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SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  6/1/23
DESCRIPTION:  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nJune 1\, 2023 \n  \nArt Degraded\, Imagination Denied\, War Governed the Nations. \n—William Blake \n  \nPEACE \n  \nEarly Morning Hours \n  \nFrom the house silence flows \nto the ebony lawn \nglittering like a river. \nA small candle flickers\, \nmirroring the moon \nsliding down night’s curve. \nFir branches stand against the sky\, \nthe hours’ tall sentinels\, \nand the hum inside silence \nfills each shadowed crevice\, \nthe world inundated. \n  \n  \nThe Only Now \n  \nThe stripped body lies burrowed \nin a flower well\, utterly still\, \nand one wonders \nif it has died into the nectar. \nSheltered by night\, \nin the morning the bee resumes \nsipping\, covered in pollen \nbumbling from flower to flower\, \nhis home where he stops\, \nsatiated with sugared gold\, \nhis life and eating and bliss\, \nsleep and journey all one. \n  \n  \nUnexpected \n  \nRampant weeds crowd bee balm and hyssop\, \ndirt clings to roots\, leaves bend \nand in the midst of this fecundity\, \nI am digging\, pulling\, only \nthe sun’s heat on my back. \nMoving through the afternoon quiet \na feathered sound of wings \nis near\, slower and closer\, \nand a light weight comes to rest on my head. \nCould it be? I reach a hand up\, \nthe wings lift\, rise\, and are gone. \n  \n  \nThe Tree in the Universe \n  \nLight glints off cherries in the branches \nswaying slightly in summer breezes. \n  \nI too am swinging\, shimmering\, high \nin the tree\, resting in a dark trunk \n  \nadrift and asleep\, the sky \ndappling the light in the tree\, \n  \nabove the ground air my companion\, birds \nmy companions\, jumping and wondering\, \n  \nall of us in the branches\, in the light\, \ntime a mystery that moves in the tree\, \n  \noff the ground\, as my vision\, \nmy mind unrolls in front of me \n  \ncarrying my heart forward and backward\, \ninward\, time and space a single pulse \n  \nand the cherries shine\, the tree grows \nquietly upward and outward\, carrying me\, \n  \nthe birds\, and all around\, all around\, \nright here in the branches\, in time and in sight\, \n  \nI see that\, yes\, yes\, each particle\, \neach moment turning in the sky\, \n  \nin the tree\, flowing between us\, \nin us\, what I imagined\, what I dreamed \n  \nand dreaded and is now here—all of it divine. \n  \n—Deborah Buchanan \n* \n  \nA couple months ago my friend Ken Margolis was listening to the news. He heard a report on the war in Ukraine. Both sides were said to be running low on ammunition\, because they were both using 1\,ooo artillery shells per day. Two thousand artillery shells per day! More than one per minute. It was insane. He told his friends\, including me. He wondered: Is there is anything we can do to bring this war to an end? That question prompted me to choose the theme “Peace” for this month’s peace\, love\, happiness & understanding. The word “peace” has two main connotations: the absence of war\, and a calm\, quiet state of mind. When I invited people to contribute to this issue\, I said the topic is “peace\,” but didn’t specify which kind of peace. \n  \nFor me\, the “two kinds of peace” are not unrelated. In the early Eighties I wrote a fairly long essay called “The Ecology of Violence\, the Ecology of Peace: A Lived Revolution—Personally\, Locally\, Globally.” In it\, I explored topics like Authority\, Poverty\, Education\, Cruelty\, the Media\, Meditation\, Economics\, Ideology\, Ecology\, Family\, Culture\, Community\, and many more. One of the primary insights of Ecology is that everything is  inter-related to everything else. The Buddhist teacher Thich Nhat Hanh spoke of “interbeing.” It seems to me that our “job” is to help to co-create a culture that nurtures all people\, and to learn or re-learn how humans can live on this planet without destroying it—like all the other animals do. \n  \nMy outlook on life has been shaped by the fact that instead of going to Vietnam to kill people\, I went to India and studied with wise yogis. When I think of war\, instead of thinking about brave soldiers fighting to make the world a better place\, I think of that photograph of Vietnamese children who have been bombed with jellied gasoline. Every day the war goes on in Ukraine\, more children die. More mothers and fathers\, sisters and brothers die. It’s insane. \n  \nHere’s a poem I wrote: \n  \nMy Foolproof Plan for World Peace \n  \nI hereby declare today to be International Love Day. \nAnd a General Armistice. \nAll hostilities must cease on International Love Day. \nHenceforward\, every day is International Love Day. \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nAlex sent this poem by Tom Clark: \n  \nBolinas \n  \nMy wife’s recipe for a fairy: \nPut buttercup pollen \nAnd a canary feather \nIn a thimble. At midnight\, \nImmersed in my life’s current \nHowever it may flow \nIn the giant life around it \nThat whispers like a tree \nRocked by evening light\, \nA tide of beams \nBears my dreambound boat. \nThe boughs drop peace\, \nA star wanders toward dawn \nOver the dim wet leaves. \n  \n—Tom Clark \n  \n—Alex Tretbar \n* \n  \nTo me lately\, peacefulness is just being a happy person and trying to make others understand happiness in just a few seconds of every moment. If one can achieve this their life will be happy. I found this secret on my journey to the golden path. A friend told me about the golden path years ago. I live there now and the town I live in on the golden path is called simple bliss. \n  \nI also find peace in the sweat of my brow from a job well done. I can’t wait to work hard for the ones I love. Peace is free and it lives inside of us and if you have it in you\, my friends\, give it to those that don’t. \n  \n—Rocky Hutchinson \n* \n  \nSiddhartha’s prayer     \n  \nWhen they asked why he left \nhis people and his palace\,  \nthe response rose like fragrance from summer’s garden. \nThere is peace in every breath\, he said\, \nand every heartbeat \nand every footstep \nthat will no longer be forgotten \nor forsaken. \nI wish every thought to be a prayer \nevery word to be a poem \nevery touch an act of love\, \nand all to be  \nas it already is. \n               – amen \n  \n—Bill Faricy \n* \n  \nSurrounded \nMemorial Day 2023 \n  \nPerhaps there is the sound of water\, \nthe feel of a light breeze\, comfortable \nwarmth\, rustling leaves. \n  \nMaybe the colors make harmonies\, \nsmell of sandalwood\, taste \nof cardamom on the tongue. \n  \nThe temptation of a ladder rung \nto a nest above ruins sharp \nedged with smoke\, mist. \n  \nMissed. We’re here. This list \nof all that’s lost\, endless. Still \nfingers uncurl from a fist. \n  \nIn the end everyone was right. \nAll we wanted was a sense of \nbelonging\, a path\, not a fight. \n  \nInstead\, a respite\, for now. \nForever? The crowd surrounds us\, \nwhether we are aware\, or not. \n  \n—Elizabeth Domike \n* \n                          Peace Tree \n  \nMy calling is to rise. My purpose is to reach. \nWhere buildings fall\, I stand silent in the shouting. \nEven in billowing dust\, I begin the next peace. If  \nyou splinter me\, I will heal. After the battle\, I will  \nsilhouette dawn. I have seen seasons pass\, the rising  \nof anger\, fury of the storm\, return of calm. I’m still \nyearning for the sun\, still delving into dark. Rooted \npatriot of Earth\, I drink the sky to give you breath. \nNeutral in war\, I shade both sides. Send my seeds  \nacross the border\, I will be your diplomat of green. \nIf you plant me beside the graves of soldiers\, I will \nsay to their mothers with my leaves what they  \nmight have said in the wind that stirs. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nPeace Within\, Peace Without \n  \nWho doesn’t want to have peace within him or herself? Who doesn’t want to have world peace? I would say there are very few people in either category—a few\, maybe\, but not many. \n  \nHere is an inside aside: \nCan you have peace without love? \nCan you have peace without joy\, either within yourself or in the ‘world?’ \nIs peace synonymous with love? Is love synonymous with joy? \nAre there other words that define or are requirements for peace? Compassion? Connection? \n  \nWell\, I’m just throwing these out there\, as you can see\, but let’s go back to peace within/peace without. \n  \nHow can you be at peace within yourself and not be concerned about the world? It is overwhelming to think about trying to ‘fix’ the world\, for sure. We all know how that feels. Might as well give up on that and just work on being at peace within yourself\, right? Well\, that is impossible\, my friends. A spirit at peace is one who gnaws away\, tackles\, wrestles with—inch by inch\, foot by foot—-some part of the exterior world that is hurting\, be it other humans\, other creatures\, the world of nature. We do the work often never knowing whether or not we are achieving change\, lessening hurt\, creating love\, creating bond and connection and unity. This is not why we do it; we do the work because the work itself is what grows peace within us. And—-we have to do it.  \n  \nHa ha—but don’t get the idea that it is easy. It can be frightening\, hurtful\, frustrating\, and really hard; but something in us is propelled to keep on. And whatever that ‘something’ is\, brings (paradoxically) an inner peace. \n  \nSo we have to be in the world\, doing our bit\, small as it is; but always\, all of it\, from all of us is growing peace in the world. And just think if each and every one were to do this! World Peace!!! \n  \nWorking on the peace without is essential for the peace within…and vice versa. \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \nThe trouble with peace seems to be that it isn’t enough for us. Of course\, war is the ultimate step in a power struggle to determine who gets the gold and the throne. So\, in that sense\, battle skills are the most useful of all skills. \n  \nBut there is something more. At the same time we fear war\, we lust after it. We sing of arms and the man. War becomes the context for heroism\, nobility\, and deep companionship. It also destroys the beautiful\, kills the innocent\, and generates hatred in future generations. \n  \nIn spite of Elon Musk and other technological self-deceivers\, most people feel intuitively that life and death form some sort of continuum. To manifest its cycle of renewal\, life needs death. Does peace need war in some mysterious way? \n  \nWhen we think of Heaven\, we think No More War\, green meadows and grandchildren on our knee\, not the whole thing blown to bits by an incoming drone. War has its lobby\, its advocates and advertisers\, its prophets and profiteers. It’s only fair that a few of us take the other\, apparently less popular side\, and advocate for peace. \n  \n—Ken Margolis \n* \n  \n“Peace has been a theme in some of our earlier issues. Take a look at the peace\,love\, happiness & understanding Archive on the Open Road website. Here’s from June 24\, 2021: \n  \nhttps://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-6-24-21/ \n  \nFor July\, send me something about your own vision of Utopia or Paradise. \n  \npeace\,   \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-6-1-23/
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DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20230815
DTSTAMP:20260425T222252
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LAST-MODIFIED:20230803T011612Z
UID:4054-1689379200-1692057599@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue  7/15/23
DESCRIPTION:  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n\n\n  \nJuly 15\, 2023 \n\n\n  \nJohnny is traveling and sends his joy and news below.  \n\n\nAnd so dear friends\, thank you for carrying on with your reflections and poems and stories for this edition of the Meditation and Mindfulness newsletter.   \n\n\nThanks to Andy for his gorgeous contribution from his newly finished collected visions of the Hundred Verses of Self Instruction. Here is his commentary on the cover image:   \n  \n\n\nVerse 9  \n\n\n  \n\n\nGrowing on both sides\, in a blossoming state\, \n\n\nis the one vine which has come\, spread out and risen to the top of a tree; \n\n\nremember that hell does not come  \n\n\nto the man dwelling in contemplation beneath it. \n\n\n\n\n  \n\n–from Atmopadesha Śatakam (One Hundred Verses of Self Instruction) of Narayana Guru \n\n\n  \n\n\n\n\nThe image of a contemplative seated beneath a flowering tree is practically universal in world religious art. Narayana Guru’s use of the image contains several details that tie it to the Indian tradition of Advaita Vedanta\, and that would have been familiar to his original Indian audience. The tree is covered by a creeper that is two-sided\, with roots that are concealed from view. The invisible origin of the creeper\, with its attractive flowers hiding the supporting tree\, is actually a metaphor for the structure of human consciousness\, as outlined in greater detail in Vedantic writings such as the Mandukya Upanishad. There\, wakeful experience is explained as a complex interaction of perceived form and conceptual name\, with both name and form springing from a common hidden source of seeded memory. This structural picture is a fundamental understanding that underlies much of the Atmopadesha Śatakam.  \n\n\nNarayana Guru was not interested in philosophy for its own sake; he was instead concerned with helping his fellow beings find their own way to lasting happiness. His use of the ideogram of the tree and the meditating being provides profound clues about how the moment-to-moment flow of our experience assembles itself\, how we can be caught by that flow\, and about how a dimension of our innermost Being remains free from bondage. \n\n\nWe seldom question the validity of the ongoing flow of our experiences\, with their sensory richness\, or their linear organization in time. The birth of a child\, or the death of a loved one can suddenly expose the unconscious nature of our routine forms of understanding. Our experiences can be afflicted in countless ways\, through the thwarting of our exaggerated sense of personal control\, through our habits of desire or aversion or the rigidities of habitual thinking. In the terms of the verse\, the experiential world of names and forms\, and the afflicted states that accompany them\, are nurtured from sources that are invisible to us. Name\, form and memory function collectively to conceal a deeper reality. \n\n\nThe emphasis of this verse is on noticing. The man dwelling in contemplation beneath the tree has discovered something priceless. He has learned that his own pure awareness permeates the entire field of the germination\, growth and dissolution of phenomenal experience\, and yet stands apart from it. \n\n\n  \n–Andy Larkin \n\n\n* \n\n\n  \n\n\nAh\, Summer . . . . . The soft polka dot flowers of Spring have passed. Summer blossoms are exploding. Red dahlias with fiery petals\, huge blue hydrangeas that droop with such languor. They make me as sleepy as Dorothy in the field of poppies. I pick them\, arrange them in bouquets\, give them as gifts. I like to drive with jars of flowers in the coffee cup holders. Their fading nature reminds me that beauty is constantly changing and re-emerging in new forms. Life is short. “But here we are again\,” say these same but different flowers that come in summertime. \n\n\nIn the summer\, I like to get out the book The Immense Journey (from 1957!)\, by Loren Eiseley\, and re-read his essay\, “How Flowers Changed the World.” Eiseley describes what he calls “a soundless\, violent explosion” of seed-born plant life millions of years ago\, just as the dinosaurs started to pass out and mammals arrived. At the heart of the explosion was a new kind of flora with magic seeds. \n\n\n“Flowers changed the face of the planet. Without them\, the world we know would never have existed. Today we know that the appearance of the flowers contained also the equally mystifying emergence of human life. Borne on the wind or attached to animal hides\, the new plant life spread all over the world. \n\n\nThe fantastic seeds skipping and hopping and flying about the woods and valleys brought with them an amazing adaptability. . . . If our whole lives had not been spent in the midst of it\, it would astound us. The old\, stiff\, sky-reaching wooden world changed into something that glowed here and there with strange colors\, put out queer\, unheard of fruits and little intricately carved seed cases\, and\, most important of all\, produced concentrated foods in a way that the land had never seen before. \n\n\nIf it wasn’t for the high energy content of seeds produced by flowers humanity wouldn’t have flourished.” \n\n\n  \n\n\n“If it should turn out that we have mishandled our own lives as several civilizations before us have done\, it seems a pity that we should involve the violet and the tree frog in our departure.” \n\n\n  \n— from Loren Eiseley\, The Immense Journey \n\n\n  \n—Katie Radditz \n* \n  \n\n\nGreetings from Lebanon! \n\n\nI’m on the Open Road–visiting with my good friend Zeina Daccache in Lebanon. Some of you will remember when she came to see our production of “Twelve Angry Men” at Two Rivers prison in 2012. She had directed a production of the play at Roumieh prison in Lebanon and made a wonderful documentary about it: “Twelve Angry Lebanese.” We will be showing Bushra Azzouz’s film “A Midsummer Night’s Dream in Prison” here on Saturday\, July 15. \n\n\nI’ve been reading John Moriarty’s amazing book Dreamtime and studying clown philosophy from Slava Polunin. Here’s an excerpt from his book Alchemy of Snowness: \n  \nThe Sixth Door \n\n\nFeelings and Emotions \n\n\n  \n\n\nThere is one door that ought to be kept shut. Or so we’re told. Even Pushkin taught us\, “You shall be lord and master of your heart.” Behind this door live our FEELINGS and EMOTIONS\, which must never be given free reign\, if we are to believe the poet. There is a life of suppressed emotions\, a rational\, regular life\, led by persons of good breeding\, one that offers the most direct path to one’s goals. But it turns out that what we give up on this path is our own vitality: we become mere cogs in some sort of a giant mechanism. Only emotions can give us life in all its fullness. Just as in a child’s mind\, any little thing can assume tremendous importance and take you on a wild ride at the slightest pretext. Passion\, emotion\, excitement\, obsession with the least trifle—these are the things that make for a full life\, because they demand utmost commitment and openness to the whole world around you. Such emotional perception of reality is fundamental to a human being\, and theatre has the ability to inspire it. \n\n\nTo be honest\, though\, not every kind of emotion appeals to me in equal measure. I suspect this is true of most people. \n\n\nI happen to like positive emotions. The more positive\, the better. \n\n\n  \n\n\nBecause a positive attitude actually makes the world a better place. \n\n\n  \n\n\n  \n\n\nThere is nothing mystical about this. Simply put\, kindness and joy radiate a kind of energy that goes out into the world and has the ability to change it. \n\n\n  \n\n\n—from Alchemy of Snownessby Slava Polunin\, pp. 76-77 \n\n\n  \n\n\n–Johnny Stallings \n* \n\n\n  \n\n\nThe Garden \n\n\n  \nAll this time I have been standing here   \n\n\nI’ve never seen these trees before.   \n\n\n  \nAll this time I have been living here   \n\n\nI’ve always thought to go out.  \n\n\n  \nOut to find love\, beauty\, out to find   \n\n\npassion\, the wisdom of the ages.   \n\n\n  \nOut to feel\, out to see\, the wide sweep\,   \n\n\nthe hand of God.   \n\n\n  \nOut to the woods\, to the city\,   \n\n\nmessy\, vibrant\, all the hues\, full of life.   \n\n\n  \nNow I find standing here   \n\n\nlooking at this garden\,   \n\n\nit has everything.   \n\n\n  \nEverything I have been longing for\,   \n\n\nunfinished\,   \n\n\nperfect.   \n\n\n  \n\n\n-Elizabeth Domike \n* \n\n\n  \n\n\nThe Hammock  \n\n\n  \n\n\nWhen I lay my head in my mother’s lap   \n\n\nI think how day hides the stars\,   \n\n\nthe way I lay hidden once\, waiting   \n\n\ninside my mother’s singing to herself. And I remember   \n\n\nhow she carried me on her back   \n\n\nbetween home and the kindergarten\,   \n\n\nonce each morning and once each afternoon.   \n\n\n  \nI don’t know what my mother’s thinking.   \n\n\n  \nWhen my son lays his head in my lap\, I wonder:   \n\n\nDo his father’s kisses keep his father’s worries   \n\n\nfrom becoming his? I think\, Dear God\, and remember \n\n\nthere are stars we haven’t heard from yet:   \n\n\nThey have so far to arrive. Amen\, \n\n\nI think\, and I feel almost comforted.   \n\n\n  \nI’ve no idea what my child is thinking.   \n\n\nBetween two unknowns\, I live my life.   \n\n\nBetween my mother’s hopes\, older than I am   \n\n\nby coming before me\, and my child’s wishes\, older than I am   \n\n\nby outliving me. And what’s it like?   \n\n\nIs it a door\, and good-bye on either side?   \n\n\nA window\, and eternity on either side?   \n\n\nYes\, and a little singing between two great rests.   \n\n\n  \n–Li-Young Lee\, from Book of My Nights \n* \n\n\nReverence the highest\, have patience with the lowest. Let this day’s performance of the meanest [most menial] duty be thy religion. Are the stars too distant? Pick up the pebble that lies at thy feet\, and from it learn the all. \n\n\n  \n\n\n— Margaret Fuller \n* \n\n\n  \n\n\nFollowing Navajo Songs \n\n\n  \nBeauty all around me   \n\n\nBeauty in front   \n\n\nBeauty behind   \n\n\nBeauty above\, wind rustling the leaves   \n\n\nBeauty below\, hard ground   \n\n\nBeauty in the air\, soft\, soft   \n\n\nBeauty in my eyes\, tears   \n\n\nBeauty in my hands   \n\n\nfingers trailing pollen   \n\n\nBeauty in my footsteps   \n\n\nblossoms spring from the earth   \n\n\nBeauty in my heart   \n\n\ndark as thunder   \n\n\nBeauty in my heart   \n\n\nquiet as the last birds   \n\n\nin evening trees\,   \n\n\nBeauty   \n\n\nBeauty   \n\n\nBeauty   \n\n\n  \n–Deborah Buchanan \n* \n\n\n  \n\n\nYogi tea tag says today: “Uncage your heart\, free your heart\, let it be wild.” \n\n\n  \n\n\nEast Side Footsteps (Sierra Nevada) \n\n\n  \nOn those wild wide sandbars at Walker River\,   \n\n\nwe put toes into warm sand so fine   \n\n\nour feet sank to ankles   \n\n\nat each step. Summer’s end\, September\,   \n\n\ncelebrating birthdays\,   \n\n\nconvening halfway between   \n\n\nmy life in the Bay Area \n\n\nand yours in Lone Pine.   \n\n\nYour great curly dog loped ahead.   \n\n\nOur toes caught split straws of earlier grasses   \n\n\nuntil they rounded over river rocks   \n\n\nso hot under foot\,   \n\n\nwe scurried and stumbled across them   \n\n\nto keep our feet from burning.   \n\n\nThen reached the cool mud at water’s edge\,   \n\n\nwhere tiny frogs leapt from sedges\,   \n\n\nalarmed by our thudding presence.   \n\n\nRocks in that river were slippery with algae.  \n\n\nIt took determination to find a level spot\,   \n\n\nan eddy\, where stones could not lurch us   \n\n\nto our knees\, nor current upend us.   \n\n\nThe air wafted sagebrush and river. Untamed.   \n\n\nInvigorating and peaceful\, all at once.   \n\n\nTwo friends’ brief pause   \n\n\nbefore ascending Sonora Pass.   \n\n\n  \n–Gail Lester\, (after William Stafford’s poem “Tamarisk”) \n* \n\n\n\n\n\n  \nDesert Poem \n\n\n  \n\n\nDesert paintbrush shows no mercy \n\n\nravishing\, red smoldering your eyes.  \n\n\nCome to your knees to receive it. See \n\n\nhow stems peg color to earth\, where \n\n\nprairie flowers wild in their differences \n\n\nare loyal in their fit: lupine crazy blue\,  \n\n\nyarrow dusky\, shy pink on scattered  \n\n\nfarewell-to-spring. Each flower whispers  \n\n\nfragrance to court small wings\, tiny tongues.  \n\n\nFrom every twig\, leaves offer gestures  \n\n\nof forgiveness to this wounded world.  \n\n\nPlants gather strands for our basket\,  \n\n\nand prairie hills weave them all together.  \n\n\nIn this place\, each pilgrim’s goal  \n\n\nis to be lost in wonder\, and  \n\n\nwith all flowers softly howl. \n\n\n  \n— Kim Stafford \n* \n\n\n  \n“Mind Consciousness gives rise to actions that lead to ripening.  The mind consciousness plays the role of  gardener\, the one who sows\, waters\, and takes care of the earth.  The store consciousness is often described as the earth—the garden where the seeds that give rise to flowers and fruits are sown. Because mind consciousness can initiate an action that leads to the ripening of seeds in our store consciousness\, it is important that we learn about\, train\, and transform our mind consciousness. We act and speak on the basis of our thinking\, our cognition. Any action of body\, speech\, and mind that we take based on mind consciousness\, waters either positive or negative seeds within us. If we water negative seeds\, the result will be suffering. If we know how to water positive seeds\, there will be more understanding\, love\, and happiness. If mind consciousness learns to see in terms of impermanence\, nonself\, and interbeing\, it will help the seed of enlightenment to grow and bloom like a flower.” \n\n\n\n  \nfrom Thich Nhat Hanh’s Understanding Our Mind \n\n\n\n* \n\n\n  \n\n\n“Be there truly. Be there with 100% of yourself. In every moment of your daily life. That is the essence of true Buddhist meditation. Each of us knows that we can do that\, so let us train to live each moment of our daily life deeply. That is why I like to define mindfulness as the energy that helps us to be there 100 percent. It is the energy of your true presence.” \n–from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh \n\n\n  \nWell. “…live each moment of our daily life deeply.” “…the energy of our true presence.”   \n\n\nIt is about that time of year again. Every year\, right around the middle of July\, my senses are heightened to an acute level of awareness. Everything tingles. The morning sunlight is slightly different\, its angle more oblique\, its color more amber-toned. The word “mellow” comes to mind. The early mornings cooler and darker. The evening stars winking around 9:07 pm\, then 9:04 pm…then 8:56 pm. Right around Bastille Day\, July 14th\, I send a text to sisters\, daughter and close friends who understand what’s coming\, every year… “Hey! Have you noticed how the sun is slanting differently? The mornings are a little cooler\, and darker? Do you think it feels a little…like…Fall???” Oh\, the roar of negation that follows: “Nooooo!!! No way! Stop it! Be quiet!!!” \n\n\nI love Fall. I adore Fall. I am thinking and feeling and savoring Fall right now —on July 14th. I am in the moment but not in the moment.   \n\n\nDeep in the moment anticipation\, deep in the moment change. In the mountains\, August brings on the Fireweed and Gentians\, saying goodbye to Lupine and Avalanche lilies. Huckleberry leaves stain the slopes burgundy red. I tingle and savor with love the utter feel of change in all the senses—smell\, sight\, feel/touch\, hearing…taste? Sure! Who hasn’t bit into a warm peach\, apple\, or pear from an orchard and felt Fall in their bones?!   \n\n\nSo right now I’m in the future\, but more deeply in the present than at any other time of the year. Does that count as mindfulness? I hope you’ll say yes! \n\n\n  \n\n\n–Jude Russell
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-7-15-23-2/
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SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue  7/15/23
DESCRIPTION:  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue   \n\n\n  \nJuly 15\, 2023    \n\n\n     \n\n\nJohnny is traveling and sends his joy and news below.   \n\n\nAnd so dear friends\, thank you for carrying on with your reflections and poems and stories for this edition of the Meditation and Mindfulness newsletter.    \n\n\nThanks to Andy for his gorgeous contribution from his newly finished collected visions of the Hundred Verses of Self Instruction. Here is his commentary on cover image:    \n\n\nVerse 9   \n\n\nThe Atmopadesha Satakam (Hundred Verses of Self Instruction) of Narayana Guru  \n\n\n  \n\n\nGrowing on both sides\, in a blossoming state\,  \n\n\nis the one vine which has come\, spread out and risen to the top of a tree;  \n\n\nremember that hell does not come   \n\n\nto the man dwelling in contemplation beneath it.  \n\n\n  \n\n\nThe image of a contemplative seated beneath a flowering tree is practically universal in world religious art. Narayana Guru’s use of the image contains several details that tie it to the Indian tradition of Advaita Vedanta\, and that would have been familiar to his original Indian audience. The tree is covered by a creeper that is two-sided\, with roots that are concealed from view. The invisible origin of the creeper\, with its attractive flowers hiding the supporting tree\, is actually a metaphor for the structure of human consciousness\, as outlined in greater detail in Vedantic writings such as the Mandukya Upanishad. There\, wakeful experience is explained as a complex interaction of perceived form and conceptual name\, with both name and form springing from a common hidden source of seeded memory. This structural picture is a fundamental understanding that underlies much of the Atmopadesha Satakam.   \n\n\nNarayana Guru was not interested in philosophy for its own sake; he was instead concerned with helping his fellow beings find their own way to lasting happiness. His use of the ideogram of the tree and the meditating being provides profound clues about how the moment-to-moment flow of our experience assembles itself\, how we can be caught by that flow\, and about how a dimension of our innermost Being remains free from bondage.  \n\n\nWe seldom question the validity of the ongoing flow of our experiences\, with their sensory richness\, or their linear organization in time. The birth of a child\, or the death of a loved one can suddenly expose the unconscious nature of our routine forms of understanding. Our experiences can be afflicted in countless ways\, through the thwarting of our exaggerated sense of personal control\, through our habits of desire or aversion or the rigidities of habitual thinking. In the terms of the verse\, the experiential world of names and forms\, and the afflicted states that accompany them\, are nurtured from sources that are invisible to us. Name\, form and memory function collectively to conceal a deeper reality.  \n\n\nThe emphasis of this verse is on noticing. The man dwelling in contemplation beneath the tree has discovered something priceless. He has learned that his own pure awareness permeates the entire field of the germination\, growth and dissolution of phenomenal experience\, and yet stands apart from it.  \n\n\n  \n\n\n-Andy Larkin  \n\n\n  \n\n\n ***  \n\n\nAh\, Summer . . . . . The soft polka dot flowers of Spring have passed. Summer blossoms are exploding. Red dahlias with fiery petals\, huge blue hydrangeas that droop with such languor. They make me as sleepy as Dorothy in the field of poppies. I pick them\, arrange them in bouquets\, give them as gifts. I like to drive with jars of flowers in the coffee cup holders. Their fading nature reminds me that beauty is constantly changing and reemerging in new forms. Life is short. “But here we are again\,” say these same but different flowers that come in summertime.  \n\n\nIn the summer\, I like to get out the book The Immense Journey (from 1957!)\, by Loren Eiseley\, and reread his essay\, “How Flowers Changed the World.” Eiseley describes what he calls “a soundless\, violent explosion” of seed-born plant life millions of years ago\, just as the Dinosaurs started to pass out and mammals arrived. At the heart of the explosion was a new kind of flora with magic seeds.  \n\n\n“Flowers changed the face of the planet. Without them\, the world we know would never have existed. Today we know that the appearance of the flowers contained also the equally mystifying emergence of human life. Borne on the wind or attached to animal hides\, the new plant life spread all over the world.  \n\n\nThe fantastic seeds skipping and hopping and flying about the woods and valleys brought with them an amazing adaptability. . . . If our whole lives had not been spent in the midst of it\, it would astound us. The old\, stiff\, sky-reaching wooden world changed into something that glowed here and there with strange colors\, put out queer\, unheard of fruits and little intricately carved seed cases\, and\, most important of all\, produced concentrated foods in a way that the land had never seen before.  \n\n\nIf it wasn’t for the high energy content of seeds produced by flowers humanity wouldn’t have flourished.  \n\n\n  \n\n\n“If it should turn out that we have mishandled our own lives as several civilizations before us have done\, it seems a pity that we should involve the violet and the tree frog in our departure.”  \n\n\n– from Loren Eiseley\, The Immense Journey  \n\n\n–Katie Radditz  \n\n\n  \n\n\n***  \n\n\nGreetings from Lebanon!    \n\n\nJohnny writes: I’m on the Open Road–visiting with my good friend Zeina Daccache in Lebanon. Some of you will remember when she came to see our production of “Twelve Angry Men” at Two Rivers prison in 2012. She had directed a production of the play at Roumieh prison in Lebanon and made a wonderful documentary about it: “Twelve Angry Lebanese.” We will be showing Bushra Azzouz’s film “A Midsummer Night’s Dream in Prison” here on Saturday\, July 15.  \n\n\nI’ve been reading John Moriarty’s amazing book Dreamtime and studying clown philosophy from Slava Polunin. Here’s an excerpt from his book\, The Sixth Door:  \n\n\n  \n\n\nFeelings and Emotions  \n\n\n  \n\n\nThere is one door that ought to be kept shut. Or so we’re told. Even Pushkin taught us\, “You shall be lord and master of your heart.” Behind this door live our FEELINGS and EMOTIONS\, which must never be given free reign\, if we are to believe the poet. There is a life of suppressed emotions\, a rational\, regular life\, led by persons of good breeding\, one that offers the most direct path to one’s goals. But it turns out that what we give up on this path is our own vitality: we become mere cogs in some sort of a giant mechanism. Only emotions can give us life in all its fullness. Just as in a child’s mind\, any little thing can assume tremendous importance and take you on a wild ride at the slightest pretext. Passion\, emotion\, excitement\, obsession with the least trifle—these are the things that make for a full life\, because they demand utmost commitment and openness to the whole world around you. Such emotional perception of reality is fundamental to a human being\, and theatre has the ability to inspire it.  \n\n\nTo be honest\, though\, not every kind of emotion appeals to me in equal measure. I suspect this is true of most people.  \n\n\nI happen to like positive emotions. The more positive\, the better.  \n\n\n  \n\n\nBecause a positive attitude actually makes the world a better place.  \n\n\n  \n\n\n  \n\n\nThere is nothing mystical about this. Simply put\, kindness and joy radiate a kind of energy that goes out into the world and has the ability to change it.  \n\n\n  \n\n\n–from Alchemy of Snowness by Slava Polunin\,   \n\n\npp. 76-77  \n\n\n  \n\n\n-Johnny Stallings  \n\n\n  \n\n\n***  \n\n\nThe Garden    \n\n\n     \n\n\nAll this time I have been standing here    \n\n\nI’ve never seen these trees before.    \n\n\n     \n\n\nAll this time I have been living here    \n\n\nI’ve always thought to go out.    \n\n\n     \n\n\nOut to find love\, beauty\, out to find    \n\n\npassion\, the wisdom of the ages.    \n\n\n     \n\n\nOut to feel\, out to see\, the wide sweep\,    \n\n\nthe hand of God.    \n\n\n     \n\n\nOut to the woods\, to the city\,    \n\n\nmessy\, vibrant\, all the hues\, full of life.    \n\n\n     \n\n\nNow I find standing here    \n\n\nlooking at this garden\,    \n\n\nit has everything.    \n\n\n     \n\n\nEverything I have been longing for\,    \n\n\nunfinished\,    \n\n\nperfect.    \n\n\n  \n\n\n-Elizabeth Domike    \n\n\n  \n\n\n***  \n\n\nThe Hammock    \n\n\n  \n\n\nWhen I lay my head in my mother’s lap    \n\n\nI think how day hides the stars\,    \n\n\nthe way I lay hidden once\, waiting    \n\n\ninside my mother’s singing to herself. And I remember    \n\n\nhow she carried me on her back    \n\n\nbetween home and the kindergarten\,    \n\n\nonce each morning and once each afternoon.    \n\n\n     \n\n\nI don’t know what my mother’s thinking.    \n\n\n     \n\n\nWhen my son lays his head in my lap\, I wonder:    \n\n\nDo his father’s kisses keep his father’s worries    \n\n\nfrom becoming his? I think\, Dear God\, and remember    \n\n\nthere are stars we haven’t heard from yet:    \n\n\nThey have so far to arrive. Amen\,    \n\n\nI think\, and I feel almost comforted.    \n\n\n     \n\n\nI’ve no idea what my child is thinking.    \n\n\nBetween two unknowns\, I live my life.    \n\n\nBetween my mother’s hopes\, older than I am    \n\n\nby coming before me\, and my child’s wishes\, older than I am    \n\n\nby outliving me. And what’s it like?    \n\n\nIs it a door\, and good-bye on either side?    \n\n\nA window\, and eternity on either side?    \n\n\nYes\, and a little singing between two great rests.    \n\n\n   \n\n\n-Li-Young Lee   \n\n\n“The Hammock” from Book of My Nights    \n\n\n  \n\n\n*** \nReverence the highest\, have patience with the lowest. Let this day’s performance of the meanest [most menial] duty be thy religion. Are the stars too distant? Pick up the pebble that lies at thy feet\, and from it learn the all.  \n\n\n  \n\n\n– Margaret Fuller  \n\n\n  \n\n\n***  \n\n\n  \n\n\nFollowing Navajo Songs  \n\n\n   \n\n\nBeauty all around me    \n\n\nBeauty in front    \n\n\nBeauty behind    \n\n\nBeauty above\, wind rustling the leaves    \n\n\nBeauty below\, hard ground    \n\n\nBeauty in the air\, soft\, soft    \n\n\nBeauty in my eyes\, tears    \n\n\nBeauty in my hands    \n\n\nfingers trailing pollen    \n\n\nBeauty in my footsteps    \n\n\nblossoms spring from the earth    \n\n\nBeauty in my heart    \n\n\ndark as thunder    \n\n\nBeauty in my heart    \n\n\nquiet as the last birds    \n\n\nin evening trees\,    \n\n\nBeauty    \n\n\nBeauty    \n\n\nBeauty    \n\n\n-Deborah Buchanan    \n\n\n  \n\n\n***  \n\n\n Yogi tea tag says today: “Uncage your heart\, free your heart\, let it be wild.”    \n\n\n  \n\n\nEast Side Footsteps (Sierra Nevada)  \n\n\n    \n\n\nOn those wild wide sandbars at Walker River\,    \n\n\nwe put toes into warm sand so fine    \n\n\nour feet sank to ankles    \n\n\nat each step. Summer’s end\, September\,    \n\n\ncelebrating birthdays\,    \n\n\nconvening halfway between    \n\n\nmy life in the Bay Area    \n\n\nand yours in Lone Pine.    \n\n\nYour great curly dog loped ahead.    \n\n\nOur toes caught split straws of earlier grasses    \n\n\nuntil they rounded over river rocks    \n\n\nso hot under foot\,    \n\n\nwe scurried and stumbled across them    \n\n\nto keep our feet from burning.    \n\n\nThen reached the cool mud at water’s edge\,    \n\n\nwhere tiny frogs leapt from sedges\,    \n\n\nalarmed by our thudding presence.    \n\n\nRocks in that river were slippery with algae.    \n\n\nIt took determination to find a level spot\,    \n\n\nan eddy\, where stones could not lurch us    \n\n\nto our knees\, nor current upend us.    \n\n\nThe air wafted sagebrush and river. Untamed.    \n\n\nInvigorating and peaceful\, all at once.    \n\n\nTwo friends’ brief pause    \n\n\nbefore ascending Sonora Pass.    \n\n\n    \n\n\n-Gail Lester\, (after William Stafford’s poem “Tamarisk”)  \n\n\n\n\n\nDesert Poem  \n\n\n  \n\n\nDesert paintbrush shows no mercy  \n\n\nravishing\, red smoldering your eyes.   \n\n\nCome to your knees to receive it. See  \n\n\nhow stems peg color to earth\, where  \n\n\nprairie flowers wild in their differences  \n\n\nare loyal in their fit: lupine crazy blue\,   \n\n\nyarrow dusky\, shy pink on scattered   \n\n\nfarewell-to-spring. Each flower whispers   \n\n\nfragrance to court small wings\, tiny tongues.   \n\n\nFrom every twig\, leaves offer gestures   \n\n\nof forgiveness to this wounded world.   \n\n\nPlants gather strands for our basket\,   \n\n\nand prairie hills weave them all together.   \n\n\nIn this place\, each pilgrim’s goal   \n\n\nis to be lost in wonder\, and   \n\n\nwith all flowers softly howl.  \n\n\n  \n\n\n– Kim Stafford  \n\n\n  \n\n\n\n\n\nExtract from Thich Nhat Hanh’s Understanding Our Mind   \n\n\n  \n\n\nMind Consciousness gives rise to actions that lead to ripening.  The mind consciousness plays the role of  gardener\, the one who sows\, waters\, and takes care of the earth.  The store consciousness is often described as the earth—the garden where the seeds that give rise to flowers and fruits are sown. Because mind consciousness can initiate an action that leads to the ripening of seeds in our store consciousness\, it is important that we learn about\, train\, and transform our mind consciousness. We act and speak on the basis of our thinking\, our cognition. Any action of body\, speech\, and mind that we take based on mind consciousness\, waters either positive or negative seeds within us. If we water negative seeds\, the result will be suffering. If we know how to water positive seeds\, there will be more understanding\, love\, and happiness. If mind consciousness learns to see in terms of impermanence\, nonself\, and interbeing\, it will help the seed of enlightenment to grow and bloom like a flower.  \n\n\nOne Hundred Percent Your True Home   -Thich Nhat Hanh  \n\n\n  \n\n\n“Be there truly. Be there with 100% of yourself. In every moment of your daily life. That is the essence of true Buddhist meditation. Each of us knows that we can do that\, so let us train to live each moment of our daily life deeply. That is why I like to define mindfulness as the energy that helps us to be there 100 percent. It is the energy of your true presence.”    \n\n\nWell. “…live each moment of our daily life deeply.” “…the energy of our true presence.”    \n\n\nIt is about that time of year again. Every year\, right around the middle of July\, my senses are heightened to an acute level of awareness. Everything tingles. The morning sunlight is slightly different\, its angle more oblique\, its color more amber-toned. The word ‘mellow’ comes to mind. The early mornings cooler and darker. The evening stars winking around 9:07pm\, then 9:04pm…then 8:56pm. Right around Bastille Day\, July 14th\, I send a text to sisters\, daughter and close friends who understand what’s coming\, every year…”Hey! Have you noticed how the sun is slanting differently? The mornings are a little cooler\, and darker? Do you think it feels a little…like…Fall???” Oh\, the roar of negation that follows: “Nooooo!!! No way! Stop it! Be quiet!!!”    \n\n\nI love Fall. l adore Fall. I am thinking and feeling and savoring Fall right now —on July 14th. I am in the moment but not in the moment.    \n\n\nDeep in the moment anticipation\, deep in the moment change. In the mountains\, August brings on the Fireweed and Gentians\, saying goodbye to Lupine and Avalanche lilies. Huckleberry leaves stain the slopes burgundy red. I tingle and savor with love the utter feel of change in all the senses—smell\, sight\, feel/touch\, hearing…taste? Sure! Who hasn’t bit into a warm peach\, apple\, or pear from an orchard and felt Fall in their bones?!    \n\n\nSo right now I’m in the future\, but more deeply in the present than at any other time of the year. Does that count as mindfulness? I hope you’ll say yes!    \n\n\n  \n\n\n-Jude Russel 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-7-15-23/
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SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  8/3/23
DESCRIPTION:  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nAugust 3\, 2023 \n  \nVISIONS OF UTOPIA & PARADISE \n  \nTo create around ourselves the kind of world that we wish to live in–isn’t that the most important project of our lives? \n  \n–from Alchemy of Snowness by the Russian clown\, Slava Polunin \n  \nGONZALO \nHad I plantation of this isle\, my lord— \nANTONIO \nHe’d sow ’t with nettle seed. \nSEBASTIAN  Or docks\, or mallows. \nGONZALO \nAnd were the king on ’t\, what would I do? \nSEBASTIAN  Scape being drunk\, for want of wine. \nGONZALO \nI’ th’ commonwealth I would by contraries \nExecute all things\, for no kind of traffic \nWould I admit; no name of magistrate; \nLetters should not be known; riches\, poverty\, \nAnd use of service\, none; contract\, succession\, \nBourn\, bound of land\, tilth\, vineyard\, none; \nNo use of metal\, corn\, or wine\, or oil; \nNo occupation; all men idle\, all\, \nAnd women too\, but innocent and pure; \nNo sovereignty— \nSEBASTIAN  Yet he would be king on ’t. \nANTONIO  The latter end of his commonwealth forgets \nthe beginning. \nGONZALO \nAll things in common nature should produce \nWithout sweat or endeavor; treason\, felony\, \nSword\, pike\, knife\, gun\, or need of any engine \nWould I not have; but nature should bring forth \nOf its own kind all foison\, all abundance\, \nTo feed my innocent people. \nSEBASTIAN  No marrying ’mong his subjects? \nANTONIO  None\, man\, all idle: whores and knaves. \nGONZALO \nI would with such perfection govern\, sir\, \nT’ excel the Golden Age. \nSEBASTIAN  ’Save his Majesty! \nANTONIO \nLong live Gonzalo! \n  \n—from The Tempest by William Shakespeare\, Act 2\, scene 1 \n  \nHere’s an excerpt from Magdalena Cieślak’s interview with Stratis Panourios about a production of Shakespeare’s The Tempest\, which he directed at Korydallos prison in Athens: \n  \nMC:  One of the central characters in your production is Gonzalo. Can you explain why this particular character is of such importance for your reading of the play? In what way are his ideas of a utopian state crucial for the social role of the project?  \n  \nSP:  Gonzalo\, as Shakespeare mentions him in the list of characters\, is an honest old advisor from Naples\, and I see him the same way. Although he was appointed to dispose of Prospero and Miranda at sea\, he actually helped them survive\, giving them water\, food\, clothes and books that Prospero considered important….He is a positive thinker\, who believes in the will of Heaven…. \n  \nThe participants are baptized again through the performance. For the duration of the  rehearsals and their presence on stage\, they are reborn. This is particularly visible in the participant who plays Gonzalo\, as he becomes a different person\, even if just for a few months. The inmates call him Gonzalo inside the prison. And during his famous monologue\, when he says “And were the king of it\, what would I do?”\, he becomes a king\, president or prime minister of the country. After this  monologue he cannot be himself. He acquires respect and prestige\, even if this is related to a theatrical monologue. \n  \nHe is also given the opportunity to speak on behalf of all the prisoners—to say that he imagines their own world\, outside the prison. A world that is “upside down” or “opposite” to today’s world. In the monologue\, Gonzalo says: “I’ th’ commonwealth I would by contraries / Execute all things.” In our rehearsals we pondered on whether this world should be the norm and not the other way around….This verse opened a whole world to us.  \n  \nThrough extensive discussions during rehearsals we achieved a connection between the world of Gonzalo and Platonic ideals. Since the staging of our play not only involved rehearsals but also a lot of research\, one of the participants took the initiative to guide us with a lecture\, making an introduction to Plato’s work Politeia [The Republic]. As a modern Socrates\, a prisoner\, he spoke to us about the importance of justice and how much happier a righteous person is from an unjust one. He spoke to us about the definition of justice\, the structure of society\, property and privacy\, and philosopher-kings; he spoke about Plato’s Allegory of the Cave and the importance of the truth for different regimes; and about art\, utopias and dystopias. Our room was transformed into the “Gallipoli” of the book and all of us into philosopher-kings. We could talk for hours and hours about the issues in Plato’s Politeia\, so we decided for the time being that maybe one of our future performances would have the theme of Politeia\, where we could all study it thoroughly. \n  \nAs reference books and texts on the ideal state\, we studied Thomas Moore’s Utopia\, written in 1516\, presenting a story taking place on a strange island somewhere in the South Atlantic Ocean\, off the coast of South America. We could not help but associate Shakespeare with the reading of this book\, making sure that the decision to link the prison to Prospero’s Island was the right one. This reading was followed by references to the Biblical Garden in Eden\, Sir Philip Sydney’s Arcadia (1580)\, a summary of Michel de Montaigne’s Of Cannibals (1580). We ended our study with texts written by the participants on the subject of their own vision of an ideal state. The adaptation of Gonzalo’s monologue in our show was based on the texts by the participants. \n  \nThe  participant who plays Gonzalo now had the opportunity to talk about his ideal state\, a world without crime and prisons. Until then\, his voice was heard only in his apology in court\, while now his monologue was addressed to the spectators. And the spectators are by no means jurors. On the edge of the stage\, he was free not only to apologize but to share something very important: his own discovery and the thoughts of an ideal utopia. His words are dominated by a big “if.” “If” the world was different\, maybe he would not have to be in prison\, he would have the opportunity to live like other people. He would live a normal life and his childhood would be full of wonder and hope. Because in the conversations we had\, we likened this time to childhood\, which for most prisoners may have existed as an idealized state. In the rehearsals\, of course\, we experienced this through the joy of creation. \n  \n—from Multicultural Shakespeare\, vol. 26 (41) 2022 \n* \n  \nAlas!\, there was no “peace\, love\, happiness & understanding” in July because I was on the open road—traveling to Athens and Beirut\, where I showed Bushra’s film “A Midsummer Night’s Dream in Prison.” The conversations following the screenings were great! While in Athens\, I saw a production of “The Persians” by Aeschylus at Korydallos prison\, directed by my friend Stratis Panourios. One thing especially reminded me of our plays done in Oregon prisons. After the performances\, love and happiness were in the air—in prison! A miracle! \n  \nAt the end of the June issue of “peace\, love\, happiness & understanding\,” I invited everyone to share their visions of utopia and paradise. The subject turns out to be so big that all I can manage are a few random thoughts. Here they are: \n  \nThe word “utopia” was coined by Sir Thomas More for his novel Utopia. It is often said that it is a translation from Greek\, and that it means “no-place\,” but Thomas More was probably punning on two Greek words outopia\, meaning “no-place\,” and eutopia\, meaning “happy place.” Most creators of literary utopias were imagining societies where life would be better than the societies in which they lived—happy places! \n  \nPlato’s Republic is a grand vision of an ideal society. I wouldn’t want to live there. Ernest Callenbach’s Ecotopia is more my speed. But of course not everyone wants to live in the hippie version of paradise. \n  \nIn Christianity\, the word “Paradise” refers to the Garden of Eden and to Heaven. In the Garden of Eden a naked man and woman live in innocence\, without sin or death. There is just one rule: they can’t eat of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. Tempted by a talking snake\, they do just that. They get kicked out of the Garden before they are able to eat of the Tree of Life—and gain immortality thereby. They are punished for the sin of disobedience to the God who created them. A number of other punishments ensue\, but the most dramatic one is that they will die. \n  \nProbably the oldest story invented by humans is that when you die you don’t really die. You go somewhere else. In Christianity\, the basic idea is that when you die you go to Heaven if you have been good—and if you believe in Jesus Christ\, who died on the cross to save you from sin and death. If you have been bad—or are an unbeliever—you are damned and must go to Hell\, which is a place of eternal punishment. The idea that the good are rewarded after death and the bad are punished is an idea that is found in many cultures\, and in the writings of Plato. There’s a Tibetan board game called “Rebirth\,” which features a number of hells\, including “The Black Rope and Crushing Hells.” (Incidentally\, most of the squares on the board—on your journey to Nirvana—are states of consciousness above the heavenly realms of the gods.) \n  \nThere are lots and lots of visions of utopias\, dystopias\, paradises\, and hell realms of one kind and another. A fundamental obstacle to achieving utopian societies is that one person’s utopia is another person’s dystopia. Recently the Lincoln Project posted a video on YouTube in which Marjorie Taylor Greene describes the nightmarish Socialist Big Government dystopia that Democrats like Joe Biden represent—addressing education\, medical care\, urban problems\, rural poverty\, transportation\, food stamps\, welfare\, economic opportunity\, labor unions\, and environmental programs. This all sounds pretty good to some folks. \n  \nThere are many dystopian visions these days\, in books and films. Two of the most well-known dystopias of the Twentieth Century are George Orwell’s 1984 and Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World. Huxley’s utopian novel\, Island\, is less well-known. Dave Eggers has recently given us two novels set in a not-very-distant future\, in which efforts to create a technological utopia give the reader a distinctly dystopian feeling—The Circle and The Every. In The Road\, Cormac McCarthy imagines a future that is so ecologically devastated that human survival is in peril.  \n  \nCinematic dystopias abound. The series of Mad Max films is one example among many. Utopian visions are harder to come by. In Wim Wenders’ film Wings of Desire\, one of the angel protagonists exchanges his immortality for an earthly existence\, where he can enjoy the aroma of coffee and live with a beautiful trapeze artist. It’s like in the fairy tales where at least some of the people live happily ever after. This is also known as the “Hollywood Ending.” We leave the theater feeling good.  \n  \nThere were many utopian experiments in Nineteenth Century America—from the Oneida Community\, which lasted for 33 years\, to the Mormon Church\, which is still going strong. More recently\, lots of people started hippie communes. These days the term for people who get together to live more in accordance with their ideals is “intentional communities.” \n  \nThere’s a dark side to utopian visions\, especially when violence and coercion are used to “improve” the world. The Third Reich is a spectacular example. There are others. \n  \nLast weekend Nancy and I went to the Canterbury Renaissance Faire\, where some of our friends were performing Hamlet. The whole festival was someone’s utopian vision. Thousands of people came who enjoy imagining themselves as fairies\, medieval knights\, and other natural and supernatural characters of one kind and another. A play is a magical world\, whether it is performed at Korydallos prison or the Canterbury Faire. For a little while we are transported to another world. \n  \nIf you think of it in this way\, utopias are everywhere. Sometimes they are very brief. A perfect moment is paradise. \n  \nThe Big World is an endlessly complex system of ever-changing forces. While some people work for peace\, justice and ecology\, there are many countervailing forces in play. We have\, I think\, an obligation to make efforts to make the world a better place for all people—and for elephants and butterflies.  \n  \nIn addition to this extremely challenging undertaking\, we have a duty\, day-by-day\, to become better people—wiser\, kinder\, more happy\, more loving\, more free. Surrounded by dystopias and hells of one kind and another\, we can bless the day\, be thankful for our human life on earth\, be helpful to our fellow mortals\, create for ourselves and others moments when we find ourselves in Paradise. \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nMy new friend Spiros in Athens sent this poem: \n  \nAnd people mix and separate and they take nothing from each other. \nBecause love is the most difficult way to get to know one  another. \nBecause people\, my friend\, live in the moment they find a solace in the lives of others. \nAnd then you understand why the desperate become the greatest rebels. \nAnd we are suddenly defenseless\, \nlike a victor in the face of death or a defeated one facing Eternity… \n  \n— Tasos Leivaditis\, translated from the Greek by Spiros Chrisovitsianos \n* \n  \nKim wrote this poem this morning (8/3/23): \n  \n               Borrowed Aura \n  \nIn my dream\, our shop dealt in dazzlings— \neach soul’s essence distilled to mist \nwe could bottle and bestow to restore \nbalance\, a hint of your verve to enliven \nmy calm\, a whiff of my patience to guide \nyour eagerness\, gifts sifted for exchange \nuntil we each became whole. \n  \nWaking\, I walked into the forest of dawn \nwhere the scent of pitch brightened my mind\, \nghostly lichen on a limb re-set my life clock\, \na raven’s raspy shriek startled my pulse\, \ngreen light dazzled my numb soul\, \nas each turn in my pilgrim path \nnudged me toward wisdom. \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nWords for Cup and Water \n  \nStepping through the dream-wall President Lincoln \ncradles a cat named Bob. Droplets of rain shine \non the hemlock tree which reached \nthe bedroom window just this year. \n  \nAll beveled mirrors still shimmer no matter \nwhat they reflect\, drugstore\, library\, bookshop \nall carry magazines\, hopes\, and dreams\, \none long loop running down \n  \nstreamlets in the mist. I make a nest with my hands\, \ntry to capture the mood of the mountain. \nthe President says\, “Don’t bother\, we have work to do.” \nInstead\, Bob washes\, framed by evening light. \n  \nWe pause for a moment. \nWatch a female Harrier glide golden\, \nover marshy fields opening before our eyes. \nSleeves rolled up; possibilities begin to appear nearby. \n  \n—Elizabeth Domike \n* \n  \nWhat an Angel Said \nafter Austin T. Holland \n  \nYou better believe it\, \nkid: the arkless sea \nis also a kind of ark. \n  \nMy grief has endless credit \nbut I blew it all on craps \nand now my eyes lack coins. \n  \nI never understood whether heaven-sent \nmeant from or to \nthat bright & high-rent place. \n  \nDivinate me. At the bottom \nof every teacup (in the dregs) \nyou’ll find a death’s-head. \n  \nTomorrow\, you’ll risk laughter \nwhen I ascend the compost pile \nin a huff of regeneration. \n  \nNext century\, I am \ncrowned with a wreath \nof black dove & white raven \n  \nfeathers. \n  \n—Alex Tretbar\, first published in Anti-Heroin Chic \n* \n  \nPerfect Day \n  \nit’s another perfect day on Planet Earth \nI carried a heavy stone from the truck to the back yard \nthe bright flowers shouted at me \nwoke me up \nreminded me \nwhat is true \n  \nfar away\, in Washington D. C.\, they are making plans to kill more people \nin order to get more money \n  \nand maybe oblivious to the blue sky \npeople in this city are charging off to work \npreoccupied with all their problems \n  \nthere are millions of ways to ignore \nand even to try to destroy \nthe beauty that calls to us everywhere \nfrom everyone \nfrom every thing \non this perfect day \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nWe shall study every philosophy\, search through all the scriptures\, consult every teacher and practice all spiritual exercises until our minds are swollen with the whole wisdom of the world. But in the end we shall return to the surprising fact that we walk\, eat\, sleep\, feel and breathe\, that whether we are deep in thought or idly passing the time of day\, we are alive. And when we can know just that to be the supreme experience of religion we shall know the final secret and join in the laughter of the gods. \n  \n—Alan Watts\, quoted in Wandering in Eden by Michael Adam
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-8-3-23/
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SUMMARY:Bibliophiles Unanimous!  8/13/23
DESCRIPTION:  \nBeloved Bibliophiles! \n  \nOur theme for Sunday\, August 13th is:  \n  \nWhat Are Your Top Ten (or Fifteen) Favorite Novels of All Time? \n  \nThe Zoom gathering starts at 3 pm (PDT). Here’s the link: \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058 \n  \nI hope to see you there. \n  \npeace\, love & happiness  \n  \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-8-13-23/
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UID:4089-1692057600-1694735999@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue  8/15/23
DESCRIPTION:  \nOpen Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue \n  \n  \nAugust 15\, 2023 \n  \nLive righteously and love everyone. \n—tag on a Yogi Tea bag \n  \n  \n#32 Constant Transformation  \n  \n“Impermanence and selflessness are not negative aspects of life\, but the very foundation on   which life is built. Impermanence is the constant transformation of things. Without impermanence\, there can be no life. Selflessness is the interdependent nature of all things. Without interdependence\, nothing could exist.”—from Your True Home by Thich Nhat Hanh \n  \nA couple of things have happened in the last year or so that make this #32 of Constant Transformation jump out at me: \n  \n#1: I have a neighbor who uses people. It’s one thing to ask for favors and then offer some form of thanks or reciprocation—-no problem with that. This neighbor offers nothing\, and often just asks for more. I have been very ticked off about this. Years ago she asked me to ‘just swing by and water my geraniums. You’ll be walking Lolo anyway\, right?’ Okay\, sure. But this meant  watering 40 geraniums\, several times a week—for five months! While she was in Arizona! So I did. In return\, she gave me five lemons from her tree in Scottsdale. I did this for two years\, with no small amount of growing resentment and internal grumbling\, and then I politely but firmly refused\, feeling really taken advantage of. This last year she asked again\, and for some reason I said yes. This time I started admiring the bright red blooms in the pale\, midwinter light. I rubbed the leaves with my fingers and smelled their pungent flavor. It took me back to my dad’s geraniums and gave me sweet memories of him and my mom. It became a welcome task to take care of the geraniums\, and when she returned\, with five more lemons\, I thanked her gratefully for brightening up my wintertime. Because she did! \n  \nSecond transformation: I love to hike. I love burbling streams\, mossy banks\, nodding trilliums\, dark green branches of massive tree trunks.  Oh no! Another bag of dog poop left at the foot of that tree! What is wrong with you people?!?!?! If you’re going to bring your dog\, pick up your damned poop bags on the way out! Honestly\, I know you know it’s there. You just decided it’s no big deal to leave it. Snarl\, snarl\, grumble\, fume. The beauty fades and all I can think is…being pissed off! Well\, what’s the point of that? \n  \nSo one day I picked up the bag of poop and carried it out. I attached it to the rear windshield wiper of my car and took it home where I tossed it in the garbage can. Maybe they just didn’t see it when they were hiking out. You never know. Next time I picked up another bag. Somebody saw me carrying it and thanked me for carrying my dog’s poop bag out of the woods. Oh\, it’s not my dog’s\, it was just left on the trail\, I said. You’re a saint\, they said. Oh no\, I murmured\, modestly.  \n  \nBut aside from sort of feeling like a saint\, I felt good about helping keep my beautiful woods clean. I kept thinking that you don’t know\, maybe people do just forget or can’t find their dog’s poop bag. So I can help out and kind of keep things beautiful for me and for other hikers.  \n  \nThat was a couple of years ago\, and now I do it all the time. I’m a little bit miffed that nobody’s called me a saint again\, but I still get a good feeling when I see the clean and beautiful woods.  \n  \nComplete transformation. \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \nJude\, you’re a saint!  \n—(from the Editor) \n* \n  \n                   Artificial Light \n  \nBy bulbs and wires\, porch lights insult dusk\, \nstreetlights thieve stars from children\, headlights \nstab haste deep into wounded night. \n  \nBy day\, I squint by the pallor of false explanation\, \nthe sickly glow of lies claiming illumination \nwhile casting artificial darkness everywhere. \n  \nThis light blinds my mind. I seek real dark\, \nno human spark’s denial. I need thin shoes \nfinding my path by feel\, night stars\, grope touch\, \n  \nearth sleep\, nocturnal dreams\, then dawn. \n  \n—Kim Stafford   8-11-2023 \n* \n  \nNot Yet \n  \nA connoisseur of hands \n(because hers are crippled) \nsaid when looking at his \nthat they are the most beautiful \nshe had yet seen. \n  \nThe fact that they will leave \nthis world soon may have had \nsomething to do with this impression. \n  \nA glint of silver flashes as fish \nleap headlong \nout of the river into the sky. \n  \n—Elizabeth Domike \n* \n  \nMidsummer night dreaming \n  \nIt’s heating up—the Sun is beaming up there during the day. But the night sky is also fully alive with shooting stars. I’m sleeping outside to watch the Perseid meteor shower at its peak. It’s a new moon so a black sky\, no clouds or rain to block the view. I know it can sometimes make us feel insignificant looking at the cold stars\, but tonight I feel expansive\, to be alive and witness the amazing cosmos. The cooling breeze makes me feel in tune with the cedar trees and the birch that surround our home. Even though there is only a narrow strip of sky\, I can see the big dipper’s handle and there was one long streak of shooting star that seemed to welcome me to the party. I’m cooling down\, slowing down.  \n  \nI relate to this poem of Wendell Berry’s and am lucky to live where I can go out and lay down in the wild. \n  \nThe Peace of Wild Things \n  \nWhen despair for the world grows in me\nand I wake in the night at the least sound\nin fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be\,\nI go and lie down where the wood drake\nrests in his beauty on the water\, and the great heron feeds.\nI come into the peace of wild things\nwho do not tax their lives with forethought\nof grief. I come into the presence of still water.\nAnd I feel above me the day-blind stars\nwaiting with their light. For a time\nI rest in the grace of the world\, and am free. \n  \n—Wendell Berry \n  \nDreaming about and longing for summer’s past\, hiking in the snow-capped mountains\, along fresh creeks we could drink from\, having a young adult body with knees that could easily let me jump from boulder to boulder up McCord Creek in the Gorge. \n  \nImpermanence and desires – Thinking of Hermia and her many changing desires that are befuddling and too rapid. Finally they are debilitating\, all these loves won then lost\, until her legs fail her. This seems like a good Buddhist story. How important it is to not cling and be swept away\, to slow down and enjoy what there is here now. To stop running after things till our legs give out. \n  \nI like the quiet implied in Wendell Berry’s poem. There aren’t sounds after the first one that wakes him. And so I lie down outside when the traffic has stopped and I can hear the soothing wind in the trees and the silent stars that I know are always there. \n  \nI hope you all stay cool somehow and enjoy Midsummer Night dreaming. \n  \n—Katie Radditz \n* \n  \nIn this excerpt from Centuries of Meditations\, Thomas Traherne gives an account of how he experienced the world when he was a child: \n  \nThe corn was orient and immortal wheat\, which never should be reaped\, nor was ever sown. I thought it had stood from everlasting to everlasting. The dust and stones of the street were as precious as gold: the gates were at first the end of the world. The green trees when I saw them first through one of the gates transported and ravished me\, their sweetness and unusual beauty made my heart to leap\, and almost mad with ecstasy\, they were such strange and wonderful things. The Men! O what venerable and reverend creatures did the aged seem! Immortal Cherubims! And young men glittering and sparkling Angels\, and maids strange seraphic pieces of life and beauty! Boys and girls tumbling in the street\, and playing\, were moving jewels. I knew not that they were born or should die; But all things abided eternally as they were in their proper places. Eternity was manifest in the Light of the Day\, and something infinite behind everything appeared: which talked with my expectation and moved my desire. The city seemed to stand in Eden\, or to be built in Heaven. The streets were mine\, the temple was mine\, the people were mine\, their clothes and gold and silver were mine\, as much as their sparkling eyes\, fair skins and ruddy faces. The skies were mine\, and so were the sun and moon and stars\, and all the World was mine; and I the only spectator and enjoyer of it. I knew no churlish properties\, nor bounds\, nor divisions: but all properties and divisions were mine: all treasures and the possessors of them. So that with much ado I was corrupted\, and made to learn the dirty devices of this world. Which now I unlearn\, and become\, as it were\, a little child again that I may enter into the Kingdom of God. \n  \n—Thomas Traherne\, Centuries of Meditations\, Third Century\, Meditation #3 \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nUnderstanding Makes Compassion Possible (pt. 1) \n  \nUnderstanding is the substance out of which we fabricate compassion. What kind of understanding…? It’s the understanding that the other person suffers too. When we suffer\, we tend to believe we’re the victims of others\, that we are the only ones who suffer. This is not true—the other person also suffers. If we could only see the pain within him\, we would begin to understand him. Once understanding is present\, compassion becomes possible….The other person may be an inmate like us\, or a guard. If we look\, we can see there is a lot of suffering within him. Maybe he doesn’t know how to handle his suffering. Maybe he allows his suffering to grow…and this makes him and other people around him suffer. So with this kind of awareness or mindfulness\, you begin to understand\, and understanding will give rise to your compassion. With compassion in you\, you will suffer much less\, and you will be motivated by a desire to do something—or not do something—so the other person suffers less. Your way of looking or smiling at him may help him suffer less…. \n  \n—Thich Nhat Hanh  \n(This might be from the book Be Free Where You Are\, which is the record of a talk he gave at the Maryland Correctional Institution at Hagerstown—Ed.) \n  \nSometimes I struggle to want to allow compassion for some to develop. Is it unreasonable to want those who (seem to deliberately) cultivate the means of suffering for others to have even more suffering—because their actions show their mis-managed suffering? I guess the answer is in the question: If they have more\, then they will pass on more—hurt people hurt people. How sad this is\, that our world\, with all the advancements\, can’t evolve (communally) past the concerns of toddler-hood. Such as\, basic safety and hurting others to express our own pain. This was revealed for me in For Your Own Good and some other books Johnny shared with me. Compassion seems to be the path out\, and mindful awareness is the key unlocking the gate thereto. \n  \n—Michel Deforge
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/meditation-mindfulness-dialogue-8-15-23/
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