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    What Does Being a Buddhist Mean to You? Paid Member

    Jakusho Kwong RoshiAbbotThe Sonoma Mountain Zen CenterSanta Rosa, California “A moment of silence in the schools is a good start—a good start for teachers, too. Just sitting up straight in a relaxed way for a moment helps us regain our natural composure and sense of dignity. It is like an exploration for teachers as well as students, exploring a gigantic area. Because something is needed. This is a stepping-stone—returning to silence.” Reverend Masao Kakuryo KodaniPriestSenshin Buddhist TempleLos Angeles, California More »
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    GenNext Paid Member

    I have a confession to make. I used to sneer at people who fluttered from religion to religion concocting their own spirituality from the sexiest of each. But one morning while praying I realized that I epitomize the spiritual shopper! My cart is filled with Hindu shlokas, Theravadin precepts, Christian psalms, and Rumi’s mystical poetry. More »
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    ON LANGUAGE: The Dharma of Deconstruction Paid Member

    View the print version of this article in PDF format THE FUNDAMENTAL INSIGHT of what is known as the “linguistic turn” in twentieth-century Western thought is that language shapes our experience. Some of the most influential modern thinkers challenge our usual assumption that using language is merely a matter of attaching names to things that already exist in the world. In a very important sense, language creates the world as we know it. More »
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    MY VIEW: Not Our Bodies, Not Ourselves Paid Member

    SINCE MY SISTER began medical school last fall, she has spoken constantly about an obese female corpse she refers to as “my cadaver”: “She’s so fat, it’s hard to find the nerves and muscles. You have to do a lot of poking around.” Or, “When we first opened her up, there was still shit in her intestines. Can you believe that? She died two years ago!” Although I was amused (and occasionally disgusted) by my� More »
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    ON PARENTING: As If I Were Your Mother Paid Member

    MY SON WAS less than twenty-four hours old, and I knew he was going to die. The yellow cotton hat snuggled on his precious head, the brown handknit blanket securing his winging arms, he lay silently in the neonatal-ICU clear plastic crib. Veins no longer pricked, oxygen hood gone, lungs finally clear, he was healthy. Skye was coming home, yet I knew he would die. Some day. I had studied the face of mortality before,� More »
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    ON GARDENING: The Birds of the Muses Paid Member

    THE BEES were living in the walls long before I heard them. It was Indian summer a few years ago when I discovered a small cleft along the seamline where our brick chimney pressed against the outer wall of the house. High overhead, scores of pollen-laden honeybees whizzed with industrious delight through this narrow fissure into the inner core of our home. As a meditator and gardener I have an immense respect for bees, grounded� More »