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At The Breast Of The Mother

There is a moment when you have looked up to the peaks of the Himalayas and you see the snow, the pure white snow, the pure mind of the Buddha, the diamond-blue-white, crystalline-clear, pure love of the Christ; but you have to also, if you’re going to make the game perfect, look down and see the blood on the snow that comes from the bleeding heart of Jesus. You have to see the suffering. You have to see your incarnation. You have to see all of it, with strength, with compassion. For only that person who simultaneously looks up and down can stand before God, can stand in God, in perfection.

Notes From A Radical Aquarian

If only I can hang in there until again I can find that terrible solitude that keeps company with the crags of unknownness. How those spaces scare me, but it is the only thing which even approaches satisfaction of integrity.

Dirty For Dirty: The State Vs. Larry Flynt, Or All In The Bloody Eye Of The Beholder

Hustler isn’t sex, but an advertisement for sex. And, like all advertisement, it must be judged, like it or not, as art.

Where I Write

“Where do I write?” a good friend asked me. And when? And how? What are all the externals? He thought it might be helpful to others to know that I sit in a chair, near a window; that I eat and drink without limits, impulsively; that I like to look out at something natural.

Another Appetite

I have toyed with preparing a cookbook of my own. But with Mrs. Ewald’s book I no longer consider that necessary, for this is the most complete and varied collection of vegetarian recipes I have seen.

Right Livelihood

The Briarpatch

Are you a Briar? Well, you might be if you try to live simply, share resources and skills with others, and practice right livelihood rather than grasp for fame and riches.

Menu

Twenty years ago Duncan Hines described North Carolina as a gastronomical desert. Although far from the culinary equal of New York or San Francisco, Chapel Hill has come a long way since 1957. There are now six ethnic restaurants in town.

Shadow Dancing

I AM RAGE. I am a storm, dark, heavy, omnipotent. I am unmitigated violence. I am fury, exploding, blinding lightning, roaring thunder, howling wind. I surge like the sea, uncontrollable in my rage.

Journal

Every single moment of consciousness, of your experience, from the past, present or future is such an incredible storehouse of creativity that is unleashed upon itself, I am awed, my mind is boggled.

“The Business Of America . . .

Open Letter To The President (II)

There are those of us, not many formerly counted among your admirers, who to date take heart from reports of your activities which mayhap (dare we so hope?) indicate the formulation of a Coolidgean policy of saying little and doing less.