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SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  11/6/25
DESCRIPTION:The Good Samaritan by Vincent Van Gogh \n  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nNovember 6\, 2025 \n  \nThe Stories We Tell Ourselves \n  \nThese are really the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands\, they are not original with me\, \nIf they are not yours as much as mind\, they are nothing… \n  \n—Walt Whitman\, from “Song of Myself” \n* \n  \nA man is what he thinks about all day long. \n  \n—Ralph Waldo Emerson \n* \n  \nWe are what we think. \nAll that we are arises with our thoughts. \nWith our thoughts we make the world. \n  \n—Buddha\, from Dhammapada \n* \n  \nethnosphere: “the sum total of all thoughts\, beliefs\, myths and institutions made manifest today by the myriad cultures of the world.” \n  \n–Wade Davis\, from Light at the Edge of the World\, p. x \n* \n  \nMortals suppose that the gods are born\, and wear clothes\, and have voice and form like themselves. \n  \nBut if cattle and lions had hands\, and could paint with their hands\, and fashion images\, as men do\, they would make pictures of their gods in their own likeness; horses would make them like horses\, cattle like cattle.             \n  \n—Xenophanes (570-478 B.C.) \n* \n  \nI…peruse manifold objects\, no two alike and every one good\,  \nThe earth good and the stars good\, and their adjuncts all good.  \n  \n—Walt Whitman\, from “Song of Myself” \n* \n  \n…this our life\, exempt from public haunt\, \nFinds tongues in trees\, books in the running brooks\, \nSermons in stones\, and good in every thing. \n  \n—Duke Senior in Shakespeare’s As You Like It\, Act 2\, scene 1 \n* \n  \nI believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. (Nobel Prize speech\, 1964) \n  \nI have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear. \n  \nHate paralyzes life; love releases it. Hate confuses life; love harmonizes it. \n  \nI know that love is ultimately the only answer to mankind’s problems. \n  \n—Martin Luther King \n* \n  \nwhat we think is who we are \nas indivduals \nand collectively \n  \nFor more than twenty years\, i’ve been turning this phrase over in my mind:  \n  \nthe stories we tell ourselves \n  \nI’m fascinated by how each of us constructs an identity and a worldview—stories about who we are and about the world and our relationship to it. Each of the things I’ve chosen for this “peace\, love\, happiness & understanding” suggests a story—a way of experiencing or understanding our life. My own felt sense of things is that Johnny Stallings is a fictional character\, and from moment to moment I’m dreaming the world in which I live. \n* \n  \nA Story that Could be True \n  \nIf you were exchanged in the cradle and\nyour real mother died\nwithout ever telling the story\nthen no one knows your name\,\nand somewhere in the world\nyour father is lost and needs you\nbut you are far away. \nHe can never find\nhow true you are\, how ready.\nWhen the great wind comes\nand the robberies of the rain\nyou stand on the corner shivering.\nThe people who go by—\nyou wonder at their calm. \nThey miss the whisper that runs\nany day in your mind\,\n“Who are you really\, wanderer?”—\nand the answer you have to give\nno matter how dark and cold\nthe world around you is:\n“Maybe I’m a king.” \n  \n—William Stafford \n* \nThe parable of the good samaritan: \n  \n25 And\, behold\, a certain lawyer stood up\, and tempted him\, saying\, Master\, what shall I do to inherit eternal life? \n26 He said unto him\, What is written in the law? how readest thou? \n27 And he answering said\, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart\, and with all thy soul\, and with all thy strength\, and with all thy mind; and thy neighbour as thyself. \n28 And he said unto him\, Thou hast answered right: this do\, and thou shalt live. \n29 But he\, willing to justify himself\, said unto Jesus\, And who is my neighbour? \n30 And Jesus answering said\, A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho\, and fell among thieves\, which stripped him of his raiment\, and wounded him\, and departed\, leaving him half dead. \n31 And by chance there came down a certain priest that way: and when he saw him\, he passed by on the other side. \n32 And likewise a Levite\, when he was at the place\, came and looked on him\, and passed by on the other side. \n33 But a certain Samaritan\, as he journeyed\, came where he was: and when he saw him\, he had compassion on him\, \n34 And went to him\, and bound up his wounds\, pouring in oil and wine\, and set him on his own beast\, and brought him to an inn\, and took care of him. \n35 And on the morrow when he departed\, he took out two pence\, and gave them to the host\, and said unto him\, Take care of him; and whatsoever thou spendest more\, when I come again\, I will repay thee. \n36 Which now of these three\, thinkest thou\, was neighbour unto him that fell among the thieves? \n37 And he said\, He that shewed mercy on him. Then said Jesus unto him\, Go\, and do thou likewise. \n  \n—Luke 10:25-37  (KJV) \n* \nHere’s a more recent version of the same story\, by E. E. Cummings: \n  \na man who had fallen among thieves\nlay by the roadside on his back\ndressed in fifteenthrate ideas\nwearing a round jeer for a hat \nfate per a somewhat more than less\nemancipated evening\nhad in return for consciousness\nendowed him with a changeless grin \nwhereon a dozen staunch and leal\ncitizens did graze at pause\nthen fired by hypercivic zeal\nsought newer pastures or because \nswaddled with a frozen brook\nof pinkest vomit out of eyes\nwhich noticed nobody he looked\nas if he did not care to rise \none hand did nothing on the vest\nits wideflung friend clenched weakly dirt\nwhile the mute trouserfly confessed\na button solemnly inert \nBrushing from whom the stiffened puke\ni put him all into my arms\nand staggered banged with terror through\na million billion trillion stars \n  \n—e. e. cummings \n* \nThis is an old folktale: \n  \nThe Shirt of a Happy Man \n  \nOnce there was a king who wanted to be happy. His wise counselors informed him that he needed to acquire the shirt of a happy man. So\, he sent his soldiers out in quest of such a shirt. One by one they returned empty-handed. None of them could find a happy man. Finally\, the last soldier returned.  \n  \nThe king asked\, “Did you find a happy man?”  \n  \n“Yes\,” the soldier said.  \n  \n“Where’s his shirt?\,” asked the king.  \n  \n“He didn’t have one.” \n* \n  \nCheck out the Playing for Change version of “Peace Train” by Yusuf/Cat Stevens on YouTube! \n  \n* \nMy dad liked this poem: \n  \nAbou Ben Adhem \n  \nAbou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!) \nAwoke one night from a deep dream of peace\, \nAnd saw\, within the moonlight in his room\, \nMaking it rich\, and like a lily in bloom\, \nAn angel writing in a book of gold:— \nExceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold\, \nAnd to the presence in the room he said\, \n“What writest thou?”—The vision raised its head\, \nAnd with a look made of all sweet accord\, \nAnswered\, “The names of those who love the Lord.” \n“And is mine one?” said Abou. “Nay\, not so\,” \nReplied the angel. Abou spoke more low\, \nBut cheerly still; and said\, “I pray thee\, then\, \nWrite me as one that loves his fellow men.” \n  \nThe angel wrote\, and vanished. The next night \nIt came again with a great wakening light\, \nAnd showed the names whom love of God had blest\, \nAnd lo! Ben Adhem’s name led all the rest. \n  \n—Leigh Hunt \n* \n  \nPlato told this story: \n  \nSome people are in a cave. They are chained up in such a way that they can’t move\, and can’t turn their heads. They are all looking straight ahead.  \n  \nBehind them are people with torches who are carrying things back and forth and talking to each other. The cave-dwellers see shadows on the wall in front of them—their own shadows and the shadows of the objects that are being carried back and forth. As far as they know\, the only reality is these shadows and the conversations that the shadows appear to be having with each other. \n  \nOne man escapes from his bondage and is able to turn around and see what’s going on in the cave. Then he leaves the cave and sees the sun illuminating an amazing world. \n  \nHe wants to tell the people in the cave about what he has seen and understood. He goes back down into the cave. When he tries to tell the people what he has seen\, they think he is mad. \n* \n  \nHere’s one from William Blake: \n  \nThe Garden of Love \n  \nI went to the Garden of Love\, \nAnd saw what I never had seen: \nA Chapel was built in the midst\, \nWhere I used to play on the green. \n  \nAnd the gates of this Chapel were shut\, \nAnd ‘Thou shalt not’ writ over the door; \nSo I turn’d to the Garden of Love\, \nThat so many sweet flowers bore.  \n  \nAnd I saw it was filled with graves\, \nAnd tomb-stones where flowers should be: \nAnd Priests in black gowns\, were walking their rounds\, \nAnd binding with briars\, my joys & desires. \n  \n—William Blake \n* \n  \nThese are a few or my favorite passages from my favorite poem\, Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself: \n  \n20 \n…Why should I pray?  Why should I venerate and be ceremonious? \n  \nHaving pried through the strata\, analyzed to a hair\, counseled with doctors and calculated close\, \nI find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones. \n  \nIn all people I see myself\, none more and not one a barley-corn less… \n  \n24 \n…I believe in the flesh and the appetites\, \nSeeing\, hearing\, feeling\, are miracles\, and each part and tag of me is a miracle. \n  \nDivine am I inside and out\, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touched from\, \nThe scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer\, \nThis head more than churches\, bibles\, and all the creeds…. \n  \nEach moment and whatever happens thrills me with joy…. \n  \nA morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books. \n  \n30 \nAll truths wait in all things… \n  \n31 \nI believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars\, \nAnd the ant is equally perfect\, and a grain of sand\, and the egg of the wren\, \nAnd the tree-toad is a masterpiece for the highest\, \nAnd the running blackberry would adorn the parlors of heaven\, \nAnd the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery\, \nAnd the cow crunching with depressed head surpasses any statue\, \nAnd a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels. \n  \n44 \nImmense have been the preparations for me…. \n  \nCycles ferried my cradle\, rowing and rowing like cheerful boatmen\, \nFor room to me stars kept aside in their own rings\, \nThey sent influences to look after what was to hold me. \n  \nBefore I was born out of my mother generations guided me\, \nMy embryo has never been torpid\, nothing could overlay it. \n  \nFor it the nebula cohered to an orb\, \nThe long slow strata piled to rest it on\, \nVast vegetables gave it sustenance\, \nMonstrous sauroids transported it in their mouths and deposited it with care. \n  \nAll forces have been steadily employed to complete and delight me\, \nNow on this spot I stand with my robust soul. \n  \n48 \n…whoever walks a furlong without sympathy walks to his own funeral drest in his shroud… \nAnd to glance with an eye or show a bean in its pod confounds the learning of all times… \nAnd there is no object so soft but it makes a hub for the wheeled universe…. \n  \nWhy should I wish to see God better than this day? \nI see something of God each hour of the twenty-four\, and each moment then\, \nIn the faces of men and women I see God\, and in my own face in the glass\, \nI find letters from God dropt in the street\, and every one is signed by God’s name\, \nAnd I leave them where they are\, for I know that wheresoe’er I go \nOthers will punctually come for ever and ever. \n  \n—Walt Whitman \n* \n  \nThomas Traherne was a Seventeenth Century Christian mystic. I love his ecstatic poems and meditations! In this meditation he is writing about how he experienced the world as a small 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 proprieties\, nor bounds\, nor divisions: but all proprieties 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\, from Centuries of Meditations \n* \n  \nIn Dostoevsky’s great last novel\, The Brother’s Karamazov\, there is a monk named Father Zossima. When I first read the novel\, fifty years ago\, I was impressed with the words of Father Zossima\, which are of course Dostoevsky’s words: \n  \nBrothers\, do not be afraid of men’s sin\, love man also in his sin\, for this likeness of God’s love is the height of love on earth. Love all of God’s creation\, both the whole of it and every grain of sand. Love every leaf\, every ray of God’s light. Love animals\, love plants\, love each thing. If you love each thing\, you will perceive the mystery of God in things. Once you have perceived it\, you will begin tirelessly to perceive more and more of it every day. And you will come at last to love the whole world with an entire\, universal love…. \n  \nMy friends\, ask joy from God. Be joyful as children\, as birds in the air…. \n  \nWhen you are alone\, pray. Love to throw yourself down on the earth and kiss it. Kiss the earth and love it\, tirelessly\, insatiably\, love all men\, love all things\, seek this rapture and ecstasy. Water the earth with the tears of your joy\, and love those tears. Do not be ashamed of this ecstasy\, treasure it\, for it is a gift from God\, a great gift\, and it is not given to many\, but to those who are chosen.  \n  \n—Fyodor Dostoevsky \n* \n  \nHere are some recent small poems from my journal: \n  \nwalking on the earth \nevery step a prayer \n* \n  \nraspberries say what i want to say \nbetter than i can \n* \n  \nhow did i get to be old? \ni used to be young  \nwhat the hell happened? \n* \n  \nbriefly visiting book after book \ni’m like a hummingbird going from flower to flower  \n* \n  \nstart your day with hummingbirds \nnot the new york times \n* \n  \nthe problem with being one-with-everything  \nis all the misery \n* \n  \nmodern farming \n  \nget up early \nfeed the tofurkys \nmilk the oats \n* \n  \nit’s the most beautiful day since the world began \na bumblebee is on the lobelia \n* \n  \ni’m transitioning \nfrom happiness \nto bliss \n* \n  \nLet’s end with a brief passage from the book Peace Is Every Step by the Vietnamese Zen teacher Thich Nhat Hanh. Like many of the things here\, it’s a story in the sense that it is a way of experiencing and understanding our precious life on this beautiful planet  \nHere’s a thought: \nIf you find yourself feeling ungrateful\, you might remind yourself that the average surface temperature on the planet Venus is 867 degrees Fahrenheit. \n  \nInterbeing \n  \nIf you are a poet\, you will see clearly that there is a cloud floating in this sheet of paper. Without a cloud\, there will be no rain; without rain\, the trees cannot grow; and without trees\, we cannot make paper. The cloud is essential for the paper to exist. If the cloud is not here\, the sheet of paper cannot be here either. So we can say that the cloud and the paper inter-are. “Interbeing” is a word that is not in the dictionary yet\, but if we combine the prefix “inter-“ with the verb “to be\,” we have a new verb\, inter-be.  \n  \nIf we look into this sheet of paper even more deeply\, we can see the sunshine in it. Without sunshine\, the forest cannot grow. In fact\, nothing can grow without sunshine. And so\, we know that the sunshine is also in this sheet of paper. The paper and the sunshine inter-are. And if we continue to look\, we can see the logger who cut the tree and brought it to the mill to be transformed into paper. And we see wheat. We know that the logger cannot exist without his daily bread\, and therefore the wheat that became his bread is also in this sheet of paper. The logger’s father and mother are in it too. When we look in this way\, we see that without all of these things\, this sheet of paper cannot exist. \n  \nLooking even more deeply\, we can see ourselves in this sheet of paper too. This is not difficult to see\, because when we look at a sheet of paper\, it is part of our perception. Your mind is in here and mine is also. So we can say that everything is in here with this sheet of paper. We cannot point out one thing that is not here—time\, space\, the earth\, the rain\, the minerals in the soil\, the sunshine\, the cloud\, the river\, the heat. Everything co-exists with this sheet of paper. That is why I think the word inter-be should be in the dictionary. “To be” is to inter-be. We cannot just be by ourselves alone. We have to inter-be with every other thing. This sheet of paper is\, because everything else is. \n  \n—Thich Nhat Hanh\, from the book Peace Is Every Step
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-11-6-25/
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SUMMARY:King Lear
DESCRIPTION:  \nOur friend Allen Mills is producing this show.  \n  \nCatch it if you can!   \n  \nClick here to reserve tickets:  \n  \n https://www.facebook.com/share/p/19NeFfGPne/ \n  \npeace & love   \n  \nJohnny
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/king-lear/
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BEGIN:VEVENT
DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20251204
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20260101
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CREATED:20251211T024742Z
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UID:5963-1764806400-1767225599@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love\, happiness & understanding  12/4/25
DESCRIPTION:  \nTHE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love\, happiness & understanding \n  \nDecember 4\, 2025 \n  \nKim Stafford shared this poem by David Budbill: \n  \nSometimes \n  \nSometimes when day after day we have cloudless blue skies\,\nwarm temperatures\, colorful trees and brilliant sun\, when\nit seems like all this will go on forever\, \n  \nwhen I harvest vegetables from the garden all day\,\nthen drink tea and doze in the late afternoon sun\,\nand in the evening one night make pickled beets\nand green tomato chutney\, the next red tomato chutney\,\nand the day after that pick the fruits of my arbor\nand make grape jam\, \n  \nwhen we walk in the woods every evening over fallen leaves\,\nthrough yellow light\, when nights are cool\, and days warm\, \n  \nwhen I am so happy I am afraid I might explode or disappear\nor somehow be taken away from all this\, \n  \nat those times when I feel so happy\, so good\, so alive\, so in love\nwith the world\, with my own sensuous\, beautiful life\, suddenly \n  \nI think about all the suffering and pain in the world\, the agony\nand dying. I think about all those people being tortured\, right now\,\nin my name. But I still feel happy and good\, alive and in love with\nthe world and with my lucky\, guilty\, sensuous\, beautiful life because\, \n  \nI know in the next minute or tomorrow all this may be\ntaken from me\, and therefore I’ve got to say\, right now\,\nwhat I feel and know and see\, I’ve got to say\, right now\,\nhow beautiful and sweet this world can be. \n  \n—David Budbill \n* \n  \nFrom “The Marginalian\,” an online journal: \n  \nHere we are\, living these lives bright and perishable as a poppy\, hard and shimmering as obsidian. We know that they are entirely improbable\, that we bless that bright improbability with each flash of gratitude for it all\, that if we pay attention closely and generously enough we are always repaid in gladness\, that it is the handle of the door to the world. And yet over and over we choose to live in the cage of complaint\, too preoccupied with how the will of life betrayed our wishes\, the wanting monster always growling in the other corner of the cage. \n  \nImagine parting the bars and stepping out. Imagine waking up with a rush of gladness at everything we were never promised but got anyway — trees and music\, clouds and consciousness\, the cobalt eye of the scallop\, the golden fan of the gingko\, the alabaster chandelier of the ghost pipe. \n  \nIn our age of competitive prostration\, this is a headstand hard to hold for long. But it is trainable. It is possible to become strong enough to be tender\, it is. \n  \n—Maria Popova\, editor of “The Marginalian\,” November 23\, 2025 \n* \n  \nI’ve been keeping a journal more-or-less daily for 55 years. Sometimes it’s fun to revisit things I’ve written. This is from last Spring: \n  \nfriday\, april 25th\, 2025 \n  \nthe conventional way of looking at perfect moments is that they happen once in a while \nthey’re brief \nand then they’re gone \nand we’re back to boring everyday humdrum life \nbut it’s possible to experience perfect moments as having nothing to do with time \nthey don’t have a beginning or end \nyou could say they last a lifetime—or that they are a lifetime \nthe beauty of humans overwhelms me!!!!!!! \nit’s getting ridiculous! \ni don’t know what to do with it\, or how to communicate it \n  \nsaturday\, april 26th\, 2025 \n  \nyesterday\, i watched “the accountant 2” at the laurelhurst theater\, from 4 to 6 \nit was a beautiful sunny spring day \nafter two hours in a dark theater\, under the spell of a movie\, when you come out and it’s still daytime\, the sunshine seems brighter and everything more vivid and somehow more real \nyou’ve been immersed in an imaginary reality—under its spell—and now you’re in the actual world \nas i walked by the crema coffee house and the moon shot tavern\, lots of people were outside at picnic tables \nit’s friday\, they’ve just gotten off work\, the sun is shining and they’re in a good mood \na little girl of about 4 or 5 is running down the sidewalk toward me \nshe’s laughing as she runs \nshe’s the happiest person on earth \nher happiness goes right into me \npassing a food cart area\, there are lots more people at picnic tables \nand the sound they are making together is a joyous one \nand i have a feeling which is also a thought that people are so beautiful! \nand then the thought that moments don’t have boundaries \nalthough we are accustomed to thinking that they do \nand thinking that they are short \nand that perfect moments are infrequent\, and then quickly gone \nbut they’re not gone \njohn keats said \na thing of beauty is a joy for ever \nmaybe a reason that this quote became famous is because it expresses a deeper truth than mr. gradgrind’s facts: \n  \nChapter 1 \nThe One Thing Needful \n‘Now\, what I want is\, Facts. Teach these boys and girls nothing but Facts. Facts alone are wanted in life. Plant nothing else\, and root out everything else. You can only form the minds of reasoning animals upon Facts: nothing else will ever be of any service to them. This is the principle on which I bring up my own children\, and this is the principle on which I bring up these children. Stick to Facts\, Sir!’ \n  \n—Gradgrind\, the schoolmaster\, from the opening of Hard Times by Charles Dickens \n  \nthe way I was seeing and feeling and being when the little girl was laughing and running toward me and people nearby were in a glorious mood—that way of seeing and feeling and being is truer for me than the feeling i have when i’m reading the new york times \nin those boundaryless moments i’m alive! \n  \nthich nhat hanh says you can spend your whole life in a kind of exile from the present moment and miss your life entirely \nif you died and went to the pearly gates\, they’d look in the book and see that you haven’t lived yet—and send you back for another try \n  \nscientific and rational ways of knowing are not bad \nand they leave things out\, like imagination\, love\, beauty and meaning \n  \nto see a world in a grain of sand \nand a heaven in a wild flower \n  \na thing of beauty is a joy for ever \n  \n(maybe those romantic poets gave me a blessing) \n(maybe they changed the way i see and feel and experience the world) \n  \nif the sight of a tulip or a hummingbird goes into you deeply enough\, it does something to you \nit changes you \n  \nmy primary felt experience is that i am living in Paradise \n  \n—Johnny Stallings \n* \n  \nEarth Born Creatures \n  \nThe gravel parking lot smells \nlike oil\, the trash strewn woods \nback up the roadhouse to the creek. \n  \nA boxy banana-colored car \nrusts there\, sags a bit in \nchangeable late afternoon light. \n  \nThe long-waisted girl in torn jeans \npauses over her broom. Fantasy \nburns through her\, leaves a tired ache \n  \nfor pretty things\, clean lines\, shine. \nShe looks at her hands \nHer fingers not quite straight \n  \ncaught that way in the womb \nthey remind her that she is subject \nto time and accidents of fate. \n  \nA scrawny tabby steps out of shadow\, \nprimly wraps his tail round his feet. \nThey stare at each other. The girl blinks \n  \nthinks of comfort and laughs. \nThe cat imagines cornering mice. \nAn owl awakens hungry back in the trees. \n  \n—Elizabeth Domike \n* \n  \nHere are a couple of excerpts from two of Rocky’s many letters: \n  \nNovember 11\, 2025 \n4 a.m. \nDear Johnny & Nancy \n  \nWe all got the day off in here due to the holidays. We have a lot of holidays this month. Soon the year will be over\, too. I’ve been looking back a little in time & knowing 17 years is quite a long time\, it seems like it was…only a few days ago that I came into D.O.C. custody! I think it’s because time\, in our minds\, moves differently. In our minds we can slow it down\, or\, speed it up. We could freeze it as well\, if we wanted to. \n  \nIt’s a sad reality to think that I’ve spent ⅓ of the life I’ve been given this time around as a prisoner. I know that I deserved to serve this time. Without my life in here I would not be who I am now. That would not be good\, because I would never have met the people in my life that I love & who help make me who I am. I would never have gotten to become the man I am today. That thought just gave me chills. Those seeds of wild emotions—Empathy\, Joy\, Kindness\, Love\, Wonder\, Humility—that were scattered upon my heart\, mind & soul\, like someone scattering handfuls of wildflower seeds on a hillside is what grows inside of me. You two had a hand in scattering those seeds. I believe we each\, in our own ways\, help each other’s hearts to grow & heal in all sorts of ways….. \n  \nNovember 12\, 2025 \n4:27 a.m. \nWe had a conversation on the phone yesterday afternoon. It was nice to talk about many different things. We had talked a few days before about that! It’s easy to talk about release from prison under the circumstances. \n  \nOne of the things that stuck out to me was the peace that I get from waking up early in here. It truly is the only quiet time of the day. What I’ve been thinking about is that Kim Stafford does that & his dad did too. The fact to me that really rang a bell was how he came by doing it. He started doing it in a prison camp! \n  \nPrison is not a place where most can find or have a second of peace\, most are overwhelmed by frustrations\, sadness\, hopelessness and misery. All those emotions & vibes come off of them & touch and trigger emotions in others\, even reaching the staff sometimes.  I found that if I start my day as early as I can & meditate in my writing\, do my letters to home & do my school work\, my days are most of the time started on the Golden Path. Everyone is still sleeping and none of the negativity is in the air. I love starting my days off before the world comes to life…. \n  \nAlways planting good seeds in the World\, \nRocky \n—Rocky Hutchinson
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-understanding-12-4-25/
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DTSTART;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20251214T140000
DTEND;TZID=America/Los_Angeles:20251214T160000
DTSTAMP:20260424T015547
CREATED:20251208T043559Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20251211T023340Z
UID:5955-1765720800-1765728000@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:The Second American Renaissance
DESCRIPTION:  \nTHE SECOND AMERICAN RENAISSANCE \n(1955-2025) \n  \nan entertainment by Johnny Stallings  \nSunday\, December 14th\, 2 pm \nLibrary at Taborspace\, 5441 SE Belmont  \n  \nthis Open Road event is free
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/the-second-american-renaissance/
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