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I can assure you that you will not find your golden ball not up here in the airstream were I reside. It’s deep in the muck of the jungle, in the darkness of the cave you fear. So do not pray, do not pay, there’s nothing I can give. There is no map for the divine cartography of human lives.

But worry not, for you’ve not lost your way. Never has it been for one to reach the destination at a single place, nor does one arrive at any one of them at a single time. you’ve hardly been on this journey and too often you stop too early, mistaking understanding with understanding that there is something to be understood. the latter is the very beginning, the opening road; you’re still in the shire, dear.

The Trinity of Time, Effort and Focused Energy is the eternal order: When you receive a new understanding understand it’s like you are being given a pair of oars — still you will have to find the canoe (you might have to build one); still will you have to locate the deep river; still you will have to learn how to navigate the invisible; still you will have to learn how to row the oars so that they stir much more than the water…

Living in Manhattan for too long can make it feel that you are steel and that your life as is glimmering as all the glass and chaos.
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Today in Central Park I went to the eldest tree worth more than any of the buildings. In its shade I laid down on my back and faced the sky in such a way that my tears streamed into my ears, filling the notches until they overflowed. It was as though my ears were crying with my eyes; it felt twice as healing, which is needed in a city that can be twice as cruel.

Celestial inquiries: In all of biology, is life not bubbles rising from the deep quantum deep and death occurring when they reach the surface and merge with the air and the sky of the Mystery? Is it possible for a culture today to root itself in the celestial? To access a lost dimension, to encounter a dimension of awareness which cuts through the world of subjectivity and objectivity, fiction and nonfiction, and goes down to that which is not world, not even accessible in words, but is the mystery of the Ground of Being?

Whoever might be reading this, if what i’m trying to say is hard to follow, I’ll try to elucidate it with a thought exercise: Imagine if all the dust in your house lifted and gathered around the nearest light bulb. And after several days it coalesces as a sphere rotating and revolving steadily around the light. By the end of the week, a thin blue haze forms around it and with it there forms bodies of water and expanses of green stuff growing across the surface. After a few more days, you notice tiny moving specks and under a magnifying glass you notice these are not mere dust particles caught in the wind but an incredible diversity of creatures swimming, running, flying –evolving, learning, creating, speaking, writing, wondering — asking where all they are apart of came from.

Imagine if you witnessed that happen: a ball of dust form and form a world teaming with life. I don’t know you, but I don’t have to in order to know you’re life would profoundly change; you would have very little say in the matter. The dust would not be something you could ever brush off. This would make things like being abducted by aliens or having pomegranate tea with a talking vegan tyrannosaurus rex seem casual.

What we do know is that 13.7 billion years ago all there was in the universe was a vast gas cloud of hydrogen and helium. Let two gases do their thing and eventually you will get me writing this and you reading this; we get a world that has oneword. For our scientific understandings of evolutionary biology, chemistry, physics, cosmology for a moment. Let your mind recoil from itself for a moment; lose your self in how mysterious this all really is.

A deep, permeating sense of the miraculousness for existence would make things like war for profit, the needless suffering and starvation of millions, and the destruction of the biosphere, impossible.

I washed my feet with the black unctuous soil that was speckled and scented with cherry blossoms that showered down on me like dream rain — it’s important for me to stop and clean myself from the cleanliness of the business of adult life every once in a while with nature’s soap that lather’s the world with life. For me her soil is not dirty, it’s holy. (Miracles spring from it.)