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In memory of Roxie

 In memory of Roxie At the borderlands of Dewachen, the pure land of Buddha Amitabha, there is a peculiar stretch of land. It is reserved mainly for the dogs of people who practice the Dharma. There are predominantly dogs on that land, but exceptions occur. Occasionally, one could see the glimpse of some well-behaved cats, who keep themselves to themselves, and even a snake or two could be found, after the story of the White Snake came to be known. The dogs have some memories of their humans reciting sadhanas and prayers, they remember the mantras whispered in their fluffy ears; the memories of the smell of burning incense lingers on the tips of their noses; the taste of the tormas they somehow managed to snatch from the shrine still coats their tongs. All those conditions accumulated together produce the little dog paradise in which everything is as it should be in the world of dogs: The tennis balls are there for a chase whenever needed, and when they fly, they murmur softly...

Riding the Winds



There is a type of music that lets your mind ride on its tail-winds. Up and down, slower, faster, a pause… Slightly unpredictable, so you cannot drift into a thinking mode; you do not have much choice but follow its movement. Classical music is sometimes like that; jazz is even closer to what I mean.


My daughter made me listen to the music of St. VIncent in the car the other day. Although I cannot say that I liked it much, I appreciated its musical patterns, the pauses and movements through which small patches of emptiness can be glimpsed. The mind can glide on its winds rather than ride on the winds of its own thoughts.



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