poetry, photography and reflections on life, aging, and dharma
it feels as though I’m past the pedigreed part of my life, finished with bloodlines and credentials done caring if he/she/it/we are descended from a long line of champions–“mister hester chester of nestor farms” –done with leashes done with heeling, with coming when called, done with staying for treats it feels as though now it’s … Read more
somebody blew up boston yesterday, but at least it’s sunny here, though I must say still cold. this bookstore has an entire room given over to poetry, row upon row of new and selected, collected this and that, each page scratching toward something that might be true. three dead, seventeen legs torn off, the face … Read more
A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about this quality of going “all in.” Since then, I’ve been working a lot with what this means in practice, and a couple of specific things have surfaced. First, it seems like diving in, to whatever pool your working with, involves one big decision (“JUMP IN!”), immediately followed … Read more
I recently spent two weeks at Karme Choling, the Shambhala meditation center in Barnett Varmont. The founder of Shambhala, Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche, was cremated there upon his death and lay in state in the shrine room where we practiced. This has always been a powerfully special place for me. This poem was written during that … Read more
spring in these mountains is a fibrous season — winter’s age-hardened fingers gripping the land like the hand of a dying man. after every warming day, while the streams run full with the blood of the melt, the moon climbs a constellated sky, and the cold deep of space drops again to harden these hills … Read more