This essay was originally published in October 2016, on my website CoolMindWarmHeart.com, during Donald Trump’s first run for President While Donald Trump may be colossally unworthy of our trust to be president, there is one thing about him I honor: his role in making saints. (Not that he knows he’s doing so.) I’m not cracking wise
Oh what a show the worldly-world is manifesting as our collective ignorance reminds us of the price we pay for how we define reality. Perhaps the most rewarding part of today’s outrageous drama that is assaulting so many forms of security our ego consciousness finds essential to a healthy life is the rise of
The single most important thing about Trump—by that I mean his deepest service to the human family, even though he’s likely unaware of it—is that he is not responsible for a single thing anyone feels or thinks about him. I say that as one who champions what may be the most fear-provoking point-of-view the
Less than a week before stepping into year 82, a slogan, or motto, or maybe just a wordy bumper-sticker of common sense appeared in the night kitchen: “We have all the time we need to find God.” That’s such a liberating notion. And at least one reason I also find it full of delight is
There is absolutely nothing in life on earth that I don’t find wonderful and sacred, while I sometimes also find it excruciating. That’s primarily because I don’t consider myself a human being. I am a soul, as are we all, an expression of the essence of the universe, a fingerprint of the reality that is
Werner Herzog is 82 today, born the year before I. I’m not familiar with the vast scope of his worldly expression, but what I am familiar with leads me to bow at his commitment to self-discovery, the bringing forth of stories in service of humankind’s awakening, and the willingness to meet life with a passion
My terror of heights limits my career as a window-washer on the Empire State Building. The building isn’t the cause of my terror. The cause is my inherent sense of unsafety at any distance off the ground more than the thickness of a comic book. My relationship with the building only triggers that reaction. In
When I die, an email from my address announcing the event, and a short statement of my two-cents about it, including my profound gratitude for everyone whose path I have crossed, even for a second, will be sent to all those on a list I’m compiling. I’ll be amused to discover the complete message, which