Voices from the Sangh
No two paths are identical. Listening to another's may help you recognise your own.
The Year I Could Not Pray
After my father's death, every mantra tasted of ash. I sat down anyway, every morning, the way one keeps an appointment with a friend who never comes. And then, one Tuesday in autumn, the friend came.
Full story coming soonCooking as Sadhana
My teacher told me to cook one meal a week in silence, as an offering. I laughed — I was a chef. Now, four years later, the kitchen is my temple and chopping onions is my mantra.
Full story coming soonA Letter from Deotsidh
Three days walking the steep path, knees complaining, mind quiet for the first time in years. When I finally stood before the diya, I did not ask for anything. There was nothing left to ask for.
Full story coming soonOn Beginning Again
I have begun a daily sitting practice perhaps forty times in my life. Forty failures, you might say. Or — forty beginnings. The teacher in me prefers the second.
Full story coming soonWhat the Mountain Taught
I went to the Himalayas hoping for a revelation. I came back with one sentence, written on a scrap of paper: the snow does not hurry to melt. It still hangs above my desk.
Full story coming soonOn Forgiving My Mother
It took ten years of practice to understand that forgiveness was not for her. It was the lock I had been carrying — finally opened, finally set down by the side of the road.
Full story coming soonThe Quiet Householder
Three children, two jobs, a tired marriage I am learning to love again. There is no time for retreat. So the retreat must be the changing of a diaper, the doing of the dishes, the kindness of a single sentence at the door.
Full story coming soon