I have been listening to Bruce Springsteen’s song , feeling the anger. I’m grateful that he’s putting it out there. I can see it in his face, hear it in his voice. Should I be out there on the streets? I’d heard the call for clergy to come Minnesota to bear witness. I’m still a Zen Buddhist priest although rarely play the role. It’s been years since I’ve donned my robes. I tell myself I’m too old for the streets. Should I have gone? Cancelled my doctors’ appointments? Can I s

One of my great joys in growing older has been the joy of rediscovery. Sometimes it’s the joy of a song I haven’t heard in years, singing forgotten words with Dee on a road trip. Sometimes, it’s coming back to novel I haven’t opened in years and finding that I don’t remember it at all. I’m reading it for the first time. Sometimes, it’s studying some piece of Zen with students and realizing how much I’d missed on previous visits.   The rediscovery of the Gatha of Atonement  ha

Growing up, I resented my mother’s anxiety. I could feel it weighing on me, but I thought Aunt Tess’s story was funny. Aunt Tess – preparing to marry Uncle Nat, Mom’s adored, older brother – wanted Mom to feel she was gaining a sister. She invited Mom to lunch at Schrafft’s in Manhattan. That was a big deal, but Mom cancelled because it was raining. Mom didn’t like the rain. Aunt Tess thought it was hysterical and told the story many times. I’m still working on walking in the