After the movie ended, I sat for a moment. I imagined a moon rising behind the clouds, so that the weather’s back was lit all silver, while below the rain fell easily down. Nothing easier than letting go, from a great height, and being received, at sea level. That was not what I thought. That is what I was.

What I thought took place in the mind, while everything important was going by. The mind felt alone, even lonely (of course): that is how a mind lives. The body, it simply touches or does not touch, feels rain or does not get wet, stays long in the sun and turns red or does not turn red. The mind, meanwhile, reaches out with no fingers, speaks with no voice, feels the beautiful curve of no lips, recalls the graceful arch of the body, the arrow loosed, the heartbreaking arrival (you cry, because beauty breaks the heart, whereas horror merely hardens it); the mind reaches out with fingers fragile and tenacious as a spider’s web, tries to catch the breeze, the dew, maybe time.

I was recently asked to step into a new space in the blogosphere. This journal was originally created to track the progress of me and my friend Manny along our third-eye-opening trek through India; when we returned, there was enough literary momentum – and plenty of lessons being offered by the world right here close to home – to continue setting down thoughts every few days. The meditation and awareness classes we co-teach would fill pages each day, had I virtual ink enough to pen them.