Here we are again. Up against a deadline. Self-imposed, but still honored. By oneself on oneself.
When the task is complete, I’ll touch the top of the Daruma doll, a birthday gift from Maggie.
Every week since, a new post. It’s not that the doll, a likeness of Bodhidharma, gave me the idea; rather, it’s become a touchstone, a trinket of encouragement.
Every week, good or bad, a new post. In fact, the badder the better. Breaking up with perfectionism. Consistency over quality. Just do it, as the Swoosh instructs. Continue reading Opening Still
I get annoyed when someone says, “I’m on a spiritual path,” even though I, too, am on a spiritual path.
If someone says, “I have a spiritual practice,” I’m interested. I want to know what that person’s practice consists of and how consistently it’s practiced. When did they begin to practice and how has the practice changed over time?
I’m not against paths. As a walker and hiker, I appreciate well-marked trails. I’m grateful for those who created, cleared, and maintain the pathways along which I tread. Though I love the thought of bushwhacking, my nonexistent sense of direction (and several adventures involving being lost in the woods after dark) has convinced me of the usefulness of paths, as well as maps. Continue reading Why I Dislike the Term “Path”
I walk to the law school library to see if the Ruth Bader Ginsburg memorial is still there. It isn’t. Only a few bouquets of fresh flowers where all the photos, notes, drawings, flowers and candles had been.
I sit at a picnic table and wait for something to happen—a scene of some sort. Big drops of rain begin to fall. Not many, but enough to make the ink run on the page. Not enough to make me run for cover. Not yet. Continue reading RBG and the Bugs