a journal of self-propelled dharma
I was in a pickle in Tuscon, Arizona. I needed to get to San Luis Obispo CA and things were going sideways. I was accompanied by a hot young man with whom I was having a little thing. Watcing me with some amusement as I dialed and dashed around town, he led me into an …
Oh my friends, my friends, my people. How blessed am I in this world of cold screens and empty rooms, to have this widely woven net of flesh-and-blood friends. You are there for me in my morning terrors, ready to answer the phone before you’ve even had coffee. You are there when I need a …
I haven’t posted for a while and this is why: I am terrified of writing. I know that writing is what I need to do more than anything, to lay down faint traces of my one precious and fleeting life. I can’t go through all this hair-pulling and teeth-gnashing for nothing, right? I have stuff …
Impulse and Intuition got into a scrap. Get out, get out, run! screamed Impulse, in reaction to my itchy reluctance to being with what is. Beckoned by the spectre of boredom, consumer capitalism came flying to the rescue: Buy! Buy! Buy!, she cried, Spend some money, make it better! So I tried that. I found …
It’s so wrong to hate a bird. Wa-waaaaa, wa-waaaaa, wa-waaaaa. The chickadee is at it again, wailing out his schoolyard taunt. The chickadee’s mating dirge is a harbinger of spring and I suppose I could try to drum up some enthusiasm for it, but that depressing little tune makes me want to pack up and …