Why Bodhidharma Went to Howard Johnson's
"Where is your home," the interviewer asked him.
"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.