poetry, photography and reflections on life, aging, and dharma
Another in the series of “where a poem comes from.” I was walking in a bookstore when the phrase, “we always believed that she could fly” came into my mind, loudly. That night, a poem arose. The details are from my mother’s memorial….
One classic Buddhist image of ‘self’ is of waves in the ocean, each somehow distinct but each still entirely of the water, inseparable from it. I like to think of each of us as a local concentration of sentience, of mind, of life force. Why the universe has chosen to organize itself this way I have no idea; but I think it does — moreover, I think it’s through this manifestation that the universe expresses itself and looks to experience itself.
how strange it feels to return as a guest to this city where my children were born to sit above this frozen lake, barely a block from where she squeezed them into the world. chicago ice is harder than ice in the mountains all blocks and harsh geometries, the cold indifference of the city. … Read more
