“Words have not been made to describe the state of meditation. Language allows us to bite around the edges, to nibble and taste, but never to report the essence. But still we try. Like a dream, neve...”

“I am remembering something. At first it comes to me as a feeling. It is comforting. It is a place I want to be. It is home. Is it the memory of a dream? It is indistinct, but real. I am holding onl...”

“I remembered Patels words, Surrender is not giving up, it is worship. Show me how to step, I said, so that it pleases you. Make me one with you and also this land. Be with me.”

“His youth carried his words and lit the room with an optimism. India is like our home, he said, our spiritual home. Even before we get here there was that feeling.”

“Above us was a canopy, the stretching arms of cedar and spruce and Douglas fir. We knew to follow in silence, watching our steps, heads bowed. We were in a temple.”

“I remembered Patel’s words, “Surrender is not giving up, it is worship.” “Show me how to step,” I said, “so that it pleases you. Make me one with you and also this land. Be with me.”

“They call this war a cloud over the land. But they made the weather and then they stand in the rain and say 'Shit, it's raining!”

“Halfway home, the sky goes from dark gray to almost black and a loud thunder snap accompanies the first few raindrops that fall. Heavy, warm, big drops, they drench me in seconds, like an overturne...”

“For the rest of my life, Zanzibar will be the Swahili word for rain. The rain would drizzle, spit, mist, downpour, shower, torrent, gust, deluge and blast. At one point it hit the ground so hard it...”