It’s Wednesday, late afternoon, a balmy day in the city easing to its end. Ran some errands and then had lunch in the neighborhood with an old dharma sister/friend. The grilled salmon was nice and the miso soup, too. We checked in with each other, laughed, listened, shared our differences. Each then went her way, which is what we’ve always been doing all along.

Returned yesterday from another splendid trip to Portugal. An airport strike in Porto and a train strike in Paris took the routine out of the voyage home.

After the retreat and a leisurely afternoon in Coimbra, I gave a conference entitled, « The Universe in the Palm of Your Hand » at the Fnac. I was introduced in Portuguese, and it was noted that I am a poet and journalist. It occurred to me that these two « roles » express the two aspects of me, of my being, of all of us, of all things: poetry is the universe, journalism is the palm of my hand. And the two are not two, for my poetry is journalistic and my journalism is poetic; both and all express just what is, here and now, neither transcending nor remaining, beyond yet leaving nothing behind.