As a Zen teacher, I have little tolerance for student philosophizing. Perhaps it’s because I’m a recovering wannabe philosopher. My dad looked up to intellectuals and was an intellectual himself, the real McCoy, the working-class intellectual. Philosophers were the crème de la crème of intellectuals. In college, I minored in philosophy. I might have majored in philosophy if it wasn’t for my meeting with department chair, Martin Eshelman.   Eshelman was excited that I was cons

As a Zen teacher, I have little tolerance for student philosophizing. I tell them, “It’s not that I have anything against philosophy, it’s just a different practice than Zen.” To study with me is to study Zen, and as Dogen said – not his exact words – to study Zen is to study the self.   I have a warm spot in my heart for Diane Shainberg. She died much too early. It was Diane who sent me to Bernie . I met her when she spoke about spirituality and psychotherapy to our Staten I

“We’re growing old together.” Dee prefers her parents’ happy line, “We’re buckaroos.” I like that too, but I marvel at how long we’ve been together. And still there is the surprise of novelty. One of us is sharing a childhood memory and the other is awed. “I can’t believe I’ve never heard that story before.”   Time has slowed. Each day is precious. “How long will it last?” We worry about each other’s health, take care of each other, get each other out for walks and doctors’ a