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SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness  4/15/22
DESCRIPTION:  \n  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n  \n April 15\, 2022 \n  \nAs the crickets’ soft autumn hum \n        is to us \n     so are we to the trees \n        as are they \n  to the rocks and the hills \n  \n—Gary Snyder \n* \n  \nMeditation for Ukraine \n  \nWhen the war in Ukraine began\, we couldn’t believe it. Then we had to\, as an avalanche of headlines\, numbers\, and film clips came at us from all directions. The old ritual of violence had begun again so soon\, so fierce\, so inexplicable. All I could do\, every morning\, was to walk before dawn\, then sit alone\, ponder\, and write. The poems in this book arose in the first 30 days for the fighting\, as I tried to look at the obscene events in Russia and Ukraine from oblique angles—big picture\, close encounter\, root cause\, and imagined outcome.  \n  \nWe have been helped in this time by a Zoom group sponsored by Shambhala Online\, which each day of the war has convened a hundred or so from around the world for the practice of tonglen meditation. Our custom has included Buddhists in the U.S.\, Canada\, Britain\, Holland\, Poland\, India\, Japan\, Ukraine\, and beyond. We sit in silence for many long breaths\, working to inhale suffering and grief\, then exhale\, as we can\, compassion from the heart open wide. Following this practice\, we ask Iryna and Sasha in Kyiv\, Oleg in Odessa\, Andriy in Lviv\, and others inside the war how it is for them—days\, nights\, times of spring sun\, and of darkness. “Now I have no fear\, or no hope. I have only this time\, today.” “I don’t watch the news\, instead I go to the subway and see how little families each make a nest of their belongings.” “Humility comes to the front of your life. You see how artificial was life before.”  \n  \n—from the preface to Sunflower Seeds: Poems for Ukraine (www.lulu.com) \n  \nI have explored the “tonglen” practice of meditation in a poem: \n  \n      Trees Send Oxygen to Weary Citizens \n  \nSome Buddhists sit in silence to inhale sorrow\, \ngrief\, fear\, and all the cloudy darkness of strife \ninto the infinite open heart\, and there transform it \nto an exhalation of light\, of compassion\, a new \nchance for all sentient beings to be at peace. In \npractice\, in fact\, how can this miracle be understood? \nThe last breath of every soldier flies on the wind  \nover the rooftops of generals and their commanders \nfaster\, more direct than roads or other human tricks \nto far Siberia where in ravines and all along ridges \nhorizon by horizon\, valley by valley\, peak by peak \nthe waiting arms of pine\, spruce\, larch\, and fir sip deep  \ninto their green needle tangle a feast of human exhalation  \nto seethe\, turn\, and return pure oxygen for wind to freight  \naround the world\, passing all others\, to the battlefield \nwhere a girl wears her father’s coat\, a boy says his  \nmother’s name with breath made sacred by this war. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nIf you would like to participate in daily meditations with people in Ukraine at 8 a.m. (PDT)\, here’s the link: \n  \nhttps://us06web.zoom.us/j/83817903514 \n  \n* \n  \nJude responds to meditation #11 from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh: \n  \n#11  Aimlessness  \n  \nBuddhist teaching of aimlessness instructs us not to set an object or goal in front of us and run after it\, believing that happiness is impossible unless and until we get it. We must do as the flower does: we must stop reaching for something.  The flower knows it contains everything within it and doesn’t try to become something else.  \n  \nThis is another instance of word nuances: ‘goal’ and ‘objective’ have negative connotations in this case. They imply reaching for something\, usually a material something\, not being satisfied with life as is. \n  \nBut what about the desire\, the deep and intense desire\, and need\, to know and understand others not like you? The deeply felt purpose imbedded in that desire. The belief that knowing and understanding—connection— erases fear and mistrust and must lead to love. What if you call that a goal? Does that make it wrong? In my intense and life changing moment (still ongoing) of illumination in the mid 90s\, I knew I must seek understanding of those not like me: I found a deep and long friendship with Skosh who had AIDS; I sat with him when he died. I taught at Jefferson High School with its 80-90% Black student body (and took kids to prom and planted gardens with parents); went on five Habitat for Humanity builds to Mississippi\, South Carolina\, West Virginia\, Oklahoma\, etc; mentored rough and tough teenagers for\, now decades (and went to three Metallica concerts!). I befriended an Indian woman and her chaotic family (and sat with her daughter while she went through drug withdrawal) for sixteen years; worked in a family homeless shelter for three years; tutored and ‘adopted’ Hispanic adults (and made 200 tortillas with Maria)\, and up to current times\, volunteered in our precious OHOM prison program. Among other things. Everything I have done has been with a part of my world that I had little or no knowledge or understanding of.  \n  \nI hesitate to mention all of this for fear of sounding as if I’m tooting my own horn; it is not that. It is that I have felt propelled to do this. It is the deep need to know and understand others not like me. It all comes from that experience of ‘illumination’ (at 2:05 pm on March 25\, 1994) (more on that later). \n  \nAre these “goals?” Is this running after something and not being satisfied or happy until I’ve achieved it? I am happy—no\, I am filled with joy when I am living with this desire\, this ‘goal.’ It doesn’t feel wrong\, but oh so right. \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \nHere are some excerpts from Michel’s March meditation journal. The numbers refer to meditations from Thich Nhat Hanh’s book Your True Home: \n  \nMarch 3\, 2022  –  #250  Touched By Her Light \n  \nThis is a beautiful image. Just imagine it; living in a state of constant mindfulness\, leading others\, through contact\, to grow in cultivation of his/her own mindfulness…to become ripples in the pond of human consciousness\, spreading mindfulness to ever more people—like an anti-dis-ease\, or wellspring of happiness\, compassion and contentment with each one. Not only would that be something to behold\, but it would be amazing to become part of as well. \n  \nDo we not already have this opportunity\, and yet how many are touched by the “light” of my life? (Or\, yours?) What does it take for any one of us to step up and embrace mindfulness fully\, developing our light—let alone touching others’ lives with that light? I find it peculiar that all it takes for me (and you\, too) is to sit down regularly and practice mindfulness—to sit and breathe deliberately. That’s it! I only need to want to take the time to sit for a while. Doing this alone can be extra challenging\, lonely even. It’s funny how yesterday was about space\, leading me to embrace aloneness\, and here I am struggling to overcome loneliness in solitary practice—which is fundamentally still a solitary practice\, even in a hall with 1\,000 meditators at one sangha (fellowship/community). The union of conscious intent\, even practicing in “solitude” within a sangha of any size\, is the strength to overcome a sense of aloneness or loneliness. \n  \nI definitely am more consistent with a group—dedication to other until for self kicks in; and even more so with a personal plan as well. What do you do to get you to the cushion alone\, or in sangha regularly? \n  \nMarch 10\, 2022  –  #251  Many Wonders \n  \nThis is so apropos for my last few days. I find it curious; when I don’t take even the time to exercise and/or contemplate/write here\, it’s as if my experience of life becomes overwhelming to cope with. With the overwhelm comes a flood/flurry of other intensive emotional experiences\, which mount challenge after challenge as the day grinds on…to…a halt. I can go no further… \n  \nOr\, so I thought. Apparently\, enough training\, experience\, or divine intervention reminded me to “just breathe!” As I continued to breathe\, not giving in just yet\, still plodding forward\, one foot in front of the other\, perpetually pressing on and striving to keep going—slowly\, with help and kind words from others\, things started turning back around…unexpectedly. \n  \nThat is the point I believe Thây makes here: No matter how intense the experience of the self-induced suffering (it all is!) we can fall back on our past practice/training to carry us through. We can also reap benefit from just being open (through practice and training the mind) that we see and experience myriad wonders present in every moment—right there before our very eyes\, we only need to be aware enough to look (to go looking for these “wonders.”) \n  \nIt’s a matter of focal points—positive versus negative; wonders abounding everywhere\, or suffering\, pain and misery in each and every moment. I know where I wish I would focus and where I want to focus—I even do succeed occasionally as I desire\, just not as often as I wish I did. But that’s just it. This is all about our personal power of choice. Each of us makes this choice—often unconsciously or passively. \n  \nResults are obvious. You achieve what you focus on and strive for\, not what you aren’t paying attention to. So why don’t we choose better? Why don’t parents teach children that there is this option\, and that choice is our great inheritance of life power? Why don’t we own what they didn’t know then\, and teach/learn for ourselves (and others) now? All I have to do (and you can too!) is make my choice\, then act on it. That’s it. There’s no magic pill\, formula\, incantation\, or grotto. I need only grit to stick with the choice and do the “hard” work—(which isn’t actually hard at all\, it’s just more illusions I created for myself). What’s your choice? \n  \nMarch 24\, 2022  –  #256  Mind Creates Everything \n  \nExcitement rolled through the dorm building\, to a crescendo\, as each man anticipated the call to go down to get our feed. Dark clouds collecting at the edge of the valley\, rolling out over the plains\, building to a full frenzy thunder and lightning display. Just as quickly as the energy built\, each was in his seat\, eating a giant hero. Some chicken clubs—most\, actually—and a few for pastrami. The rains fell\, calming all sound with the coolness settling all around. One by one\, each finished his meal\, moving on to another area. Rains lifted\, skies cleared\, and all was quiet once again. Each man moaned in soft contentment of satisfaction\, having eaten his fill. \n  \nOur minds got bored—all people. The mind craves the new\, exciting\, colorful\, flashy\, brilliant distractions\, not silence within. Practicing mindfulness calms the mind’s desires for innovative and new stimuli. Through training\, a mind learns calmness and peace. \n  \nTV commercials\, live feeds\, Twitter\, Snapchat\, instant access to…every thing. This feeds the chaos drive of the mind. It’s little wonder most people are starving psychically for stillness\, calm and quiet. Few know this secret: It all starts with the mind—both the peace and the noise. \n  \nThrough the mind’s power we can create stories about many things; about peace and harmony\, beauty or chaos and disturbances\, war and violence\, etc. We have power\, which many of us don’t know to use\, but it’s there. All we need to do is practice mindfulness. With time\, practicing leads to consistent behavior\, leading to consistent peace within. What are you creating today? \n  \nMichel Deforge \n* \n  \nAlex Tretbar wrote to me that he has begun meditating every morning. I like to encourage people who want to meditate\, so I wrote some of my thoughts about meditation to him. I’m lazy. Instead of writing something new for this issue\, I’m just going to copy and paste what I wrote to Alex: \n  \nDear Alex \n  \nThanks for your letter and poem. I’m happy to learn that you are meditating every morning. I’ve had a serious meditation practice for more than 50 years\, so I’d like to share a few thoughts on the subject that I hope might be helpful to you. \n  \nThe word “meditation” can mean a lot of different things. For many years\, people considered it a kind of oddball thing that Buddhists were into. Many people tried meditating once or twice\, found it difficult or frustrating and concluded that it was not for them. In more recent years\, meditation & mindfulness—along with yoga—have become much more mainstream and normal. There are meditation apps that people have on their phones. Lots and lots of books about meditation and mindfulness. Health and mental health professionals now routinely recommend meditation and mindfulness for reducing stress and helping with various physical\, mental and emotional problems. \n  \nClassical Japanese Zen is rigorous and practiced in monasteries by monks. The poet Gary Snyder lived in Japan for eight years. He practiced Zen at a monastery and did zazen (sitting meditation) a minimum of five hours a day. \n  \nThere are kinder and gentler ways to practice meditation. Thich Nhat Hanh\, for example\, has a friendlier approach. He says you should enjoy it. If you’re not enjoying it\, you’re doing it wrong. \n  \nA brief word on sitting meditation. The two essential things are: eyes open and back straight. When your eyes close or your posture slumps you tend to daydream and then fall asleep. This is not a bad thing. Like taking a nap\, it’s restful. \n  \nMeditation is wakefulness. Attention. A mind quiet and alert. \n  \nRather than thinking of it as a difficult activity\, it might be good to think of meditation as “quiet time.” Peaceful time. A time set aside\, when you don’t have to accomplish anything. In our culture achievement is at a premium and people who don’t meditate tend to think of it as wasting time. Walt Whitman said: \n  \n“I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.” \n  \nThat’s the idea. \n  \nIf you spend some quiet time every morning\, over time your brain and mind and nervous system will gradually quiet down. \n  \nOne of the things that you learn from meditation is that instead of seeing and feeling and experiencing the world directly\, we learned early in life to see and experience and feel the world through a filter of thought and language. It’s like the difference between reading about Multnomah Falls\, or looking at a postcard of Multnomah Falls\, and actually standing if front of it and feeling the spray. \n  \nMeditation & mindfulness—that immediate kind of perception—can inspire poetic expression. All you have to do is find the right words to convey this experience to others. Simple. \n  \nIn one of our earlier exchanges\, you said that the problem for you with meditating\, is that you would be sitting there and you’d have an idea\, and you would want to write it down before it disappeared—and thus you would have to interrupt your meditation. This made me smile. The thing is: of course you can stop “meditating” in order to write. Writing is a form of meditation. Maybe silent sitting is one of the ways to invite poetic inspiration. Like opening a window\, so that you can feel the breeze. \n  \nThis problem\, like most problems\, is an imaginary one. First you imagined it\, then you imagined that it was a “real” problem. A toothache is a real problem. The Buddhist view is that 99% of suffering is self-inflicted. (“Imaginary” problems are not necessarily less painful than “real” ones.) Meditation is the art of not making yourself miserable. \n  \nOne of the paradoxes of meditation is that there is no goal. You sit in order to sit. Trying to get something—like peace\, or enlightenment\, or whatever—is just another way of making yourself miserable. It introduces time and a hypothetical future. There is no future\, only this present moment. \n  \nWell\, that’s enough for now about all that. \n  \npeace & love\, \nJohnny \n* \n  \n“Whenever you meet a situation that awakens your compassion… \nyou can stop for a moment\, breathe in any suffering you see\, \nand breathe out a sense of relief.” \n  \n—Pema Chödrön – Tonglen\, the Path of Transformation \n  \nI have been attending a daily Buddhist meditation practice since the early days of the War against Ukraine. Hosted by a group in New York and a group in Ukraine\, we gather on Zoom\, to give support to those suffering from violence due to the  ongoing invasion. \n  \nThe practice of Tonglen\, an extension of Loving-Kindness meditation\, is new to me. We begin with a check-in from sangha members in Ukraine. Iryna gives a hello and a weather report if the sun is shining\, then a brief update about the latest destruction and pauses in bombing. She speaks in Ukrainian and her friend translates for us. Then others are asked to speak – Oleg in Odessa\, Sasha and Ella in Kyiv\, Andrei in Lviv\, give personal stories from their homes. Seeing them in their zoom boxes\, with their windows shaded\, is a moving and transporting experience. These check-ins have been both heartrending and inspiring. Also comforting to know that they are alive\, these brave humble people who we have come to care for and LOVE over these weeks of war. Sometimes these new friends are away on meditation retreat\, or called to army duty\, or helping to take care of the wounded or homeless. In Kyiv they are involved with reconstructing a building for those who have lost their homes or have been sheltering in the subways.    \n  \nTaking a moment to sit with awareness of our feelings\, gathering stability and compassion\, we go directly into a practice of transforming suffering into compassion.  Tonglen – in English called Sending and Taking\, is new to me. The essence of it is to breathe in heaviness\, sorrow\, whatever images may be disturbing us\, then breathe out peace\, tenderness\, lightness\, liveliness.  Our minds may be overwhelmed by news\, or anxiety\, but our hearts have a bottomless well of love and compassion.  \n  \nThe Practice closes with a Dedication of Merit sent out to all beings that may be  suffering. Then we unmute for an open discussion\, questions\, poems\, or music. The chat box overflows with thanks and good wishes\, resources are sent for compassion in action.    \n  \nThirty minutes of raising compassion in a group dedicated to non-violence allows us to be supportive of one another in a volatile time. I’m sure the Ukrainians feel supportive\, but I am much more aware of the support for myself. It has been a gift; an antidote to the images in the morning newspaper\, to the enervating quality of nightly news commentary on the war that I have completely given up. \n  \nI had wondered if it would feel like a burden to begin my day up close in a war with strangers.  Rather it has been energizing\, spiritually creative\, and friendly. Here we are greeting one another each day\, getting to know our Eastern neighbors with names and faces and stories. I grieve for the children\, remembering our own war years and protests\, “Where have all the children gone\, long time ago?” I draw strength from my Polish ancestors\, when I hear stories of the millions taking refuge in Poland’s homes. In Western Ukraine too\, every person we heard from had people from Eastern towns staying in their apartment.  \n  \nHere at home\, I recognize a Ukrainian accent in line at Goodwill. Hannah starts weeping when I hug her\, so thankful to be listened to; her husband is Russian and supports Putin. Her parents meanwhile are terrified in Kyiv. Her own children are young.    \n  \nI feel grateful for our experience with you all through Open Hearts Open Minds dialogue and theater and Open Road discussions and readings and reflecting on Thich Nhat Hanh’s teachings. Being interactive\, communicating!\,  interbeing as Thay says\, practicing a common aspiration for peace and happiness\, has been helpful for not turning away from the suffering in war. \n  \nI muse over these words of Thich Nhat Hanh’s and think about how we might transform\, in prison or in a state of fear or in a difficult time of despair over how to help.   \n  \n The Buddha’s teaching is about viewing the world through the eyes of compassion. Thich Nhat Hanh taught deep listening and open communication with people on both sides of an issue. And taking action to relieve suffering\, everyone’s suffering. \n  \nHe said\, “When you have compassion in your heart\, you suffer much less\, and you are in a situation to be and to do something to help others to suffer less. This is true. So to practice in such a way that brings compassion into your heart is very important. A person without compassion cannot be a happy person. And compassion is something that is possible only when you have understanding. Understanding brings compassion. Understanding is compassion itself.”   \n  \nThank you\, dear friends\, for our ongoing communication\, and open hearts.  May we be at peace.     \n  \nLove\,     \nKatie
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-4-15-22/
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SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  4/21/22
DESCRIPTION:Aaron O’Hara as Bottom & James Stewart (Jasmine Marie Rose) as Titania \nDonkey head by Nancy Scharbach. \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nApril 7\, 2022 \n  \nA MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM IN PRISON \n  \nThe Open Road also has some VERY EXCITING NEWS!!! “A Midsummer Night’s Dream in Prison\,” a film by Bushra Azzouz\, will have its World Premiere on Sunday\, August 7th\, at 6 p.m.\, at the Cinema 21 movie theater in Portland\, Oregon. Click on this link to watch the trailer and buy your tickets!: \n  \nhttps://www.cinema21.com/movie/a-midsummer-nights-dream-in-prison \n  \nApril is of course National Poetry Month (https://poets.org/national-poetry-month)\, and around the 23rd of the month the Open Road likes to celebrate WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE’S BIRTHDAY \n  \n  \n (https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-newsletter-4-23-4-29/).  \n  \n(WARNING!: this BARD’S BIRTHDAY ISSUE of peace\, love\, happiness & understanding is chock full o’ links! Endless hours of fun for the whole family!) \n  \nOn April 24th\, for our Bibliophiles Unanimous! Zoom gathering\, legendary actor-director-writer-scholar KEITH SCALES gave a reading:  OF STRANGE SHADOWS: THE MYSTERIES OF SHAKESPEARE’S SONNETS. A lively discussion ensued.  \n  \nIn July of 2006\, I started a weekly Dialogue Group at Two Rivers prison\, in Umatilla\, Oregon—“The Stories We Tell Ourselves: How Our Thinking Shapes Our Lives.” I would leave the prison feeling exhilarated\, with a sense that what we were doing together was profound\, even sacred. After two years\, one of the men who was serving a life sentence asked me if I would do a play with them. In 2008\, we did “Hamlet.” It was the first time that inmates in an Oregon prison had performed a play by Shakespeare. \n  \nTwo years later\, we did “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” Nancy Scharbach borrowed costumes from Portland Opera\, and made the props\, including a magnificent ass head for Bottom. Our dear friend Bushra Azzouz had the idea of making a documentary film about the project. She was given permission to bring a film crew to the prison eight times. She filmed interviews with each of the actors\, group dialogues on subjects like “Love” and “Dreams\,” as well as rehearsals and public performances. \n  \nSadly\, Bushra passed away three years ago\, on June 13\, 2019. Before she died\, she assembled a team of people to make sure the film would get finished\, including Enie Vaisburd\, who is the Supervising Editor. The editing of the film is now finished. After getting sound and color correction\, it will be ready to be released. \n  \nMany people contributed financially and in other ways to the film. A special thank you goes to Ronni Lacroute\, who gave us a very generous donation\, which has allowed us to finish the film. And\, as always\, a big big thank you to Jerry\, Donna\, Marsha\, Chris and Jordon Smith\, without whom none of the prison dialogues or plays would have ever happened. \n  \nThe Portland Premiere of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream in Prison” will be a glorious event! Lovers of Bushra will be there in abundance—her husband Andy Larkin\, members of her extended family from all over the globe\, her close friends\, her film students\, members of the Portland film community\, people who came to see the play\, and of course actors who were in the play and who are in the film\, along with their loved ones. We will enjoy two great works of Art—one by William Shakespeare and one by Bushra Azzouz. Not to be missed! \n  \nFor Nancy and me\, doing the Shakespeare plays in prison has been one of the richest experiences in our lives. We did “Hamlet” in 2008\, “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” in 2010\, followed by “Twelfth Night\,” “Twelve Angry Men” (not by Shakespeare)\, “King Lear” and “A Winter’s Tale.” We did all this under the aegis of our nonprofit organization\, Open Hearts Open Minds (http://openheartsopenminds.net). \n  \nIn 2015\, I decided that I would just be going out to the Umatilla prison once a month\, instead of once a week. (It’s a six-hour drive\, round trip.) I thought that would be the end of the theater projects at Two Rivers prison. To my surprise\, my decision caused Open Hearts Open Minds to grow. Friends stepped forward to become prison volunteers and to keep the Dialogue Group going on a weekly basis. Deborah Buchanan\, Bill Faricy\, Jude Russell\, Dick Willis\, Kristen Sagan\, Nancy Scharbach\, Katie Radditz and Bushra Azzouz kept that program going. Carla Grant and Don Kern started a theater program at the women’s prison in Wilsonville\, Coffee Creek. We started an Arts Program and a Music Program at Columbia River Prison in Portland. In 2015\, I co-directed a production of “Hamlet” with Anna Crandall\, Patrick Walsh\, Victoria Spencer and Todd Oleson. Anna\, Patrick and Victoria went on to direct “Metamorphoses” by Mary Zimmerman and “The Tempest” by Shakespeare. Todd Oleson directed “A Christmas Carol.” Jake Merriman is now in charge of the Theatre Program at Two Rivers prison. He has\, with some collaborators\, directed “Macbeth” and “Julius Caesar.” \n  \nIn July of 2019\, I stepped down as Executive Director of Open Hearts Open Minds. Carla Grant took the helm. In September of 2019\, The Open Road (https://openroadpdx.com) adventure began. \n  \nYou might be surprised to learn that there is such a thing as a Shakespeare in Prisons Conference. The Bard himself might be astonished by this\, by the number of books that have been written about him and the frequency with which his plays are performed all over the world—400 years after his death. Plays are transitory things. Evidence suggests that he hoped for immortality as a poet\, but the idea of  being a famous playwright could have seemed as far-fetched as becoming a famous wheelwright or shipwright. \n  \nNikos Kazantakis\, author of Zorba the Greek\, travelled to England and wrote a book about his impressions. In the long chapter on Shakespeare\, he says: \n  \nAn infinite spirit\, from the depths of hell to the summit of Paradise. If the whole of humanity was to send a single representative to speak for its rights before God\, it would send him. He is also the only one who could represent our planet at some giant interplanetary conference. No one ever used human speech with such power and at the same time such sweetness as Shakespeare\, with such harshness and at the same time such melody and so magical an aura. \n  \n–from England: A travel journal by Nikos Kazantzakis\, p. 261 \n  \nWhen I directed my first play in prison\, I knew of one other person who had done that—Curt Tofteland. Curt was Artistic Director of Kentucky Shakespeare. I knew of him from the film “Shakespeare Behind Bars” (https://www.kanopy.com/en/multcolib/video/268952)\, a documentary film about a production of “The Tempest” that he directed at Luther Luckett prison in Kentucky. I had gone out to see his production of “Measure for Measure\,” and later Nancy and I had the good fortune to see the last performance of “Julius Caesar”—the last play he directed there. After the show\, in the prison\, there was a giant Love-In. I was an emotional wreck at the end of that. It was clear that all the actors loved him SO MUCH\, and that he loved them. \n  \nCurt lives in Michigan now\, and is as busy as ever with his nonprofit organization\, Shakespeare Behind Bars (https://shakespearebehindbars.org). Curt co-founded the Shakespeare in Prisons Conferences and the Shakespeare in Prisons Network in 20012\, along with Scott Jackson and Dr. Peter Holland of the University of Notre Dame (https://shakespeare.nd.edu/service/shakespeare-in-prisons/). Here’s a link to one of Curt’s powerful TEDx talks:  \n  \nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eBMcB6kboLA&t=207s \n  \nBy doing programs in Oregon prisons\, I’ve met many wonderful people who live\, or used to live in prison\, and made many friends for life. Over these past fifteen years\, I’ve also met a lot of beautiful people who\, like Curt Tofteland\, have spent a lot of time doing programs with women and men in prison\, here and around the world—including everyone who has volunteered with Open Hearts Open Minds\, and Lavon Starr-Meyers\, who supervised our programs at Two Rivers prison. I’d like to introduce you to a few far flung members of my prison family: Zeina Daccache\, Ashley Lucas\, Lesley Currier\, Alokananda Roy and Stratis Panourios. (There are more\, but this is probably enough for now.) \n  \nIn 2012\, when we were rehearsing “Twelve Angry Men” at Two Rivers prison\, Bushra said she had heard about a film called “12 Angry Lebanese.” I ordered a DVD of the film from CATHARSIS—Lebanese Center for Drama Therapy (http://www.catharsislcdt.org & https://www.facebook.com/search/top) and watched it. Zeina Daccache had directed a production of “12 Angry Men” at Roumieh prison\, and made a fantastic documentary film about it. I invited her to come see our production in Oregon. She did. We became great friends. She’s made more films since then. To learn more about this amazing woman and the work she has done\, here is a link to a TED talk she gave: \n  \nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tf5akVvHhx4 \n  \nI met Ashley Lucas at the first Shakespeare in Prisons Conference\, at the University of Notre Dame. She was Director of Prison Creative Arts Project (PCAP)\, affiliated with the University of Michigan—the largest Prison Arts organization on Planet Earth. When she was doing research for her book Prison Theatre and the Global Crisis of Incarceration\, she came to see our production of “The Winter’s Tale\,” and interviewed the actors on the day after the final performance. In the first chapter of her book\, she wrote at length about the love which was so much in evidence on the closing night of the play. In a previous issue of “peace\, love\, happiness & understanding” I wrote about Ashley and her book \n  \n  \n (https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-9-3-20/). \n  \nI was on a panel with Lesley Currier at the first Shakespeare in Prisons Conference in 2013. She is Artistic Director of Marin Shakespeare Company. At San Quentin prison\, she and her company have produced many many Shakespeare plays\, and original “devised” theatre performances\, based on themes from the plays. Here’s a link to Kimani’s “Parallel Play Piece” from September 7\, 2012: \n  \nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yWgZNwLuks0 \n  \nThe Marin Shakespeare Company has an extensive archive of performances from San Quentin on their website (https://www.marinshakespeare.org). \n  \nAt the third Shakespeare in Prisons Conference in San Diego in 2018\, I had the extreme good fortune to get a darshan from the Goddess Saraswati\, who has incarnated in the form of Alokananda Roy. She has produced dance-theatre productions in prisons in India. The performers were able to get out of prison to take their shows on tour to theaters in cities around India. Here’s a link to the moving story of her “Love Therapy”: \n  \nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OspzzO7gAiw&t=1186s \n  \nHad enough links yet? Wait! There’s one more! Early last year the fourth Shakespeare in Prisons Conference hosted Stratis Panourios\, from Athens. Here’s a link to a TED talk by him\, which eloquently tells the story of his experience directing Shakespeare’s “Tempest” in a prison in Greece: \n  \nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9zMZaUUW_Xs&t=91s \n  \nI want to close this BARD’S BIRTHDAY ISSUE of “peace\, love\, happiness & understanding” with a few notes about books and films about Shakespeare and his plays. \n  \nMy all-time favorite book about Shakespeare is Shakespeare and the Goddess of Complete Being by Ted Hughes. It’s utterly unlike all the thousands of other books about William Shakespeare. He explores the mythic dimension of Shakespeare’s life and art. It’s the best account I know of Shakespeare’s inner life. I’ve read and re-read it many times. When I get to the end\, I start at the beginning again. \n  \nSome other favorites include Shakespeare: The Invention of the Human and Hamlet: Poem Unlimited by Harold Bloom. A great book about “Macbeth” is Garry Wills’ Witches and Jesuits. James Shapiro’s books are excellent: A Year in the Life of William Shakespeare: 1599\, The Year of Lear: Shakespeare in 1606\, and Shakespeare in a Divided America. For theater makers\, Michael Pennington’s “User’s Guides” to “Hamlet\,” “Twelfth Night” and “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” are indispensable. His book Sweet William: Twenty Thousand Hours with Shakespeare is a treasure trove for actors and directors. \n  \nAs for films\, Akira Kurosawa’s 1985 film “Ran\,” based on “King Lear\,” is the all-time masterpiece. He might have started a trend toward much better film adaptations of Shakespeare’s plays. Kenneth Branagh’s 1993 “Much Ado About Nothing” is a sparkling example. Baz Luhrmann’s imaginative “Romeo + Juliet\,” with Leonardo DiCaprio and Clare Danes in the title roles\, is highly entertaining. Those who prefer a more traditional staging may prefer Franco Zeffirelli’s gorgeous 1968 film\, with Olivia Hussey as Juliet. I had the good fortune to see Adrian Lester play the part of Hamlet in Peter Brook’s production. Best Hamlet ever (according to me)! The play was filmed\, and is available on DVD\, but the live performance is so vivid in my imagination\, that I find the film performance disappointing by comparison. Still\, it might be the most brilliant Hamlet performance on film. Mark Rylance played the Duke in the Shakespeare’s Globe production of “Measure for Measure.” If you are intrepid\, you can find it on DVD. \n  \nWell\, that’s about it for now.  \n  \nHappy Birthday\, Will!  \n  \nGetting to see your plays and read your plays and direct them and play some of the astonishing characters you created\, including Hamlet\, Lear\, Edgar\, Feste\, Ophelia\, Cordelia\, and two of the three Weird Sisters\, has greatly enriched my life. In closing\, let’s imagine that we are the Singer and our Beloved Bard is the object of our song: \n  \n  \nWhen\, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes\, \nI all alone beweep my outcast state\, \nAnd trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries\, \nAnd look upon myself and curse my fate\, \nWishing me like to one more rich in hope\, \nFeatured like him\, like him with friends possessed\, \nDesiring this man’s art and that man’s scope\, \nWith what I most enjoy contented least; \nYet in these thoughts myself almost despising\, \nHaply I think on thee\, and then my state\, \n(Like to the lark at break of day arising) \nFrom sullen earth sings hymns at heaven’s gate; \n       For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings \n       That then I scorn to change my state with kings. \n  \n–William Shakespeare\, Sonnet 29 \n  \n  \n  \npeace\, love & poetry \n  \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-4-21-22/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20220505
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UID:2775-1651708800-1652918399@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  5/5/22
DESCRIPTION:  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nMay 5\, 2022 \n  \nEvery two weeks\, I put together another issue of “peace\, love\, happiness & understanding.” Sometimes\, a day or two in advance\, I have no idea what will be in it. Sometimes I find out by making a beginning.  \n  \nJoshua Barnes\, Alex Tretbar and Nick Eldredge recently sent me some things they have written\, so we’ll start there. Going forward\, I’d like to invite all our friends\, inside prison and out\, to send poems and short prose and essays you’ve written\, or favorite writings by others (famous or obscure) which you feel might uplift\, inspire or give delight. \n  \nOkay\, here we go!: \n  \nA Question \n  \nA question to the listener of songs; \n“Have you ever heard a blackbird sing?” \nFor surely there’s the finest of bards \nOf those on feet & those on wing. \n  \nFlitting to and fro they speak \nIn musical tongues that seldom are heard\, \nTeaching to any with the patience to listen \nTo creatures as simple as warbling birds. \n  \nSurely you know of the birds I speak of\, \nFor their songs are known far & wide \n& are talked about in the oldest of circles \nCrossing over each boundary’s side. \n  \nOh\, how I’ve learned from their forgotten ways\, \nBeing under their wings & watchful eyes. \nI wish my edification wasn’t so lonely\, \nThat others were keen to learn from the wise. \n  \nI’d like to ask from where your tutelage came\, \n(not meaning to insult with my circling jests)\, \nAnd where you learned of the songs you sing\, \nIf not from out of a blackbird’s chest. \n  \nMaybe listeners\, you can teach me a song \nOf forgotten peals & tinkling bells\, \nFor I’ve come to feel we both have drunk \nFrom a similar source but different wells. \n  \n—© Joshua Barnes\, 2022 \n  \nSome unfinished thoughts I had: \n  \nFlickering \n  \nThe flickering flame brings many questions to mind. Do we live in a world of darkness and shadows\, watching the light flicker in from the outside? Or do we live in a world of light\, where the darkness is a thing that intrudes. \n  \nMaybe there’s a happy medium\, or maybe the answer is neither & is something altogether different… Maybe there is no answer. \n  \nEach thought in my head flickers like a flame\, dancing around\, eluding me at every juncture. It’s ironic\, the flames hide in the shadows of my mind\, & although they shine I am left in darkness. \n  \nEven so\, it could be I’m not meant to spy the campfires of life\, but from a distance. Maybe the only way of knowing is knowing… Maybe we don’t need to know at all. \n  \nI once asked someone these questions & found only another shadow & a mere flickering from them. \n  \nThe questions are only stepping stones across the river\, if seen as such… They can be either the path\, or the obstruction disrupting the stream. They can be anything. To me\, the darkness serves to cloak & veil & make you grow. \n  \n& though it leaves you stumbling after the light in unhappy circles\, wondering if everything is an illusion\, it still leaves you wondering. \n  \nThe wonder of wonders leaves me wondering still. \n  \n—Joshua Barnes \n* \n  \nAkrasia (the Greek word for “incontinence”) is the condition in which while knowing what it would be best to do\, one does something else. How can such a state exist? It’s tempting to say that foolishness is inherently human\, but sometimes even simpler-minded animals choose wrongly when they know better. \n  \nThe salient question is why\, and the answer is that conscious\, knowing missteps are unavoidable—and often beautiful. I could plant a flower in the dark soil of my garden\, or I could do so in the barren dust of a desert\, where its blue petals will die sooner but glow brighter. \n  \nA blue little flower is nodding\, standing under \nmy understanding of the wind. Like a dream\, \ndeath always means more than it means. Fact: \nif you scream loud enough into my hearing \naid\, the drum will begin to itch. How to scratch \nwhat’s out of reach\, like a bone\, soul or sky? \nI\, too\, have seen peace in the eyes \nof a canary staring into the sun \nforever\, the film of its blind pupils \ndeveloping like a backwards Polaroid. \nI think of all the disincarnations \nwar begets\, how I have looked into the eddies \nat the base of folly’s wall & found there \nthe white surf of desperation\, mine. \nPrima ballerina\, seamstress\, comedienne— \nI have died for you as many times \nas there are orange street lights in this world\, \nand no matter how few suffixes survive \nthe coming punctuations\, the pall… \nI’ll look down the terrible length of the wall \nand choose neither left nor right. \nKnee-high is sky-high. Listen: \nthe blue little flower is screaming \nso loudly my dream begins to itch\, \nand death alone survives the fall \nthrough feathers. \n  \n(for Manon) \n  \n—Alex Tretbar\, from Free Spirit\, No. 14\, April 2022 \n* \n  \nthe rumor \n  \nthere’s a curious rumor out there  \nabout an ocean of living energy \nan ocean that is endlessly expanding  \nexploring every possibility  \nevolving into a fuller \nmore complex  \nmore realized expression  \nof its infinitely curious universal self  \n  \nthe rumor suggests this ocean  \nis somehow the source and the substance \nof every single thing and all of us  \n  \nthat every aspect of our universe  \nwhat we know or believe we know  \nor cannot yet imagine  \neven the unfolding mystery \nof who we are and may become \nrises from this very ocean  \nlike fog  \nlike mist  \nlike the wind-blown spray  \nthat crowns a breaking wave \n  \nand\, further\, that every single thing and all of us \nwill\, in our time\, return to this ocean  \nlike rain  \nlike rivers  \nlike gently melting snow \n  \nand finally  \nthat the currents and tides of this ocean  \nare a weave of perpetual change and permanent balance  \ncurrents and tides that carry us all   \ndeeper and deeper  \ninto the mystery this ocean remains  \nthe possibilities this ocean contains \ninto the expanding consciousness and simple serenity  \nthis ocean will always maintain  \n  \nso far this evolving universal ocean  \nthat is every thing and all of us \nis only a rumor \nbut on a casual walk   \nif you happen to catch a flower  \nfrom just the right angle  \nglowing in the electric embrace of the sun  \nin that blink of a moment  \nthe rumor can feel  \ncompletely real       \n  \n—Nick Eldredge \n\n                   \n\n  \nHow to Be an Old Man of Some Scant Worth \n  \nMistrust your certainties. Interrogate the obvious. \nWhen you think you have the answer\, be still. \nCount your regrets\, and let them teach you. \nListen to women\, especially what they don’t say. \nSacrifice achievement to be fresh in thought. \nBe the curious fool\, the one who bows low \nwhile attending to minor treasures in time. \nRead the sky\, and study neglected things \nfor clues to what you have missed by being \nbusy with the lordly agenda of a man. \nShow children it’s possible: old and happy. \nCherish the fragile\, the brief\, the beautiful. \nGive all you have to be ready to be gone. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nearth the door Orpheus goes through \n  \ninto the twining tree roots sent down for water \njoined by hypha searching moisture and minerals \nin the underground night with myzhorrium that link \ntree and nematode anchoring the cacophony of underworld life \nfeeding giant trunks reaching upward to branches where \nin cresting light chlorophyll sparks its own green drive \n  \nGhost River \n  \nRed patterns run \nthrough sand and rock \nthin lines etch a once fluid life\,  \nopening as a flower\,  \ntendrils flow outward\, \nbranching\, reaching \nunder cacti  \nthese tracings \nso fragile \nbecome smaller\,  \ndissipate into desert dust. \n  \nSand trickles  \nas stream\, \nwaves move in rock\,  \nthe sound \nof water fills our mind\, \ncalls out\,  \nfirst as living river \nnow as image\, \nits meanderings  \nevoking \na vanished delta. \n  \nA rose appears in the desert\, \npetals cover the ground. \n  \nMemory and being \nbraided into a shimmering presence\, \nremember the water\, \nthe water\, remember. \n  \n—Deborah Buchanan \n* \n  \nUkraine  \n     \nIt’s 2022\, and I’m frightened.  \nThe bottom has fallen out of our agreement with God. \nThere is no bottom. We’ve pulled the plug. \n  \nFrom deep within\, some remember the code. \nBefore thought\, before prayer. It comes with the first cry. \n  \n—Mark Alter \n* \n  \nmy sangha \nall people\, plants\, animals\, \nclouds\, stones\, rivers\, \nimaginings \n  \n  \namateur dilettante \n  \nan amateur is a lover \na dilettante takes delight in things \ni plead guilty \n  \n—Johnny Stallings
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-5-5-22/
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DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20220508T150000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20220508T170000
DTSTAMP:20260427T000102
CREATED:20220506T222600Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20220506T224511Z
UID:2782-1652022000-1652029200@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!  5/8/22
DESCRIPTION:  \nBeloved Bibliophiles! This Sunday\, May 8th\, at 3 pm (PDT)\, our theme is What Shaped Your Worldview (Including Books)?  \n  \nHow do you experience and understand the world? Your world? What’s important to you?What do you love? What’s going on here? What made you you? Which books changed the way you see? \n  \nHere’s the link for the Zoom gathering: \n  \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058 \n  \n  \nI hope to see you there! \n  \npeace\, love & happiness \n  \nJohnny \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-5-8-22/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20220515
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20220615
DTSTAMP:20260427T000102
CREATED:20220516T234659Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250717T155235Z
UID:2792-1652572800-1655251199@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue  5/15/22
DESCRIPTION:  \n  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n   \nMay 15\, 2022 \n  \nA child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands; \nHow could I answer the child?  I do not know what it is any more than he…. \n  \nThe smallest sprout shows there is really no death…. \n  \nAll truths wait in all things…. \n  \nI believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars… \nAnd a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels. \n  \n—from Song of Myself by Walt Whitman \n* \n  \nAlbrecht Dürer’s painting reminds me of Walt Whitman’s poem. Both were born in May—Dürer on May 21st\, 1471\, Walt on May 31st\, 1819. At the end of May\, I like to get together with friends and read Song of Myself. \n  \nMeditation and mindfulness are important to me on my life journey. They help me to see and appreciate the miraculous nature of our human life on Earth. Walt’s poem has also been a great help to me. I’ve carried it with me since I was 18. It reminds me that my self is as big as the world\, without beginning or end. It is the wisest and most exuberant utterance to come out of America. Maybe the world. \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nTimely Thoughts \n  \nPeople talk of time\, \nSpeak of time with wonder— \nBut what is time\, \nWhy all the thunder? \n  \nWhere’s the lightning \nThe brilliant flash of proof? \nTangible time\, \nIntangible truth! \n  \nThis talk creates storms\, \nAnd brings nightmares to life; \nNightmares I say\, \nAnd terrible strife. \n  \nWe do not need time\, \nIt is time that needs us. \nWait\, what is time— \nAnd why all the fuss? \n  \n—Joshua Barnes © 2022 \n* \n  \nJude and Michel both wrote in response to Thich Nhat Hanh’s meditation “Long Live Impermanence.” (JS) \n  \n#273 Long Live Impermanence! \n  \n“If you suffer\, it’s not because things are impermanent. It’s because you believe things are permanent. When a flower dies\, you don’t suffer much\, because you understand that flowers are impermanent. But you cannot accept the impermanence of your beloved one\, and you suffer deeply when she passes away. If you look deeply into impermanence\, you will do your best to make her happy right now. Aware of impermanence\, you become positive\, loving\, and wise. \n  \nImpermanence is good news. Without impermanence\, nothing would be possible. With impermanence\, every door is open for change. Instead of complaining\, we should say\, ‘Long live impermanence!’ Impermanence is an instrument for our liberation.”  \n  \n—from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh \n  \nMy dad had a conflicted relationship with impermanence/permanence. Here are two stories that show that conflict: \n  \nHe was a doctor and had witnessed many deaths in his medical career. His many patients loved him\, and he always showed care and great concern for them. When it came to his own life and death\, he was very clear—adamant\, even: “If found unconscious\, do not resuscitate!” To people visiting him in his late 80s\, he had a small plate with slips of paper with the note printed on it. He would offer the plate to friends as if offering a plate of Oreos. “Here\, take one\,” he’d say\, as they walked in the door.  \n  \nHe wrote his own obituary\, professing no big deal that he’d died. Closing statement: “He’s dead. There’s no more Ed!”  You get the picture. \n  \nWe three daughters knew his wishes\, so when his health was failing and he’d experienced a few hospital stays\, we were in accord as to what to do. On his return from one hospital bout\, in his very weakened condition\, my sisters assigned me to talk to him about his choices. I knelt beside him\, tears streaming down my cheeks\, held his hand and explained\, “Dad\, we know your wishes\, and we’ll honor that. You can choose to refuse to eat\, if you believe it’s time. We can’t withhold food from you\, but you can choose not to eat. Or you can choose not to drink water\, but we’ve been told that that is a very painful way to do this. So you can do this\, refuse to eat\, if you want to—we won’t force you\, you know that.” He looked at me a little sweetly puzzled and bewildered\, and said\, “But I like to eat.”  At which we all burst out laughing\, and I said\, “Well\, then let’s make you a bacon sandwich!” \n  \nThe second story is more in keeping with his credo of impermanence. \n  \nA couple years after our mom died\, Dad reignited a long-lost love story with a high school sweetie\, Ginnie. Ginnie’s husband had died also\, and she and Dad started exchanging flurries of letters between Vancouver\, Wa. and Loudonville\, Ohio. He told us he wanted Ginnie to come to Washington so they could get married. All he could talk about was Ginnie and her sweet brown eyes and soft brown hair. (We reminded him that she might look a little different at 90 yrs old than at 17.)  To test the waters\, we all made a trip to Ohio and reunited the two of them for a sweet\, five day visit. We returned to the Pacific Northwest and they kept up the flurry of lovey letter writing.  \n  \nWe noticed at some point that Ginnie hadn’t been writing anymore. No letters for several months\, so I called her caregiver in Loudonville\, and she told me\, chagrined that she’d forgotten to let us know\, that Ginnie had died! Oh no! How are we going to break the news to Dad?!?! So again\, I knelt down beside his reading chair and said\, “Dad\, I have some very sad news to tell you. I’m so sorry…but we just learned that Ginnie—your Ginnie has died.” Dad let the news sink in\, then cocked his head and said\, “Well… she was old.” \n  \nImpermanence acknowledged. \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \nApril 26\, 2022 \n  \nWisdom rests here. How we face\, accept and adapt to impermanence will play out in our suffering. Allow me to explain. (Read Thây’s writing first!) When I set up an ideal (not reality\, but an interpretation of how I expect reality to be) and reality doesn’t fulfill my “ideal\,” then I suffer—get upset or anxious\, etc. When I can just exist in this moment as it is with no expectations\, then I can be present\, loving\, compassionate and open to all the opportunities the now presents. I have freedom to flow with the reality as it is\, instead of fighting with it for what I want it to be\, but can’t have. Doing this I become a petulant selfish child demanding my way\, attempting to force reality to fit in my box. \n  \nSadly\, it never works like this. We’ve all tried. I have never gotten this to resolve positively; only as more suffering in now\, and later on too! Impermanence is the hero of my story of suffering. All I need to do for the thing I dislike\, or wish were different\, is wait. I don’t have to attach\, judge\, work to change anything; all I need is to accept what is. Shortly all will shift\, and over time things will change. It may not always be my idea of better\, but it will be different. If I accept\, I avoid suffering. (Acceptance does not include grasping or holding on tightly—hold with open hands.) If I attempt to control\, grasp\, hold\, define\, judge\, change—then I get suffering. Long live impermanence! \n  \nHere’s another passage from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh\, and Michel’s meditation on it. (JS) \n  \n#267  How Strange \n  \n“At the moment of his awakening at the foot of the Bodhi tree\, the Buddha declared\, ‘How strange! All beings possess the capacity to be awakened\, to understand\, to love\, to be free\, yet they allow themselves to be carried away on the ocean of suffering.’ He saw that\, day and night\, we’re seeking what is already there within us.” \n  \nApril 14\, 2022 \n  \nHow strange\, indeed! That we should spend (waste even) an entire lifetime in search of that which is already within us. We have only to awaken to what already is. Somehow that is the challenge/trial of our individual quests; to come to an end of self and a realization that what we seek is and has always been within us all along. Instead\, many run around aimlessly for years and decades and lifetimes (multiples for some)\, looking to find our relief in something/someone external. Some seek money\, fame\, beauty\, youth\, knowledge\, possessions\, status\, mates (trophies?)\, glory\, progeny\, legacy\, food\, alcohol\, drugs\, sex\, anything to excess. \n  \nCan I (you-we) stop this endless running for just a moment\, please? Look at the man/woman in the mirror. Is anything external satisfying the “itch” for which we quest to resolve? No?! Face the man/woman in the mirror; get to know him/her; learn to love\, accept\, and express compassion for him/her. And if I’m wrong (I doubt it on this one occasion) what has been lost? Nothing! You’ve only spent some time learning to come home to your true home—your true self. And if I’m right (since I’m only restating wisdom of wiser folks) you’ve started to heal and come home. Welcome home! \n  \n—Michel Deforge \n* \n  \n     Desert Song School \n  \nIn this tattered paradise we left them—these \nacres of muddy reed where the maze of ditch \nand dike lets every wing and cry be sovereign— \nwhen dawn starts the chant by sweet cacophony \nof bittern\, heron\, crane and teal through mist \nin harmony oblique\, a mozart fledgling nested \nin thistledown must mutter her first yearning \nproclamation\, her aria profundo\, shrill or secret \nto split silence be she egret\, avocet\, stilt or tern\, \nibis\, shoveler\, shearling\, pelican or snipe \nto dwell inside a symphony\, to try her tune \nbefore she learns to fly or feed or seek a mate\, \nher one and only way with song\, brief life cry \nwhere waters glitter for the rising sun. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nSmall Kindnesses \n  \nLast week I thought about my mother on Mother’s Day and on her birthday\, Friday\, May 13. Sometimes these anniversaries fall on the same day. I have always liked the pause of remembering my mother and being mindful of how much of her very cells I carry with me. She died from kidney failure when I was in my early 20’s\, so this year I realized I have had 50 years of looking back on my mother’s kindness and my short time with her. I hope you all enjoyed thinking of your mom and loving-kindness.  \n  \nMother’s Day began as a holiday to mark and value peace and kindness toward all persons. Julia Ward Howe made a plea for no more sending our sons to wars. Mother’s Day had a lot of that meaning for us this year.    \n  \nKindness is something we all value. But sometimes we take it for granted. Especially small kindnesses. A couple of weeks ago\, I was taking care of my grandsons. Sylvan\, who is nine years old\, is homeschooling. He had a zoom class on African history and culture that he attended that day. There was a story about the most wealthy King in Africa\, pre-colonization. The King was especially known and loved for his generosity and kindness. The class teacher asked the kids if they could tell about someone who had been generous and kind to them recently. Or could they tell about something they had done for someone else out of kindness? The children\, who had had all kinds of things to say earlier in class\, made no comments. None of the kids had a response! The teacher even told of some small kindness done for her to prompt them\, but nooo. I talked with Sylvan afterward and I realized as a youngster he takes things for granted that adults do for him\, when he’s hungry he gets fed or helps fix the food\, or if he needs a ride his parents take him. And when he is nice to someone there’s always a good reason for working things out. It made me realize that kindness is a concept. Children are naturally living in the moment. And it’s our consciousness that helps us be kind in our actions and aware of kindness done toward us. This consciousness helps open our hearts with mindfulness. \n  \nMy friend Jennifer\, referring to the bumper sticker “Practice random acts of kindness\,” said that it’s a gift when we intentionally do something for a person to make life easier.  \n  \nHere is a poem to prompt us to be aware of kindness and how it makes us feel:    \n  \nSmall Kindnesses \n  \nI’ve been thinking about the way\, when you walk\ndown a crowded aisle\, people pull in their legs\nto let you by. Or how strangers still say “bless you”\nwhen someone sneezes\, a leftover\nfrom the Bubonic plague. “Don’t die\,” we are saying.\nAnd sometimes\, when you spill lemons\nfrom your grocery bag\, someone else will help you\npick them up. Mostly\, we don’t want to harm each other.\nWe want to be handed our cup of coffee hot\,\nand to say thank you to the person handing it. To smile\nat them and for them to smile back. For the waitress\nto call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder\,\nand for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass.\nWe have so little of each other\, now. So far\nfrom tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange.\nWhat if they are the true dwelling of the holy\, these\nfleeting temples we make together when we say\, “Here\,\nhave my seat\,” “Go ahead—you first\,” “I like your hat.”  \n  \n—Danusha Lameris\, from Healing the Divide: Poems of Kindness and Connection \n  \nHealing the Divide: Poems of Kindness and Connection is an anthology that includes poems by Ross Gay\, Marie Howe\, Naomi Shihab Nye and many others. The poems urge us in these polarized times to “move past the negativity that often fills the airwaves\, and to embrace the ordinary moments of kindness and connection that fill our days.”     \n  \nWishing you and the world\, Peace and Kindness     \n  \n—Katie Radditz \n  \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-5-15-22/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20220519
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20220602
DTSTAMP:20260427T000102
CREATED:20220520T234448Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250718T131329Z
UID:2799-1652918400-1654127999@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  5/19/22
DESCRIPTION:  \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \n  \nMay 19\, 2022 \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  \nA Light exists in Spring \nNot present on the Year \nAt any other period — \nWhen March is scarcely here \n  \nA Color stands abroad \nOn Solitary Fields \nThat Science cannot overtake \nBut Human Nature feels. \n  \nIt waits upon the Lawn\, \nIt shows the furthest Tree \nUpon the furthest Slope you know \nIt almost speaks to you. \n  \nThen as Horizons step \nOr Noons report away \nWithout the Formula of sound \nIt passes and we stay — \n  \nA quality of loss \nAffecting our Content \nAs Trade has suddenly encroached \nUpon a Sacrament. \n  \n—Emily Dickinson \n* \n  \nO Taste and See \n  \nThe world is  \nnot with us enough \nO taste and see \n  \nthe subway Bible poster said\, \nmeaning The Lord\, meaning \nif anything all that lives \nto the imagination’s tongue\, \n  \ngrief\, mercy\, language\, \ntangerine\, weather\, to \nbreathe them\, bite\, \nsavor\, chew\, swallow\, transform \n  \ninto our flesh our \ndeaths\, crossing the street\, plum quince\, \nliving in the orchard and being \n  \nhungry\, and plucking \nthe fruit. \n  \nDenise Levertov  (1923-1997) \n* \n  \nfrom My Wisdom \n  \nWhen people have a lot \nthey want more \n  \nWhen people have nothing \nthey will happily share it \n  \n* \n  \nSilence waits \nfor truth to break it \n  \n* \n  \nCalendars can weep too \nThey want us to have better days \n  \n* \n  \nWelcome to every minute \nFeel lucky you’re still in it \n  \n* \n  \nNo bird builds a wall \n  \n* \n  \nWon’t give up \nour hopes \n            for anything! \n  \n* \n  \nNot your fault \nYou didn’t make the world \n  \n* \n  \nRefuse to give \n   mistakes \n      too much power \n  \n* \n  \nBabies want to help us \nThey laugh \nfor no reason \n  \n* \n  \n Pay close attention to \na drop of water \non the kitchen table \n  \n–Naomi Shihab Nye  \n* \n  \nHappiness \n  \nThere’s just no accounting for happiness\, \nor the way it turns up like a prodigal \nwho comes back to the dust at your feet \nhaving squandered a fortune far away. \n  \nAnd how can you not forgive? \nYou make a feast in honor of what \nwas lost\, and take from its place the finest \ngarment\, which you saved for an occasion \nyou could not imagine\, and you weep night and day \nto know that you were not abandoned\, \nthat happiness saved its most extreme form \nfor you alone. \n  \nNo\, happiness is the uncle you never \nknew about\, who flies a single-engine plane \nonto the grassy landing strip\, hitchhikes \ninto town\, and inquires at every door \nuntil he finds you asleep midafternoon \nas you so often are during the unmerciful \nhours of your despair. \n  \nIt comes to the monk in his cell. \nIt comes to the woman sweeping the street \nwith a birch broom\, to the child \nwhose mother has passed out from drink. \nIt comes to the lover\, to the dog chewing \na sock\, to the pusher\, to the basketmaker\, \nand to the clerk stacking cans of carrots \nin the night. \n                     It even comes to the boulder \nin the perpetual shade of pine barrens\, \nto rain falling on the open sea\, \nto the wineglass\, weary of holding wine. \n  \n–Jane Kenyon  (1947-1995) \n* \n  \nfrom Reconciliation: A Prayer \n  \nII. \nOh sun\, moon\, stars\, our other relatives peering at us from the inside of god’s house walk with us as we climb into the next century naked but for the stories we have of each other. Keep us from giving up in this land of nightmares which is also the land of miracles. \n  \nWe sing our song which we’ve been promised has no beginning or end. \n  \nIII. \nAll acts of kindness are lights in the war for justice. \n  \nIV. \nWe gather up these strands broken from the web of life. They shiver with our love\, as we call them the names of our relatives and carry them to our home made of the four directions and sing: \n  \nOf the south\, where we feasted and were given new clothes. \n  \nOf the west\, where we gave up the best of us to the stars as food for the battle. \n  \nOf the north\, where we cried because we were forsaken by our dreams. \n  \nOf the east because returned to us is the spirit of all we love. \n  \n–Joy Harjo  (1951- ) (Currently Poet Laureate of the United States) \n* \n  \nAt Blackwater Pond \n  \nAt Blackwater Pond the tossed waters have settled \nafter a night of rain. \nI dip my cupped hands. I drink \na long time. It tastes \nlike stone\, leaves\, fire. It falls cold \ninto my body\, waking the bones. I hear them \ndeep inside me\, whispering \noh what is that beautiful thing \nthat just happened? \n  \n–Mary Oliver  (1935-2019) \n* \n  \nMiracle Fair \n  \nCommonplace miracle: \nthat so many commonplace miracles happen. \n  \nAn ordinary miracle: \nin the dead of night \nthe barking of invisible dogs. \n  \nOne miracle out of many: \na small\, airy cloud \nyet it can block a large and heavy moon. \n  \nSeveral miracles in one: \nan alder tree reflected in the water\, \nand that it’s backwards left to right \nand that it grows there\, crown down \nand never reaches the bottom\, \neven though the water is shallow. \n  \nAn everyday miracle: \nwinds weak to moderate \nturning gusty in storms. \n  \nFirst among equal miracles: \ncows are cows. \n  \nSecond to none: \njust this orchard \nfrom just that seed. \n  \nA miracle without a cape and top hat: \nscattering white doves. \n  \nA miracle\, for what else could you call it: \ntoday the sun rose at three-fourteen \nand will set at eight-o-one. \n  \nA miracle\, less surprising than it should be: \neven though the hand has fewer than six fingers\, \nit still has more than four. \n  \nA miracle\, just take a look around: \nthe world is everywhere. \n  \nAn additional miracle\, as everything is additional: \nthe unthinkable \nis thinkable. \n  \n  \n–Wisława Szymborska  (1923-2012) \n* \n  \nThe Award \n  \nThough not \nA contest \nLife \nIs \nThe award \n& we \nHave \nWon. \n* \n  \nDespite the Hunger \n  \nDespite \nthe hunger \nwe cannot \npossess \nmore \nthan \nthis: \nPeace \nin a garden \nof \nour own. \n  \n\n–Alice Walker  (1944- ) \n  \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-5-19-22/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20220520
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20220530
DTSTAMP:20260427T000102
CREATED:20210413T153328Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20220530T175510Z
UID:2057-1653004800-1653868799@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Take a tour of the Metropolitan Museum of Art
DESCRIPTION:Mask of the Punu people of southern Gabon (19th-20th Century) \n  \nBrowse through the 375\,000 high-resolution images of public domain works from the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art! Here’s a link: \n  \nhttps://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection \n  \nYou can read more about this mask here: \n  \nhttps://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/318667 \n  \nPeace\, Love & Beauty \n  \nJohnny \n  \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/take-a-tour-of-the-metropolitan-museum-of-art/
ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/04/DT1239.jpg
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20220529
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20220530
DTSTAMP:20260427T000102
CREATED:20220530T175959Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20240616T191444Z
UID:2831-1653782400-1653868799@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Friends of Walt: An Archive
DESCRIPTION:painting of Walt Whitman by Rick Bartow \n  \n  \nTo celebrate Walt’s 205th Birthday\, Johnny Stallings performed “Song of Myself” on May 31st\, in Muir Hall at Taborspace\, in Portland.We read from and talked about “Song of Myself” for ¡Bibliophiles Unanimous! on Sunday\,June 2nd. Here’s what Robert G. Ingersoll said at Walt Whitman’s funeral: \n  \nRobert Ingersoll’s Tribute to Walt Whitman \n  \nMY FRIENDS: Again we\, in the mystery of Life\, are brought face to face with the mystery of Death. A great man\, a great American\, the most eminent citizen of this Republic\, lies dead before us\, and we have met to pay a tribute to his greatness and his worth. \nI know he needs no words of mine. His fame is secure. He laid the foundations of it deep in the human heart and brain. \nHe was\, above all I have known\, the poet of humanity\, of sympathy. He was so great that he rose above the greatest that he met without arrogance\, and so great that he stooped to the lowest without conscious condescension. He never claimed to be lower or greater than any of the sons of men. \nHe came into our generation a free\, untrammeled spirit\, with sympathy for all. His arm was beneath the form of the sick. He sympathized with the imprisoned and despised\, and even on the brow of crime he was great enough to place the kiss of human sympathy. \nOne of the greatest lines in our literature is his\, and the line is great enough to do honor to the greatest genius that has ever lived. He said\, speaking of an outcast: “Not till the sun excludes you do I exclude you.” \nHis charity was as wide as the sky\, and wherever there was human suffering\, human misfortune\, the sympathy of Whitman bent above it as the firmament bends above the earth. \nHe was built on a broad and splendid plan—ample\, without appearing to have limitations—passing easily for a brother of mountains and seas and constellations; caring nothing for the little maps and charts with which timid pilots hug the shore\, but giving himself freely with recklessness of genius to winds and waves and tides; caring for nothing as long as the stars were above him. \nHe walked among men\, among writers\, among verbal varnishers and veneerers\, among literary milliners and tailors\, with the unconscious majesty of an antique god. \nHe was the poet of that divine democracy which gives equal rights to all the sons and daughters of men. He uttered the great American voice; uttered a song worthy of the great Republic. No man ever said more for the rights of humanity\, more in favor of real democracy\, of real justice. \nHe neither scorned nor cringed\, was neither tyrant nor slave. He asked only to stand the equal of his fellows beneath the great flag of nature\, the blue and stars. \nHe was the poet of Life. It was a joy simply to breathe. He loved the clouds; he enjoyed the breath of morning\, the twilight\, the wind\, the winding streams. He loved to look at the sea when the waves burst into the whitecaps of joy. He loved the fields\, the hills; he was acquainted with the trees\, with birds\, with all the beautiful objects of the earth. He not only saw these objects\, but understood their meaning\, and he used them that he might exhibit his heart to his fellow-men. \nHe was the poet of Love. He was not ashamed of that divine passion that has built every home in the world; that divine passion that has painted every picture and given us every real work of art; that divine passion that has made the world worth living in and has given some value to human life. \nHe was the poet of the natural\, and taught men not to be ashamed of that which is natural. He was not only the poet of democracy\, not only the poet of the great Republic\, but he was the Poet of the human race. He was not confined to the limits of this country\, but his sympathy went out over the seas to all the nations of the earth. \nHe stretched out his hand and felt himself the equal of all kings and of all princes\, and the brother of all men\, no matter how high\, no matter how low. \nHe has uttered more supreme words than any writer of our century\, possibly of almost any other. He was\, above all things\, a man\, and above genius\, above all the snow-capped peaks of intelligence\, above all art\, rises the true man\, Greater than all is the true man\, and he walked among his fellow-men as such. \nHe was the poet of Death. He accepted all life and all death\, and he justified all. He had the courage to meet all\, and was great enough and splendid enough to harmonize all and to accept all there is of life as a divine melody. \nYou know better than I what his life has been\, but let me say one thing. Knowing\, as he did\, what others can know and what they cannot\, he accepted and absorbed all theories\, all creeds\, all religions\, and believed in none. \nHis philosophy was a sky that embraced all clouds and accounted for all clouds. He had a philosophy and a religion of his own\, broader\, as he believed—and as I believe—than others. He accepted all\, he understood all\, and he was above all. \nHe was absolutely true to himself. He had frankness and courage\, and he was as candid as light. He was willing that all the sons of men should be absolutely acquainted with his heart and brain. He had nothing to conceal. \nFrank\, candid\, pure\, serene\, noble\, and yet for years he was maligned and slandered\, simply because he had the candor of nature. He will be understood yet\, and that for which he was condemned—his frankness\, his candor—will add to the glory and greatness of his fame. \nHe wrote a liturgy for mankind; he wrote a great and splendid psalm of life\, and he gave to us the gospel of humanity—the greatest gospel that can be preached. \nHe was not afraid to live\, not afraid to die. For many years he and death were near neighbors. He was always willing and ready to meet and greet this king called death\, and for many months he sat in the deepening twilight waiting for the night\, waiting for the light. \nHe never lost his hope. When the mists filled the valleys\, he looked upon the mountaintops\, and when the mountains in darkness disappeared\, he fixed his gaze upon the stars. \nIn his brain were the blessed memories of the day\, and in his heart were mingled the dawn and dusk of life. \nHe was not afraid; he was cheerful every moment. The laughing nymphs of day did not desert him. They remained that they might clasp the hands and greet with smiles the veiled and silent sisters of the night. And when they did come\, Walt Whitman stretched his hand to them. On one side were the nymphs of the day\, and on the other the silent sisters of the night\, and so\, hand in hand\, between smiles and tears\, he reached his journey’s end. \nFrom the frontier of life\, from the western wave-kissed shore\, he sent us messages of content and hope\, and these messages seem now like strains of music blown by the “Mystic Trumpeter” from Death’s pale realm. \nToday we give back to Mother Nature\, to her clasp and kiss\, one of the bravest\, sweetest souls that ever lived in human clay. \nCharitable as the air and generous as Nature\, he was negligent of all except to do and say what he believed he should do and should say. \nAnd I today thank him\, not only for you but for myself—for all the brave words he has uttered. I thank him for all the great and splendid words he has said in favor of liberty\, in favor of man and woman\, in favor of motherhood\, in favor of fathers\, in favor of children\, and I thank him for the brave words that he has said of death. \nHe has lived\, he has died\, and death is less terrible than it was before. Thousands and millions will walk down into the “dark valley of the shadow” holding Walt Whitman by the hand. Long after we are dead the brave words he has spoken will sound like trumpets to the dying. \nAnd so I lay this little wreath upon this great man’s tomb. I loved him living\, and I love him still. \n  \n—Camden\, New Jersey\, March 30\, 1892 \n  \n  \nThe origin of Friends of Walt comes from an email that Kim Stafford sent me  after our annual reading of “Song of Myself” to celebrate Walt Whitman’s Birthday on May 29th\, 2022. Here’s what he wrote: \n  \nFollowing our shining session today\, would you like to invite the group to send you citations for Whitmania\, to be compiled and shared with everyone: title and author of biographies\, the URL for the Billy Collins talk on YouTube\, Will’s source of quotation for how Emily Dickinson appreciated Whitman\, and anything else. A sort of reading list for us to peruse before the next annual reading? \n  \nJust a thought…and if you reply “Good idea–why don’t you do it?” … we can collaborate. (Perrin’s looking up citations now.) \n  \nHave I ever told you the story about how my father was saved from being lynched in Arkansas in the winter of 1942 because he was reading Whitman when the mob came? We could put that in the bibliography\, too. \n  \n–Kim \n*\n \n\n Okay\, so here we go!\n \n \nStarting with a poem Kim wrote today (5/30/22) about how Walt Whitman saved his dad’s life:\n\n \n \nThe story about Whitman saving my dad…which is told in the first chapter of Down in My Heart…and which Keith Scales made into a little play to perform one time at the Portland Poetry Festival for my dad\, after his last reading\, early August 1993.\n\n  \n\n\n  \n         Memorial Day: How Walt Whitman \n            Saved My Farther from the Mob \n  \nOne Sunday afternoon in 1942\, three peace warriors \nwalked into a little town in Arkansas to loaf by the station \nand take their ease. They were strangers there\, so locals \ngathered\, curious. “What’s that you’re writing?” said one\, \ngrabbing the page. “Why sir\, it’s a poem.” “That aint poetry— \nit don’t rhyme. It’s code. And you! What’s that you’re drawing?” \n“Just a sketch.” “That aint no sketch\, bub—it’s a map for Hitler.” \n“Get a rope!” someone cried out\, and time got bright and fast.  \n“And you!” the hothead shouted at my father\, “What’s that book?”  \nand snatched it\, slapped it open\, and began to read aloud to prove  \npoetry had to rhyme. But lynching’s logic faltered as his fury  \ntrailed off in a run of wild words\, and time slowed down again.  \n“Call the sheriff!” someone shouted\, as the crowd hummed \nand muttered like a hive until the sheriff came\, blustered  \nmy father and his friends into his car\, slammed the door\,  \nturned and said\, “Let’s get you boys out of town.” \n  \nFailing to catch me at first keep encouraged\,  \nMissing me one place search another\,  \nI stop somewhere waiting for you.  \n\n  \n–Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nPerrin Kerns turned me on to some gorgeous videos by Jennifer Crandall. The URL address is \n  \nwhitmanalabama.com.  \n\n \nAlan Benditt sent this link to a video of Charlie Rose talking with Allen Ginsberg\, Sharon Olds and Galway Kinnell about Walt Whitman:\n \n \nhttps://charlierose.com/videos/20510\n\n\n\n \nThis is our little homemade archive. Jeffrey Sher and Kim Stafford sent a link to the University of Nebraska’s vast online Whitman Archive. You can find all kinds of treasures here:\n \n \nhttps://whitmanarchive.org\n \n \nKim said:\n \n \nToday [5/30/22] I’ve been spending some time at this Grand Central Station of Walt Whitman sources\, reading his fiction and journalism\, some so pedestrian it makes Leaves of Grass even more miraculous.\n \n \nToday\, May 31\, 2022\, is Walt Whitman’s 203rd birthday. Happy Birthday\, Walt!!! Howard Thoresen sent a link to the wax cylinder recording that Thomas Edison made of Walt Whitman\, in his old age\, reading or reciting his poem “America.” Here’s what Howard said:\n \n \nThis one has a lot of noise on it but I find it easier to hear than the cleaned up version (maybe because the text is on the screen):\n \n \nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yBX2L_Re5Cc\n \n \nKim’s response to Howard (5/31/22):\n \n \nThank you\, Howard. If we only we had Walt at 37 reading with full verve. But all the same\, amazing to hear this voice.\n\n\n\n\n \n Johnny\, we might include for the page this mysterious ad from Volvo\, where lines from “Song of the Open Road” are used without attribution:\n \n \nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=42ZMi0DnMtE\n\n\n\n \n \nWalt selling freedom\, Volvo selling cars…and a little love story folded in where the writer is scruffy hero with expensive wheels. Maybe there’s a Kerouac vibe implied as well.\n \n \n–Kim\n*\n\n\n\n \n \nTo celebrate Walt’s birthday today (5/31/22) I want to share one of my favorite short poems of his:\n \n \nBEGINNING MY STUDIES\n \n \nBeginning my studies the first step pleas’d me so much\, \nThe mere fact consciousness\, these forms\, the power of motion\, \nThe least insect or animal\, the senses\, eyesight\, love\, \nThe first step I say awed me and pleas’d me so much\, \nI have hardly gone and hardly wish’d to go any farther\, \nBut stop and loiter all the time to sing it in ecstatic songs. \n\n\n \n \n–Walt Whitman \n*\n \n \nWill Hornyak recommended a talk that Billy Collins gave on Whitman. Here’s the link:\n\n\n\n\n  \n\n\nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7VYnkdcDQZA\n\n\n\n\n\n  \n  \n Here’s an interview I did about “Song of Myself” on Marfa Public Radio in 2017: \n  \n  \n \n\n\n \n \nKim sent this:\n \n \nNeed we look further for where Whitman got his cadence than Emerson…perhaps from the essay you mentioned\, “The Poet\,” which Emerson must have composed\, or perhaps revised\, aloud\, in preparation to deliver it as a lecture\, oration\, or operatic performance. Think of the young Whitman\, after toiling on some journalistic task\, encountering music like this last paragraph of Emerson’s essay:\n \n \n     O poet! a new nobility is conferred in groves and pastures\, and not in castles\, or by the sword-blade\, any longer. The conditions are hard\, but equal. Thou shalt leave the world\, and know the muse only. Thou shalt not know any longer the times\, customs\, graces\, politics\, or opinions of men\, but shalt take all from the muse. For the time of towns is tolled from the world by funereal chimes\, but in nature the universal hours are counted by succeeding tribes of animals and plants\, and by growth of joy on joy. God wills also that thou abdicate a manifold and duplex life\, and that thou be content that others speak for thee. Others shall be thy gentlemen\, and shall represent all courtesy and worldly life for thee; others shall do the great and resounding actions also. Thou shalt lie close hid with nature\, and canst not be afforded to the Capitol or the Exchange. The world is full of renunciations and apprenticeships\, and this is thine: thou must pass for a fool and a churl for a long season. This is the screen and sheath in which Pan has protected his well-beloved flower\, and thou shalt be known only to thine own\, and they shall console thee with tenderest love. And thou shalt not be able to rehearse the names of thy friends in thy verse\, for an old shame before the holy ideal. And this is the reward: that the ideal shall be real to thee\, and the impressions of the actual world shall fall like summer rain\, copious\, but not troublesome\, to thy invulnerable essence. Thou shalt have the whole land for thy park and manor\, the sea for thy bath and navigation\, without tax and without envy; the woods and the rivers thou shalt own; and thou shalt possess that wherein others are only tenants and boarders. Thou true land-lord! sea-lord! air-lord! Wherever snow falls\, or water flows\, or birds fly\, wherever day and night meet in twilight\, wherever the blue heaven is hung by clouds\, or sown with stars\, wherever are forms with transparent boundaries\, wherever are outlets into celestial space\, wherever is danger\, and awe\, and love\, there is Beauty\, plenteous as rain\, shed for thee\, and though thou shouldest walk the world over\, thou shalt not be able to find a condition inopportune or ignoble.\n \n \n–from the essay “The Poet” by Ralph Waldo Emerson\n\n\n\n\n \n \nWalt Whitman self-published his first book of poems\, Leaves of Grass\, in 1855\, when he was 36 years old. It contained 12 poems\, including the poem now titled “Song of Myself.” (In the original edition\, the poems did not have titles.) He sent a copy of the poem to Ralph Waldo Emerson\, who then sent Whitman this letter:\n \n \nCONCORD\, MASSACHUSETTS\, 21 July\, 1855\n \n \nDEAR SIR–\n \n \nI am not blind to the worth of the wonderful gift of “LEAVES OF GRASS.” I find it the most extraordinary piece of wit and wisdom that America has yet contributed. I am very happy in reading it\, as great power makes us happy. It meets the demand I am always making of what seemed the sterile and stingy nature\, as if too much handiwork\, or too much lymph in the temperament\, were making our western wits fat and mean.\n \n \nI give you joy of your free and brave thought. I have great joy in it. I find incomparable things said incomparably well\, as they must be. I find the courage of treatment which so delights us\, and which large perceptions can inspire.\n \n \nI greet you at the beginning of a great career\, which yet must have had a long foreground somewhere\, for such a start. I rubbed my eyes a little\, to see if this sunbeam were no illusion; but the solid sense of the book is a sober certainty. It has the best merits\, namely\, of fortifying and encouraging.\n \n \nI did not know until I last night saw the book advertised in a newspaper that I could trust the name as real and available for a post-office. I wish to see my benefactor\, and have felt much like striking my tasks and visiting New York to pay you my respects.\n \n \nR. W. EMERSON\n*\n \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/friends-of-walt-an-archive/
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DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20220529T150000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20220529T180000
DTSTAMP:20260427T000102
CREATED:20220521T004419Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20220530T174221Z
UID:2815-1653836400-1653847200@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!: Annual Group Reading of "Song of Myself"  5/29/22
DESCRIPTION:painting of Walt Whitman by Rick Bartow \n  \n  \nBeloved Bibliophiles!  \n  \nOn Sunday\, May 29th\, we celebrated Walt Whitman’s 203rd Birthday with our Annual Group Reading of “Song of Myself”!  \n  \nReaders included: Alan Benditt\, Steve Cackley\, Nick Eldredge\, Brent Gregston\, Perrin Kerns\, Andy Larkin\, Ken Margolis\, Todd Oleson\, Katie Radditz\, Jude Russell\, Kristen Sagan\, Toby Scales\, Nancy Scharbach\, Jeffrey Sher\, Kim Stafford\, Johnny Stallings\, Howard Thoresen and Max Walter. \n  \nAs always\, reading this poem together brings readers and listeners alike into a state of Delirious Happiness and Cosmic Consciousness!  \n  \nAfter the reading\, Kim suggested that we share recommendations for books\, articles\, videos\, et cetera\, relating to Walt Whitman. So\, on this website\, I’m going to create a page called “Friends of Walt\,” where people can share their thoughts and poems and inspirations and bibliographies. Here’s the link: \n  \n  \npeace\, love & happiness \n  \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-annual-group-reading-of-song-of-myself-5-29-22/
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