I’m off for a three-day retreat at my practice home starting tonight, because this silent spaciousness is where all stories begin and end.
Before I leave I want to share some recent inspiration.
First, the Shambhala Sun has reposted my piece on the Dharma of Barbie. Even after you think you’ve tossed her, the old girl never dies. And there’s always a new generation of parents for her to haunt. If you scroll down to the end of the story, you’ll see the announcement that I’ll soon be launching a blog on their site named after the stuff that is always near to my heart. Once I sort the lights from the darks, we’ll see what comes out of it. Leave a comment over there and let them know that I’m not just full of suds.
This column in the New Yorker snapped, crackled and popped my eyes open earlier this week. It’s a fascinating look that could leave you wondering about how much you’re willing to commit to yourself during troubling times.
Speaking of troubles, I was touched by this letter to fellow practitioners. Not just because the need is urgent and the time is now, but because of the sheer delight in seeing that, even to a Rinpoche, practice is just pretense. We must all pretend harder!
Lastly, I was so moved by Cam’s reflection on loss. It reminds me that the why that has no answer is the very why we keep going, and that love and loss are never separate.
And just for a parting grin, this snippet of conversation two days ago over a sleeping dog.
Mom, you know what I’ve figured out?
What’s that?
A well-trained dog isn’t that much fun.
Why not?
Because you don’t get to wrestle it, and have trouble with it. You don’t get to be mad at it.
I see.
So a well-trained dog isn’t the best kind.
You think?
If we ever get a new puppy can we name it Squiggly or Wiggly?
