• Thich Nhat Hanh Emerges from Coma Paid Member

    The most recent communiqué from Plum Village, the spiritual community of the venerated Vietnamese Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh, announced that the teacher had emerged from his coma, which was brought on by a severe brain hemorrhage in November. More »
  • To the Last Moment Paid Member

    The following is adapted from a talk Myogen Steve Stücky gave at San Francisco Zen Center, where he served as abbot. Stucky passed away from cancer one year ago, the morning prior to New Year’s Day 2014. —Eds.To what shallI liken the world?Moonlight, reflectedIn dewdrops,Shaken from a crane's bill. —Dogen, Zen Master Feeling funny in my mind, Lord,I believe I’m fixin’ to die, fixin’ to die.Feeling funny in my mind, LordI believe I’m fixin’ to dieWell, I don’t mind dyin’,but I hate to hear my children cryin’. More »
  • Drama or Dharma Paid Member

    Decked out in a Santa Claus hat and beard, Shozan Jack Haubner (the pen name of a real Zen monk) speaks about how to bring our practice into our approaching holiday gatherings, how to remain mindful as we are saturated in our (let's admit it: somewhat tense) family relationships, and—most importantly—how to accept what we can’t control. As he points out: “Life as we know it is not how any of us would have designed it.” Happy Holidays from the Tricycle team! More »
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    Kensho Down on Texas Avenue, El Paso, Texas Paid Member

  • Early Days with Thich Nhat Hanh Paid Member

    Like many thousands of others around the world, I have had Thich Nhat Hanh close in my thoughts this past week. Along with so many, I breathed with some relief when I read Sunday’s report from his community in Plum Village that his condition, following his brain hemorrhage, seems to have stabilized, and while his condition remains critical, there is reason for cautious optimism about the possibility of a full recovery. More »
  • Not Two Paid Member

    At 6 a.m., my teacher strikes the singing bowl. The tone spirals out, becomes hollow. At the center of a room emptied of sound, we sit cross-legged, facing a brick wall. Slowly the mind quiets, the breath deepens; the sounds from outside seep through the bricks—a jogger, two kids laughing and arguing their way to the bus stop, an ambulance, a helicopter. Right now there is no text, no prayer, no millennia of continuity, no God inspecting my deeds. There is my teacher and there is me, sinking below the turbulence in which I had swum for four decades. When my teacher strikes the bowl again, it jars me back to the surface. As the sound once again spools out—my lungs are open, my head is clear, and my knees ache. With silence and stillness, another day begins. More »