On Monday I was honored to attend a gathering to mourn the passing and celebrate the life of a great American bodhisattva. Robert Thurman died on June 16 at his home in Woodstock, New York at the age of 84. He was probably the preeminent American Buddhist of our...

My mountain of a dog, Monty, is bouncing around the foyer, pawing at the door, whinnying and whining like a racehorse straining at the bit. We’ve just adopted this big guy—ninety-five pounds of pure strength and sweetness—and he’s eager to muscle his way past my legs...

When I was a child, I found a secret place in the bayberry bushes. In the summers my family floated free from the known world—the world that was measured by carpools and sidewalks—and went to the seashore. It was lonely for me there; I felt alone in my separate self,...

Soon after moonrise, Venus glistens awake to the southwest. An oil lamp is set aflame, a dim reading lamp is tugged to light. Prostrating on all fours, I touch my forehead to the cold oak floor. I stand, adjust a white chunni, or scarf, over my temples, and rest my...