And in the end, your little table-rectangle of life, after the crowd has gone away, after the jokes are over.
What is the measure of our lives? What we own? What we contribute? The number of people who call to ask how we are? Who want to hear our stories? Who want us to be part of their lives?
Or is it just the weight of the bhikshu's begging bowl you bear after you finally learn to walk away?
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- Si, si, Indio!
- Now tell me
- Mongolia on my mind
- L’Asie en notes et en motocyclette
- Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
- Unblinking Grief
- Over the years...
- The hallucination of contemporary life
- I know it all
- Dave Barry: Bring Back Captain Video :) :)
- The molecule that helps us decide among alternativ...
- I listen
- Returning to the Great Stories
- The life of the mind
- Go forth masked
- The option to change our minds
- Does more information mean we know less?
- Joe Hisaishi
- Fast Enough
- Walk away
- There, rest. No more suffering for you.
- Poem written in the street on a rainy evening
- The debasement of language
- Aur woh hasthé hué kaha....
- Douglas Adams: Parrots, the Universe, and Everythi...
- Andrew Bird
- We're only passing through
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