Across this country, we are falling, falling, and there is only the sad shame of our undisguised limp.

This is an excerpt from a guest post on the blog Letters from a Small State. I wrote it on a plane last week, and after Saturday’s catastrophe, I hear it as a cry for comfort, civility and the resurrection of our society.

***

I am traveling across country today. Not quite across the country, but in a hopscotch route over five states in six hours with a breakneck plane change to deliver me from Los Angeles to Kansas City at the lowest price I still can’t afford. The first leg of the flight took off late, and to the indignities inflicted – sweltering slow lines, humorless scowls, foul air and bare feet – I fear the worst will yet come. The peanuts they are about to hand out won’t compensate, but I’ll take them. I’ll take them the way we take everything these days: in defeat.

This is how far we’ve fallen.

I used to know a man who flew frequently and strictly first class. This was in the days of first class. Like the man himself, his style of comportment seems now to have belonged to the lost age of American elegance.

He was highly placed in an industry that produced a reputable, durable and glamorous product: the automobile. He worked alongside icons of American ingenuity and leadership. His fine suits adorned. His silvery hair crowned. His shoes were supple and unscuffed. He appeared in all ways to have arrived at an invincible upper echelon . . . Please continue reading the story here.

Subscribe to my newsletter • Come to my Monterey retreat • Fan me • Follow me.

Sometimes in December
it’s nice to remember July
Happiness always from
The Miller Family

A few weeks ago I did an interview where I expected to be asked about the highlights of my year. I try not to categorize things into highs and lows, so I was going to say, “It was meeting you in San Francisco, Seattle, and Portland. It was the time I saw you in Milwaukee, LA, or Houston. It was in Scottsdale, remember? In Boston, you were there. In Reno, Newport Beach, San Mateo, Pasadena, Santa Monica, Brookfield, Kansas City, Huntington Beach, Altadena, at your house, in your backyard, or at your table. It was on the radio, the blog, the phone, the page, or in your email, that time we met.” Those were the lights – every time, everywhere, every one.

Thank you for sharing your light with me this year. What can I say? It shines.

Subscribe to my newsletter • Come to my Monterey retreat • Fan me • Follow me.

Beneath tall pines I built a hut
windows open on all four sides
I sit all day facing mountains
nothing else comes to mind

I put mulberry logs in the stove to make charcoal
new cotton in my quilt a new mat on the bed
what can I say about staying warm all winter
I don’t dream about heaven

Late autumn rain is a rain of mist
tiger tracks appear in the moss
the west wind doesn’t stop all night
by dawn yellow leaves are up to the steps

–The Zen Works of Stonehouse

Stonehouse, a 14th century Zen hermit, has been called “the greatest of all Zen monks who made poetry their medium of instruction.” I’m beginning to think all Zen monks make poetry their medium of instruction, but that doesn’t speak less of his. I love it. I’m on a honeymoon with it. I spend my nights with it.

Usually I don’t care about classical Zen works or Buddhist literary artifacts. I’m not a museum-goer. But I won’t cheat myself or anyone else out of them. Some people wake to church bells, and some to the rustle of leaves.

If you or someone you know could use quiet companionship to encourage a faithful practice, this book, translated by the masterful Red Pine,  will make a lasting marriage – not to mention a rare and generous gift.

Here’s an earlier book recommendation in my seasonal, less-is-more Zen Gift Guide.

Subscribe to my newsletter • Come to my Monterey retreat • Fan me • Follow me.