On the Trail of Birth and Death
The crunch of our hiking boots, the tap tap tap tap of our walking poles, the soundless drone of my chant—are hypnotic. As I hike in Berkeley’s Tilden Park with my friend Lucy, I am reciting a Buddhist verse to myself, following its singsong melody. All things are impermanent. They arise and they pass away. To live in harmony with this truth Brings great happiness. Adapted from a verse, found in the Mahāparinibbāna and Mahāsudassana Suttas I’ve been repeating these words eve
