The Five Invitations: Discovering What Death Can Teach Us About Living Fully

thought of the American Buddhist nun and bestselling author Pema Chödrön, who wrote, “The problem is that the desire to change yourself is fundamentally a form of aggression toward yourself.”

Earth dissolves into water. Water dissolves into fire. Fire dissolves into air. Air dissolves into space. Space dissolves into consciousness.

The Thai meditation master Ajahn Chah once motioned to a glass at his side. “Do you see this glass?” he asked. “I love this glass. It holds the water admirably. When the sun shines on it, it reflects the light beautifully. When I tap it, it has a lovely ring. Yet for me, this glass is already broken. When the wind knocks it over or my elbow knocks

Loving and letting go are inseparable. You can’t love and cling at the same time. Too often we mistake attachment for love. In Buddhism, loving kindness, or metta, is considered a sublime state of being. A heavenly realm. It’s expansive, allowing, caring, and connective. Attachment masquerades as love. It

Our brains are not computer hard drives. Human memory is not a simple matter of “accurate data in, accurate data out.” It is a far more complicated, subtle, and beautiful process.

If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion. —HIS HOLINESS THE DALAI LAMA

Attachment likes to impersonate love. It says, “I will love you if you give me what I need.” Love is focused on generosity; attachment is obsessed with getting needs met. Love is an expression of our most essential nature; attachment is an expression of the personality. Love engenders faithfulness, aligning with our values, moving with purpose; att

SONO’S DEATH POEM Don’t just stand there with your hair turning gray, soon enough the seas will sink your little island. So while there is still the illusion of time, set out for another shore. No sense packing a bag. You won’t be able to lift it into your boat. Give away all your collections. Take only new seeds and an old stick. Send out some pra

thought to myself of a few lines from Cat’s Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut: And I was some of the mud that got to sit up and look around. Lucky me, lucky mud.