Letter: The Soil Is Doing Its Work
A republished Sunday Stillness letter, from the first warm Sunday of spring.
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A republished Sunday Stillness letter, from the first warm Sunday of spring.
A story from the Zhuangzi, two thousand years old, about a boat, a river, and a moment of unexpected kindness.
A small instruction for the practice you have already broken.
A small permission for those of us who have been trying to make every difficulty easier than it actually is.
One of the oldest stories about grief in any tradition. A young mother, her dead son, and an unexpected lesson.
A small book written in the immediate aftermath of unbearable loss. The most honest pages I know on the subject.
A small autumn practice.
An attempt to put into words the truth that makes everything more precious, not less.
An old story about two monks, a young woman, and a man who carried something too far.
A small permission for the person who has been chasing zero for years.
Not affirmations. Not slogans. Three quiet things I have come back to for years.
A teaching from the Buddha about the suffering we add to the suffering we cannot avoid.
A book for the kind of week you cannot fix. There is more medicine in it than you will be ready to receive.
Productivity culture sold us a faster horse. Sometimes the answer is fewer horses.
A small story about Epictetus, a missed bus, and a man on his phone.
A story from Ajahn Chah, the Thai forest monk, about the cup on his table.