I’m writing this on my phone in a small cafe called Abraço in New York City. They don’t allow the use of laptops, so this is my only way of communicating with you.
This morning I woke up late, at around eleven am, in the tiny room in the crummy apartment building where I’m staying. I felt emotionally down based on a story that I came all the way to New York but spent so much of a perfectly good Saturday in bed.
It’s partly because I haven’t slept much the past few nights, which was partly to get more work done and partly because of traveling. Then last night I didn’t sleep well, partly because the beagle belonging to my host was howling, apparently from bad dreams because his owner is away.
So I finally got out of the apartment at around one in the afternoon, and I found myself walking very slowly along the streets of the East Village, savoring this place. It’s so complex and beautiful, so full of intermeshed lives, so scratched and nicked and rebuilt again and again. This is human on a massive scale.
I’m in New York to attend meetings with Jim Newman, a person who talks about nonduality. I don’t even truly know why I’m here; it makes no sense. There is nothing for me in these meetings, even though I seem to enjoy them very much.
What is discussed is all there is, what is apparently happening. In the story of…
