BEGIN:VCALENDAR
VERSION:2.0
PRODID:-//The Open Road:  a learning community - ECPv6.15.3//NONSGML v1.0//EN
CALSCALE:GREGORIAN
METHOD:PUBLISH
X-ORIGINAL-URL:https://openroadpdx.com
X-WR-CALDESC:Events for The Open Road:  a learning community
REFRESH-INTERVAL;VALUE=DURATION:PT1H
X-Robots-Tag:noindex
X-PUBLISHED-TTL:PT1H
BEGIN:VTIMEZONE
TZID:America/Los_Angeles
BEGIN:DAYLIGHT
TZOFFSETFROM:-0800
TZOFFSETTO:-0700
TZNAME:PDT
DTSTART:20250309T100000
END:DAYLIGHT
BEGIN:STANDARD
TZOFFSETFROM:-0700
TZOFFSETTO:-0800
TZNAME:PST
DTSTART:20251102T090000
END:STANDARD
END:VTIMEZONE
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20250206
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20250306
DTSTAMP:20260424T145852
CREATED:20250206T151624Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250206T151955Z
UID:5370-1738800000-1741219199@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  2/6/25
DESCRIPTION:Statue of Peace in the Plaza La Paz\, Guanajuato\, Mexico.  \nNote the dismayed soldier at the base of the monument\, who is out of work. \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nFebruary 6\, 2025 \n  \nThe earth is all before me: with a heart \nJoyous\, not scared at its own liberty\, \nI look about\, and should the guide I chuse \nBe nothing better than a wandering cloud\, \nI cannot miss my way \n  \n—from The Prelude by William Wordsworth (1805) \n* \n  \nI love Love—though he has wings\, \nAnd like light can flee\, \nBut above all other things\, \nSpirit [of Delight]\, I love thee— \nThou art love and life! Oh come\, \nMake once more my heart thy home. \n  \n—Percy Bysshe Shelley\, “Song” (“Rarely\, rarely comest thou\,/Spirit of Delight!”) \n* \n  \nWe got a long letter from Rocky Hutchinson in early January. Here are some excerpts: \n  \n12-27-24 \n  \nDear Johnny & Nancy \n  \nWell\, it has been the best year of my whole prison set. Since I’ve been here life has been richer. But the next step will be even better than this one…. \n  \nWhile I’m waiting [to be transferred] I’ve been working on this packet that I was given a few months ago. The class is called: “My Personal Values and Ethics.” These are the topics that it hits on: \n  \n1. Determining 5 to 10 core values. \n  \n2. Select my top five values and prioritize them. I felt that my top 5 were: honor\, ingenuity\, continuous improvement\, love & positivity. But I also flipped it & chose 10 things I want to get better at\, to be a stronger and more ethical person. They are: Discipline\, Growth\, Continuous Improvement\, Balance\, Serenity\, Leadership\, Self-reliance\, Confidence\, Diligence\, Obedience. \n  \n3. The areas in my life I want to focus on are: partners\, family\, friends\, careers\, intellectual & personal growth—contributions to community & humanity. \n  \n4. My areas of strength are: Art\, music\, problem-solving\, foresight\, insight\, intuition\, love\, acceptance\, kindness & defusing conflicts (“mediator”)! \n  \n5. Dreams: If it was my last day on Earth\, what would I regret not doing\, seeing\, or creating?  \n  \n        My choice for “Doing” would be regretting that I did not ever share my whole self completely with at least one person. I truly in my heart\, mind & soul believe that we should have one person we can trust to completely open up to in our life\, without fear of judgement or ridicule. We would grow as a person\, I feel. \n  \n        My choice for “Seeing” would be two things: seeing the pyramids in Mexico & the Aurora Borealis in its peak season…both with my wife “if I have one!” \n  \n       My choice for “Creating” would be: to create a setting or event for my closest\, most dearest friends that is breathtakingly beautiful & peaceful for no particular reason…well\, it would be made out of the deepest love I have for them. \n  \n6.  Skills: What are three areas I strongly want to cultivate skills in that will in some way enrich all of my life experiences? I said: 1) A greater & deeper sense of taking in & expressing Empathy. 2) Verbally explain how I see the beauty of the world & in people. 3) Adapt to social situations better. \n  \nThis is as far as I’ve gotten so far. Here are the other pieces of the curriculum: \n  \n7.  Profession: What are the things I must do to feel fulfilled in my work? \n  \n8.  Draft my Personal Vision Statement & how to develop it. \n  \n9.  When to use my life vision & how to use it. \n  \n10.  Three Essential Self-Development Tools for Lasting Change. \n  \nI don’t know when I will be leaving\, but I do have things to do while I am waiting. This seems to be more productive than crosswords or video games. It also gets my mind off of other things. \n  \nThe last few months I’ve had some lessons taught & they’re the kind that stick. They’re also the kind I don’t like because it makes me think & feel ill towards others. Before\, in my past life\, I would have reacted with violence. In a more recent\, but past\, life my reaction would have been anger\, verbal confrontation and acting out. But now it’s almost a comic sense of approach to things. Now I keep my head & keep my peace in this type of situation. You teaching me to see them as children has helped out in every way! Now all of this makes me laugh. \n  \nNo one\, not even myself\, is going to rob me of my peace & joy in my life anymore. I really do feel that due to the fact I’m always 90% of the time in a positive upbeat mood\, that it has placed a target on me! LOL I don’t have time to care at all about it\, if it is the case…. \n  \n12-29-24 \n  \nWell\, I’ve come a long way from where I was in 2018.  Looking back on the whole picture\, the situation “prison” is somewhat the same\, but I’m in a healthy environment here. No drama really\, no violence—it’s good. Myself…well\, I’ve changed and have grown happier & have overcome some trauma that played a huge role in “Everything!” \n  \nRecently\, though\, I have discovered a few things about life…my self…my life. I love the little simple things that people do\, me included. A smile\, a look\, small talk\, etc. \n  \nI do not like negativity at all! I used to be able to tolerate it\, but now at all costs I try to avoid it. By making a greater effort to do so I have noticed I’ve been spending quite some time all alone. LOL I myself have spent too much time living in and with negativity. \n  \nMy time in here has changed me\, no doubt at all & my time is soon coming when I can truly get to choose who I want to spend time with & how I get to spend my time. Long meaningful talks about things that don’t pertain to prison. Adult conversations that…we grow from. Normal and non-stressful conversations with girls & not be judged for them!? I just realized how crazy that sounds as I wrote it! \n  \nLife is coming\, my friends\, & I’m truly happy and ready to live & to give of myself. I’m ready to apply myself to life in positive\, productive\, kind\, loving & fun ways. \n  \nWow\, this letter got long! I might be gone by the time you get this letter. To be honest\, I’m a little surprised that I’m still here. Man\, I hope I get to see you guys soon. Till then… \n  \nAll my Love \nRocky \n  \n[Editor’s note: Rocky was transferred to Powder River Correctional Institution in early January\, 2025.] \n* \n  \nThis essay from Jude’s arrived a teency bit late for the January issue\, so here it is in February: \n  \nThe Kindness of Conservatives \n  \nDo those words even go together? You be the judge. \n  \nOur next door neighbor is conservative—-very. He hung his flag upside down until Trump was re-elected. Obama wasn’t born in the U.S. Had I known about the 2000 Mules? Hunter Biden’s laptop!  You name it\, if it came from Fox ‘News’ it was true. \n  \nThey invited us over for a winter solstice party on December 21st\, which we went to\, as civil neighbors do. I can be neighborly\, which I was\, all the while seething inside. Their house was festive\, and I commented on it. I told them that I was so exhausted from trying to manage our new rescue dog we’d adopted that we hadn’t even put up a Christmas tree—-for the first time in my life! So their decorated house was a welcome sight for me. \n  \nThe next afternoon they called and said they’d bring over the dishes I’d left there. Fine\, thanks. Mid-afternoon I opened the door and there they stood with the dishes and a wheelbarrow. In the wheelbarrow was a 3’ high fir tree planted in a 10 gallon pot. It was decorated with twinkling lights\, spiraling red ribbons\, and about two dozen silver and gold Christmas ornaments. It was heavenly!! They smiled and said\, “We thought you shouldn’t be without a Christmas tree this year.”  They’d gone up into the woods and dug a tree\, planted it and decorated it for David and me. I was so shocked and moved; I burst into tears. “This is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me\,” I burbled. And it’s true; I still love Christmas and all that goes with it. This gesture was the essence of Christmas\, and somehow they knew. \n  \nWe carried it into the house\, plugged in the twinkly lights\, and the house and my heart lit up and glowed. \n  \nTheir family is scattered around the country\, so they were spending Christmas day alone. I invited them over for Christmas dinner and they accepted. We spent four hours eating\, drinking wine\, and playing board games\, with the Christmas tree sparkling in the background.  \n  \nHe will always be conservative and I will always be liberal\, but this year peace\, love\, happiness and understanding prevailed. \n  \n—Jude Russell \n* \n  \na gift from Pablo… \n  \nPoetry \n  \nAnd it was at that age…poetry arrived \nin search of me. I don’t know\, I don’t know where \nit came from\, from winter or a river\, \nI don’t know how or when\, \nno\, they were not voices\, they were not \nwords\, not silence\, \nbut from a street it called me\, \nfrom the branches of night\, \nabruptly from the others\, \namong raging fires \nor returning alone\, \nthere it was\, without a face\, \nand it touched me. \n  \nI didn’t know what to say\, my mouth \nhad no way \nwith names\, \nmy eyes were blind. \nSomething knocked in my soul\, \nfever or forgotten wings\, \nand I made my own way\, \ndeciphering \nthat fire \nand I wrote the first\, faint line\, \nfaint\, without substance\, pure \nnonsense\, \npure wisdom \nof someone who knows nothing; \nand suddenly I saw \nthe heavens \nunfastened \nand open\, \nplanets\, \npalpitating plantations\, \nthe darkness perforated\, \nriddled \nwith arrows\, fire\, and flowers\, \nthe overpowering night\, the universe. \n  \nAnd I\, tiny being\, \ndrunk with the great starry \nvoid\, \nlikeness\, image of \nmystery\, \nfelt myself a pure part \nof the abyss. \nI wheeled with the stars. \nMy heart broke loose with the wind. \n  \n–Pablo Neruda\, translated by Alistair Reid\, from Isla Negra: A Notebook \n* \n  \nWhile in Mexico\, inspired by Pablo Neruda’s odes\, I’ve written some odes. Here are a couple of them: \n  \nOde to Cardinalito \n  \nLittle red bird\, \nevery time I see you\, \nlike right now\, \nI am suddenly \nimmensely happy. \nThank you. \nI hope you enjoy \nyour evening meal \nof bugs. \n* \n  \nOde to a Gym Teacher \n  \nThere is an outdoor playground \nat the Ignacio Allende school \nacross the way. \nFor many years \nthe same gym teacher \nhas been organizing games \nfor children \nof different ages. \nHe knows  \nthe games \nthat the littlest ones \nand the biggest ones \nlove to play. \nAll day long \nevery school day \nshouts of wild delight\, \nthe ecstatic screams \nof little girls \ncan be heard— \nyear after year. \nWho is this guy? \nI don’t know his name. \nHis job is: \nTHE HAPPINESS OF CHILDREN. \nAnd he is a maestro\, \na saint\, \na bodhisattva. \nI love \nthe sound  \nof his voice. \n  \nWhile some geniuses \nare deciding \nwhere to drop \nthe next bomb\, \nhe is watering the seeds \nof joy \ntoday \nand for the future \nof the world. \n  \n—Johnny “Juanito” Stallings
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-2-6-25/
ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/02/0-1.jpeg
END:VEVENT
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20250306
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20250403
DTSTAMP:20260424T145852
CREATED:20250308T173900Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250308T174835Z
UID:5406-1741219200-1743638399@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  3/6/25
DESCRIPTION:angel sighted in Plaza La Paz\, Guanajuato\, Mexico \n  \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nMarch 6\, 2025 \n  \nWe are loved by trees. \n  \n—Thich Nhat Hanh\, Teachings on Love\, p. 5 \n* \n  \nThe mind is its own place\, and in it self \nCan make a Heav’n of Hell\, a Hell of Heav’n. \n  \n—John Milton\, from “Paradise Lost” \n* \n  \nParadise\, and groves \nElysian\, Fortunate Fields—like those of old \nSought in the Atlantic Main\, why should they be \nA history only of departed things\, \nOr a mere fiction of what never was? \nFor the discerning intellect of Man\, \nWhen wedded to this goodly universe \nIn love and holy passion\, shall find these \nA simple produce of the common day. \n  \n—William Wordsworth\, from “The Excursion” \n* \n  \nKen Margolis sent this poem: \n  \nBee! I’m expecting you! \nWas saying Yesterday \nTo Somebody you know \nThat you were due– \n  \nThe Frogs got Home last Week– \nAre settled and at work– \nBirds\, mostly back— \nThe Clover warm and thick— \n  \nYou’ll get my Letter by \nThe seventeenth; Reply \nOr better\, be with me– \nYour’s\, Fly. \n  \n–Emily Dickinson \n* \n  \nJill Littlewood sent this poem: \n  \nThe Opera Singer \n  \nToday my heart is so goddamned fat with grief  \nthat I’ve begun hauling it in a wheelbarrow. No. It’s an anvil  \ndragging from my neck as I swim  \nthrough choppy waters swollen with the putrid corpses of hippos\, \nwhich means lurking\, somewhere below\, is the hungry  \nsnout of a croc waiting to spin me into an oblivion  \nworse than this run-on simile\, which means only to say:  \nI’m sad. And everyone knows what that means.  \n  \nAnd in my sadness I’ll walk to a café\,  \nand not see light in the trees\, nor finger the bills in my pocket  \nas I pass the boarded houses on the block. No\,  \nI will be slogging through the obscure country of my sadness  \nin all its monotone flourish\, and so imagine my surprise  \nwhen my self-absorption gets usurped  \nby the sound of opera streaming from an open window\,  \nand the sun peeks ever-so-slightly from behind his shawl\,  \nand this singing is getting closer\, so that I can hear the  \ndelicately rolled r’s like a hummingbird fluttering the tongue  \nwhich means a language more beautiful than my own\,  \nand I don’t recognize the song  \nthough I’m jogging toward it and can hear the woman’s  \nbreathing through the record’s imperfections and above me  \ntwo bluebirds dive and dart and a rogue mulberry branch  \nleaning over an abandoned lot drags itself across my face\,  \nstaining it purple and looking\, now\, like a mad warrior of glee  \nand relief I run down the street\, and I forgot to mention  \nthe fifty or so kids running behind me\, some in diapers\,  \nsome barefoot\, all of them winged and waving their pacifiers  \nand training wheels and nearly trampling me  \nwhen in a doorway I see a woman in slippers and a floral housedress  \nblowing in the warm breeze who is maybe seventy painting the doorway  \nand friends\, it is not too much to say  \nit was heaven sailing from her mouth and all the fish in the sea  \nand giraffe saunter and sugar in my tea and the forgotten angles  \nof love and every name of the unborn and dead  \nfrom this abuelita only glancing at me  \nbefore turning back to her earnest work of brushstroke and lullaby  \nand because we all know the tongue’s clumsy thudding  \nmakes of miracles anecdotes let me stop here  \nand tell you I said thank you. \n  \n—Ross Gay \n* \n  \nElizabeth Domike sent this poem: \n  \nJoseph Sleeps\, \n  \nhis eyelids like a moth’s fringed wings. \nArms flail against the Ninja Turtle sheet \nand suddenly-long legs \nrace time. \n  \nAwake\, he’s a water-leak detector\, a recycling ranger \nwho bans Styrofoam and asks for beeswax \ncrayons\, a renewable resource. \nHe wants to adopt the Missouri river\, \nwrite the president \nto make factories stop polluting. \n  \nThey’re old friends\, he and George Bush. \nHe writes and scolds \nthe president\, every month or so\, \nabout the bombing the children of Iraq \n(he made his own sign to carry in protest)\, \nabout the plight of the California condor and northern gray wolf\, \nabout more shelters and aid for the homeless. \nThe lion-shaped bulletin board in his room \nis covered with pictures and letters from George\, \nwho must be nice\, \neven if he is a slow learner. \n  \nJoseph is a mystery fan\, owns 54 Nancy Drews. \nNancy’s his friend\, along with Jo\, Meg\, and Amy \nand poor Beth\, of course\, whom he still mourns. \nHe also reads of knights and wizards\, superheroes\, \nand how to win at Nintendo. \n  \nThe cats and houseplants are his to feed and water \nand the sunflower blooming in the driveway’s border \nof weeds. He drew our backyard to scale\, \nusing map symbols\, sent off to have it declared \nan official wildlife refuge\, left a good-night \nnote on my pillow\, written in Egyptian hieroglyphs. \n  \nIn my life\, I have done one good thing. \n  \n—Linda Rodriguez \n* \n  \nI love this poem by Walt Whitman! \n  \nBeginning My Studies \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  \nWhile in Mexico\, I’m reading the poetry and prose of the English Romantic poets\, and critical writings about them—in order to better understand who they were\, the times they lived in\, and what their ideas were. Kathleen Raine is one of my guides: \n  \n[Shelley] is the poet of apokatastasis\, the restitution of all things to their essential perfection. In his belief that this possibility lies latent in man and in all  creation\, Shelley has the unanimous teaching of tradition\, both pre-Christian and Christian\, with him; besides the interior assent of every spirit not quite dead. Nor was he wrong in believing that love is the transforming principle which alone can bring this about\, uniting what is divided\, transforming…the hateful into the beautiful…. \n  \nLove is the agent of apokatastasis; a truth which the Christian church itself acknowledges in the sacramental nature of marriage. His vision of the harmonious co-existence of all things in the state of Paradise (to which love\, in whatever form\, gives access) he has perhaps communicated (in “Prometheus Unbound” especially) more perfectly than has any other English poet….We can no more object that such poetic evocation of the state of beatitude itself lacks “the sense of evil” than we can make the objection to Mozart’s D-minor quartet. It might be said that the arts exist\, finally\, for no other end than the holding before us of images of Paradise. \n  \n—Kathleen Raine\, from “A Defense of Shelley’s Poetry\,” in Defending Ancient Springs\, pp. 154-155 \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \n Upwelling \n  \nDawn in the dark\, dream in the mind\, \nwhale in the sea\, tree in the seed\, seed \nin the earth\, leaf in the bud\, fledgling \nin the nest\, pollen in the wind\, rain in \nthe sky\, pain in the past\, love in the heart\, \nwonder in tomorrow\, song in sorrow\, song \nat the tip of the tongue\, mute poem coiled \nin the pen aching to ooze forth to find \na reader in need\, a listener long waiting\, \na generation opening eyes\, ready to rise\, \nbirds in the trees singing “Here we are \nand there you are and aren’t we all related?” \n  \n—Kim Stafford \n* \n  \nJeffrey Sher shared this poem by Billy Collins: \n  \nThe Lanyard \n  \nThe other day I was ricocheting slowly \noff the blue walls of this room\, \nmoving as if underwater from typewriter to piano\, \nfrom bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor\, \nwhen I found myself in the L section of the dictionary \nwhere my eyes fell upon the word lanyard. \n  \nNo cookie nibbled by a French novelist \ncould send one into the past more suddenly— \na past where I sat at a workbench at a camp \nby a deep Adirondack lake \nlearning how to braid long thin plastic strips \ninto a lanyard\, a gift for my mother. \n  \nI had never seen anyone use a lanyard \nor wear one\, if that’s what you did with them\, \nbut that did not keep me from crossing \nstrand over strand again and again \nuntil I had made a boxy \nred and white lanyard for my mother. \n  \nShe gave me life and milk from her breasts\, \nand I gave her a lanyard. \nShe nursed me in many a sick room\, \nlifted spoons of medicine to my lips\, \nlaid cold face-cloths on my forehead\, \nand then led me out into the airy light \n  \nand taught me to walk and swim\, \nand I\, in turn\, presented her with a lanyard. \nHere are thousands of meals\, she said\, \nand here is clothing and a good education. \nAnd here is your lanyard\, I replied\, \nwhich I made with a little help from a counselor. \n  \nHere is a breathing body and a beating heart\, \nstrong legs\, bones and teeth\, \nand two clear eyes to read the world\, she whispered\, \nand here\, I said\, is the lanyard I made at camp. \nAnd here\, I wish to say to her now\, \nis a smaller gift—not the worn truth \n  \nthat you can never repay your mother\, \nbut the rueful admission that when she took \nthe two-tone lanyard from my hand\, \nI was as sure as a boy could be \nthat this useless\, worthless thing I wove \nout of boredom would be enough to make us even. \n  \n—Billy Collins \n* \n  \nHi Johnny.  \n  \nThinking about how we are often asked to show up to get-togethers with an open heart. Such a gentle request.  \n  \nHere in Santa Barbara where the flora and fauna are desserty and dry\, the difference from NW rain effects wakes me with wonder.   \n  \nThere was a refreshing rain recently\, so lavender and herbs and bougainvillea are blooming in winter.  \n  \nFinches and warblers and hummingbirds flitter along with the tiny leaves of the old oaks and sunlight flickers through the tree tops along with them. Quail and chipmunks skitter about. The sudden abundance of new bird songs – feels fleeting  . . . . \n  \nI think about what I’ll miss not seeing my granddaughter for a week. She is taking her first walk without holding onto my fingers! Impermanence can be heartrending\, but this is how it is.   \n  \nBrian Doyle wrote a book about the heart as a wet engine while he was worrying about his son’s heart health. \n  \nHere are some musings by him:  \n  \n“Our hearts are not pure: \nour hearts are filled with need \nand greed as much as with love and grace\, \nand we wrestle with our hearts all the time. \nThe wrestling is who we are. \nHow we wrestle is who we are. \nWhat we want to be is never what we are. \nNot yet. Maybe that’s why we have these \nrelentless engines in our chests\, driving us forward \ntoward what we might be.” \n  \n—Brian Doyle \n  \n“So much held in a heart in a lifetime. So much held in a heart in a day\, an hour\, a moment. We are utterly open with no one\, in the end — not mother and father\, not wife or husband\, not lover\, not child\, not friend. We open windows to each but we live alone in the house of the heart. Perhaps we must. Perhaps we could not bear to be so naked\, for fear of a constantly harrowed heart. When young we think there will come one person who will savor and sustain us always; when we are older we know this is the dream of a child\, that all hearts finally are bruised and scarred\, scored and torn\, repaired by time and will\, patched by force of character\, yet fragile and rickety forevermore\, no matter how ferocious the defense and how many bricks you bring to the wall. You can brick up your heart as stout and tight and hard and cold and impregnable as you possibly can and down it comes in an instant\, felled by a woman’s second glance\, a child’s apple breath\, the shatter of glass in the road\, the words ‘I have something to tell you\,’ a cat with a broken spine dragging itself into the forest to die\, the brush of your mother’s papery ancient hand in a thicket of your hair\, the memory of your father’s voice early in the morning echoing from the kitchen where he is making pancakes for his children.” \n  \n—Brian Doyle\, from One Long River of Song: Notes on Wonder.   \n  \n“We’re here for a little window. And to use that time to catch and share shards of light and laughter and grace seems to me the great story.” \n  \n—Brian Doyle \n  \nMay we show up with a healthy and open heart to what comes next.  \n  \n—Katie Radditz \n* \n  \nHope \n  \nPeace love happiness understanding…and hope. What’s the opposite of hope? At the least\, resignation; at the most\, despair. I am not willing to accept either resignation or despair; it’s not in my nature. And how can you experience and live in those four qualities of PLH and U without Hope? Not possible\, I’d wager. \n  \nSo how do I live in Hope? First I think of the men in prison. We talked a lot about hope\, and they were inspirational to me. I’d ask them to describe or explain their visions of hope. Initially the talk was not so optimistic\, with good reason. The more we all talked\, however\, the more beauty arose—more examples of the four qualities of peace\, love\, happiness and understanding…and compassion and gratitude and reciprocity and joy\, and…you name it\, every positive quality of life\, of living  rose to the surface as part of their mutual experiences. Those who were low on hope were lifted by others. I was lifted and illuminated by all the shared experiences. I was astonished and humbled; with my fortunate life compared to theirs\, how could I be without hope?  \n  \nI was reminded of the centuries-old German peasant song of revolt\, “Die Gedanken Sind Frei\,”  “(My) Thoughts Are Free”: \n  \nMy thoughts are free\, I proudly profess them. \nNo fence can confine them\, \nNo creed undermine them\,. \nThey ring from on high: \nDie Gedanken Sind Frei!” \n  \nI was reminded of Václav Havel: “Perhaps Hope is not something we search for\, but something we let in.”  and “Hope is a feeling that life and work have a meaning.”   \n  \nHope is the embodiment of peace\, love\, happiness and understanding\, and just now we all need to let Hope into our lives. \n  \nAnd if all else fails to give you hope\, just look outside right now at the snowdrops and daffodils\, springing from the cold\, dark earth into the light of day\, again and again\, year after year. That’s Hope.  \n  \n—Jude Russell \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-3-6-25/
ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/03/IMG_7462-scaled.jpeg
END:VEVENT
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20250316T150000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20250316T170000
DTSTAMP:20260424T145852
CREATED:20250313T034347Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250416T024324Z
UID:5439-1742137200-1742144400@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:¡Bibliophiles Unanimous!  3/16/25
DESCRIPTION:Naomi Shihab Nye \n  \n  \n¡Beloved Bibliophiles! \n  \nOn Sunday\, March 16th\, at 3 pm (PDT)\, our theme is POEMS!  \nBring poems to read–your own poems\, or favorite poems that other people wrote. \n  \nHere’s the Zoom link: \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058 \n  \nI hope to see you there! \n  \npeace\, love & poetry \n  \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-3-16-25/
END:VEVENT
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20250321T190000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20250321T203000
DTSTAMP:20260424T145852
CREATED:20250313T005805Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250313T005937Z
UID:5429-1742583600-1742589000@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:Indigo Small Press Month Reading 3/21/25
DESCRIPTION:  \nBOLD Coffee & Books presents: \n  \nIndigo Small Press Month Reading \n  \nwith Kristen Hall-Geisler\, Andrew Shaffer & Johnny Stallings \n  \nFriday\, March 21st\, 7 p.m. \n1755 SW Jefferson St.\, Portand \n  \nFREE Event \n  \nboldcoffeeandbooks.com & indigoediting.com
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/indigo-small-press-month-reading-3-21-25/
END:VEVENT
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20250321T190000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20250321T210000
DTSTAMP:20260424T145852
CREATED:20250313T042303Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250313T042343Z
UID:5452-1742583600-1742590800@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:The Fabulous Deck Boys at Ross Island Grocery & Cafe  3/21/25
DESCRIPTION:Brad Price\, KC Craine & Jeffrey Sher \n  \n¡Hey Everyone!  \n  \nThe FABULOUS DECK BOYS\, featuring Jeffrey Sher\, are playing at Ross Island Grocery & Cafe on Friday\, March 21st! \n  \n3502 S Corbett Ave \n7-9  p.m.  \n$5 Suggested  \n  \nFor more info about the DECK BOYS\, click here: \n  \nhttps://www.deckboys.com/ \n  \n  \npeace\, love & music \n  \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/the-fabulous-deck-boys-at-ross-island-grocery-cafe-3-21-25/
ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/webp:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/06/Deck-Boys-at-Gallery-114.jpg.webp
END:VEVENT
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20250322T150000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20250322T170000
DTSTAMP:20260424T145852
CREATED:20250313T033119Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250317T204546Z
UID:5434-1742655600-1742662800@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:WARPed or How I Graduated from the School for Phils  3/22/25
DESCRIPTION:“Your head’s a circus\, Phil. You should sit back and enjoy it.  \nYou’ve got the front seat.” \n  \nWARPed  \nor  \nHow I Graduated from the School for Phils \n  \nJohnny Stallings tells hair-raising tales of performing the longest part in the longest play in the English language. \n  \nSaturday\, March 22\, 3 pm \nMuir Hall at Taborspace\, 5441 SE Belmont\, Portland \n  \nthis Open Road event is FREE \n  \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/warped-or-how-i-graduated-from-the-school-for-phils-3-22-25/
ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/03/0-3.jpeg
END:VEVENT
BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20250328T190000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20250328T210000
DTSTAMP:20260424T145852
CREATED:20250313T000707Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250326T011716Z
UID:5415-1743188400-1743195600@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:On the Rocky Road
DESCRIPTION:Open Road recommends… \n  \nMaster Storyteller Will Hornyak presents: \n  \nON THE ROCKY ROAD  \nin March Live and on Zoom \n  \nDear Friends\, \n    \n    At a time when many of us feel estranged and alienated  \nwithin our own land\, when people\, careers and institutions  \nare banished daily without debate\, I think it’s helpful   \nto consider  the world’s oldest stories on the subject of \noutcasts and exiles. \n     \n      Myths speak to us from the extremes of the human  \ncondition and offer ideas on how to navigate  \ndifficult passages as individuals and societies.  The outcast \nand the exile are age-old conditions of the soul as well as \ncurrent troubles within the culture.  There are some \ncultures and people all too familiar with the archetype \nof the outcast and the exile.  Those voices and perspectives \nare essential now as they see these troubled times with \na darkened eye and  \nunderstand what is required to journey beyond the \ncurrent wasteland and return with renewed vision\, vitality \nand possibility. \n     In that spirit\, please join us for an evening of tales\, \nsongs and poems inspired by wandering peddlers\,  \nitinerant musicians\, landless outcasts and banished poets \non Ireland’s long and rocky road of exile.  A celebration \nof St. Patrick\, Druid’s Day and the countless gods and \ngoddesses of the Celtic Pantheon. \n  \nSlainte!  \nWilliam Kennedy Hornyak   \n  \n  \n  \n Friday March 28   7 p.m.  \nDoors at 6:30 p.m.  \nTaborspace Copeland Commons \n5441 SE Belmont   Portland   \n$20.00  Cash/Check/Venmo/Paypal at the Door \nReservations Recommend: hornyak.will@gmail.com \nFor Information: hornyak.will@gmail.com or \n 503 697-5808 \n  \n  \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/storyteller-will-hornyak-presents-on-the-rocky-road/
END:VEVENT
END:VCALENDAR