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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/
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SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  4/3/25
DESCRIPTION:  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nApril 3\, 2025 \n  \nRalph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882) is best known for his essays. Here’s a lecture he gave in 1838. It’s worth taking the time to read. He is confident that “war is on its last legs.” It’s funny—I had the same confidence at the age of 18\, in 1969. He wonders:  “Cannot love be\, as well as hate?….Cannot peace be\, as well as war?” I’ve been wondering the same thing for 56 years. \n  \nWar \n  \nIt has been a favorite study of modern philosophy\, to indicate the steps of human progress\, to watch the rising of a thought in one man’s mind\, the communication of it to a few\, to a small minority\, its expansion and general reception\, until it publishes itself to the world by destroying the existing laws and institutions\, and the generation of new. Looked at in this general and historical way\, many things wear a very different face from that they show near by\, and one at a time\, and\, particularly\, war. War\, which\, to sane men at the present day\, begins to look like an epidemic insanity\, breaking out here and there like the cholera or influenza\, infecting men’s brains instead of their bowels\, when seen in the remote past\, in the infancy of society\, appears a part of the connection of events\, and\, in its place\, necessary. \n  \nAs far as history has preserved to us the slow unfoldings of any savage tribe\, it is not easy to see how war could be avoided by such wild\, passionate\, needy\, ungoverned\, strong bodied creatures. For in the infancy of society\, when a thin population and improvidence make the supply of food and of shelter insufficient and very precarious\, and when hunger\, thirst\, ague\, and frozen limbs universally take precedence of the wants of the mind and the heart\, the necessities of the strong will certainly be satisfied at the cost of the weak\, at whatever peril of future revenge. It is plain\, too\, that\, in the first dawnings of the religious sentiment\, that blends itself with their passions\, and is oil to the fire. Not only every tribe has war-gods\, religious festivals in victory\, but religious wars. \n  \nThe student of history acquiesces the more readily in this copious bloodshed of the early annals\, bloodshed in God’s name too\, when be learns that it is a temporary and preparatory state\, and does actively forward the culture of man. War educates the senses\, calls into action the will\, perfects the physical constitution\, brings men into such swift and close collision in critical moments that man measures man. On its own scale\, on the virtues it loves\, it endures no counterfeit\, but shakes the whole society\, until every atom falls into the place its specific gravity assigns it. It presently finds the value of good sense and of foresight\, and Ulysses takes rank next to Achilles. The leaders\, picked men of a courage and vigor tried and augmented in fifty battles\, are emulous to distinguish themselves above each other by new merits\, as clemency\, hospitality\, splendor of living. The people imitate the chiefs. The strong tribe\, in which war has become an art\, attack and conquer their neighbours\, and teach them their arts and virtues. New territory\, augmented numbers\, and extended interests call out new virtues and abilities\, and the tribe makes long strides. And\, finally\, when much progress has been made\, all its secrets of wisdom and art are disseminated by its invasions. Plutarch\, in his essay “On the Fortune of Alexander\,” considers the invasion and conquest of the East by Alexander as one of the most bright and pleasing pages in history; and it must be owned\, he gives sound reason for his opinion. It had the effect of uniting into one great interest the divided commonwealths of Greece\, and infusing a new and more enlarged public spirit into the councils of their statesmen. It carried the arts and language and philosophy of the Greeks into the sluggish and barbarous nations of Persia\, Assyria\, and India. It introduced the arts of husbandry among tribes of hunters and shepherds. It weaned the Scythians and Persians from some cruel and licentious practices\, to a more civil way of life. It introduced the sacredness of marriage among them. It built seventy cities\, and sowed the Greek customs and humane laws over Asia\, and united hostile nations under one code. It brought different families of the human race together\, to blows at first\, but afterwards to truce\, to trade\, and to intermarriage. It would be very easy to show analogous benefits that have resulted from military movements of later ages. \n  \nConsiderations of this kind lead us to a true view of the nature and office of war. We see\, it is the subject of all history; that it has been the principal employment of the most conspicuous men; that it is at this moment the delight of half the world\, of almost all young and ignorant persons; that it is exhibited to us continually in the dumb show of brute nature\, where war between tribes\, and between individuals of the same tribe\, perpetually rages. The microscope reveals miniature butchery in atomies and infinitely small biters\, that swim and fight in an illuminated drop of water; and the little globe is but a too faithful miniature of the large. \n  \nWhat does all this war\, beginning from the lowest races and reaching up to man\, signify? Is it not manifest that it covers a great and beneficent principle\, which nature had deeply at heart? What is that principle?” It is self-help. Nature implants with life the instinct of self-help\, perpetual struggle to be\, to resist opposition\, to attain to freedom\, to attain to a mastery\, and the security of a permanent\, self-defended being; and to each creature these objects are made so dear\, that it risks its life continually in the struggle for these ends. \n  \nBut whilst this principle\, necessarily\, is inwrought into the fabric of every creature\, yet it is but one instinct; and though a primary one\, or we may say the very first\, yet the appearance of the other instincts immediately modifies and controls this; turns its energies into harmless\, useful\, and high courses\, showing thereby what was its ultimate design; and\, finally\, takes out its fangs. The instinct of self-help is very early unfolded in the coarse and merely brute form of war\, only in the childhood and imbecility of the other instincts\, and remains in that form\, only until their development. It is the ignorant and childish part of mankind that is the fighting part. Idle and vacant minds want excitement\, as all boys kill cats. Bull-baiting\, cockpits\, and the boxer’s ring\, are the enjoyment of the part of society whose animal nature alone has been developed. In some parts of this country\, where the intellectual and moral faculties have as yet scarcely any culture\, the absorbing topic of all conversation is whipping; who fought\, and which whipped? Of man\, boy\, or beast\, the only trait that much interests the speakers is the pugnacity. And why? Because the speaker has as yet no other image of manly activity and virtue\, none of endurance\, none of perseverance\, none of charity\, none of the attainment of truth. Put him into a circle of cultivated men\, where the conversation broaches the great questions that besiege the human reason\, and he would be dumb and unhappy\, as an Indian in church. \n  \nTo men of a sedate and mature spirit\, in whom is any knowledge or mental activity\, the detail of battle becomes insupportably tedious and revolting. It is like the talk of one of those monomaniacs\, whom we sometimes meet in society\, who converse on horses; and Fontenelle expressed a volume of meaning\, when he said\, “I hate war\, for it spoils conversation.” \n  \nNothing is plainer than that the sympathy with war is a juvenile and temporary state. Not only the moral sentiment\, but trade\, learning\, and whatever makes intercourse\, conspire to put it down. Trade\, as all men know\, is the antagonist of war. Wherever there is no property\, the people will put on the knapsack for bread; but trade is instantly endangered and destroyed. And\, moreover\, trade brings men to look each other in the face\, and gives the parties the knowledge that these enemies over sea or over the mountain are such men as we; who laugh and grieve\, who love and fear\, as we do. And learning and art\, and especially religion\, weave ties that make war look like fratricide\, as it is. And as all history is the picture of war\, as we have said\, so it is no less true that it is the record of the mitigation and decline of war. Early in the eleventh and twelfth centuries\, the Italian cities had grown so populous and strong\, that they forced the rural nobility to dismantle their castles\, which were dens of cruelty\, and come and reside in the towns. The Popes\, to their eternal honor\, declared religious jubilees\, during which all hostilities were suspended throughout Christendom\, and man had a breathing space. The increase of civility has abolished the use of poison and of torture\, once supposed as necessary as navies now. And\, finally\, the art of war what with gunpowder and tactics has made\, as all men know\, battles less frequent and less murderous. \n  \nBy all these means\, war has been steadily on the decline; and we read with astonishment of the beastly fighting of the old times. Only in Elizabeth’s time\, out of the European waters\, piracy was all but universal. The proverb was\,”No peace beyond the line;” and the seamen shipped on the buccaneer’s bargain\, “No prey\, no pay.” In 1588\, the celebrated Cavendish\, who was thought in his times a good Christian man\, wrote thus to Lord Hunsdon\, on his return from a voyage round the world: “Sept. 1588. It hath pleased Almighty God to suffer me to circumpass the whole globe of the world\, entering in at the Strait of Magellan\, and returning by the Cape of Buena Esperanca; in which voyage\, I have either discovered or brought certain intelligence of all the rich places of the world\, which were ever discovered by any Christian. I navigated along the coast of Chili\, Peru\, and New Spain\, where I made great spoils. I burnt and sunk nineteen sail of ships\, small and great. All the villages and towns that ever I landed at\, I burned and spoiled. And had I not been discovered upon the coast\, I had taken great quantity of treasure. The matter of most profit to me was a great ship of the king’s\, which I took at California\,” &c. and the good Cavendish piously begins this statement\, “It hath pleased Almighty God.” \n  \nIndeed\, our American annals have preserved the vestiges of barbarous warfare down to more recent times. I read in Williams’s History of Maine\, that “Assacombuit\, the Sagamore of the Anagunticook tribe\, was remarkable for his turpitude and ferocity above all other known Indians; that\, in 1705\, Vaudreuil sent him to France\, where he was introduced to the king\, When he appeared at court\, he lifted up his hand\, and said\, ‘This hand has slain a hundred and fifty of your majesty’s enemies within the territories of New England.’ This so pleased the king\, that he knighted him\, and ordered a pension of eight livres a day to be paid him during life.” This valuable person\, on his return to America\, took to killing his own neighbors and kindred with such appetite\, that his tribe combined against him\, and would have killed him\, had he not fled his country for ever. \n  \nThe scandal which we feel in such facts certainly shows\, that we have got on a little. All history is the decline of war\, though the slow decline. All that society has yet gained is mitigation: the doctrine of the right of war still remains. \n  \nFor ages (for ideas work in ages\, and animate vast societies of men) the human race has gone on under the tyranny shall I so call it? of this first brutish form of their effort to be men; that is\, for ages they have shared so much of the nature of the lower animals\, the tiger and the shark\, and the savages of the water-drop. They have nearly exhausted all the good and all the evil of this form: they have held as fast to this degradation\, as their worst enemy could desire; but all things have an end\, and so has this. The eternal germination of the better has unfolded new powers\, new instincts\, which were really concealed under this rough and base rind. The sublime question has startled one and another happy soul in different quarters of the globe. Cannot love be\, as well as hate? Would not love answer the same end\, or even a better? Cannot peace be\, as well as war? \n  \nThis thought is no man’s invention\, neither St. Pierre’s nor Rousseau’s\, but the rising of the general tide in the human soul\, and rising highest\, and first made visible\, in the most simple and pure souls\, who have therefore announced it to us beforehand; but presently we all see it. It has now become so distinct as to be a social thought: societies can be formed on it. It is expounded\, illustrated\, defined\, with different degrees of clearness; and its actualization\, or the measures it should inspire\, predicted according to the light of each seer. \n  \nThe idea itself is the epoch; the fact that it has become so distinct to any small number of persons as to become a subject of prayer and hope\, of concert and discussion\, that is the commanding fact. This having come\, much more will follow. Revolutions go not backward. The star once risen\, though only one man in the hemisphere has yet seen its upper limb in the horizon\, will mount and mount\, until it becomes visible to other men\, to multitudes\, and climbs the zenith of all eyes. And so\, it is not a great matter how long men refuse to believe the advent of peace: war is on its last legs; and a universal peace is as sure as is the prevalence of civilization over barbarism\, of liberal governments over feudal forms. The question for us is only\, How soon? \n  \nThat the project of peace should appear visionary to great numbers of sensible men; should appear laughable\, even\, to numbers; should appear to the grave and good-natured to be embarrassed with extreme practical difficulties\, is very natural. “This is a poor\, tedious society of yours\,” they say: “we do not see what good can come of it. Peace! why\, we are all at peace now. But if a foreign nation should wantonly insult or plunder our commerce\, or\, worse yet\, should land on our shores to rob and kill\, you would not have us sit\, and be robbed and killed? You mistake the times; you overestimate the virtue of men. You forget\, that the quiet which now sleeps in cities and in farms\, which lets the wagon go unguarded and the farm-house unbolted\, rests on the perfect understanding of all men; that the musket\, the halter\, and the jail stand behind there\, perfectly ready to punish any disturber of it. All admit\, that this would be the best policy\, if the world were all a church\, if all men were the best men\, if all would agree to accept this rule. But it is absurd for one nation to attempt it alone.” \n  \nIn the first place\, we answer\, that we never make much account of objections which merely respect the actual state of the world at this moment\, but which admit the general expediency and permanent excellence of the project. What is the best must be the true; and what is true that is\, what is at bottom fit and agreeable to the constitution of man must at last prevail over all obstruction and all opposition. There is no good now enjoyed by society\, that was not once as problematical and visionary as this. It is the tendency of the true interest of man to become his desire and steadfast aim. \n  \nBut\, farther\, it is a lesson\, which all history teaches wise men\, to put trust in ideas\, and not in circumstances. We have all grown up in the sight of frigates and navy yards\, of armed forts and islands\, of arsenals and militia. The reference to any foreign register will inform us of the number of thousand or million men that are now under arms in the vast colonial system of the British empire\, of Russia\, Austria\, and France; and one is scared to find at what a cost the peace of the globe is kept. This vast apparatus of artillery\, of fleets\, of stone bastions and trenches and embankments; this incessant patrolling of sentinels; this waving of national flags; this reveille and evening gun; this martial music\, and endless playing of marches\, and singing of military and naval songs\, seem to us to constitute an imposing actual\, which will not yield\, in centuries\, to the feeble\, deprecatory voices of a handful of friends of peace. \n  \nThus always we are daunted by the appearances; not seeing that their whole value lies at bottom in the state of mind. It is really a thought that built this portentous war-establishment\, and a thought shall also melt it away. Every nation and every man instantly surround themselves with a material apparatus which exactly corresponds to their moral state\, or their state of thought. Observe how every truth and every error\, each a thought of some man’s mind\, clothes itself with societies\, houses\, cities\, language\, ceremonies\, newspapers. Observe how every truth and every error\, each a thought of some man’s mind\, clothes itself with societies\, houses\, cities\, language\, ceremonies\, newspapers. Observe the ideas of the present day\, orthodoxy\, skepticism\, missions\, popular education\, temperance\, anti-masonry\, anti-slavery; see how each of these abstractions has embodied itself in an imposing apparatus in the community; and how timber\, brick\, lime\, and stone have flown into convenient shape\, obedient to the master-idea reigning in the minds of many persons. \n  \nYou shall hear\, some day\, of a wild fancy\, which some man has in his brain\, of the mischief of secret oaths. Come again\, one or two years afterwards\, and you shall see it has built great houses of solid wood and brick and mortar. You shall see an hundred presses printing a million sheets; you shall see men and horses and wheels made to walk\, run\, and roll for it: this great body of matter thus executing that one man’s wild thought. This happens daily\, yearly about us\, with half thoughts\, often with flimsy lies\, pieces of policy and speculation. With good nursing\, they will last three or four years\, before they will come to nothing. But when a truth appears\, as\, for instance\, a perception in the wit of one Columbus\, that there is land in the Western Sea; though he alone of all men has that thought\, and they all jeer\, it will build ships; it will build fleets; it will carry over half Spain and half England; it will plant a colony\, a state\, nations\, and half a globe full of men. \n  \nWe surround ourselves always\, according to our freedom and ability\, with true images of ourselves in things\, whether it be ships or books\, or cannons or churches. The standing army\, the arsenal\, the camp\, and the gibbet do not appertain to man. They only serve as an index to show where man is now; what a bad\, ungoverned temper he has; what an ugly neighbor he is; how his affections halt; how low his hope lies. He who loves the bristle of bayonets\, only sees in their glitter what beforehand he feels in his heart. It is avarice and hatred; it is that quivering lip\, that cold\, hating eye\, which builded magazines and powder-houses. \n  \nIt follows\, of course\, that the least change in the man will change his circumstances; the least enlargement of his ideas\, the least mitigation of his feelings\, in respect to other men; if\, for example\, he could be inspired with a tender kindness to the souls of men\, and should come to feel that every man was another self\, with whom he might come to join\, as left hand works with right. Every degree of the ascendancy of this feeling would cause the most striking changes of external things: the tents would be struck; the men-of-war would rot ashore; the arms rust; the cannon would become street-posts; the pikes\, a fisher’s harpoon; the marching regiment would be a caravan of emigrants\, peaceful pioneers at the fountains of the Wabash and the Missouri. And so it must and will be: bayonet and sword must first retreat a little from their present ostentatious prominence; then quite hide themselves\, as the sheriff’s halter does now\, inviting the attendance only of relations and friends; and then\, lastly\, will be transferred to the museums of the curious\, as poisoning and torturing tools are at this day. \n  \nWar and peace thus resolve themselves into a mercury of the state of cultivation. At a certain stage of his progress\, the man fights\, if he be of a sound body and mind. At a certain higher stage\, he makes no offensive demonstration\, but is alert to repel injury\, and of an unconquerable heart. At a still higher stage\, he comes into the region of holiness; passion has passed away from him; his warlike nature is all converted into an active medicinal principle; he sacrifices himself\, and accepts with alacrity wearisome tasks of denial and charity; but\, being attacked\, he bears it\, and turns the other cheek\, as one engaged\, throughout his being\, no longer to the service of an individual\, but to the common soul of all men. \n  \nSince the peace question has been before the public mind\, those who affirm its right and expediency have naturally been met with objections more or less weighty. There are cases frequently put by the curious\,—moral problems\, like those problems in arithmetic\, which in long winter evenings the rustics try the hardness of their heads in ciphering out. And chiefly it is said\, “Either accept this principle for better\, for worse\, carry it out to the end\, and meet its absurd consequences; or else\, if you pretend to set an arbitrary limit\, a “Thus far\, no farther\,” then give up the principle\, and take that limit which the common sense of all mankind has set\, and which distinguishes offensive war as criminal\, defensive war as just. Otherwise\, if you go for no way\, then be consistent\, and give up self-defence in the highway\, in your own house. Will you push it thus far ? Will you stick to your principle of non-resistance\, when your strong-box is broken open\, when your wife and babes are insulted and slaughtered in your sight? If you say yes\, you only invite the robber and assassin; and a few bloody-minded desperadoes would soon butcher the good. \n  \nIn reply to this charge of absurdity on the extreme peace doctrine\, as shown in the supposed consequences\, I wish to say\, that such deductions consider only one half of the fact. They look only at the passive side of the friend of peace\, only at his passivity; they quite omit to consider his activity. But no man\, it may be presumed\, ever embraced the cause of peace and philanthropy\, for the sole end and satisfaction of being plundered and slain. A man does not come the length of the spirit of martyrdom\, without some active purpose\, some equal motive\, some flaming love. If you have a nation of men who have risen to that height of moral cultivation that they will not declare war or carry arms\, for they have not so much madness left in their brains\, you have a nation of lovers\, of benefactors\, of true\, great\, and able\, men. Let me know more of that nation; I shall not find them defenceless\, with idle hands springing at their sides. I shall find them men of love\, honor\, and truth; men of an immense industry; men whose influence is felt to the end of the earth; men whose very look and voice carry the sentence of honor and shame; and all forces yield to their energy and persuasion. Whenever we see the doctrine of peace embraced by a nation\, we may be assured it will not be one that invites injury; but one\, on the contrary\, which has a friend in the bottom of the heart of every man\, even of the violent and the base; one against which no weapon can prosper; one which is looked upon as the asylum of the human race\, and has the tears and the blessings of mankind. \n  \nIn the second place\, as far as it respects individual action in difficult and extreme cases\, I will say\, such cases seldom or never occur to the good and just man; nor are we careful to say\, or even to know\, what in such crises is to be done. A wise man will never impawn his future being and action\, and decide beforehand what he shall do in a given extreme event. Nature and God will instruct him in that hour. \n  \nThe question naturally arises\, How is this new aspiration of the human mind to be made visible and real? How is it to pass out of thoughts into things? \n  \nNot\, certainly\, in the first place\, in the way of routine and mere forms\, the universal specific of modern politics; not by organizing a society\, and going through a course of resolutions and public manifestoes\, and being thus formally accredited to the public\, and to the civility of the newspapers. We have played this game to tediousness. In some of our cities\, they choose noted duellists as presidents and officers of antiduelling societies. Men who love that bloated vanity called public opinion\, think all is well if they have once got their bantling through a sufficient course of speeches and cheerings\, of one\, two\, or three public meetings\, as if they could do any thing: they vote and vote\, cry hurrah on both sides\, no man responsible\, no man caring a pin. The next season\, an Indian war\, or an aggression on our commerce by Malays; or the party this man votes with\, have an appropriation to carry through Congress: instantly he wags his head the other way\, and cries\, Havoc and war! \n  \nThis is not to be carried by public opinion\, but by private opinion\, by private conviction\, by private\, dear\, and earnest love. For the only hope of this cause is in the increased insight\, and it is to be accomplished by the spontaneous teaching\, of the cultivated soul\, in its secret experience and meditation ”that it is now time that it should pass out of the state of beast into the state of man; it is to hear the voice of God\, which bids the devils\, that have rended and torn him\, come out of him\, and let him now be clothed and walk forth in his right mind. Nor\, in the next place\, is the peace principle to be carried into effect by fear. It can never be defended\, it can never be executed\, by cowards. Every thing great must be done in the spirit of greatness. The manhood that has been in wax must be transferred to the cause of peace\, before war can lose its charm\, and peace be venerable to men. \n  \nThe attractiveness of war shows one thing through all the throats of artillery\, the thunders of so many sieges\, the sack of towns\, the jousts of chivalry\, the shock of hosts\, this namely\, the conviction of man universally\, that a man should be himself responsible\, with goods\, health\, and life\, for his behaviour; that he should not ask of the State\, protection; should ask nothing of the State; should be himself a kingdom and a state; fearing no man; quite willing to use the opportunities and advantages that good government throw in his way\, but nothing daunted\, and not really the poorer if government\, law\, and order went by the board; because in himself reside infinite resources; because he is sure of himself\, and never needs to ask another what in any crisis it behoves him to do. \n  \nWhat makes to us the attractiveness of the Greek heroes? of the Roman? What makes the attractiveness of that romantic style of living\, which is the material of ten thousand plays and romances\, from Shakspeare to Scott; the feudal baron\, the French\, the English nobility\, the Warwicks\, Plantagenets? It is their absolute self-dependence. I do not wonder at the dislike some of the friends of peace have expressed at Shakspeare. The veriest churl and Jacobin cannot resist the influence of the style and manners of these haughty lords. We are affected\, as boys and barbarians are\, by the appearance of a few rich and wilful gentlemen\, who take their honor into their own keeping\, defy the world\, so confident are they of their courage and strength\, and whose appearance is the arrival of so much life and virtue. In dangerous times\, they are presently tried\, and therefore their name is a flourish of trumpets. They\, at least\, affect us as a reality. They are not shams\, but the substance of which that age and world is made. They are true heroes for their time. They make what is in their minds the greatest sacrifice. They will\, for an injurious word\, peril all their state and wealth\, and go to the field. Take away that principle of responsibleness\, and they become pirates and ruffians. \n  \nThis self-subsistency is the charm of war; for this self. subsistency is essential to our idea of man. But another age comes\, a truer religion and ethics open\, and a man puts himself under the dominion of principles. I see him to be the servant of truth\, of love\, and of freedom\, and immoveable in the waves of the crowd. The man of principle\, that is\, the man who\, without any flourish of trumpets\, titles of lordship\, or train of guards\, without any notice of his action abroad\, expecting none\, takes in solitude the right step uniformly\, on his private choice\, and disdaining consequences\,”does not yield\, in my imagination\, to any man. He is willing to be hanged at his own gate\, rather than consent to any compromise of his freedom\, or the suppression of his conviction. I regard no longer those names that so tingled in my ear. This is a baron of a better nobility and a stouter stomach. \n  \nThe cause of peace is not the cause of cowardice. If peace is sought to be defended or preserved for the safety of the luxurious and the timid\, it is a sham\, and the peace will be base. War is better\, and the peace will be broken. If peace is to be maintained\, it must be by brave men\, who have come up to the same height as the hero\, namely\, the will to carry their life in their hand\, and stake it at any instant for their principle\, but who have gone one step beyond the hero\, and will not seek another man’s life; “men who have\, by their intellectual insight\, or else by their moral elevation\, attained such a perception of their own intrinsic worth\, that they do not think property or their own body a sufficient good to be saved by such dereliction of principle as treating a man like a sheep. \n  \nIf the universal cry for reform of so many inveterate abuses\, with which society rings\, if the desire of a large class of young men for a faith and hope\, intellectual and religious\, such as they have not yet found\, be an omen to be trusted; if the disposition to rely more in study\, and in action on the unexplored riches of the human constitution\, if the search of the sublime laws of morals and the sources of hope and trust in man\, and not in books\, in the present\, and not in the past\, proceed; if the rising generation can be provoked to think it unworthy to nestle into every abomination of the past\, and shall feel the generous darings of austerity and virtue; then war has a short day\, and human blood will cease to flow. \n  \nIt is of little consequence in what manner\, through what organs\, this purpose of mercy and holiness is effected. The proposition of the Congress of Nations is undoubtedly that at which the present fabric of our society and the present course of events do point. But the mind\, once prepared for the reign of principles\, will easily find modes of expressing its will. There is the highest fitness in the place and time in which this enterprise is begun. Not in an obscure corner\, not in a feudal Europe\, not in an antiquated appanage where no onward step can be taken without rebellion\, is this seed of benevolence laid in the furrow\, with tears of hope; but in this broad America of God and man\, where the forest is only now falling\, or yet to fall\, and the green earth opened to the inundation of emigrant men from all quarters of oppression and guilt; here\, where not a family\, not a few men\, but mankind\, shall say what shall be; here\, we ask\, Shall it be War\, or shall it be Peace? \n  \n—Ralph Waldo Emerson\, lecture delivered in March\, 1838 in Boston \n  \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-4-3-25/
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DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20250405T120000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20250405T160000
DTSTAMP:20260424T132351
CREATED:20250331T195625Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250402T191458Z
UID:5488-1743854400-1743868800@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:HANDS OFF! Mass Mobilization in Portland\, Saturday\, April 5th\, noon to 4
DESCRIPTION:  \nThe Open Road invites all our friends to join us for a BIG demonstration in Portland to demand: \n HANDS OFF!  \nSocial Security\, Our Bodies\, Libraries\, Immigrants & Refugees\,  \nFree Speech\, Medicare\, Schools\, Clean Air\, Greenland\, etc. \n  \nSaturday\, April 5th\, from noon to 4 pm  \nJapanese American Historical Park – Tom McCall Waterfront Park \n  \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nHere are the general plans:\n\n  \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nOpen Road friends are meeting at Skidmore Fountain\, between 11:30 and 11:45. Please join us!\n\n  \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nThere will be a kid and teen zone a craft zone as well as tabling from other organizations.\n\n  \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n12:00-1:00 speakers with ASL interpreters\n\n  \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nThere will be upfront seating for those who are elderly or disabled\, including spaces for wheelchairs.\n\n  \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n1:00-2:00 there are 3 options:\n\n  \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n1) Stay and dance to music or do activities at the Japanese American Historical Plaza.\n\n  \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n2) Walk a just under 1 mile ADA accessible and flat route down and back.\n\n  \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n3) Walk a 2.2 mile walk. Although it is ADA accessible there is elevation gain a slightly steep ramp we walk down and one section of a foot of grating to pass over.\n\n  \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nBoth routes will be available to view around 11:30.\n\n  \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nWe will have guides\, and de-escalators with each group.\n\n  \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n2:00-3:00 more speakers and performances\n\n  \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n3:00-4:00 Dance party\n\n  \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCheck out other organizations\, or do activities like making a quilt square for our quilt.\n\n  \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/hands-off-mass-mobilization-april-5th/
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DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20250412T140000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20250412T170000
DTSTAMP:20260424T132351
CREATED:20250325T212341Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250401T074758Z
UID:5473-1744466400-1744477200@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:OUR HANDS OF RUIN reading of a play by Casey Wood  4/12/25
DESCRIPTION:Edwin Booth as Iago\, 1863 \n  \nOUR HANDS OF RUIN \n  \na play by Casey Wood \n  \nIn this darkly satirical drama\, iconic Shakespearean villains are trapped in a contemporary prison\, where the weight of past crimes collide in a ruthless battle for control\, forcing each character to confront their own downfall and the corrupting nature of authority.\n\n\n  \n\n\n\nOur Hands of Ruin. (ORE) Reading of a new play by Casey Wood. Shakespeare’s villains find themselves in prison. Prospero is the warden. \nSaturday\, April 12\, 2-5 pm \nArtspace Room at Taborspace\, 5441 SE Belmont\, in Portland  \n  \n This Open Road Event is free. \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/our-hands-of-ruin-reading-of-a-play-by-casey-wood-4-12-25/
ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/03/edwin-booth-iago-1863-granger.jpg
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DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20250418T190000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20250418T210000
DTSTAMP:20260424T132351
CREATED:20250416T031951Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250416T032413Z
UID:5536-1745002800-1745010000@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:The Fabulous Deck Boys This Friday  4/18/25
DESCRIPTION:Brad Price\, KC Craine & Jeffrey Sher \n  \n¡Hey Everyone!   \n  \nThe Fabulous Deck Boys are playing this Friday night! \n  \nRoss Island Grocery & Cafe \n3502 S Corbett Ave \nApril 18; May 16 \n7 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-this-friday-4-18-25/
ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/webp:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/06/Deck-Boys-at-Gallery-114.jpg.webp
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20250419T150000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20250419T170000
DTSTAMP:20260424T132351
CREATED:20250403T004243Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250416T001900Z
UID:5506-1745074800-1745082000@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: a reading of the English Romantic poets by Johnny Stallings
DESCRIPTION:River of Life painting by William Blake \n  \nA thing of beauty is a joy for ever \nThe English Romantic Poets \n  \nJohnny Stallings reads from the poetry of Shakespeare\, Blake\, Burns\, Wordsworth\, Coleridge\, Shelley\, Keats and Yeats—“the unacknowledged legislators of the World.” \n  \nSaturday\, April 19 th\, 3 pm \nArtspace Room at Taborspace\, 5441 SE Belmont\, in Portland  \n  \nThis Open Road event is free. \n  \n 
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/a-thing-of-beauty-is-a-joy-for-ever-english-romantic-poets/
ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/10/N05887_10-1.jpg
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20250419T173000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20250419T190000
DTSTAMP:20260424T132351
CREATED:20250415T030024Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250416T175134Z
UID:5524-1745083800-1745089200@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:A Midsummer Night's Dream in Prison at Portland Panorama Film Festival  4/19/25
DESCRIPTION:  \n  \nA Midsummer Night’s Dream in Prison\, a film by Bushra Azzouz\, will screen at the Hollywood Theatre\, as part of the  Portland Panorama Film Festival\, on Saturday\, April 19th\, at 5:30 pm.
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/a-midsummer-nights-dream-in-prison-at-portland-panorama-film-festival-4-19-25/
ATTACH;FMTTYPE=image/jpeg:https://openroadpdx.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/07/DSC_7307-donkey-titania1-cropped-2.jpg
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20250420T150000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20250420T170000
DTSTAMP:20260424T132351
CREATED:20250416T025022Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20250504T181801Z
UID:5528-1745161200-1745168400@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:¡Bibliophiles Unanimous!  4/20/25
DESCRIPTION:¡Beloved Bibliophiles! \n  \nOn Sunday\, April 20th\, at 3 pm (PDT)\, our theme is NOVELS!  \nWhat have you read recently? What are some of your all-time favorites? \n  \nHere’s the Zoom link: \n  \nhttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/87614013058 \n  \nI hope to see you there! \n  \npeace & love \n  \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/bibliophiles-unanimous-4-20-25/
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