April 11, 2015

Last night i slept on one of Martin Buber’s books. I dreamed of a stairway reaching into the cosmos and saw the old gods ascending and descending upon it. And there above it stood a greater, as yet unimagined possibility.

March 29, 2015

We must reforge the prophets of old into pry bars and topple the truths we once imagined could save us.

March 28, 2015

The Buddha has said: “even the gods are subject to samsara”; but i say unto you: even our scientists and their truths are in thrall to reckless world views. (They do not know how to find the truths that are best for us.)

March 21, 2015

This morning I watched an old man repeatedly pace the contour of St. Peter’s parking lot. Which of us was the greater fool?

March 15, 2015

On the ides of March

I, too, brutally stabbed you,
for being better than i — now
peace and reason rule instead;
but hope, dear God, has fled!

March 9, 2015

Lord God, do not disappear
until we have learned to replace
you. Teach us, we pray: What is better
than seeking your face? — Then
we may find you once more.

March 7, 2015

Why do we kill the goose and keep the cat? — Because predators flock together? Or are birds without feathers just better?

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February 22, 2015

Being and time

In Hebrew, unlike English, you face the past: the future lies at your back, like the rower on a boat or half the travelers on a train. But these languages lead us astray, for the past is as distant as the future, and the human soul (at present) as homebound as it is myopic.

February 22, 2015

Why do we feed the sparrow and fight the squirrel? — Because we cannot fly or because birds have two feet, too?

February 21, 2015

The fickle mountain

When Master Chuang was young, he fluttered back and forth on every decision, exhausting himself. One day, after mounting frustration at his own fickleness, he sat pouting by the roadside as a portly old monk passed by.
— Why are you crying, child, asked the expansive holy man.
— I am a butterfly in the wind. The minute i want something, i begin to want something else, replied the sad, precocious child.
The monk plopped his massive frame on a nearby rock and thought in silence for a good long while.
— You must pray to the God of Stubbornness, he finally declared, and waddled away.
Young Master Chuang had never heard of such a silly god, but wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so on the spot he began pestering the makeshift deity for just a little more stubbornness. Lo and behold, the butterfly was soon pinned down! In time it completely petrified, then morphed into a stone, a hill, and finally became an infinitely large mountain. Even now old Master Chuang will say a little prayer on windy mornings, lest he forget to be stubborn that day.


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