Stories about<br><div><br></div><div>----</div><div> Frank Hilliard's Death & Ed Feldmanis's story of a shared moment or two with him in just 93 words [below] and<div><br></div><div>---
<div>Rick Laudermilk's vignette of the moment of silence at his father's funeral -all silence- because his father was such a private guy. </div><div><br></div><div>Because none of the men that gathered for his funeral knew how to or cared to share a story of what it was like to be with his dad and what they loved about being with him enoght to come to his funeral and celebrate at the completion of his life.</div>
<div><br></div><div>Then I remembered</div>
<div><br></div><div>---</div>
<div><br></div><div>Joe Matthew's story about the time his father died and the funeral director tried to cover up his father's face with lipstick and his body with a brand new cut-away funeral gown-suit -all of it pretense and abstractions to hide real death in the middle of real life...and</div>
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<div><br></div><div>My Dad's funeral when I tried to retell 4 stories from my dad's life some of the stories everyone knew, some only I knew... once as a boy in Tennessee when his school blew away in a cyclone, once as a young young riding an Indian motorcycle cross country, once as an established adult playing poker in Key West with Harry Truman what happened when "the old man" lost a huge pot of money.</div>
<div><br></div><div>Once...the last time I saw him... wearing a yellow sweater, smoking a pipe that I had given him, smelling that sweet sweet tobacco he loved, watching him rocking in one of those pink metal rocking chairs at the nursing home, seeing him smile in those last moments before he got up and left for <span style="line-height:13px;color:rgb(34,34,34);font-family:arial,sans-serif">Alzheimer's</span> land and for good. </div>
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<div>Now, my peers & teachers pass on:</div><div><br></div><div>Sandra True died the weekend I sat 44 hours in the zendo meditating while she completed her life.</div><div><br></div><div>I remembered the time at the Minneapolis House at 3am during a New Religious Mode Odyssey when I was scrubbing my grave plot like everyone else on the floor when two Minneapolis police men opened the door and asked: Could we what we were doing --they had a complaint from neighbors about people wearing white sheets". So interesting what happens in a scene and a couple of words. </div>
<div><br></div><div>---</div><div><br></div><div> Robert Shropshire's at Academy 1973 teaching RS1 when he drew a <span style="color:rgb(34,34,34);font-family:arial,sans-serif"> diagram on the blackboard with a piece of fat rail road chalk in the shape of the letter Omega and told a Mowanjum story of teaching among the Aboriginals </span></div>
<div><span style="color:rgb(34,34,34);font-family:arial,sans-serif"> </span></div><div><span style="color:rgb(34,34,34);font-family:arial,sans-serif">He said one day he was talking to some people about living your life as raw possibility and having the courage to say so out loud. In my imagination he was describing himself like that guy sitting on a log with a bunch of kids listening at the other end of the log. </span></div>
<div><span style="color:rgb(34,34,34);font-family:arial,sans-serif"><br></span></div><div><span style="color:rgb(34,34,34);font-family:arial,sans-serif">He talked for a long while. Then there was a big Dreaming. As one man took a stick and drew a picture in the dirt in the shape of an empty head [or the Omega symbol]. </span></div>
<div><span style="color:rgb(34,34,34);font-family:arial,sans-serif"><br></span></div><div><span style="color:rgb(34,34,34);font-family:arial,sans-serif">The man then drew 2 circles for eyes, 1 circle for a mouth, 2 loops for ears and said: "Before I was like this... an empty head. Now I have eyes to see, ears to hear and words to say into existence what is real about my life and share it with others. You have given me words to say what is so."</span></div>
<div><div><font color="#222222" face="arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font color="#222222" face="arial, sans-serif">Shropshire said that in Mowanjum when a different moment of real got said said into existence clarity broke into candid conversation - again - when the same guy awoke from a walking-around-asleep dream and said: " Robert you are not a "special-magic" black man: you're not a black man like me at all, you're just a white man... just like them!'</font></div>
<div><font color="#222222" face="arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font color="#222222" face="arial, sans-serif">Shropshire used to distinguish walking around in the ordinary places with ordinary people being fully awake, and how sleepy he felt traveling around some places in the United States,how much energy it took not to catching the sleeping sickness, how in some places you had to struggle to stay present to conversations for possibility. </font></div>
<div><font color="#222222" face="arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font color="#222222" face="arial, sans-serif">The last Shropshire story I recall was when he went to work at MacDonalds after a LENS seminar, tried to see what it takes to wake-up and stay awake in 1% corporate America. </font></div>
<div><span style="color:rgb(34,34,34);font-family:arial,sans-serif"><br></span></div><div><span style="color:rgb(34,34,34);font-family:arial,sans-serif">That's how I rememberShropshire as a character filled-full, vivid with a sense of wonder, focused whole-hearted, present then, present now in my meditative council stories. </span></div>
</div><div><font color="#222222" face="arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font color="#222222" face="arial, sans-serif">---</font></div><div><font color="#222222" face="arial, sans-serif">Living still and making online stories</font></div>
<div><font color="#222222" face="arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font color="#222222" face="arial, sans-serif">Kaye Hayes listening online and live again this year to Kaye Hayes 1972 Freedom Lecture thanks to Walt Epply's New ICA-USA Archives digital recording. What got me was not the 20th C existential/mythological lingo but the still lively storytelling -the classic ones like "Welcome to Hard Times, why don' you stick around and build". </font></div>
<div><font color="#222222" face="arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font color="#222222" face="arial, sans-serif">What a storyteller she was at the pedagogue lecturn; when I listen to her at Mike May's video clips... she mostly only tells stories from her long-ago community and about her work as a mentor among reservation indian kids who diserve a future view, now, of freedom </font></div>
<div><font color="#222222" face="arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font color="#222222" face="arial, sans-serif">---</font></div><div><font color="#222222" face="arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font color="#222222" face="arial, sans-serif">Gordon Harper makes videoclips of Occupy and writes online how Joe Mathews gave a talk in Maliwada one time on Integrity and gave it to Werner Erhard who now teaches about Integrity at Harvard B-school and Oxford. </font></div>
<div><font color="#222222" face="arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font color="#222222" face="arial, sans-serif">--- </font></div><div><font color="#222222" face="arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><span>A woman named Sandy Something the time my best Costa Rica friend Jo Stuart invited me to lunch in San Jose last year, with a friend of her's named Sandy Something-or-another whom I didn't know. </span></div>
<div><span><br></span></div><div><span>As we sat down at the restaurant an island of English speakers in a sea of native Spanish speakers I introduced myself and asked this Sandy Something-or-another where she was from. She said Chicago. I said my younger daughter lives there and I used to know some people that lived on the West Side. She said yup, me too they lived at 3444 Congress Parkway, right? </span></div>
<div><span><br></span></div><div><span>With in seconds of sitting down we were chanting "This is the drum of the city, this is the drum of the city, it says to us that we can live...". The entire restaurant of Costa Ricans grew quiet as they listened to these English speaking gringos beating respectfully on the table, chanting.</span></div>
<div><span><br></span></div><div><span> The conversation completely changed as we started sharing-long ago Sandy Powell and Steve Harrington stories. </span><span>Our mutual friend Jo, who is a writer, became more and more astonished as deep root and memorable character stories tumbled out. Later she told me she wished she had brought her journal notebook so she could write down names and places and themes and write them out. </span></div>
<div><span><br></span></div><div><span>At our table it seemed as if an entire group of interior council characters pulled chairs up around our table listening: many Franks, Ricks, Joes, Roberts, Kayes, Sandras, Steves listening like an invisible college woken-up again to travel east sharing human journey stories. </span></div>
<div><span><br></span></div><div><span>---</span></div><div><span><br></span></div><div>Thank-you Ed Feldmanis -thank-you <span> for your Frank Hilliard story of a man I never met and found in 93 sweet short words. </span></div>
<div><span><br></span></div><div><span>Yes, I do now remember that Greek restaurant named Diana's downtown Chicago near Halstead. It was the old place behind the small greek grocery store right? </span></div><div><span><br>
</span></div><div><span>It's theplace where Anthony Quinn learned to dance for Zorba the Green. It is the place where you learn to cheer "Opa" as the flaming saganiki cheese scorches the blue and white tinsil decorations, right? </span></div>
<div><span><br></span></div><div><span>It is the place I met the mother of my children one Sunday afternoon dinner during Academy 73. It was the origin point the action-before the action that created my family, created lives of my two daughters Sarah and Margot, foreshadowed my current grandfather mind for a new granddaughter named Indira.</span></div>
<div><br></div><div>===</div><div><span><br></span></div><div><span>More short-short stories please, vignettes really of the distinctive characters who travel East. </span></div><div><span><br></span></div><div><span>More short-short stories of character to pay forward to some other generation who might also wish to travel East. </span></div>
<div><span><br></span></div><div><div>-- <br>Steve Harrington<br>
</div><div><br></div><div>Ed's 93 Word Story of a man I didn't know named Frank.</div><div><br></div><div>I was in Frank's Ecclesiola at Centrum. One night we all went to Greek town to a special restaurant called Diana's. We persuaded the honor to dance and he finished with resounding Opa's as he flung his glass crashing against the wall. We were mesmerized. Our members were raving about the experience.<br>
<br>On the next day Frank added his insight: Always appreciate a man's special talent but never fool yourself thinking that a talent represents a grounded life. Our restaurant owner could be someone living authentically or maybe not. Thanks to Frank for the sharing and his sacrifice. A beautiful life.</div>
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