77% Weekly

  I’m in a horrible fucking mood. Deal with the cuss word. We are adults. The g.d. vending machine at the airport took the $10 bill and dispensed “the water bottle with the cool, easy-to-drink-out-of top” that Annie wanted. But that was it. Just the water bottle. No change. The machine kept the change. I […]

Authored? Authorized? I’m thinking about having a co-author for this book I’m writing. However, I’ve not yet decided.   ***   Assuming you are holding in your hands right now the very book that I’m writing, makes something interesting. You, beloved reader—who exists outside of me and the time and space in which I live—can

# Anti-racism *** If you’ve missed the recent _ROTB Saturday spiritualigious service gatherings_, we’ve been talking a bit about being an anti-racist. Catch up by reading this. *** Jiddu Krishnamurti: “It is no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society.” *** Impact and intent are different. Your understanding of my

Disappointment   Kim, who bakes the artisanal matzah I annually send to friends throughout the US, tested COVID positive in the weeks before Passover, when production usually starts. “Brian,” she said on the phone, “I can’t make the matzah.” Like that. No drama. No other words. “Wow,” I said, surprised, curious as to what would

Forgive the Ninnies I’m little. Nine years old. Or six, maybe. I don’t remember. We’re at a rodeo. My sister, my mom, my dad. Why? I don’t know. Where? Texas, maybe. All kids under 10 are invited to come into the center ring for a game. I rush down. I like games. A young bull

Dear God, I’ve not written for a while. I’d say, it’s because conceptualizing you as other, separate from me, doesn’t sit well with my mature faith. However, as a spiritualigious exemplar—someone from whom others derive some of their spiritualigious thinking—I’m ok with modeling inconsistent theology. I believe my allowing people to see that behind the

Attachment. Non. Merci.   We get attached to concrete objects—dishes, cell phones, cars, houses. We get attached to ideas—roles we play and maintaining this is right and that is wrong. We get attached to comfort—and thinking that we oughtn’t be uncomfortable. We get attached to self and others.   And plans. We get attached to

Today’s scheduled article — cleverly entitled, “Attachment. Non. Merci.” — starts with a story at the top of the Arc de Triomphe in Paris. and then weaves into a lesson about not getting too attached to outcomes. That’s not happening. You aren’t reading that article today. Finding bandwidth to make the final edits was stressing me.

“Estoy…um, how do you say ‘cold’?” Emmett asks. We are attempting a conversation in Spanish. “What are you trying to say?,” I inquire, as I bite into the street taco I brought back to our heavily air conditioned hotel room in Mexico City. “I’m cold.” “Cold is frio. But it’s *tengo* frio. Not *estoy* frio.”

It is Yom Kippur — the holiest day of the Jewish years.  I’m in my backyard. In a tent.  Fasting.  Contemplating. It’s my practice.   The dogs tell me and repeat: “Clear and present danger at the front door. Clear and present danger at the front door.”    I unzip, go through the house, and