My stories are Haikus, not to the sound of falling snow or mountain brooks, nor the three lines of the Eastern Tradition. Spoken in song, written to the open road and the city, they sprawl across the landscape of America in a vision of speed and light across the highways of our dreams.
I was always interested in the principles of meditation through the writings of authors like Hesse, Huxley, Kerouac and the Beat Poets. In the early 70s, I traveled across the country with nothing but a backpack and a few dollars in my pocket, hopping boxcars and hitchhiking wherever the road or the rails would take me.
Without association to a Buddhist sect, I’m at a loss what to call my states of Satori. Zen? Buddhism? Mindfulness? These are merely labels.
This intuitive enlightenment is the Buddha nature in all of us. We see it in the baseball pitcher who dusts his shoe with his glove then sends a beautiful curve ball across the plate; the worker who scrubs the floor while humming in contentment; the taxi driver, who cuts through impossible traffic and tells his story without missing a turn, smiling and tooting his horn.
I attempt here to put into words what it has taken me a lifetime of trial and error to achieve, sharing this unique insight with those who walk the same path. I know nothing of tradition or sacred texts. I just happily meditate my way through life.