A Buddhist and a Christian Walk Into a Bar

I found myself wondering whether this might be a taste of original consciousness, heightened, mildly intoxicated, our senses aroused by wind, leaves, thickets and birds, an unmediated spirit

In Saturday’s predawn hours, rain fell at last. Just a dusting, but enough to release the hidden aromas of earth and leaf and ripening grapes, beckoning Angel and me to cross Sonoma Highway and ascend the hill toward Hood Mountain. St. Francis winery was still closed, the day poised, the wind still. Angel and I were soon immersed in clouds, the clarity …