May 20, 2014, Early morning row near Angel Island, SF Bay
Why Bodhidharma Went to Howard Johnson's
"Where is your home," the interviewer asked him.
Here.
"No, no," the interviewer said, thinking it a problem of translation,
"when you are where you actually live."
Now it was his turn to think, perhaps the translation?
~ Jane Hirshfield ~ The Wisdom Anthology of North American Buddhist Poetry
Years ago, many years ago, I got into a little tiff with my mom, who was very religious. We were talking about which mass we'd attend on Sunday and I mentioned to her that I'd really like to time it so I could go for a run first.
"Running is becoming your religion," she said (not in a nice way).
She wasn't half wrong. I lived in Nebraska, miles away from my friends and even when we were all together, there wasn't a whole lot to do that was legal. Running was my refuge. It's where I could be on my own and just let the knotted ribbons of thought spinning around in my teenage head unfurl, flutter, and fly. I guess you could call it spiritual.
So, yeah, in a sense, running was my religion. Just like rowing is to me now.
Where is your home? Where do you actually live? Maybe it's a trail. Maybe it's the ocean. Maybe it's art, poetry, meditation, dancing, yoga, cooking, music, throwing a tennis ball for your dog. Doesn't matter. It's home.