a journal of self-propelled dharma
I got cosmetic surgery today. I did not get my face pulled back into a bun (although who knows, that might come next). But there was this thing, this unsightly pallid lump the size of a pencil eraser, on my collarbone. You know, it could have been anywhere on my body and I wouldn’t have …
A guy a few blocks from my house posted a window blind for sale on Craigslist. He had priced it at $30 but when I arrived, he said $10 would do—although to buy it new would have cost close to $200. The guy didn’t care about the money—it was just that he could not bear …
I’ve taken a job managing 400+ teenage volunteers, for the Vancouver International Children’s Festival. It’s a six-month full-time gig, culminating with the Festival at the end of May. Holy cow! Or given that I have already begun to conceptualize these 400 latent teenager volunteers as mutant ninja turtles—cowabunga. Dude. I’ve never worked a full-time gig …
There’s that scrabble of tiny feet again. Late at night in my turtle bus bed I lie head held stiff, an inch above the pillow. Scritchy-scratch. Houdini’s back. Over the past few days he’s grown bolder, daring to be seen in scuttle from shelf to door. He nibbles fruit, neat small bites in the morning …
What’s dying? An expired passion? Neglected dream? A situation that no longer serves you? If it’s time for it to die, help it die. Create a ritual in which you finish your relationship with it, let it go, and make room for a new thing that’ll be born out of the emptiness. – Rob Brezsny …