I wonder what it is that predisposed me, or opened me up, to fall, autumn colors, impermanence and Buddhism.
Time to Stop and Breathe
…you know what? The world does not depend on the clump of cosmic dust I call “me.”
A Noiseless Patient Spider
We all yearn for connection, and no one has captured that feeling as well as Walt Whitman in this 1868 poem A noiseless patient spider, I mark’d where on a little promontory it stood isolated, Mark’d how to explore the vacant vast surrounding, It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself, Ever unreeling them,…