When the COVID lockdown began in earnest in mid-March 2020, I decided it would be a good idea to write a morning reflection to send to friends, students and acquaintances as a gesture of solidarity and support in response to the ‘unprecedented and uncertain’ times we were in. My intention was to write most every morning throughout the pandemic, which I expected would last a month, or maybe even two or three. Like most everyone, I was wildly wrong about the length of time we’d be in lockdown, but somehow I have managed to keep writing almost daily pieces for these past fourteen months. My urge ..read more

I write a phrase, then wait for what follows. Then hold still as nothing more comes. Then I delete the first words and fall back into silence. Maybe all that has been written before is enough. Maybe it’s time to say less—time to hide quietly beyond words and positions and insights. Maybe it’s time to allow what has come before to be what has already happened. Maybe it’s time to stop. Maybe just this morning or maybe tomorrow too. Maybe only occasionally. Maybe not at all for a long while. We’ll see ..read more

The rain has quieted things down this morning. It was pouring just a little while ago as I lay warm in my bed in the dark in my new bedroom. Now it has stopped and the contrast sounds silent. Just the cooing of a morning dove and the slight ringing in my ears as I strain to listen. And, of course, the distant hush of traffic. Pleasant Street, where the Temple is and where I lived for the past eleven years, is a main thoroughfare between Worcester’s downtown and the northwestern suburbs—Paxton, Holden, Barre and beyond. The street where we live now is a couple blocks up from Pleasant Street and ..read more

I’m thinking this morning of my mother and my wife and my daughter and mothers everywhere—giving birth to other human beings and thereby open themselves to the great joys and sorrows of never-ending vulnerability and wondrous attachment. Deep bows of appreciation and awe. Here’s a poem for my mother and for all mothers from all sons and daughters: Hi Mom Inconceivably long ago, through you came my two small legs and arms— my eyes, ears, and all the rest— surprised and bawling at first, I imagine, then later on, larger and laughing too— walking and talking—full of wonder about this beautiful wo ..read more

My new stonewall isn’t going so well. I had begun a series of smallish terraces behind our new addition to follow the step-like rising of the siding and hide the cement foundation below. I began with the granite cobblestones I had lying around from other deconstructed projects. At first, it went well enough. Though the stones themselves are of various thickness and length, their overall rectangular dimension made it reasonably easy to stack them together. I was about a quarter way through the project when I realized two things: 1) I wasn’t going to have enough stones to finish the project and ..read more

I have been avoiding thinking about politics recently, happy that we have a President who shares my views on general reality as well as on the necessity of government action to protect us from the worst aspects of our capitalistic system of individualism, accumulation and objectification. I am pleased that the former guy is not dominating the headlines and is not speaking and acting as the head of my country. I am spending less time reading the headlines and being outraged and more time considering whether the Patriots’ new draft calss will be relevant again in next fall’s football season. The ..read more

Leaves flutter on the trees outside my window. Through the closed window, the low roar of rushing civilization in the far distance comes to my ears. This quiet early morning I remain steadfastly committed to doing less and less, even in the middle of the activity of my life. At some place in the bible, it says ‘You should love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your strength’. At one point in my life I assumed that this was a literal command, so I broke up with my girlfriend—telling her that I could only have one true love at a time—to spend the summer grow ..read more

Abandoning the pointed lance of their winter darkness, the beech leaves leap quietly into plain view— still small and feathery as they commence their mighty seasonal work of nourishment ..read more

I think it was Tolstoy who dreamed of many lives woven into one—farmer in the morning, artist in the afternoon and philosopher in the evening. In Zen we advocate another version of this integrated life—to meet everything that comes, from dirty dishes to the electric bill to the late spring daffodils, with full attention and appreciation.  Yesterday, I had the chance to practice. In between being with coaching clients and Zen students, I was outside arranging and planting the ‘foundation plants’ I bought: a small weeping Japanese maple, a wonderfully fragrant Korean spice viburnum, a dark ..read more

Dreaming of Danger I was chased through the night by men from a homeschooling cult that called itself the Church of the Latter-Day Saints. (No relation, except in my mind, to the LDS religion or to homeschoolers I know in the real world.) I had been invited to present to their community at the large compound where many of them lived in northern New York. My presentation went well, but after I talked I began to notice people shying away from me and I got the sense that I had said or done something that was quite wrong in their eyes. After several conversations about working out my return transp ..read more