In nonfiction, you have that limitation, that constraint, of telling the truth.

It is related that Sakyamuni [the historical Buddha] once dismissed as of small consequence a feat of levitation on the part of a disciple, and cried out in pity for a yogin by the river who had spent twenty years of his human existence learning to walk on water, when the ferryman might have taken him across for a small coin.

The Zen expression “Kill the Buddha!” means to kill any concept of the Buddha as something apart from oneself.

In nonfiction, you have that limitation, that constraint, of telling the truth.

Illuminated by the same joyful curiosity and erudition, lyric writing, and plain love of life that made a classic of Archie Carr's The Windward Road.

Anyone who thinks they can save the world is both wrong and dangerous

Where to begin? Do we measure the relaxing of the feet? The moment when the eye glimpses the hawk, when instinct functions? For in this pure action, this pure moving of the bird, there is no time, no space, but only the free doing-being of this very moment -now!