On the “Useless” Emotion of Guilt

  On the third night of a weekend retreat on Buddhist grounds, somewhere in the state of New York, I asked a question of my teachers: what is the antidote for guilt in Buddhism?  A soft-spoken nun named Chen-Ma laughed a bit and spoke into her mike after a measured pause: “In Buddhism, we consider…

Entry 61615 – Skins

We’ve talked about this before.  I’m far from settled, a nomad embracing her pariah skins, bracing for embraces of her weighty history, making quite sure she’s suited to stay put,  quite ready to dance in one place, to be recognized, “I saw you yesterday. I didn’t get your name…” You don’t know what this is…

Entry 61615 – Halved

________________________________ Halved am I, unreachable between worlds. Pulling from one will break me.  _________________________________

Entry 61015 – Fractured Skull, Round Two

Don’t worry about the bruised and broken chest. Concern yourself with your head, for you have much to decide. Think about what must be done. Breathe into what you’ve shattered, what’s come to pass, pieces, while the taste of the whole is still on your tongue. A beating, blurry vision… was that you, there, or…

Climbing Trees, Smelling Flowers: A Rainy Nature Walk

 I kneeled to the glory of mushrooms growing up from cracks in the pavement. How tough must they be to choose this place to live.  I looked deep into layers of rough, rain-stained bark, wondering at the strength of this skin. I climbed a tree! It was soaked and full of young bugs. I recognized the hunger after…

Entry 6315: Revival

Stop! I see you’re bleeding and it’s getting everywhere, on everything- the markings of your loss. Rest, it’ll slow. When it does, you’ll be tired. “Goodness gracious, you ok?” and a sigh from the one who cares, for now. He asks and you cannot respond. You step into a desire for the basics: to survive,…

Entry 52715- Ripe

   It’s a bad idea to love me, now. There’s fruit that goes bad on the vine, you know. Hard and promising turns rancid like nothing.  Nature never gives it up. Why press a process to course along an edged stream, lined with hope?  Behold: an unfolding. I let go already. All that push, push,…