As our train slid into the western German city of Trier, large banners festooned the station, Augusta Treverorum. My son went nuts. With glistening dark eyes, curly hair and a broad smile, Jon, in his middle twenties, loudly blurted, “Mom, it’s Augusta Treverorum,” as if I knew what that meant. “We’re here on the spot. […]
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If I’d been wrestling with an issue during the day, when I sat down to meditate, it seemed like many pointing fingers in my mind demanded to know How?, Why? and Who’s to blame? Emotional chaos took over, destroying peace. That’s why I painted the life-sized shape of a meditator on thick paper, made from
The Template Scapula fly. I know this because I dipped a string in black paint, then I carefully tied it around my nude chest and back. Slowly, I moved one shoulder up as high as it would go. Deliberately, I lowered it far down. I did the same with the other side.I arched my shoulders
When I walk into a store and see long lines, my Inner Grump says, “Grrrr…” and begins her favorite rant. Are stores in the business of selling? If so, why can’t they transact a sale efficiently, rather than torture me with lines? I imagine evil bureaucratic nihilists in charge of store computers loading algorithms to
