Quiet and low down joy

Grief came to live in my body the year my mom died. It has never left. Sometimes it is quiet and low down, like a tide that has gone out. Other times it flows in and fills me up. Grief is big. Like an ocean. It is wet. Heavy and soaking wet. It soaks my fiery heart....

Row, row, row your boat

Years ago, more than ten now, when I started getting into buddhist teachings, I recall listening to an hour-long discourse given by a monk on his interpretation of the spiritual meaning to be found in the children’s song: Row, row, row your boat Gently down the...
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