a journal of self-propelled dharma
I hit that evil banked curve on the uphill, headed home from Hollyhock on my final day of work with half my office stuffed into one overloaded pannier. Just one last hill from home I slid out on the loose gravel and went down hard. Result: pelvis broke in three places. Yeah, I know—stay outta …
I want to say that the reason why I haven’t posted anything in the six weeks since I landed at San Francisco Zen Center is because I haven’t had time to write, but that would be untrue. The fact is there are 24 hours in every single day, with 60 minutes crammed into each hour …
The angry molar is gone. In its place is a stitched excavation bleeding into a wad of gauze. Before Dr. Loo yanked it out I ran my tongue over its pitted surface one last time and thanked it kindly for almost five decades of loyal service, but when he asked me if i wanted to …
I’m living the monk’s life in my green turtle bus, up on the bluff over the lagoon. Wake up, chop wood and carry water, wash my panties in a pail and hang them to dry in the sun. Sit a bit, stretch a bit, watch the tides roll out and in. Out, and in. Soak …
This long-distance cross-border love thing—this thing that everyone says DON’T DO, it’ll drive you crazy, it’ll never work—i daresay, seems to be working. The naysayers are probably right, too—long-distance love never does work. For the young. But I am a grownup, and grownup love is different. I am in love with an American man, and …