Hitching a ride, trusting a partner, marrying the same person three times
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“Where do I write?” a good friend asked me. And when? And how? What are all the externals? He thought it might be helpful to others to know that I sit in a chair, near a window; that I eat and drink without limits, impulsively; that I like to look out at something natural.
Every single moment of consciousness, of your experience, from the past, present or future is such an incredible storehouse of creativity that is unleashed upon itself, I am awed, my mind is boggled.
I am running out these hours like a man condemned to live them. But life is eternal, sings the wind; everlasting, whispers the rain.
I have toyed with preparing a cookbook of my own. But with Mrs. Ewald’s book I no longer consider that necessary, for this is the most complete and varied collection of vegetarian recipes I have seen.
Are you a Briar? Well, you might be if you try to live simply, share resources and skills with others, and practice right livelihood rather than grasp for fame and riches.
Yoga is a living process. The heart of yoga does not lie in visible attainments; it lies in learning and exploring. Learning is a process, a movement, while attainments are static.
Twenty years ago Duncan Hines described North Carolina as a gastronomical desert. Although far from the culinary equal of New York or San Francisco, Chapel Hill has come a long way since 1957. There are now six ethnic restaurants in town.
The sky is perfect tonight. The flawless close to a false Spring day in mid-February — an odd day with chirping birds, open windows, shirtless basketball and soft outdoor conversation before supper.
I write of a ridiculous-acting class of people, but one that is not without craft and guile. Public office seems to attract people who are just smart enough to realize that elected positions of “public confidence” are the easiest and safest of possibilities for not especially bright individuals to get rich.
I AM RAGE. I am a storm, dark, heavy, omnipotent. I am unmitigated violence. I am fury, exploding, blinding lightning, roaring thunder, howling wind. I surge like the sea, uncontrollable in my rage.
There are those of us, not many formerly counted among your admirers, who to date take heart from reports of your activities which mayhap (dare we so hope?) indicate the formulation of a Coolidgean policy of saying little and doing less.
I was compiling a list of what I would take with me in the coffin when along came a dog wearing a hat.
This story in pictures is available as a PDF only. Click here to download.
The photographs in this selection are available as a PDF only. Click here to download.