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    Who's in Charge Here Anyway? Paid Member

         Wouldn’t it be comforting to have a pope: unimpeachable, indefatigable, infallibly in charge of whatever we are supposed to do and think, a father to our childish selves to guide us on the path to god? More »
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    Out of the Killing Fields Paid Member

    The gray frame house on Marion Avenue in the East Bronx stands sandwiched in between two nearly identical white-and-yellow frame houses. A perfectly assimilated structure but for the bright, multistriped Cambodian Buddhist flag out front. The Jotanaram Temple has been a peculiar part of this solidly Hispanic neighborhood since 1985. Once, many years ago, in its Jewish incarnation, this neighborhood was my neighborhood. The five- and six-story brick buildings that rub endlessly against one another, inflicting heinous boredom on me as a child, are still there. The Valentine Theatre, in which I saw Satyajit Ray’s The World of Apu, has gone. I find it has been replaced by Fino Men’s Wear. More »
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    My Brief Career Composing Spanish Music Paid Member

    I don’t think I have the power of mind to seek after the self or anything else in meditation. I am a very poor practitioner; I have my hands full just relaxing. At my best, I can only sit there completely relaxed and notice acutely. More »
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    The Mantra & The Typist Paid Member

    When I was four, my parents acquired a black Royal typewriter with round shiny metal keys edged in chrome. The clicking keys, the flashing fingers, and in those days, the smacking sound of key against paper commanded all my attention. Words created with such potent sound and swift motion, I surmised, must have compelling power. Power for what, I could not yet know. More »
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    Aborigine in the Citadel Paid Member

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    Necessary Doubt Paid Member