulness\, awareness and appreciation\, and come to cherish the interconnectedness of my mind and body\, which this situation has certainly amplified. \n  \nThay likes to invite people to smile and appreciate a non-toothache. A simple practice.  Thank you for reminding us. \n  \n–Jude Russell \n  \nI want to include something from Alex Tretbar that I meant to include in an earlier issue\, but lost track of. Here it is!: (JS) \n  \n…I thought I’d pick your brain on the thorny subject of “desire.” I just finished Balzac’s The Wild Ass’s Skin—(La Peau de chagrin” is the original title\, “chagrin” being both “sorrow” and “a kind of grained leather\, ordinarily made of the skin of a mule or an ass”)—in which\, (pardon the summary\, if you’ve read it before)\, a man\, fallen on hard times\, finds in a novelty shop a piece of “chagrin” that will grant him any wish\, but each wish causes the skin to shrink. Once it shrinks to a certain small size\, the owner dies. He eventually discovers that unspoken wishes\, desires merely thought of\, also shrink the skin\, so he’s driven into solitude & reclusion to avoid shrinking it further by accident. At one point\, he tries to enlist a scientist’s help in stretching the skin to prolong his life\, (this fails)\, but the scientist says this: “Everything is motion. Thought is motion. Nature is based upon motion. Death is a form of motion whose end is imperfectly understood.” \n  \nThinking on it\, it does seem that any desire\, at its core\, is aimed at a particular arrangement of time & space. You want things to change in just such a way\, and then you want them to stay that way. This flies in the face of the never-ending motion that is nature & the universe. Resistance to change is a root of much suffering. So\, where & how does “desire” figure in Buddhist (or just “mindful”) thought? Can desire ever be healthy? \n  \nOr is it\, by nature\, essentially like trying to sweep back the tide with a broom? \n  \nLooking forward to reading your thoughts on this! \n  \n—Alex Tretbar \n  \nRather than sharing in this Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue what I wrote to Alex\, I’d like to invite all of you readers to engage his insights and questions for yourselves. There are some great writing prompts! You could also start a conversation with a friend by reading what he wrote and using it as a jumping-off place for dialogue. I’ve kept a journal for fifty years. In it\, I like to explore these kinds of ideas and questions. If you don’t keep a journal\, you might try doing it as a way to inquire into questions like these\, to better understand yourself and the world. \n  \nMy contribution for the Merry Month of May is the quote from e. e. cummings: \n  \nI’d rather learn from one bird how to sing \nthan teach ten thousand stars how not to dance \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n  \nMetta Meditation  –    \n  \nMay I be healed.  May I be a source of healing for all beings. \nMay you be healed. May you be a source of healing for all beings. \nMay we be healed. May we be a source of healing for all beings.  \n  \nFarewell. Walk in peace\, be in love\,   \n  \n–Katie \n  \n*
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-5-15-21/
ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/05/0-12.jpeg
END:VEVENT
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210530
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210613
DTSTAMP:20260427T181031
CREATED:20210518T150122Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20210531T155219Z
UID:2164-1622332800-1623542399@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!: Annual Group Reading of Walt Whitman's "Song of "Myself"  5/30/21
DESCRIPTION:painting by Rick Bartow \n  \n  \nEach moment and whatever happens\, thrills me with joy. \n–Walt Whitman\, from “Song of Myself” \n  \nTo celebrate Walt’s 202nd birthday\, on Sunday\, May 30th we performed the sacred rite of reading Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself” together. Readers and Listeners who joined the gathering included:  \n  \nMartha Ragland\, Brent Gregston\, Claire Stock\, Prabu Muruganantham\, Mary Real-Leflar\, Tad Leflar\, Jeffrey Sher\, Nancy Scharbach\, Marianne Pulfer\, Todd Oleson\, Katie Radditz\, Gail Lester\, Andy Larkin\, Scott Teitsworth\, Deborah Buchanan\, Carla Grant\, Ken Margolis\, Alan Benditt\, Carmen Bernier-Grand\, Nick Eldredge\, Jude Russell\, Will Hornyak and me. \n  \nThis poem changed my life. And continues to inspire me. In this interview I did a few years ago on Marfa Public Radio\, I elaborate on what the poem means to me. If you’re interested\, here’s a link to that interview:  \n  \n https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T0D6WmHaSE8&t=25s \n  \nAll truths wait in all things.  \n  \n–Johnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-annual-group-reading-of-walt-whitmans-song-of-myself-5-30-21/
ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/05/IMG_0031-1-scaled.jpeg
END:VEVENT
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210610
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210624
DTSTAMP:20260427T181031
CREATED:20210610T151739Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250718T123728Z
UID:2214-1623283200-1624492799@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  6/10/21
DESCRIPTION:  \n  \nJune 10\, 2021 \n  \nThis is the Nobel Prize Lecture that Wisława Szymborska gave on December 7th\, 1996: \n  \nThe poet and the world \n  \nThey say the first sentence in any speech is always the hardest. Well\, that one’s behind me\, anyway. But I have a feeling that the sentences to come – the third\, the sixth\, the tenth\, and so on\, up to the final line – will be just as hard\, since I’m supposed to talk about poetry. I’ve said very little on the subject\, next to nothing\, in fact. And whenever I have said anything\, I’ve always had the sneaking suspicion that I’m not very good at it. This is why my lecture will be rather short. All imperfection is easier to tolerate if served up in small doses. \n  \nContemporary poets are skeptical and suspicious even\, or perhaps especially\, about themselves. They publicly confess to being poets only reluctantly\, as if they were a little ashamed of it. But in our clamorous times it’s much easier to acknowledge your faults\, at least if they’re attractively packaged\, than to recognize your own merits\, since these are hidden deeper and you never quite believe in them yourself … When filling in questionnaires or chatting with strangers\, that is\, when they can’t avoid revealing their profession\, poets prefer to use the general term “writer” or replace “poet” with the name of whatever job they do in addition to writing. Bureaucrats and bus passengers respond with a touch of incredulity and alarm when they find out that they’re dealing with a poet. I suppose philosophers may meet with a similar reaction. Still\, they’re in a better position\, since as often as not they can embellish their calling with some kind of scholarly title. Professor of philosophy – now that sounds much more respectable. \n  \nBut there are no professors of poetry. This would mean\, after all\, that poetry is an occupation requiring specialized study\, regular examinations\, theoretical articles with bibliographies and footnotes attached\, and finally\, ceremoniously conferred diplomas. And this would mean\, in turn\, that it’s not enough to cover pages with even the most exquisite poems in order to become a poet. The crucial element is some slip of paper bearing an official stamp. Let us recall that the pride of Russian poetry\, the future Nobel Laureate Joseph Brodsky was once sentenced to internal exile precisely on such grounds. They called him “a parasite\,” because he lacked official certification granting him the right to be a poet … \n  \nSeveral years ago\, I had the honor and pleasure of meeting Brodsky in person. And I noticed that\, of all the poets I’ve known\, he was the only one who enjoyed calling himself a poet. He pronounced the word without inhibitions. \n  \nJust the opposite – he spoke it with defiant freedom. It seems to me that this must have been because he recalled the brutal humiliations he had experienced in his youth. \n  \nIn more fortunate countries\, where human dignity isn’t assaulted so readily\, poets yearn\, of course\, to be published\, read\, and understood\, but they do little\, if anything\, to set themselves above the common herd and the daily grind. And yet it wasn’t so long ago\, in this century’s first decades\, that poets strove to shock us with their extravagant dress and eccentric behavior. But all this was merely for the sake of public display. The moment always came when poets had to close the doors behind them\, strip off their mantles\, fripperies\, and other poetic paraphernalia\, and confront – silently\, patiently awaiting their own selves – the still white sheet of paper. For this is finally what really counts. \n  \nIt’s not accidental that film biographies of great scientists and artists are produced in droves. The more ambitious directors seek to reproduce convincingly the creative process that led to important scientific discoveries or the emergence of a masterpiece. And one can depict certain kinds of scientific labor with some success. Laboratories\, sundry instruments\, elaborate machinery brought to life: such scenes may hold the audience’s interest for a while. And those moments of uncertainty – will the experiment\, conducted for the thousandth time with some tiny modification\, finally yield the desired result? – can be quite dramatic. Films about painters can be spectacular\, as they go about recreating every stage of a famous painting’s evolution\, from the first penciled line to the final brush-stroke. Music swells in films about composers: the first bars of the melody that rings in the musician’s ears finally emerge as a mature work in symphonic form. Of course this is all quite naive and doesn’t explain the strange mental state popularly known as inspiration\, but at least there’s something to look at and listen to. \n  \nBut poets are the worst. Their work is hopelessly unphotogenic. Someone sits at a table or lies on a sofa while staring motionless at a wall or ceiling. Once in a while this person writes down seven lines only to cross out one of them fifteen minutes later\, and then another hour passes\, during which nothing happens … Who could stand to watch this kind of thing? \n  \nI’ve mentioned inspiration. Contemporary poets answer evasively when asked what it is\, and if it actually exists. It’s not that they’ve never known the blessing of this inner impulse. It’s just not easy to explain something to someone else that you don’t understand yourself. \n  \nWhen I’m asked about this on occasion\, I hedge the question too. But my answer is this: inspiration is not the exclusive privilege of poets or artists generally. There is\, has been\, and will always be a certain group of people whom inspiration visits. It’s made up of all those who’ve consciously chosen their calling and do their job with love and imagination. It may include doctors\, teachers\, gardeners – and I could list a hundred more professions. Their work becomes one continuous adventure as long as they manage to keep discovering new challenges in it. Difficulties and setbacks never quell their curiosity. A swarm of new questions emerges from every problem they solve. Whatever inspiration is\, it’s born from a continuous “I don’t know.” \n  \nThere aren’t many such people. Most of the earth’s inhabitants work to get by. They work because they have to. They didn’t pick this or that kind of job out of passion; the circumstances of their lives did the choosing for them. Loveless work\, boring work\, work valued only because others haven’t got even that much\, however loveless and boring – this is one of the harshest human miseries. And there’s no sign that coming centuries will produce any changes for the better as far as this goes. \n  \nAnd so\, though I may deny poets their monopoly on inspiration\, I still place them in a select group of Fortune’s darlings. \n  \nAt this point\, though\, certain doubts may arise in my audience. All sorts of torturers\, dictators\, fanatics\, and demagogues struggling for power by way of a few loudly shouted slogans also enjoy their jobs\, and they too perform their duties with inventive fervor. Well\, yes\, but they “know.” They know\, and whatever they know is enough for them once and for all. They don’t want to find out about anything else\, since that might diminish their arguments’ force. And any knowledge that doesn’t lead to new questions quickly dies out: it fails to maintain the temperature required for sustaining life. In the most extreme cases\, cases well known from ancient and modern history\, it even poses a lethal threat to society. \n  \nThis is why I value that little phrase “I don’t know” so highly. It’s small\, but it flies on mighty wings. It expands our lives to include the spaces within us as well as those outer expanses in which our tiny Earth hangs suspended. If Isaac Newton had never said to himself “I don’t know\,” the apples in his little orchard might have dropped to the ground like hailstones and at best he would have stooped to pick them up and gobble them with gusto. Had my compatriot Marie Sklodowska-Curie never said to herself “I don’t know”\, she probably would have wound up teaching chemistry at some private high school for young ladies from good families\, and would have ended her days performing this otherwise perfectly respectable job. But she kept on saying “I don’t know\,” and these words led her\, not just once but twice\, to Stockholm\, where restless\, questing spirits are occasionally rewarded with the Nobel Prize. \n  \nPoets\, if they’re genuine\, must also keep repeating “I don’t know.” Each poem marks an effort to answer this statement\, but as soon as the final period hits the page\, the poet begins to hesitate\, starts to realize that this particular answer was pure makeshift that’s absolutely inadequate to boot. So the poets keep on trying\, and sooner or later the consecutive results of their self-dissatisfaction are clipped together with a giant paperclip by literary historians and called their “oeuvre” … \n  \nI sometimes dream of situations that can’t possibly come true. I audaciously imagine\, for example\, that I get a chance to chat with the Ecclesiastes\, the author of that moving lament on the vanity of all human endeavors. I would bow very deeply before him\, because he is\, after all\, one of the greatest poets\, for me at least. That done\, I would grab his hand. “‘There’s nothing new under the sun’: that’s what you wrote\, Ecclesiastes. But you yourself were born new under the sun. And the poem you created is also new under the sun\, since no one wrote it down before you. And all your readers are also new under the sun\, since those who lived before you couldn’t read your poem. And that cypress that you’re sitting under hasn’t been growing since the dawn of time. It came into being by way of another cypress similar to yours\, but not exactly the same. And Ecclesiastes\, I’d also like to ask you what new thing under the sun you’re planning to work on now? A further supplement to the thoughts you’ve already expressed? Or maybe you’re tempted to contradict some of them now? In your earlier work you mentioned joy – so what if it’s fleeting? So maybe your new-under-the-sun poem will be about joy? Have you taken notes yet\, do you have drafts? I doubt you’ll say\, ‘I’ve written everything down\, I’ve got nothing left to add.’ There’s no poet in the world who can say this\, least of all a great poet like yourself.” \n  \nThe world – whatever we might think when terrified by its vastness and our own impotence\, or embittered by its indifference to individual suffering\, of people\, animals\, and perhaps even plants\, for why are we so sure that plants feel no pain; whatever we might think of its expanses pierced by the rays of stars surrounded by planets we’ve just begun to discover\, planets already dead? still dead? we just don’t know; whatever we might think of this measureless theater to which we’ve got reserved tickets\, but tickets whose lifespan is laughably short\, bounded as it is by two arbitrary dates; whatever else we might think of this world – it is astonishing. \n  \nBut “astonishing” is an epithet concealing a logical trap. We’re astonished\, after all\, by things that deviate from some well-known and universally acknowledged norm\, from an obviousness we’ve grown accustomed to. Now the point is\, there is no such obvious world. Our astonishment exists per se and isn’t based on comparison with something else. \n  \nGranted\, in daily speech\, where we don’t stop to consider every word\, we all use phrases like “the ordinary world\,” “ordinary life\,” “the ordinary course of events” … But in the language of poetry\, where every word is weighed\, nothing is usual or normal. Not a single stone and not a single cloud above it. Not a single day and not a single night after it. And above all\, not a single existence\, not anyone’s existence in this world. \n  \nIt looks like poets will always have their work cut out for them. \n  \n— Wisława Szymborska \nTranslated from Polish by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh. \n* \n  \nHere is one of her poems: \n  \nA Few Words On The Soul \n  \nWe have a soul at times. \nNo one’s got it non-stop\, \nfor keeps. \n  \nDay after day\, \nyear after year \nmay pass without it. \n  \nSometimes \nit will settle for awhile \nonly in childhood’s fears and raptures. \nSometimes only in astonishment \nthat we are old. \n  \nIt rarely lends a hand \nin uphill tasks\, \nlike moving furniture\, \nor lifting luggage\, \nor going miles in shoes that pinch. \n  \nIt usually steps out \nwhenever meat needs chopping \nor forms have to be filled. \n  \nFor every thousand conversations \nit participates in one\, \nif even that\, \nsince it prefers silence. \n  \nJust when our body goes from ache to pain\, \nit slips off-duty. \n  \nIt’s picky: \nit doesn’t like seeing us in crowds\, \nour hustling for a dubious advantage \nand creaky machinations make it sick. \n  \nJoy and sorrow \naren’t two different feelings for it. \nIt attends us \nonly when the two are joined. \n  \nWe can count on it \nwhen we’re sure of nothing \nand curious about everything. \n  \nAmong the material objects \nit favors clocks with pendulums \nand mirrors\, which keep on working \neven when no one is looking. \n  \nIt won’t say where it comes from \nor when it’s taking off again\, \nthough it’s clearly expecting such questions. \n  \nWe need it \nbut apparently \nit needs us \nfor some reason too. \n  \n— Wisława Szymborska \nTranslated from the Polish by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh.
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-6-10-21/
END:VEVENT
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20210613T150000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20210613T170000
DTSTAMP:20260427T181031
CREATED:20210601T140213Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20210611T163618Z
UID:2208-1623596400-1623603600@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!: BLOOMSDAY CELEBRATION!!!  6/13/21
DESCRIPTION:James Joyce (1882-1941) \n  \n  \nOn June 13th\, we will celebrate Bloomsday! On June 16th\, 1904 two fictional characters–Leopold Bloom and Stephen Dedalus–wandered the streets of Dublin\, Ireland\, in what many bibliophiles consider the greatest novel of the 20th Century\, James Joyce’s Ulysses. On Sunday\, June 13th\, at 3 pm (PDT) we will journey together through those same streets and see what adventures befall us. Here’s the Zoom link:  \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/83135193074 \n  \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-bloomsday-celebration-6-13-21/
END:VEVENT
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210615
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210715
DTSTAMP:20260427T181031
CREATED:20210615T224651Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20210615T225414Z
UID:2223-1623715200-1626307199@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue  6/15/21
DESCRIPTION:Open Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n   \nJune 15\, 2021 \n  \nYou are equally as beautiful as the universe. \n—tag on a Yogi Tea bag \n* \nIt is easy to see the conventional character of roles. For a man who is a father may also be a doctor and an artist\, as well as an employee and a brother. And it is obvious that even the sum total of these role labels will be far from supplying an adequate description of the man himself\, even though it may place him in certain general classifications. But the conventions which govern human identity are more subtle and much less obvious than these. We learn\, very thoroughly though far less explicitly\, to identify ourselves with an equally conventional view of “myself.” For the conventional “self” or “person” is composed mainly of a history consisting of selected memories\, and beginning from the moment of parturition. According to convention\, I am not simply what I am doing now. I am also what I have done\, and my conventionally edited version of my past is made to seem almost more the real “me” than what I am at this moment. For what I am seems so fleeting and intangible\, but what I was  is fixed and final. It is the firm basis for predictions of what I will be in the future\, and so it comes about that I am more closely identified with what no longer exists than with what actually is! \n  \n—Alan Watts\, from The Way of Zen\, p. 6 \n* \nEsoterica  \n  \nShall I write for the ages? Shall I compose  \nfor a scholar’s delectation? Shall footnotes \nbe the explication implement for my puzzles\,  \nmy utterance reeking of the lamp? Shall glossy  \nlyricism enamel my philosophies? Shall I play  \ncat and mouse\, merciless with a reader’s mind?  \nShall I strive to conceal my meaning so teachers \nmay tease their students for the great shazam?  \n  \nDo not hang my painting  in the parlor\,  \nsaid Van Gogh—I see it in the cabin of a boat \nstorm-tossed at sea\, as a help to frightened sailors. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nTakes a heap of meaning to make a body happy \n  \nThere have been complaints these days about meaninglessness. \n  \nThe spiritual end of our civilization seems to have broken down. We were originally set up to be monotheistic\, and not polytheistic. The gods were banished and all space taken by Jehovah on his golden throne. That worked through the Middle Ages\, but the Industrial Revolution put a spoke in the wheel. Almost unnoticed\, the gods started coming back. \n  \nThere are those who would turn Jehovah out and bring the gods back. Monotheism\, polytheism\, whatever. The important thing is to live a meaningful spiritual life. But a lot of Christians\, Muslims and Jews are invested in monotheism\, which is the idea that if there is one god there can’t be many. Logic won’t allow it. Others say that religion needs to be founded on paradox\, in which case\, there can be one god or many\, depending on your visionary angle. \n  \n—Charles Erickson \n* \n  \nlet’s pretend \n  \ninstead of pretending that we are afraid \nthat we must improve \nthat we have enemies \nthat the future will arrive someday \n  \nlet’s pretend everything is sacred \npretend this is Paradise \npretend every moment is precious \npretend we love everyone \n  \npretend our joy knows no bounds \npretend we are the whole wide world \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nYou can take any object whatsoever–a stick or a stone\, a dog or a child–draw a ring around it so that it is seen as separate from everything else\, and thus contemplate it in its mystery aspect–the aspect of the mystery of its being\, which is the mystery of all being–and it will have there and then become a proper object of worshipful regard. So\, any object can become an adequate base for meditation\, since the whole mystery of man and nature and of everything else is in any object that you want to regard. \n  \n—Joseph Campbell\, from Mythic Worlds\, Modern Words: On the Art of James Joyce\, p. 130 \n* \n  \nI hear and behold God in every object\, yet understand God not in the least\, \nNor do I understand who there can be more wonderful than myself. \n  \nWhy should I wish to see God better than this day? \nI see something of God each hour of the twenty-four\, and each moment then\, \nIn the faces of men and women I see God\, and in my own face in the glass\, \nI find letters from God dropt in the street\, and every one is signed by God’s name\, \nAnd I leave them where they are\, for I know that wheresoe’er I go\, \nOthers will punctually come for ever and ever. \n  \n—Walt Whitman\, from “Song of Myself” \n* \n  \nAnd this our life\, exempt from public haunt\,  \nFinds tongues in trees\, books in the running brooks\,  \nsermons in stones\, and good in every thing.  \nI would not change it. \n  \n—William Shakespeare\, from As You Like It\, Act II\, scene 1 \n* \n  \nHere are some excerpts from Michel’s meditation journal. The numbers refer to passages from the book Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh. (JS) \n  \nMay 3\, 2021  #113  The Beautiful Earth \n  \nThis one ended up not being about the entitled topic: certainly it does start there…and ends where we can help others find/touch peace more often in their lives\, realizing that the Earth and all it contains is already beautiful. I appreciate that Thây tells/reminds us that we are “able to”—“We can allow ourselves…” How often do we do this—allow ourselves to do anything for ourselves?; let alone\, walking mindfully or touching the Earth. Certainly\, it can be a greater challenge for those of us located in the box. But\, we can let our spirit soar outside this box\, our minds don’t have to be imprisoned along with our bodies. (As an aside: How many do you know and/or notice whose mind is as trapped as their body\, unable to see any beauty or kindness inside here?) Even walking on concrete we can touch the Earth. Even looking at concrete walls\, or at a sky above\, we can recognize the beauty of the Earth around us—as we once knew it\, or as we can see it now in faces of people\, or pictures\, or birds flying overhead. We can allow ourselves to live\, breathe\, see\, feel\, and even “be” outside the box. We only need to “see” it… \n* \n  \nMay 24\, 2021  #128  Peace is Contagious \n  \nI guess I have not experienced this truth yet. I see war as a result of greed\, hatred\, delusion: this is contagious\, in a way. Peace has certainly been a byproduct of meditation practice\, as has happiness with ease. I wonder if this is the intent of using “contagious.” \n  \nWouldn’t that be wonderful? If we could get many to meditate and peace were to spontaneously erupt. Then\, as a result of all the peaceful people and the contagious nature of peace\, that Peace broke out all over the world. What would that world look like? Would it be astonishing or amazing? Or\, would we all\, as active meditators\, know it was what we expected to occur? \n  \nPeace is the antithesis of greed\, hate\, and delusion (The Three Poisons). Meditation is part of the path for overcoming the self-told lies leading to these three poisons. So\, if this is known—(this is known\, isn’t it?)—then why don’t more people pursue peace this way: divesting of false narratives\, of grasping for what others have\, and the desire to erase the otherness? \n  \nIt all comes down to choices. We each make choices. Some will blind us to reality\, and others bring sharp relief. Each person gets to choose. When one discovers the path of peace\, he or she wants others to share in it—contagious. \n* \n  \nMay 31\, 2021  #133  Where the Buddhas Live \n  \n….We are all sleeping Buddhas. And\, we all share this planet together. We can all love ourselves\, in the now\, as it is\, as we really are\, seen in the “others” with whom we share the air we breathe\, the sunlight that warms our body\, on this planet provided for us to live. Where do the buddhas live? In you and in me and in each person we encounter. Can you see it? Can you feel this? \n  \nLove \nMichel Deforge \n* \n  \nOne of my favorite “children’s books” is Cosmic View: The Universe in 40 Jumps by Kees Boeke\, published by John Day\, 1957. It has long been out of print but some amazing soul has scanned the whole book to a PDF:  \n  \nhttp://www.arvindguptatoys.com/arvindgupta/cosmic-view.pdf \n  \nAnd in 1968 Canadian Broadcasting made a film based on it:  \n  \nhttps://letterboxd.com/film/cosmic-zoom/ \n  \nWe take size and our reactions to it almost by rote\, not seeing how very relative our slice or box of the universe is. And these two\, the book and film\, remind us of  that. In addition there is a great French movie\, Microcosmos\, about the life of insects in a field in France.  \n  \nhttps://www.imdb.com/title/tt0117040/ \n  \nTalk about different worlds and sizes! Which is just what I have done in this recent poem of mine\, that I am attaching. \n  \nlove\,  \nDeb \n  \nOpening the Hubble Galaxy Calendar \n  \nIn a summer field the camera inches closer\, the air’s hum becomes louder\, thicker and we watch small creatures move through wilds of grass and dirt\, beings so tiny our lordly bodies rarely see them\, human vision inattentive to antennas\, faceted eyes\, and carapace. How unimaginable these day-long worlds are to us and we to them\, our one hundred years beyond reach in the universe of insect life. \n  \nAnts\, worms\, and crickets\, dynasties of arachnid and lepidoptera rush to mind each morning as I open another color-enhanced photograph from the Hubble telescope\, each one bringing the unexpected into view: the Horse Head Nebula rearing as if a stallion\, a butterfly configuration composed of galaxy upon galaxy\, streams of gas and water\, glowing fire. What can we know of 100 million light-years\, these interstellar worlds? \n  \nO\, how like insects we are\, hands and legs\, thorax and mandibles all waving in the limitless dark. \n  \n—Deborah Buchanan \n* \n  \n#161 Think Globally \n  \n“…When we see things globally we have more wisdom and we feel much better We are not caught by small situations…” \n  \nI don’t remember when I first started doing this\, but I know it was many\, many decades ago\, during my first rocky marriage. When caught up with tormenting thoughts I would extricate myself by saying\, “Look at the big picture. Look at you\, now\, in this time. This is nothing; you are nothing. In the “Grand Scheme of Things” this doesn’t matter. You don’t matter (you do\, but you don’t). It is nothing. Things will change.” I would detach myself\, look at the situation from the outside\, like a scientist\, untethering myself from the suffocating emotional bind. I would think of centuries\, of eons\, eras\, of countries\, continents\, planets\, the universe — and all the inhabitants therein\, and how their lives could be monstrous compared to mine. \n  \nThen I would count up the joys in my life\, remembering what I had within and without me that others globally could not experience. I would get specific\, enumerate details—loving\, supportive parents and siblings; vegetables in my garden ready to pick; good physical (if not mental) health; art; adoring\, adorable dog; freedom from addictions (for now); the trees and mountains calling me… \n  \nIf nothing else\, the time it took me to go through this process would invariably diffuse the heretofore unbearable situation. \n  \nI am everything. I am nothing. \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \nI love this poem: \n  \nI am one \nWho eats his breakfast \nGazing at morning glories \n  \n—Basho \n  \nhttps://matsuobashohaiku.home.blog/2019/04/12/gazing-at-morning-glories-eating-breakfast-basho/ \n  \nI am still contemplating the story Michel sent about fishing with a straight hook. Picturing this fisherman/fisherwoman sitting with companions who are intent on catching fish for dinner\, or sport.  \n  \nThe difference seems to me about letting go of expectations\, come what may\, but staying engaged with companions in the present moment. A surprise might come that feels magical\, but it isn’t about waiting for something better in the future. But the straight hook does make that fisherbeing unique amongst others. I am sending some quotes on this thought: \n  \nIf you always sit in expectation\, you’re not in the present moment. The present moment contains the whole of life.  \n—Thich Nhat Hanh   \n  \nLetting go is a painful part of life. But according to Buddhism\, we must let go of attachment and desires if we are to experience happiness. \nHowever\, letting go doesn’t mean you don’t care about anyone and anything. It actually means you can experience life and love fully and openly without clinging to it for your survival. \nAccording to Buddhism\, this is the only way to experience true freedom and happiness.  \nLetting go gives us freedom\, and freedom is the only condition for happiness. If\, in our heart\, we still cling to anything—anger\, anxiety\, or possessions—we cannot be free. \n—Thich Nhat Hanh   \n  \nThe greatest loss of time is delay and expectation\, which depend upon the future. We let go of the present\, which we have in our power\, and look forward to that which depends upon chance\, and so relinquish a certainty for an uncertainty. \n—Seneca   \n  \nIf we deny our happiness\, resist our satisfaction\, we lessen the importance of their deprivation. We must risk delight….We must have the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless furnace of this world….( injustice cannot be the only measure of our attention)….We must admit there will be music despite everything.      \n—Jack Gilbert \n  \nLet Go Of Expectations  \n  \n“If it weren’t for my mind\, my meditation would be excellent.” \n—Pema Chödrön     \n  \nShe continues:      \n  \nEvery meditation is different. Some of them will be peaceful throughout and you may feel a deep sense of joy. Other times your mind might be wild with thoughts of the day\, responsibilities you have yet to fulfill\, or emotions that percolate to the surface of your mind.  \n  \nHere are some steps you can take during your practice so that you avoid unnecessary turmoil and disappointment:  \n  \n\nAccept whatever shows up for you. If your mind is wild with thoughts\, simply let them arise without judgement. When you catch yourself being aware of these thoughts\, you can remind yourself to focus once again on your breath.\n\n\nSometimes you may experience emotions arising. Again\, allow them to move through you without judgement. Emotions need to move through us\, otherwise they can become stuck within our body and cause discomfort or even disease later in life. The release of that emotion could be the very thing that brings some relief and a quieter mind. \n\n\nRelease expectations of a specific outcome before you go in to a meditation. Some people will enter meditations with the hope that they will be able to manifest money\, relationships or health. High expectations of a specific outcome can lead to disappointments when they do not arise immediately. The less you expect of your meditation the easier you will find happiness. \n\n* \n  \nOK\, you are now ready to begin\, take a calm\, deep breath. \n—Katie Radditz
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-6-15-21/
ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/Unknown.jpeg
END:VEVENT
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20210624
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20210708
DTSTAMP:20260427T181031
CREATED:20210624T231228Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20210624T231324Z
UID:2245-1624492800-1625702399@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  6/24/21
DESCRIPTION:sidewalk message \n  \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nJune 24\, 2021 \n  \nBe kind whenever possible. It is always possible. \n—Dalai Lama \n* \n  \nThe other day I was thinking about what I would say if asked to give a TED talk. Here’s what I wrote: \n  \nLove to faults is always blind\, \nAlways is to joy inclin’d\, \nLawless\, wing’d & unconfin’d\, \nAnd breaks all chains from every mind. \n  \nthat’s William Blake \n  \nI’d like to talk about love \nand so I shall \nnot the fascinating question of the relation between love and sex \nbut another kind of love: \nunconditional love for everyone and every thing \nis such a love possible? \nthat’s an open question \nbut surely it is possible to have this as an aspiration \nfor our love to grow and grow as we go along on our life journey \nit is good to begin with this axiom: \nwe are one human family \nthat means: \nall children are our children \nall children are our children \nevery child\, everywhere in the world \nif you accept this as true\, then war becomes impossible \nunthinkable \nfor whenever we drop a bomb on our so-called “enemies” we would at the same time murder some of our own children \nsurely we don’t want to do that \nit’s much more pleasant to have no enemies  \nthere’s no one to fear \nwe can live in love \nthe preamble to the UNESCO constitution says: \n“wars begin in the minds of men” \nso\, that’s where they must end\, too \nwe can end the wars within ourselves \nby doing our own inner work \nthe other kind of war—between nations and groups of people— \nends with acts of imagination\, informed by love \nby the knowledge that each person’s life is as limitless and precious as our own \nif we don’t imagine that we have enemies\, we don’t have enemies \nthis is true\, because we are one human family  \nand all children are our children \nwe have no enemies \nthere is no “other” \nthere is no scapegoat upon whom to project all our sins \nwe are not born in sin \n(every newborn baby proves Saint Augustine was wrong about that) \nwe are born in love \nwe grow in love \nthat’s why we came here \nto love and be loved \nthat’s why we came to this earth \nthat’s why we came to this room \nlove has no limit \nit has no beginning or end \nto quote the Bible: \nwho loves not\, knows not God \nfor God is love \nJesus enjoined us to love our neighbors as ourselves  \nand to love our enemies \nif you love your enemies\, they are no longer enemies \nthey are friends \nbrothers and sisters \n* \nour family is larger than the human family \nit includes every living being \nand rocks and rivers and clouds \nThich Nhat Hanh speaks of interbeing \nwe all inter-are \nthe trees provide oxygen for us to breathe \neach of our bodies is a host for millions of micro-organisms\, without which we couldn’t digest our food \nit’s wonderful! \nwhether or not you postulate a creator\, this world is amazing!  \nevery particle of creation is miraculous \neverywhere you look is another miracle \nour breath\, the circulation of our blood\, our brain\, the bees pollinating the fruit trees— \nthe Web of Life! \n* \nthe odds against any one of us being born are impossibly large— \nthe chance meeting of our parents\, the moment of conception\, the zillions of little swimmers— \nand yet here we are \nit is great good fortune \nhere we are with our precious human bodies and brains \nour thoughts\, our emotions\, our imaginings \nwe are in this well-lit room\, where the temperature is regulated for our comfort \nwe are all suitably clothed \nwell-fed \nwe are very fortunate \nmany people\, as we know\, are not so fortunate \neveryone should have access to clean and abundant drinking water \nno one should go to bed hungry \nno one should live in fear \nwe have a lot of work to do \ncompassion is the essential prerequisite \n* \nthe earth is hurting\, too \nwe have been relentlessly destroying the ecological health of our planet—especially since the advent of the Industrial Revolution \nwe have to learn\, or re-learn\, how to live on this earth in ways that are not so destructive \nthis\, too\, begins with love \nwe must love our Mother Earth \n* \nand as the poet Auden said: \n“we must love one another or die” \nof course you probably got the memo that we’re all going to die anyway \nwe are mortal beings \nthe question is: \nhow shall we live? \nmay I have the envelope please? \nand the answer to the question “How shall we live?” is… \nin Love \n  \nthank you \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nI shared it with Kim Stafford\, who sent me a poem and also a letter that his friend  Charles Busch had written to the mothers and fathers of Palestine and Israel: \n  \nFor the Bird        \n Singing before Dawn  \n  \nSome people presume to be hopeful \nwhen there is no evidence for hope\, \nto be happy when there is no cause. \nLet me say now\, I’m with them.  \n  \nIn deep darkness on a cold twig \nin a dangerous world\, one first \nlittle fluff lets out a peep\, a warble\, \na song—and in a little while\, behold:  \n  \nthe first glimmer comes\, then a glow \nfilters through the misty trees\, \nthen the bold sun rises\, then \neveryone starts bustling about.  \n  \nAnd that first crazy optimist\,  \ncan we forgive her for thinking\, dawn by dawn\,  \n“Hey\, I made that happen! \nAnd oh\, life is so fine.” \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nLetter to the Mothers and Fathers of Palestine and Israel\, \n  \nWe have read the names of the 69 children killed in the 11-day exchange of violence between your peoples. Though we live far away\, your grief reaches us\, for we too have daughters and sons we love and cannot imagine life without. \n  \nQusai al-Qawlaq (6 months)\, Ibrahim al-Rantisi (6 months)\, Muhammade-Zain al-Attar (9 months) \n  \nThe deaths of your children point to the dark truth of modern warfare: For every 1 combatant killed\, 9 civilians are killed\, the majority of them children. These numbers have been reported consistently for decades\, but are hard to hear. War has become the killing of children. \n  \nDain Ishkontana (2)\, Yazan al-Masri (2)\, Nagham Salha (2)\, Adam al-Qawlaq (3)\, Yahya Ishkontana (4) \n  \nWe at Fields of Peace\, a small nonprofit on the coast of Oregon\, have a Mission: To stop the killing of children in wars. Today\, we recommit to working for a lasting peace in your land by daring to propose a way to a new beginning. \n  \nBaraa al-Gharabli (5)\, Ido Avigal (5)\, Amira al-Attar (6)\, Butheina Obaid (6)\, Abdurrahman al-Hadidi (7) \n  \nWe know there have been countless failed attempts at peacemaking. And we know that there are seemingly intractable issues—borders\, occupation\, settlements\, refugees\, statehood. But we also know that the majority of peoples on both sides desperately want and demand peace. \n  \nZaid al-Qawlaq (8)\, Bilal Abu Hatab (9)\, Yara al-Qawlaq (9)\, Yahya al-Hadidi (10)\, Mira al-Ifranji (11) \n  \nTo begin anew\, a shared perspective is needed\, one that rises above the narratives on each side that justify violence. The perspective we propose is the view from the eyes of mothers and fathers. They see that to gain a whole world is not worth the killing of a single child. \n  \nAbdullah Jouda (12)\, Hala Rifi (13)\, Ahmad al-Hawajri (14)\, Muhammad Suleiman (15)\, Nadine Awad (16) \n  \nTo unite the mothers and fathers of Palestine and Israel into a force for peace\, a common commitment is needed. The commitment we propose is an obvious one: make A Promise to Our Children. It begins\, \n  \nI will not be a part of the killing \nof any child\, \nno matter how lofty the reason. \nThese words may seem slight given the history and walls that divide your land\, but words hold the power of creation. They set in motion the good that is waiting in us to be born. Nothing new begins without words. But they must be said out loud\, and someone must go first. \n  \nI will not be a part of the killing \nof any child\, \nno matter how lofty the reason. \nNot my neighbor’s child. \nNot my child. \nNot the enemy’s child. \nNot by bomb. Not by bullet. \nNot by looking the other way. \nI will be the power that is peace. \nSpoken\, these words will travel out\, be heard and repeated by other mothers and fathers\, by grandparents\, godparents\, by all who say the name of a child with love. They will serve notice to leaders: “Stop the killing of children in wars. Stop wars.” Spoken\, the words will also travel in\, reminding us of who we are\, giving us courage to stand and act. \n  \nThere is a way to a new beginning. It is simple and immediate: See with the eyes of mothers and fathers. Make A Promise to Our Children. It begins\, \n  \nI will not be a part of the killing \nof any child\, \nno matter how lofty the reason. \n  \nThank you\, \nFields of Peace \n  \nJune\, 2021 \nfieldsofpeace.org
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-6-24-21/
ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/06/0-18-2.jpeg
END:VEVENT
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20210627T130000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20210627T150000
DTSTAMP:20260427T181031
CREATED:20210615T231258Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20210626T172012Z
UID:2232-1624798800-1624806000@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!: PLAYS!
DESCRIPTION:my first play\, circa 1956\, Columbia Falls\, Montana (JS) \n  \nBeloved Bibliophiles! \n  \nOn June 27th\, at 1 pm\, we will gather together on Zoom to talk about PLAYS!–reading them\, watching them\, performing them. The Zoom link is:  \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/83135193074 \n  \nHope to see you there!  \n  \npeace\, love & katharsis   \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-plays/
ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/06/0-9-2.jpeg
END:VEVENT
END:VCALENDAR