Crossing Nebraska

I’ve been working on my house of late – replacing the siding, gutters, soffit & fascia, and so forth. It’s a big enough job that I dedicated a whole week of vacation just to getting it underway. Much still remains for me to do, but I’ve made fairly decent progress so far. And along the way I’ve had plenty of time to reflect upon what I’m doing, and why. Don’t I have enough to keep me busy without taking on such time-consuming and expensive chores? Of course, there are many ways I could answer that question: I’m increasing the resale value of my home. I’m staving off having to make more costly repairs in the future. I’m making my home as pleasing a place for me to live in as I can. I’m being a good neighbor by making my property as appealing to live next to as I can. I’m keeping my house from becoming one of those that just gets torn down upon resale so that another can be built in its place. Certainly everyone can relate to such motivations. We all understand the concept of be...

I think it’s safe to say that, for any given individual, Zen practice is an ever-changing dynamic. During my tenure helping out with the instruction of beginners, it was quite common to find people hoping to gain something, whether it be refuge, meaning, knowledge, enlightenment, peace of mind, community, an escape from the chaos of modernity, or a means to cope with pain, grief, anxiety, depression and substance abuse. And how could I possibly claim exemption from a good number of those! As practice progresses, however, (toward what?) one begins to realize change. But what exactly has changed? If anything, what is gained via Zen practice amounts to addition by subtraction – a dropping off of ideas, concepts, beliefs, expectations, unnecessary stuff and unnecessary activity. But what happens when we begin to drop off huge chunks of what we once thought Zen practice was all about? In another century I might have been one of those monks who headed off into the mountains to live...

It’s a postcard cliché: The beach is gorgeous! Wish you were here! … The weather is magnificent! Wish you were here! … The skiing is fabulous! Wish you were here! Sure enough, everything is gorgeous, magnificent, and fabulous when we’re off in some exotic locale with only one thing on our agenda – to enjoy each and every moment of our lives. A really good vacation takes our mind far away from the concerns and drudgery of our workaday world. It gives us time and permission to wander and wonder, to watch and relax. But even as our mind strays far away from our ordinary life, our body is right there with it! It’s easy to live “in the moment” when the moment is so very interesting, carefree, and pleasurable. It’s easy to “be present” when the present is just so gosh darned enjoyable! The author at Grand Chartreuse Monastery That’s quite the opposite of how we often live – with our body right here and our mind far away. Like when we’re ostensibly at work, but our mind has...

Every so often I find myself drawn to one of the books of my youth. Part nostalgic reflection, part introspective rediscovery, part discovery anew, rereading a great work of literature after many years of lived experience can be an interesting endeavor. I first read Herman Hesse’s The Journey to the East back in my youth. I’d been introduced to his work when I read Demian for a college humanities class, and I then went on to read Steppenwolf , Siddhartha , and “ The Journey ” in fairly quick succession. For some reason, though, I subsequently began and then abandoned mid-read The Glass Bead Game ( Magister Ludi ). Perhaps it’s fitting that I should wait until later in life to finish that one given the fact that it was Hesse’s final novel and all. Such a thought especially resonates with me now that I’ve discovered that I am presently the same age that Hesse was upon completion of The Journey – a realization that has me wondering whether I finally have enough life experience in my ...

It can be pleasant at times to remain asleep – snuggled under the covers in our comfy bed, strolling through fantastical dreamscapes entirely of our own creation. And even after we rise, we may remain lost in reverie for much of the day – savoring our dreams, and pondering ways to bring their deliciousness into reality. Yes, the real world can be harsh at times, and sometimes we succumb to an overwhelming urge to simply escape into our fantasies for a time. The problem comes when we confuse our fantastical dreams with reality. Spiritual growth is often likened to waking up. When we wake up in the spiritual sense we begin to see the dreamlike nature of the life that we are living. Those awesome achievements that we once celebrated, that we’ve been so proud of for so long, that we thought defined who we are – we come to see them as meaningless in the ultimate sense. Our pursuit of them and the importance we once gave to them comes to be seen as but a dream. Cassandra was a pr...

A friend and I were driving from Colorado Springs down to Santa Fe yesterday. The following poem virtually leapt onto the page of my notebook as we skirted the Sangre de Cristo range of the Rocky Mountains. I present it here in pretty much first-draft form.           A Sangre de Cristo Surrender     Dying slowly, and comfortably, must be similar to this... Dying joyfully, and wholeheartedly, must be just a little bit like this...   Like looking out at mountains rooted deep within your heart, and watching clouds billow like the warm breath of a billion prayers offered up to heaven.   Like dancing with so many antelope across an endless field, and sinking like snowmelt deeper and deeper into the earth.   You know me well. You know what words we've had. But good and bad are now so very far away. Everything is like a smile growing wider, and brighter, unti...

From That Which We Already Know . This passage is from Chapter Nine of my forthcoming book: It likely goes without saying that I was a quiet child, pulled as if by some magnetic attraction to places of solitude that weren’t always easy to find. You see, my father was then a young schoolteacher, with a family that was fast outgrowing our modest home. Compounding matters was the fact that entrance to my older sister’s bedroom required passage straight through mine. Thus, I had no quiet space inside that I could really call my own. I had to find it. Cover Artwork And that is how the Nursery became my refuge from the moment I was old enough to venture out beyond the garden gate. I could be alone there to enjoy the silence whenever I needed. Perhaps that’s another reason Mark Patrick’s tiny room was so appealing, sparse as a monk’s quarters though it was. Sure, his half brother was around for at least some of the time, but things must be different with a brother, I likely reasoned. But thi...