As soon as I could, I wanted to get out of San Jose. It’s not that I didn’t like my hometown — I just knew that there was much more to see in the world and I wanted to see it.
In meditation today,
my arms flapped up
above my head like wings
in my mind...
I lay in bed one night recently, reading aloud a poem by Mary Oliver called simply, “Rain.”
I was reading the poem slowly, word by careful word, to no one in particular but myself. To the night maybe, the sky, to the flicker of stars.
I first learned about Thich Nhat Hanh on a date last year of all places, when the man I was out with informed me Hanh was a Buddhist monk and peace activist whom Martin Luther King Jr. had nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize.
Imagine a group of cells living inside you, lying dormant until just the right time when—they strike and dissolve you into an “organic goop.”
It’s just a few days past the one year anniversary of Prince’s death, and I’ve been thinking of him (Him should almost be capitalized his influence was so powerful).
A man named J— shared the reading from the Big Book about finding a higher power. Then he shared what was on his mind.
He had been struggling with wanting to take a shot that morning, but knew he’d find solace here.
“Birds of a feather flock together,” said J—. That’s why he came back.
Put the kettle on.
Boil the water.
Add honey, sweetness, love...