THE BROAD SPACE

On The Road - London 1980's Sometimes the last thing you expect comes. It comes out of nowhere or everywhere. It comes all at once. Sometimes it comes from the past lugging with it a firework of memories. If we're lucky, and just a little bit wiser when it arrives, only the good memories will spark. I call this kind of event The Sneaky Buddha. The thing comes because it's meant to, because it has to. It comes because it's time to learn or to remember or to acknowledge. The Sneaky Buddha delivers on schedule...at the precise moment when we are ready. Let's go back... I always loved music, was in all the school plays and sang...a lot.  In 1963 when the first Beatles album was released, I was four. But I remember hearing Love Me Do on the radio and singing it out. The Beatles were on the soundtrack of my young life. I was in love with them. Fully and truly in love. And I remember seeing them on The Ed Sullivan Show in 1964. I was Five ...

I feel a deep shift. I am hovering somewhere on the far side of the middle; the psychic territory of knowing that my life has more days behind me than in front of me.  I am thinking about my generational context, my genetic code. I am focused, for some reason, on the female line.  I never knew my mother's grandmother. She was gone before I arrived on the planet.  But I knew my grandmother, Mary. At least, for a little while. Here's what I remember... She loved me. She gave me teaspoons of honey when I had a cough (which was ' always ' once I figured that out). We played croquet in the yard.  She made clothes for my dolls.  She let my sister and I slide down her carpeted stairs on our bottoms. She had a window seat with a flip-up lid and I hid in there. She cooked really yummy food. She loved her daughter who was my mother and...

XINILANI MEXICO THE SECRET OF HEALTH FOR BOTH MIND AND BODY IS TO NOT MOURN FOR THE PAST NOR TO WORRY ABOUT THE FUTURE BUT TO LIVE THE PRESENT MOMENT WISELY AND EARNESTLY. Gautama Buddha  31 January - 9:20am I am on a plane. I am settled in. I am realizing a dream to move further into the Dharma and the Yoga that I love. I am telling myself the story of how it will be; what it will look like; how it will smell and feel and taste.  I am writing a beautiful story that takes place in the mountains on the west coast of Mexico at the mouth of the Bay of Banderas looking out onto the Pacific. I am writing the whole thing in my head, and the cabin doors of the plane are still open, wheels firmly on the tarmac. Turns out, I'm a sorry conjurer of what the future looks like. Hard as I try, I cannot perform the magic hat trick of shaping whatever comes to look like my desire.  I never will. The seat next to m...