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    Truth in Trance Paid Member

    By Kami Kanetsuka
    The Nechung Oracle, medium for both prophecies and warnings, has been the protector of Tibet since the eighth century. Today, the Oracle is a monk living in Dharamsala, who grows flowers and speaks perfect English. More »
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    Freedom: Guns or Dharma Paid Member

    I had already made up my mind to return to Nepal after leaving Cornell when I picked up a copy of Time magazine and read the story about Fred Hampton’s tragic death. As they slept in an apartment at 2337 W. Monroe Street in Chicago he and one of his comrades had been shot to death. The pictures of the room showed blood-splattered walls and bodies lying in disarray. I had personally met Fred Hampton… More »
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    Lessons of History Paid Member

    By Stephen Batchelor
    Nearly thirty years have passed since I first became involved in Buddhism. I was nineteen at the time, dizzy with the optimism of the 1960s and the thrill of having traveled overland from England to India. The Tibetans had been in exile from their homeland for just over a decade. The Dalai Lama was only thirty-seven years old and had yet to visit the West. I remember walking up the mist-drenched hills above Dharamsala into�Nearly thirty years have passed since I first became involved in Buddhism. I was nineteen at the time, dizzy with the optimism of the 1960s and the thrill of having traveled overland from England to India. The Tibetans had been in exile from their homeland for just over a decade. The Dalai Lama was only thirty-seven years old and had yet to visit the West. I remember walking up the mist-drenched hills above Dharamsala into the hushed village where the Dalai Lama and his followers had settled. More »
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    Politics and Prayer Paid Member

    By Jerry Brown
    Levine: How did you come to be in a Zen meditation center? More »
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    Clearing Clutter Paid Member

    By Anne Cushman
    In 1968, a couple of months into first grade at St. Mary’s Elementary School in Ayer, Massachusetts, I notice that my desk is looking kind of funky. From where I sit, I can peer into the desk of the little girl in the next row: mainly empty, with a neat stack of construction paper, a pair of blunt scissors, a box of crayons, and a few pencils lined up in a groove. More »