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THE WRITER
Why do I write, you ask.I’m a writer, so I should havea good answer, or at least a glib one. I could say I write for othersbut you would ask whothose others are, and smile knowinglywhen I have no answer. I could say I write for myself,and that would be true enough,but rather sad and…
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THE WORLD-HONORED ONE POINTS TO THE EARTH
As you walkin search of enlightenmentstop at a templeand seek it there. If you cannot finda temple, build one. Look at where you areand be therein that templeand stop searching,for you are home. A reflection on Case 4 of the Book of Equanimity
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HISTORY
We only see the present as history,by day history is a matter of minutes,by night of seconds, years or centuries. There is no future to be seen, onlyimagined, the mind writing a storythat can never be read, never told. It is only when we close the eyesthat the present truly exists,independent of the past, free…
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CAREER CHOICES
We were certain then that we’d bea success in life, that we’d drivethe kind of cars our fathersonly dreamed of as our motherschuckled about mid-life crises. They spoke about sons and daughtersof friends who were doctors,or at least lawyers, bemoanedthose who taught or held jobsthey called manual labor. But we were going in a whole…
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COOKBOOK
As a youngster I thought I hadconvinced my grandmotherto one day entrust me withthe old family recipes, sincemy mother wanted little to dowith the kitchen and less withanything that came from “there.” It was a bit of a shock to learnyears later that grandma wasborn in London, that her mothershared my mother’s dislikefor the kitchen…
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An Invitation for the Patriarch
You may wrap yourselfwith all of the sutras,drink dharma with a straw,look carefully for teachers. You will drown in the conditionsyour breath swallowedbut unending thoughts. The answers are always withinteacher is studentstudent is teacherthis momentonly moment. A reflection on Case 3 of the Book of Equanimity
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NO BACKS
As you age, your vision changes,and not merely that of your eyes,for you necessarily becomenear sighted about many things. Of course you dread the fact that youcould be myopic if circumstancesconspire against you, barely ableto be IN and remember the moment. Even those healthy take to mythology,and astronomy, wishing they wereTitan, living life in retrograde,…
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NEVER, STILL
I know what you did not tell them,that much I could learn for myself,but what did you tell them? I knowyou were full figured, I think thatis the acceptable term, once it wasReubenesque, but someonemust have noticed something. Maybe those at work, sitting at theirterminals didn’t notice, you cameand went, few friendships perhaps,but you were…
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THE WRITER STUMBLES
Each yearin Pamplonathe bulls begintheir slow descentdown the narrow streetsgaining speednostrils flaringmuscle and sinews tautthey forge aheada white wavepreceding themin their mad dashand each yearthere is one,some years twowho, by slip of footor lapse of judgmentmeet the hornsof the lead bullwho in disgustsnorts“this oneis noHemingway.” First published in Defenestration ,Vol XVI Issue 2 August 2019
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STATISTIC
Today, now many,yesterday, tomorrow, how many? We have grown tired of countingthe mind cannot deal with numbersof that magnitude, Stalin was correct,it is all statistics now, and bodies,always more bodies, never enough,always too many, by violencein the street, in the economy,in the courthouse, in the COVID ward,there are too many places now,where the dead gather,…
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an old writer and his words 