Fathers Lost and Found

My dad was a pilot. Actually, he was part pilot and part the airplane itself. When we were little he’d lie flat on his back and heist us up on his feet in the air. It was quite the process. You put your belly against his feet and the plane slowly takes off. Then you spread your arms out wide and fly while balancing on his feet. Sometimes he’d let go of your hands and you’d fly solo while he made airplane sounds and swerved and pitched dangerously until you tumbled to the floor giggling.

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When Stars Can’t Shine . . .

Today we had friends over for a bit of chanting and meditation. As I was sitting in that age-old posture, I kept thinking about the rest of my life. I want it to be both meaningful and free of stress. Just being. Last week I went for a drive in the Black Hills to give an hour-long presentation to a facility that “houses” young people in need. The facility is part lock-up, part treatment, and part . . .

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