https://awakin.org/read/ iJourney passages are a weekly email service that delivers a little bit of wisdom. It all started with couple folks getting together on Wednesdays in the Silicon Valley. en Mon, 06 Jul 2026 20:18:24 -0700 ServiceSpace iJourney passages are a weekly email service that delivers a little bit of wisdom. It all started with couple folks getting together on Wednesdays in the Silicon Valley. ServiceSpace tow@charityfocus.org no tow@charityfocus.org (ServiceSpace) https://awakin.org/read/view.php?tid=2789 When I get to the redwood forest, the trees welcome me with the ancient eloquence of their silence. I’ve been away so long I’ve almost forgotten this feeling. My heart fills with tears of love. Friday evening at the campsite, I silently prepare to answer them with the ancient eloquence of the ritual Shabbos (Sabbath) meal — candles, wine, challah, special foods, prayers and blessings. Then comes the noise. The insistent, dominating whine from the camper that’s just pulled into the next camp site. I try to ignore it, to still my mind, to return to the loving gratitude of the ritual. I can’t do it. The noise is now dominating my evening. What to do? A couple of years ago something similar happened. I felt upset and angry, walked over to the family in the camper, and asked them to have some consideration for other campers and please turn off their generator. The man had looked at my angry face, then at his wife and teenage sons, and shrugged. “The park rules say I can keep it on till 10:00,” he said. And he did. The noise drowned out my peace and serenity for the rest of the evening. So I sit there surrounded by the noise, contemplating lessons I’ve been learning all my life from friends and teachers. I get up and walk over to the camper. There’s a couple about my age, the woman sitting outside reading, the man inside preparing dinner. I take an instant to look at them, to imagine their lives, their struggles and their hopes. "Hi," I say. "I'm camping across from you. Beautiful evening, isn’t it?" We introduce ourselves. He does most of the talking. She looks frail. Turns out they’re from Southern California, on their way back from visiting their son in Oregon. I tell them about my daughter and granddaughter in Portland. "I’ve been wondering how long you’re planning to keep your generator on," I say. "The rules say we can keep it on till 10:00," he answers. I just nod, without saying anything. He looks around at the campgrounds, mostly tents. "It’s pretty quiet here, isn't it?" he says. I nod again. "I think that’s why a lot of us come here." "Well, I don’t know, I guess we can turn it off after dinner, in about an hour or so." He looks over at his wife. She nods. "Well thanks," I say. "I appreciate that. Enjoy your dinner!" "Thanks. And you enjoy yours too." Back at the campsite, I say the blessing and light the candles. The noise from the generator is still strong. But the noise in my mind has gone, and I'm able to be peacefully present in the silence. A few minutes later, I notice that the outer noise is gone too. I walk back over to the camper. "Are you guys okay?" I say. "Yeah," he says, "I just shut it off." "Well, thanks," I say. He stands there a moment, looking a little awkward. "I just decided, I don’t like the smell!" The three of us laugh, and then talk some more about our kids. tow-2789 Mon, 29 Jun 2026 00:00:00 -0700 When I get to the redwood forest, the trees welcome me with the ancient eloquence of their silence. I’ve been away so long I’ve almost forgotten this feeling. My heart fills with tears of love. Friday evening at the campsite, I silently prepare to answer them with the ancient eloquence of the ritual Shabbos (Sabbath) meal — candles, wine, challah, special foods, prayers and blessings. Then comes the noise. The insistent, dominating whine from the camper that’s just pulled into the next camp site. I try to ignore it, to still my mind, to return to the loving gratitude of the ritual. I can’t do it. The noise is now dominating my evening. What to do? A couple of years ago something similar happened. I felt upset and angry, walked over to the family in the camper, and asked them to have some consideration for other campers and please turn off their generator. The man had looked at my angry face, then at his wife and teenage sons, and shrugged. “The park rules say I can keep it on till 10:00,” he said. And he did. The noise drowned out my peace and serenity for the rest of the evening. So I sit there surrounded by the noise, contemplating lessons I’ve been learning all my life from friends and teachers. I get up and walk over to the camper. There’s a couple about my age, the woman sitting outside reading, the man inside preparing dinner. I take an instant to look at them, to imagine their lives, their struggles and their hopes. "Hi," I say. "I'm camping across from you. Beautiful evening, isn’t it?" We introduce ourselves. He does most of the talking. She looks frail. Turns out they’re from Southern California, on their way back from visiting their son in Oregon. I tell them about my daughter and granddaughter in Portland. "I’ve been wondering how long you’re planning to keep your generator on," I say. "The rules say we can keep it on till 10:00," he answers. I just nod, without saying anything. He looks around at the campgrounds, mostly tents. "It’s pretty quiet here, isn't it?" he says. I nod again. "I think that’s why a lot of us come here." "Well, I don’t know, I guess we can turn it off after dinner, in about an hour or so." He looks over at his wife. She nods. "Well thanks," I say. "I appreciate that. Enjoy your dinner!" "Thanks. And you enjoy yours too." Back at the campsite, I say the blessing and light the candles. The noise from the generator is still strong. But the noise in my mind has gone, and I'm able to be peacefully present in the silence. A few minutes later, I notice that the outer noise is gone too. I walk back over to the camper. "Are you guys okay?" I say. "Yeah," he says, "I just shut it off." "Well, thanks," I say. He stands there a moment, looking a little awkward. "I just decided, I don’t like the smell!" The three of us laugh, and then talk some more about our kids. https://awakin.org/read/view.php?tid=2804 A friendly person is someone who can empathize with you. They can put themselves in your shoes and see things from your point of view. That is what the Buddha meant by “noble.” So I like to call the Four Noble Truths the Four Friendly Facts. And I say “facts” rather than “truths,” because truth can become a proposition you are supposed to believe whether it makes sense to you or not. But the Buddha was not giving us a dogma. He was offering a kind of medical diagnosis. He looked at human beings and saw that we carry a certain uneasiness. We are wired to think that our own drive for existence is absolute. We imagine ourselves as the fixed center of things, and then we suffer when the world does not confirm it. The first friendly fact is simply noticing the symptom: we suffer. And, strangely, this can be good news. One of the things that attracts people to the path is discovering, “I am not the only one suffering here.” It is normal. It is part of the human condition. And because it is understood, it can be worked with. But for the self-centered person, this does not feel like a friendly fact. Such a person keeps thinking, “I did not enjoy this enough, because it ended. And even while I had it, it was not as good as what I imagined I might have under different circumstances.” If only I were famous. If only I were wealthy. If only I had a different partner, a different body, a different life. A person wrapped tightly around the sense of “me” can never really enjoy anything, because whatever comes is immediately compared to what could have been. The second friendly fact is the diagnosis: we suffer because we mis-know. It is not merely that we do not know; it is that we know wrongly. We think, “I am the one. I am the absolute.” And then nobody agrees — not even our own body. The third is the prognosis: if we substitute wisdom for mis-knowing, suffering can cease. And the great misunderstanding is that we must leave life in order for this to happen. But the deeper possibility is that we can be free in the midst of life, fully engaged with others. The fourth friendly fact is the therapy: a path of education — ethics, meditation, and wisdom. It is fun to know what is causing our problem. It is fun to discover that the problem is normal. It is fun to realize that understanding can free us. And it is most joyful of all to discover that our freedom can deepen our love for others. tow-2804 Mon, 22 Jun 2026 00:00:00 -0700 A friendly person is someone who can empathize with you. They can put themselves in your shoes and see things from your point of view. That is what the Buddha meant by “noble.” So I like to call the Four Noble Truths the Four Friendly Facts. And I say “facts” rather than “truths,” because truth can become a proposition you are supposed to believe whether it makes sense to you or not. But the Buddha was not giving us a dogma. He was offering a kind of medical diagnosis. He looked at human beings and saw that we carry a certain uneasiness. We are wired to think that our own drive for existence is absolute. We imagine ourselves as the fixed center of things, and then we suffer when the world does not confirm it. The first friendly fact is simply noticing the symptom: we suffer. And, strangely, this can be good news. One of the things that attracts people to the path is discovering, “I am not the only one suffering here.” It is normal. It is part of the human condition. And because it is understood, it can be worked with. But for the self-centered person, this does not feel like a friendly fact. Such a person keeps thinking, “I did not enjoy this enough, because it ended. And even while I had it, it was not as good as what I imagined I might have under different circumstances.” If only I were famous. If only I were wealthy. If only I had a different partner, a different body, a different life. A person wrapped tightly around the sense of “me” can never really enjoy anything, because whatever comes is immediately compared to what could have been. The second friendly fact is the diagnosis: we suffer because we mis-know. It is not merely that we do not know; it is that we know wrongly. We think, “I am the one. I am the absolute.” And then nobody agrees — not even our own body. The third is the prognosis: if we substitute wisdom for mis-knowing, suffering can cease. And the great misunderstanding is that we must leave life in order for this to happen. But the deeper possibility is that we can be free in the midst of life, fully engaged with others. The fourth friendly fact is the therapy: a path of education — ethics, meditation, and wisdom. It is fun to know what is causing our problem. It is fun to discover that the problem is normal. It is fun to realize that understanding can free us. And it is most joyful of all to discover that our freedom can deepen our love for others. https://awakin.org/read/view.php?tid=2617 The great leader never feels it is us versus them. He or she is for everybody. To be for one interest group is never to be against another. To be for those without power is surely not to be against those with power. Provincialism occurs frequently in personal situations of conflict We hear the tale of two of our friends. One seems to be the victim. One seems to be right, the other wrong, and we easily withdraw empathy from the "villain." Suppose our assessment of the situation is accurate, although this may be highly questionable. The villain of this moment is the victim of an earlier moment. Because I'm deeply for one, why should I be against the other? Why can't I be deeply for both? If I am absolutely unyielding in my attitude favoring one over the other, I am diminishing the freedom of attitude on the part of other people. In so doing I am limiting my capacity for leadership. I can find ultimate meaning in my call and in that of which I am a part—and at the same time enhance other facets of the whole to which I belong. I will never hurt the particular that I'm called to by being a part of the whole and enhancing the whole. What I need for my particular will always flow back to me if I am giving myself to the whole. We must do nothing that in any way diminishes another.  tow-2617 Mon, 15 Jun 2026 00:00:00 -0700 The great leader never feels it is us versus them. He or she is for everybody. To be for one interest group is never to be against another. To be for those without power is surely not to be against those with power. Provincialism occurs frequently in personal situations of conflict We hear the tale of two of our friends. One seems to be the victim. One seems to be right, the other wrong, and we easily withdraw empathy from the "villain." Suppose our assessment of the situation is accurate, although this may be highly questionable. The villain of this moment is the victim of an earlier moment. Because I'm deeply for one, why should I be against the other? Why can't I be deeply for both? If I am absolutely unyielding in my attitude favoring one over the other, I am diminishing the freedom of attitude on the part of other people. In so doing I am limiting my capacity for leadership. I can find ultimate meaning in my call and in that of which I am a part—and at the same time enhance other facets of the whole to which I belong. I will never hurt the particular that I'm called to by being a part of the whole and enhancing the whole. What I need for my particular will always flow back to me if I am giving myself to the whole. We must do nothing that in any way diminishes another.  https://awakin.org/read/view.php?tid=2616 Long, long before there were any written words, there were animals—and all the rest of the teeming natural world. Creation is the earliest sacred text given to us. Like Scripture, the natural world, too, opens up an infinite universe of meaning. Early wisdom seekers gave us a way of reading sacred texts called lectio divina. It’s a way that honors the richness of the text and the dignity of the reader. Reading or listening, we simply ask, What catches my attention?  No one gets caught in quite the same way. Then, if we give that attention-getting bit our best awareness, if we tell ourselves or each other what in the text stopped us in our tracks, and wonder about that, something mysterious happens. A door opens. We sense a path connecting the world of the text to the world of our own experience; we feel a nudge or hear a voice inviting us to explore that path. The sacred text of the natural world opens its doors—hidden in plain sight—to anyone who “reads” it with an attentive heart. Over and over it happens that one of our creature-kin comes with a word for our unsettled selves. Firefly, loon, chickadee, raccoon—any one of them might be the teacher we need. What catches my attention? Ask only that as you read the animals’ stories. In your own and others’ responses you may sense a door—often one you didn’t know you were looking for—opening. And through that door, a path, and down that path, the glimmer of a new beginning. tow-2616 Mon, 08 Jun 2026 00:00:00 -0700 Long, long before there were any written words, there were animals—and all the rest of the teeming natural world. Creation is the earliest sacred text given to us. Like Scripture, the natural world, too, opens up an infinite universe of meaning. Early wisdom seekers gave us a way of reading sacred texts called lectio divina. It’s a way that honors the richness of the text and the dignity of the reader. Reading or listening, we simply ask, What catches my attention?  No one gets caught in quite the same way. Then, if we give that attention-getting bit our best awareness, if we tell ourselves or each other what in the text stopped us in our tracks, and wonder about that, something mysterious happens. A door opens. We sense a path connecting the world of the text to the world of our own experience; we feel a nudge or hear a voice inviting us to explore that path. The sacred text of the natural world opens its doors—hidden in plain sight—to anyone who “reads” it with an attentive heart. Over and over it happens that one of our creature-kin comes with a word for our unsettled selves. Firefly, loon, chickadee, raccoon—any one of them might be the teacher we need. What catches my attention? Ask only that as you read the animals’ stories. In your own and others’ responses you may sense a door—often one you didn’t know you were looking for—opening. And through that door, a path, and down that path, the glimmer of a new beginning. https://awakin.org/read/view.php?tid=2786 We live in a world of evidence. Our cities’ infrastructures and our environmental planning, our school curricula and our economic predictions, are all filtered through the funnel of data that compiles mechanisms of ‘science.’ Fair enough. We need to know what the new bridge will cost, or how many chemo treatments the patient can withstand; we need to calculate and measure the success of our work. But it is clear that we have made some serious miscalculations in the last 100 years. All the proof in the world has not provided the information that we need to see the complexity of the world we live in. We do not understand it. We make decisions that unfold into wild and unforeseen consequences. The proof was not enough. We needed the pattern. Art does not ask for proof; it directs us to look for pattern. Strung between the chords of a flamenco song is the empathy of a thousand years of love and pain. In the gestures of a contemporary dancer we can remember all that we have never imagined, and follow the form of the body into an unknown dictionary of emotions. In the strokes of color on a London wall, we find the humor and irony of our own mistakes. On a canvas, in a photo, on the screen, we see ourselves seeing the world. We see it, we see us, we take in the cock-eyed framing that tilts our heads and rests our status quo on its ear. The poetry is there, un-killable. Each of us is an artist, dabbing rhythms, colors, metaphors, and harmonies into our moments. While abstract concepts may rollercoaster through us in art we don’t understand, the metaphors still enter us, and one day, maybe years ahead, they will speak to us. In the gruesomeness of art we find we are vulnerable and that we bleed. I have a small poster of Picasso’s ‘Woman Weeping’ on my dresser to remind me that to be a student of life is to be willing to be shattered. The darkness in art gives us a visceral experience of being dug up, emptied of the seeds of trust, and carved into the anger or jealousy that has overtaken us. There are things to be angry about in life, and art lets us explore the community of that experience. Through the breaking, tingling, crackling, smoothing, and opening, we are in art, with unnamed resonances coursing through us. We are pulled from our illusion that we can watch life from our safe place at the window. We are participants in the process. In all forms, art can offer an experience of integration that calls upon our cultural language of symbols, our imagination, our history, our intellect, and our emotions. While we often stress the importance of ‘creative expression,’ it is perhaps more vital at this moment in our history to explore what art has to say about the possibility that our perception itself can be brought into larger circuits of cognition through metaphor. Appreciation of a piece of art can be seen as recognition of the pattern that connects. As I see it, art allows us to perceive from multiple perspectives simultaneously. In order for science to really work with complexity, we need art to help give scientists a more developed capacity to perceive context, one that includes all the disciplines, emotions, cultural symbols, and personal memories. As Blake said in ‘The Grey Monk’: “A tear is an intellectual thing.” tow-2786 Mon, 01 Jun 2026 00:00:00 -0700 We live in a world of evidence. Our cities’ infrastructures and our environmental planning, our school curricula and our economic predictions, are all filtered through the funnel of data that compiles mechanisms of ‘science.’ Fair enough. We need to know what the new bridge will cost, or how many chemo treatments the patient can withstand; we need to calculate and measure the success of our work. But it is clear that we have made some serious miscalculations in the last 100 years. All the proof in the world has not provided the information that we need to see the complexity of the world we live in. We do not understand it. We make decisions that unfold into wild and unforeseen consequences. The proof was not enough. We needed the pattern. Art does not ask for proof; it directs us to look for pattern. Strung between the chords of a flamenco song is the empathy of a thousand years of love and pain. In the gestures of a contemporary dancer we can remember all that we have never imagined, and follow the form of the body into an unknown dictionary of emotions. In the strokes of color on a London wall, we find the humor and irony of our own mistakes. On a canvas, in a photo, on the screen, we see ourselves seeing the world. We see it, we see us, we take in the cock-eyed framing that tilts our heads and rests our status quo on its ear. The poetry is there, un-killable. Each of us is an artist, dabbing rhythms, colors, metaphors, and harmonies into our moments. While abstract concepts may rollercoaster through us in art we don’t understand, the metaphors still enter us, and one day, maybe years ahead, they will speak to us. In the gruesomeness of art we find we are vulnerable and that we bleed. I have a small poster of Picasso’s ‘Woman Weeping’ on my dresser to remind me that to be a student of life is to be willing to be shattered. The darkness in art gives us a visceral experience of being dug up, emptied of the seeds of trust, and carved into the anger or jealousy that has overtaken us. There are things to be angry about in life, and art lets us explore the community of that experience. Through the breaking, tingling, crackling, smoothing, and opening, we are in art, with unnamed resonances coursing through us. We are pulled from our illusion that we can watch life from our safe place at the window. We are participants in the process. In all forms, art can offer an experience of integration that calls upon our cultural language of symbols, our imagination, our history, our intellect, and our emotions. While we often stress the importance of ‘creative expression,’ it is perhaps more vital at this moment in our history to explore what art has to say about the possibility that our perception itself can be brought into larger circuits of cognition through metaphor. Appreciation of a piece of art can be seen as recognition of the pattern that connects. As I see it, art allows us to perceive from multiple perspectives simultaneously. In order for science to really work with complexity, we need art to help give scientists a more developed capacity to perceive context, one that includes all the disciplines, emotions, cultural symbols, and personal memories. As Blake said in ‘The Grey Monk’: “A tear is an intellectual thing.” https://awakin.org/read/view.php?tid=2785 Radical honesty, a form of authenticity that begins inside you, is a warm recognition that you gently apply to your conscious life. This view of radical honesty is not about telling everyone what you think. Instead, it is the root from which self-awareness grows. Thoughts and emotions that were once discarded or ignored are now embraced. Where you once felt the urge to run away, you now challenge yourself to face whatever is there. More than anything, any lie that you formerly told yourself is examined so that the truth may come forward. The key to radical honesty is that this is not about you and other people, but about how you relate to yourself in all situations, whether you are alone or with others. Radical honesty is not about punishing yourself or harsh self-talk. Rather, it is about calmly being in constant contact with your truth. Practicing this balance is critical. In the beginning, radical honesty may feel hard to manage, but it is truly a long-term project. If you want to see great results, you need to wholeheartedly commit to the process, especially when it gets difficult, so you can reject the temptation to fall back into unconsciously motivated behavior. If you continue to tread down the path of lies, fear and its two primary manifestations—anxiety and anger—will continue to grow. First, you fear truth and then you lie to be rid of your fear, unwittingly falling into a loop where you actually continue empowering your fear because every lie breeds further anxiety. The only way to put an end to the burning fire of fear is by thoroughly extinguishing it with truth. Dishonesty is the fear of truth. Dishonesty with yourself creates distance. The more lies you build up over time, the more you become a stranger to yourself. When you cannot accept your own truth, you are moving in the opposite direction of self-awareness. When lies suffuse your mind, life becomes opaque and the right actions you need to take to ease your inner tension become difficult to decipher. The lies you tell yourself will also manifest as a lack of depth in your relationships. A deep connection with another being is not possible if you are deeply disconnected from yourself. As you practice radical honesty, this distance decreases and your mind starts to become calmer. Telling yourself the truth is the beginning of inner harmony. This harmony immediately makes your relationships more vibrant. In examining your past and uncovering the truth that you previously re- fused to own, you actually make the power of your honesty stronger. This higher degree of presence allows your self- awareness to flourish. Eventually, your radical honesty matures to the point where it becomes non-negotiable—you carry it wherever you go and in every situation it becomes an asset that informs your decisions. Where you once coaxed yourself into thinking nothing was wrong, you now admit to yourself that turbulence or hurt was actually there. Where you once forced yourself into thinking you liked something, you admit that you did find it disagreeable. Where you once denied old pain, you admit that there is a wound within you that needs tending. tow-2785 Mon, 25 May 2026 00:00:00 -0700 Radical honesty, a form of authenticity that begins inside you, is a warm recognition that you gently apply to your conscious life. This view of radical honesty is not about telling everyone what you think. Instead, it is the root from which self-awareness grows. Thoughts and emotions that were once discarded or ignored are now embraced. Where you once felt the urge to run away, you now challenge yourself to face whatever is there. More than anything, any lie that you formerly told yourself is examined so that the truth may come forward. The key to radical honesty is that this is not about you and other people, but about how you relate to yourself in all situations, whether you are alone or with others. Radical honesty is not about punishing yourself or harsh self-talk. Rather, it is about calmly being in constant contact with your truth. Practicing this balance is critical. In the beginning, radical honesty may feel hard to manage, but it is truly a long-term project. If you want to see great results, you need to wholeheartedly commit to the process, especially when it gets difficult, so you can reject the temptation to fall back into unconsciously motivated behavior. If you continue to tread down the path of lies, fear and its two primary manifestations—anxiety and anger—will continue to grow. First, you fear truth and then you lie to be rid of your fear, unwittingly falling into a loop where you actually continue empowering your fear because every lie breeds further anxiety. The only way to put an end to the burning fire of fear is by thoroughly extinguishing it with truth. Dishonesty is the fear of truth. Dishonesty with yourself creates distance. The more lies you build up over time, the more you become a stranger to yourself. When you cannot accept your own truth, you are moving in the opposite direction of self-awareness. When lies suffuse your mind, life becomes opaque and the right actions you need to take to ease your inner tension become difficult to decipher. The lies you tell yourself will also manifest as a lack of depth in your relationships. A deep connection with another being is not possible if you are deeply disconnected from yourself. As you practice radical honesty, this distance decreases and your mind starts to become calmer. Telling yourself the truth is the beginning of inner harmony. This harmony immediately makes your relationships more vibrant. In examining your past and uncovering the truth that you previously re- fused to own, you actually make the power of your honesty stronger. This higher degree of presence allows your self- awareness to flourish. Eventually, your radical honesty matures to the point where it becomes non-negotiable—you carry it wherever you go and in every situation it becomes an asset that informs your decisions. Where you once coaxed yourself into thinking nothing was wrong, you now admit to yourself that turbulence or hurt was actually there. Where you once forced yourself into thinking you liked something, you admit that you did find it disagreeable. Where you once denied old pain, you admit that there is a wound within you that needs tending. https://awakin.org/read/view.php?tid=2730 What would I like? I would like to live a life of wisdom and compassion, like the sunflower, turning toward what deeply nourishes it. I would like to be at the edge of my knowing and becoming, present with joy and wonder, to the beauty of life's emergence. I would like to live without fear for myself or my loved ones, extending to all beings, and without causing fear to any living being. I would like to live with a radical tenderness and the confidence that everything is workable. I would like to engage with others with an attunement to their greatest gifts, and mine, and with an attunement to what wants to emerge. I would like to engage in my work with a sense of privilege and possibility. I would like to be be a hub for interconnection, letting flows flow through, without needing to hold on to anything. I would like to welcome and play with what arises in the moment, in any situation. I would like to live, to love, as an invitation to infinite things. What would you like? tow-2730 Mon, 18 May 2026 00:00:00 -0700 What would I like? I would like to live a life of wisdom and compassion, like the sunflower, turning toward what deeply nourishes it. I would like to be at the edge of my knowing and becoming, present with joy and wonder, to the beauty of life's emergence. I would like to live without fear for myself or my loved ones, extending to all beings, and without causing fear to any living being. I would like to live with a radical tenderness and the confidence that everything is workable. I would like to engage with others with an attunement to their greatest gifts, and mine, and with an attunement to what wants to emerge. I would like to engage in my work with a sense of privilege and possibility. I would like to be be a hub for interconnection, letting flows flow through, without needing to hold on to anything. I would like to welcome and play with what arises in the moment, in any situation. I would like to live, to love, as an invitation to infinite things. What would you like?