I am grateful to my parents for birthing me. Not because they raised me especially well — much of who I became was shaped by forces they neither chose nor controlled, and some of it in spite of them rather than because of them — but because they gave me the one thing no oneContinue reading “The Chance to Be Here”
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Two Ways of Growing Old — Matisse, Picasso and What a Rival Is For
In December 2009 Banksy painted over a piece King Robbo had left on a Camden canal wall in 1985. Days later Robbo waded out and painted it back. That went on for two years — and it kept reminding me of an older quarrel, conducted more slowly and with better manners, between Matisse and Picasso.Continue reading “Two Ways of Growing Old — Matisse, Picasso and What a Rival Is For”
The Muffled Voice: When Writing Becomes a Performance
I once wrote on my blog about wanting my voice to be a star in the vast writing cosmos—wondering if, across the reaches of space and time, some distant reader might eventually catch its light like stardust drifting from a long-dead past. It was a romantic, pure vision of connection. But a strange thing happensContinue reading “The Muffled Voice: When Writing Becomes a Performance”
What Remains, What Passes
A short story I It was in one of those days when, in his dreams, Benny came home and Jimmy, his elder brother, was standing at the doorway and opened the gate for him. The amber light drew him in, its glow falling across an array of familiar things — objects all jumbled together blurredContinue reading “What Remains, What Passes”
What Is Nirvana? What Is Buddhahood?
Nirvana, or Buddhahood, cannot be fully comprehended through concepts, language, or ordinary thought. Words function within the realm of distinctions—self and other, existence and non-existence, birth and death. Buddhahood, however, transcends such dualities. Therefore, any attempt to define it as we define ordinary experiences will inevitably fall short. It is especially misleading to think ofContinue reading “What Is Nirvana? What Is Buddhahood?”
The Mythic Life of Ordinary Days
A simple morning routine—waking, making coffee, pulling back the curtain—quietly mirrors ancient myths of chaos giving way to order. By seeing our inner upheavals (especially grief and change) as underworld journeys within a larger cycle of renewal, we recover meaning and dignity in ordinary life, much like Joyce’s Ulysses turns one day in Dublin into an epic.
Deserted Rural Houses
Stories Carried Forward — An Introduction In many families, the most enduring stories are not the ones that end well, but the ones that fall silent—stories marked by absence, disappearance, and unanswered waiting. These tales were written by my brother James some years ago, recounted to him in childhood by our father. James has alwaysContinue reading “Deserted Rural Houses”
Counting Down to Meaning: What a Timer Taught Me About Living
What If You Knew Exactly When You Would Die? Imagine waking up tomorrow with a timer floating above your head—visible only to you—counting down to the exact moment of your death. Years, months, days, hours, minutes, seconds. Every tick echoing through your consciousness. Would this knowledge liberate you or destroy you? Sarah discovered her timerContinue reading “Counting Down to Meaning: What a Timer Taught Me About Living”
Life, Words and Everything in Between
Sitting by the window right now, just staring out at the night, and I can’t stop thinking about life. Like, what’s the point, you know? It’s so beautiful and messy and fleeting. One second, we’re here, and the next… we’re just gone. And what do we leave behind? A few stories? Some words? Does anyContinue reading “Life, Words and Everything in Between”
Why I like Virginia Woolf
A Friend of mine found the narrative of Virgnia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse too chaotic to understand and he decided to pass it up as holiday reading. Instead he chose Joseph Conrad’s Victory. Here’s what he said to me: “I’ve temporarily abandoned To the Lighthouse. It doesn’t seem suitable as holiday reading. I’ll borrow itContinue reading ” Why I like Virginia Woolf”
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